The One With Whisky Eyes

Black Words and Silver Scars

Karen Fletcher

"No," she mumbled, staring down at the phone as her heart began beating quickly in her chest. Would that man still be there? Was he having the doctor call Iris?

Hating the thought of ignoring him or the doctor again, Iris tapped the accept button and lifted the phone reluctantly to her ear.

"Hello, Dr. Fletcher."

"Miss. Mayfair, are you alright? I'm sure that today was not what you expected..."

Sighing softly as she moved to sit on the edge of her bed, the closest thing to sit on, Iris leaned her forehead in one hand while the other clutched at the cellphone. "I'm sorry for running out like I did...and for running away. I...I hope..."

"Barry understands that it's overwhelming, to meet a soulmate," Dr. Fletched offered, the name of the man making Iris lift her head as her hand fell over her lips, the pain and guilt returning. Why was it easier when he didn't have a name? "I know that it takes a bit of time to adjust to knowing you met your soulmate, especially with how afraid you seem to be of yours-"

"I'm not afraid of my marks," Iris interrupted. "I love my marks. But...I never thought that I..."

The other line remained silent for a moment before Dr. Fletched began again softly, "Iris...there are many things that need to come to light. And I want to assure you that things will work, but I cannot do that if you don't talk to me. Barry wants to know you, and I'm sure your other soulmates do as well," she continued to explain calmly.

"You...know you who they are, don't you?" Iris struggled out, fidgeting in place as her attention drifted down to her exposed arms and the various marks and scars that were on display.

"I may," Fletcher answered hesitantly. "But that is not up to me to say. For now, I want to speak with you again, if you're willing."

"I dunno, Dr. Fletcher. Even if you say he understands...what I said was awful. And to have to share me with so many others?"

Dr. Fletcher didn't speak up right away, as though she was trying to think of how to phrase what was on her mind. "You and Barry need to discuss this, not you and I, but I do want to help you, Iris. I can see that you're in pain, that you've struggled through your life, and it's because of those marks. Those soulmates. I don't want you to have to carry that pain around with you for the rest of your life."

"I don't think I could afford your services," she argued, sounding tired. "And as I said, I love my marks. There is nothing from my past that changes that."

"You may love your marks, but I can see that they have...cause problems for you, Iris. Please, just meet with me one more time, no charge, so we can discuss this."

Knowing that someone could see through her so easily, especially someone that had insight on her marks—and her scars—made Iris's skin prickle uncomfortably. She trembled in place as her scars itched faintly, her shoulders shaking with the motion, before she clenched her muscles and hunched forward with the effort to remain still and frozen.

"I can't," she struggled out, the crack in her voice feeling like a strike through her vocal cords. "I'm sorry."

Hurriedly hanging up with a shaky thumb over the 'end call' button as tears burned her eyes, Iris tried not to think of the blue-eyed man that had said one of the twenty-four marks on her body. The phone clattered to the floor without further thought as Iris remained hunched at the edge of her bed, wearing only her bra across her torso as her pale skin pebbled against the cold air. Her nails scraped across her arms, leaving red welts in their wake, unable to control the urge to remove the itches.