Deadpool's Iris

Chapter 21

Iris's pov

As soon as Deadpool left, I collapsed into the chair I had been using to stay up on two feet. I sobbed so hard, I couldn't breathe. As I cried, I screamed. I didn't care who heard me. I was in so much pain. Just when I thought I had found the perfect person for me, this happened.

How could I hate someone so much yet want to still be in their arms? I hated him for doing this to me. For making me like...maybe even love him.

I sobbed myself to sleep, still in my clothes, tears and snot running down my face.

The next day after work...

The next day was terrible. I wanted to call in sick but I needed the money. The whole day I felt like a zombie. I had no feeling. All I felt was sorrow and pain in my chest.

I walked home slowly. It was dark but I didn't care. I didn't care when I was bumped into and yelled at while walking from work nor when I was cat called by a dirty old man.

I was done with alleys. So I walked on the empty streets of my neighborhood.

For a moment, my mind wondered to what Deadpool was doing. But I smacked the thought away. If I thought about him, it would just hurt me even more.

One more block.

"Hey baby! Wanna see what it's like to be with a real man?" yelled a man who looked a few years older than me. I ignored him and kept walking.

I was finally at my apartment conplex. I went towards the entrance. I reached out to open it. But before my hand even touched the handle, something, not a hand, but something attached to my back and forced me backwards. I stopped when I bumped into a large object. It was muscular. It was smooth.

"Look who we found," said a voice that terrified the hell out of me. It was so low and gentle. But I knew what ever had me was anything but gentle.

I knew before I heard the screech and my mouth was covered who it was.

"We've missed you," it said.

Deadpool's pov

Maybe I could make Iris see that I wasn't so bad. Maybe then she wouldn't hate me anymore. I didn't care if she didn't want to hear what I had to say. I was still saying it. I've never felt this way about someone.

I went to her apartment and knocked on the wooden door that was painted white and had the number 225 on it. I waited a few moments. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer. It was a little after 7pm. She was home. Or at least she should've been.

'Maybe she went to someone else's place,' said white box.

'Like Peter's! I bet they have a thing going on. Peter was always looking at her!' said yellow box.

"That's not true," I murmured.

'How do you know that?' asked yellow box.

'Don't listen to that crazy box. Knock again,' said white box.

I knocked again. Still no answer.

'Break the door down. If she's hiding, you'll know,' said yellow box.

Good idea. I stepped back and with one kick, I kicked the door down. I entered.

"Iris!" I yelled.

No response.

"Iris! Are you here?"

Still no response.

I searched her whole apartment. Even under the sink and bed. But she just wasn't here.