ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.
The walk back up the stairs towards the parking lot was thick with tension, even harder to breathe through than the humidity of the air.
However, Iris was somewhat more prepared to take Lyra's inviting hand this time around, so the gesture didn't surprise her quite as much as it had the first time. She was colder, though, nearly as cold as she was when she lay in her coffin, with her perfect hair, her perfect makeup, and her perfect blue dress—like Sleeping Beauty. For all everyone knew, she'd just been fast asleep. If she hadn't been so blue underneath it all, not just in her clothes and in her glittery eyeshadow, if she hadn't been so unnaturally still, even Iris would have been fooled by yet another one of her tricks.
Foxes were the tricksters. Typically, anyway.
Ironically, Iris wore her heart on her sleeve, too transparent even when she didn't want to be, and she'd never been a great liar. As closed off as she was, as content with staying in her bubble without relying on any external stimuli or social interactions, she couldn't lie. Now, she was purposefully hiding key details about her life and about that of other people's, including from themselves, and couldn't hide behind her shy, good girl persona any longer. She was as vile and rotten as those vultures she'd been criticizing all along, getting unnecessarily involved in matters she shouldn't even have brushed against.
In the original timeline, she was an editor dreaming of being a writer; you didn't have to be in direct contact with people to do either, and, when you did, you could handle everything via email. In this timeline, she'd turned into someone she barely recognized. She was calculating, always looking back over her shoulder, always finding a way to come out on top under the excuse it was to protect Lyra, who had proven she didn't need or want her protection.
She didn't even want her help in being rescued or when it came to her life being saved. What was Iris supposed to do with that? What was she supposed to do when she couldn't do the one thing she was good at?
Who was she when she wasn't needed?
Violent shivers rippled through Iris' body, even when they were sitting inside Lyra's car, with the heater turned almost all the way up. Lyra had, somehow, remembered to cover the front seats of the car with fluffy, warm towels to help mitigate the worst effects of the sudden difference in temperature. Iris wanted to thank her, but, when she opened her mouth to do so, no words came out with how wildly her teeth were chattering.
That wasn't even the worst part. A thank you that went by unsaid could be expressed in different ways, but Iris was still too stiff from the cold and the difficult conversation they'd shared down by the beach to even give Lyra's fingers a quiet, gentle squeeze.
They would have to talk about it eventually. She knew that. The longer she postponed it, the more she'd suffer, and the heavier the cross would become. There were rocks not even she could push up a hill, and her upper arm strength had never been particularly great, anyway.
So, she decided to give herself some grace, wait until her heart rate returned to an acceptable rhythm, and allowed the warmer air to swirl towards her in delicate waves until it curled comfortably around her bones. She rested her shoulder blades against the seat, let out the smallest of sighs, and asked Lyra if she could be in charge of the playlist during the drive back to campus.
Original Lyra would never agree to that, being way too proud to ever admit other people had good taste in music if it didn't perfectly match her own.
This, however, wasn't original Lyra; maybe she was better in some aspects and a stronger force of nature in others, but she was a different version of herself. Maybe not a completely overhauled iteration of her, but maybe what she was showing Iris was a side of her Iris had completely neglected to acknowledge.
"Iris, your music taste sucks," Lyra said, nose wrinkled.
"No, it doesn't."
"Just a little bit. Go ahead, then. Entertain me."
Iris pulled out her phone, opened her favorite music app, and pressed the shuffle button on her personal playlist. She had never been meticulous or dedicated enough to curate a playlist for every situation under the sun, but she had one she gravitated towards most frequently. Lyra liked some of those songs and despised others, so, with the shuffle setting on, maybe they could find some middle ground.
That sounded easy in theory. Lyra had always been a black or white type of person, whereas Iris thrived in shades of gray. With a mental sigh of relief, she watched Lyra slowly nod in appreciation over the first two songs that came on shuffle, the kind of sad, indie music that made you curl into a ball and wail like you were the only person who understood what the lyrics meant—they spoke to you and to you only. It was just you and the singer in the world.
Then.
"You included a song featuring your own name?" Lyra asked, failing to hide the amusement in her voice as the first guitar chords of Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls filled the car, the easily recognizable melody echoing off the windows.
While she could have easily sounded a lot meaner and more accusatory based on her word choice—and on her general personality and way of acting around things that didn't automatically excite her or that she didn't love from the get-go—she didn't.
And Iris loved her a bit more for that, for reeling it in—for imposing limits on herself.
"Yep," she confirmed. "I'm just that obsessed with myself."
Lyra laughed, brushing her hair away from her eyes. The pink dye was fading then (she'd redyed the ends, in spite of her original panic about her parents' possible negative opinion on them that had never actually come to fruition). "Fair point. I disagree, though. I think you care way too much about other people."
