a little disconnected; Iris &
"Don't fight it, sweetheart."
That was a phrase Iris often got told. She tried, she really goddamn tried not to fight it and just get used to this new life she was being forced to live. But she had to occupy a new sweaty body each night, each one wanting the same thing from her. How could she just lie there? Let them do whatever they wanted? Of course there were a few times where she had tried taking control, making them submit to her. If she told them to stop with enough ferocity, maybe they actually would. They were savage animals, the people who walked into that building were. Every last one of them.
It wasn't men forcing themselves onto her that came to her that night, though. It was what they made of her, what the darkness she became exposed to in her life made her do. There were no voices in her head, no whispers of insanity that forced her to do this. It was all her choice. Anything would be better than suffering a life that didn't seem to be much of a life at all. So she dreamt of her death, and all the things she felt whilst going through with it.
Her eyes flickered open to an all too familiar instructing voice that pounded on the insides of her skull.
"Make someone suffer to relieve your own."
She grabbed the dark comforter that sat upon her bed as soon as her eyes met the dull walls of her bedroom, shock running throughout her system. After squeezing the material so hard to check that this was actually real and happening; Iris' hands immediately flew up to cover her neck. She was choking, taking heaving breaths - or at least trying to. She wasn't able to breathe, which caused panic to fall in waves all over her. A heaviness was taking over, making her feel like she was about to fall to the floor at any minute.
No. She could not go through this again. She would not. In another immediate response of terror, Iris made an attempt to get out of bed, to go to the kitchen and get a knife. She had to do this task. It wasn't like she would really kill somebody, they couldn't achieve that here. However, attempting to move made her stop short in horror with the pain in her neck. She moved, so that she was staring at her reflection in the wall mirror hung in the hallway. The brunette couldn't do anything but stare with her mouth wide open at the sight of herself. A sound came out then; a sound that she had never made before. Something short of a gasp and a scream. There was nothing.. joining her neck to her body. Her head was lying to the side at an unnatural angle, a vision that kind of made her want to vomit.
One wrong move and her head would go rolling across the floor, that is what it felt like. She knew her windpipe had been cut off; her neck snapped. After-effects of the death she chose. Realization of what that message meant suddenly hit her. There was no time to stand here in shock, she had to do the task that would get rid of this.
Knife still in her sweaty grasp, Iris ran out of the door. All the while gasping for breaths she couldn't take. She would have already suffocated if she was able, but obviously not. That was until blackness cut into the edges of her vision, blanking off any sight she previously had. She fell to the snow-cladded pavement, the knife flying from her hand and landing a few inches away from her.
