ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

Lyra could give up on herself all she wanted, but Iris wouldn't.

Iris wasn't sure whether that made her selfish or selfless—and, truth be told, she didn't mind too much, not when another person's life was at the epicenter of her inner conflict—or how morally correct she was being by deciding two could play at that game, but she wasn't willing to give up just yet.

She would just have to find enough strength to fight for the two of them and hope that, at some point along the winding, troubled road that was her relationship with Lyra, she wouldn't have to anymore.

She hoped both sides would pull their own weight until it was clear Iris had accomplished her goal and Lyra would no longer need external forces to keep rescuing her like some damsel in distress. Lyra would never accept to be perceived as such, something Iris was painfully aware of, but it didn't stop it from happening, and it certainly wasn't stopping her from needlessly endangering herself.

So, a whole year went by, with Iris creating more and more ramifications of a timeline that should have never been messed with from the start.

Even with all the mistakes she was bound to make, were she not Iris Fox, she also found it confusing and contradictory how Lyra's words and actions seemed to fight each other for dominance.

Though she was adamant on telling Iris she didn't want to be saved, going as far as begging her to stop doing what she was doing, and occasionally reeling back her most reckless and impulsive tendencies, there was also something increasingly more erratic about her behavior. Between driving way beyond the speed limit and drinking to the point of collapsing during random house parties, Iris couldn't tell whether Lyra was testing her own limits or how far Iris would go to prove a point—how badly she was willing to twist the boundaries of reality and everything that should be a certainty just to keep her alive.

And Iris would take the bait every single time, like the lovesick fool that she was. She and her stupid, naive little heart, and her stupid, naive little dreams about being a successful fixer in hopes it would get Lyra to love her back the way she wanted her to.

Most of the time, it hadn't come to that—yet. Most of the time, Lyra had been fine, albeit with a few close calls along the way—too close for comfort, like she knew she was keeping Iris on her toes by dancing so intimately with death as though they were old, passionate lovers in every lifetime—but there had also been occasions when Iris had been forced to rewind time and bring the timeline back to where she wanted it to be.

It grew more painful every time she had to do so, complete with never ending nosebleeds and suspicious sightings of swarms of butterflies and moths, like something was tearing her insides apart, but it was a needed sacrifice. She was paper thin, torn into shreds, but had to pull herself back together.

She would convince Lyra that living was the right thing to do. She would.

Iris had never felt more irresponsible in her life. In a way, she almost felt like Lyra herself.

It seemed like everything Iris did to keep her alive, to convince her it was worth a shot, the more she faded away and the harder it was to reach out and hold her. She was slipping away, far out into the blurry horizon, and there was nothing Iris could do to prevent her from leaving. Not even her pathetic attempts at pretending to be a half-decent friend were making her feel any better, with Lyra expertly dodging them and becoming more and more elusive, which proved to be a nightmare for someone who took great pride in being a fixer.

Ironically, there weren't many things she had fixed in the current timeline. Her parents' marriage, for one, and she couldn't bear to imagine the agony she'd put herself and everyone in the world through if she were to abuse her powers to try and fix that as well. Saving Lyra in that version of existence, like she was attempting a different play style in a different video game save file, would also need to happen, and she couldn't treat either of those failures as side quests.

You couldn't go through life as a chronic overthinker with a penchant for too long, too unneeded justifications and apologies and expect things to always work out the way you wished they had. You could still carry on hoping, desperately wishing to get your way for once, but other people were human, too, and there was nothing more unpredictable than another human being.

Not even the weather. Not even the swarms.

To make matters worse, she'd turned to a habit she had only picked up much later in life, shortly after moving to New York: smoking. It helped ease the stress, though it didn't do her deteriorating physical health any wonders, but focusing on one crumbling matter at a time seemed to do the job, if not just temporarily. Two could play the self-destruction for the sake of mutual annihilation game until the other gave in and, while Iris wasn't keen on the idea of fucking up her life even earlier than she'd originally done, it beat the alternative.

Another obvious, excruciating reminder Iris had royally screwed up was the moment she realized how co-dependent the two of them truly were.

Perhaps that had been valid before, even to a similar extent without her noticing a thing, but it had escalated to a level of unhealthiness that not even she could carry on pretending to be oblivious to it.

The Lyra she knew back then had always been a social butterfly, the life of the party, and she had taken Iris under her wing, introduced her to various groups of people in hopes she'd, one day, break out of her shell and find her crowd outside their minuscule circle of two. Frankly, Iris had admired her for it, both for trying to constantly include her in outings even when she didn't have to, and for managing to keep track of all her social commitments on top of every extracurricular activity and hobby she had.