"You mean about what other people think about me? Or"—she placed a dramatic hand on her chest, right above her heart, and wondered if Lyra's own heart was able to beat at all—"do you mean the crushing weight of wanting to be liked by everyone? Because both of them come down to me not being able to stop thinking about myself."
"Both things can be true at once." She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. For a split moment in time, they settled into comfortable silence, like the current circumstances were mundane and there was no death, no time travel, no dangerous swarm of butterflies, no unwavering hand of fate chasing them wherever they went. "Even if you think you're terrible, I can have a different opinion about you. It just so happens that I do, and I like you. You're chill. I'm certain the me from your timeline thought so, too."
Maybe she hadn't meant it in a negative way, maybe it was just Iris being overly sensitive as always, but those words hit her like a blade that had been submerged in lava.
She'd always known her feelings for Lyra had been stronger than the other way around. Lyra had known this, too, and knew Iris knew, which left her cowering in shame when she dared to admit to herself that knowledge had been weaponized against her in a way. She didn't like to throw the world manipulation around carelessly, but there were situations in the original timeline (and in the current one) that could be interpreted in that light.
Lyra knew about her feelings. She knew Iris would stop at nothing to save her, to prove to her she loved her so deeply she felt the ache in her skeleton. All that reckless behavior she thought she was entitled to engage in now that she knew Iris would rewind time to undo any fatal or life-threatening consequences, all the fights she'd started to dare Iris to leave once and for all . . . it was hard to say which of them was trying to out-sabotage the other the hardest.
"You alright there?" Lyra questioned, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. The air chilled and shifted between them, even though the heating system was still humming in the background.
"Yep. Peachy."
"I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing. I don't—like, I don't know what we're supposed to be, you know? I don't know what we were to each other then, before I—" She gulped, staring at the road ahead for once, lest Iris had to rewind a car crash. "Before you left. Did I . . . did I love you? Were we together? Was it a romantic breakup or just a friendship one?"
Iris let out a shaky breath, resting her head against the fogged up window. Friendship breakups were horrible, too, sometimes even more traumatizing than romantic breakups.
When you and a friend broke up, there would always be something missing there, when you woke up wanting to tell them something and remembering one second too late you were no longer a part of each other's lives, fated to be strangers who had once meant so much to each other.
"I think you did love me, yeah," Iris replied, voice hoarse from the cold. "In your own way. Whether you were in love with me or not, that's something only that version of you would know." Lyra pursed her lips into a thin line. "I was never quite sure what we were exactly, but we were best friends once. The kind of people who would do anything for each other, who would always find each other, as if there was some string pulling us together. After I left, I knew I'd somehow end up falling back into your gravity, even if it took us months or years. That was the kind of thing that we did, but that last argument felt definite."
Lyra's lips curled into a sad smile. "Sounds like the other me knew everything and nothing at the same time, huh?"
"If it matters, it was something that had been building up. Like rust. Like mold. We'd been fighting for a while before I made the final decision to leave." She stared down at her hands. "I figured it would be best for the both of us if we went our separate ways, if there was enough space between us to let us cool off. I was willing to give you all the time in the world to hate me and consider forgiving me for leaving, but . . . it wasn't in the cards, like you said."
"What did we fight about?"
"Does it matter?"
"Maybe not. It doesn't change anything. I'm still going to fuck it all up, you're still going to leave with us hating each other, and I'm still going to die." She was baiting an argument, like she always did. Even with that awareness, Iris almost fell for it, but she gritted her teeth, dug her nails into her palms, and refused to fight back. "It really isn't worth it, you know? All this . . . attempting to save me thing. It's inevitable. What if you're not around to rewind? What if you can't rewind? You'd be trapped here, I'd still be dead—"
"Well, if you'd at least let me try—"
"I don't want you to fucking try, Iris! I don't! I don't see the point in knowing what happens at the end of every version of this story and still trying to change the ending. It doesn't work out. It just ends. Loving me wasn't enough to save me, and that's okay. No one would resent you for that. Not even me."
Scorching tears seared the corners of Iris' eyes. "You can't stop me. I've done it before."
"You're delaying something that's certain, creating so many alternate paths, messing with people's lives, including your own, including mine, and it's all for nothing." She killed the engine, letting an exhausted, defeated sob escape from her throat. "I still die. You'll still love me afterward, and I don't want you to. I want you to move on."
"I loved you enough to turn my back on you and let you hate me."
"Then do it again." Lyra turned to her, taking her hands. "Let me go, Iris. Please, just let me go."
ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.
can you hear that? that's the sound of my heart chattering.
also that last line from iris was kindly inspired by something my queen edie britt (rip legend you would've loved who's afraid of little old me? by taylor swift) said on desperate housewives. you're welcome. it's been a blast binge watching a show that has aged TERRIBLY but you know i love me some 2000s tv (i'm also halfway through my TENTH scrubs rewatch so)
wc: 2098 (docs) // 2071 (wattpad)
total wc: 32574 (docs) // 32214 (wattpad)