Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter seventeen.

Harry Styles

My eyes opened and the realisation hit me that this was not my house, or my family house. I panicked, shot up from my position lying down somewhere and gasped like I was being woken from a nightmare, and when I saw the scattered canvases around the room, I knew exactly where I was.

It was silent, and slowly I was beginning to piece together how I got here. Each second I tried to remember, more regret came swinging at me and I knew I had probably made the biggest mistake coming here. Iris will think I'm fucking batshit crazy now.

She hugged me. I remember that so clearly. I shouldn't have come here, I was upset and the last person I should have involved in all of this shit was Iris. Crying on her floor is humiliating, crying to the point she has to hug me is even worse. I've never been more ashamed of myself.

I couldn't hear her, so I sat up and looked around, only to then spot her sitting on her windowsill, which I remember storing a lot of books, last time I was here. Her back was against the wall, knees up to her chest and head against the windows with her eyes closed. She looks so peaceful, but did she really give me the couch and decide to sleep on her fucking window ledge?

I'm a terrible person.

I stood up to wander over, taking her blanket with me, unsure of whether to wake her up or not, but she's probably cold, maybe. She's definitely asleep, you can tell by her breathing, but surely sleeping on a window ledge is not good for you.

With a sigh, I tried to put her blanket over her, which was difficult considering the fact she is sitting awkwardly, however the second the fabric touched her skin, her eyes snapped open and I jumped so far in shock, like an absolute idiot.

She sat up, yawed, then swung her legs down and smiled, almost like she was trying not to laugh and to be honest, I didn't blame her.

"Morning." She said with a smile, still sitting on her window ledge. "How are you feeling? D'you want a painkiller or anything?"

I nodded, and Iris hopped down and wandered off to rake in her cupboards to find some. She is too good of a person. She shouldn't have let me in here last night, not in the state I was in. She should have told me to get a grip and go home, but she didn't and she wouldn't. She's too kind for that.

She came back over with two tablets and a glass of water, and I could hear her kettle boiling in the corner too. Once she handed me them, she went into one of the cupboards I thought would have held painting stuff, but instead pulled out a change of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Two minutes later she reappeared in new clothes and her hair pulled back out of her face.

She slept so weirdly, how on earth is she just going about as if she doesn't have a sore back or neck or anything?

"You want a cup of tea?" She asked me, "I have coffee too."

"Sure," I said. "Tea's fine, thanks."

I realised I was still holding her blanket, so I folded that up and popped it on the edge of the couch. Still I was cringing over the fact I came here last night in the state I was in, she's probably traumatised.

Iris and I were now just sat on her couch with a cup of tea, and I was trying to figure out what I'm supposed to say to her. I need to apologise first of all, but it's trying to find the right wording to make your apology sound genuine.

"I erm..I shouldn't have come here last night Iris. I'm so sorry and-"

"It's fine." She cut me off. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Did you really sleep there?" I asked, looking at the place I found her this morning, fast asleep with her head against the window. Iris nodded, which immediately filled me with guilt, because I probably stole her bed from her.