In their timeline, nothing of the sort was present.

There were house parties, yes, but Iris wasn't certain how Lyra was scoring those invitations. She was, and Iris would tag along while ignoring Lyra's passive-aggressive attempts at letting her know she hadn't been invited and wasn't needed there. The parties were wilder than they should be, even for college standards, and holding Lyra's hand as she got her stomach pumped hadn't been a pleasant experience for anyone.

They had no friends besides each other, no social circle besides each other, the Sinclairs, and Iris' mom, and, though Lyra had her fair share of acquaintances, they were the type of people you developed friendships out of convenience with. Kinships at most, not real friendships, and Iris could tell the isolation was getting to her, despair growing and swallowing everything in its path.

Like a black hole. Like a hurricane.

Iris knew she was overstepping. She knew it was only bringing her closer to losing Lyra for good, constantly sticking her nose in other people's business, but Lyra was her business. She was doing the right thing, and Lyra would have to reach the same conclusion. Eventually.

With every party that went too far, with every binge drinking occurrence that resulted in frequent trips to the ER, with every accident, with Lyra's predisposition to endangering herself for a quick rush of adrenaline, Iris' energy—both physical and mental—was wearing thin. She knew she was doing too much, giving too much of herself, only to receive nothing in return, but it was one hell of a drug to know you could do so much more with your magical time rewinding powers if you were just a little bit braver, a little bit stronger.

She didn't trust herself with those powers.

She'd promised herself she would only use them when it was strictly necessary, but that necessity grew by the day, and she no longer knew what Lyra was trying to prove—or to whom—if anything at all. Hell, maybe she was just being Lyra Sinclair, the negative sides of her having been thrust under the spotlight thanks to the circumstances—the utter mess Iris had dragged her into simply because she hadn't kept her mouth firmly shut.

Because she was unable to move on. Because digging up a grave was far easier than facing the ghosts.

That late afternoon, at nineteen, Iris felt seventy. Maybe older. In some obscure way, going back in time had made her feel aged, like the years of her life she had erased had been lost in more ways than just a regression. She'd regressed and progressed simultaneously, though she felt no wiser than she thought she would. She had barely accomplished anything—if anything at all—ever since her original return to the start of her friendship with Lyra; in fact, time wasn't the only thing they shared that felt like it had regressed.

Their relationship had, too. It was clear both of them were miserable, but, with a secret that colossal drawing them close together and forces that strong at play, it would be far worse if they were to cut each other off completely. That was all they could be, though, too intertwined with one another to fully let go, and that was how Iris was certain she'd royally ruined everything. Not even rewinding time would save her then, as she'd fall right back into the same old toxic attachment patterns, robbing Lyra of her freedom and ability to make her own decisions thanks to a desperate, fever dream.

"You don't have to come with me tonight," Lyra said, setting aside her eyeliner pencil just so she could smudge it. With her glossy red lipstick, smokey eyes, sunken in cheeks, and all black ensemble, she looked like the girlfriend of a rockstar from head to toe, a young Courtney Love under the lights. She looked dangerous, like a viper ready to strike. "It's not your type of gig."

She didn't say anything else, leaving the implications to hang in the dusty air, but Iris knew exactly what had remained unsaid. None of the 'gigs' or the parties she'd tagged along for were her scene, a harsh slap across the face to remind her Lyra was sick and tired of her constantly looming and hovering like the vulture that she was.

Putting out her cigarette on the porcelain ashtray by her large window, Iris stared out into the darkening campus scene. The sky, tinted a deep shade of orange and maroon, faded out of view in the horizon as the first street lamps flashed on, illuminating the gravel pathways to guide rushing students. Everyone looked so small from up there, from her throne, yet all of them had had their lives changed because of her and her powers. Her, her powers, and her dumb, fragile heart.

"Be careful," Iris quietly asked her. Lyra dramatically rolled her eyes, no longer bothering to hide her annoyance, and that was what had happened shortly before Iris left for New York. The aggression had ceased to be just passive, giving place to open hostility, and the tension was so thick it felt like swallowing petrol every time Iris had to open her mouth around her. Fighting and screaming at each other kept Lyra alive, even if it was just out of spite, so she was taking what she could get. "Let me know if you need—"

"You don't need me to tell you anything," Lyra sharply chimed in, "because there are alarm bells in your brain going off every time you think I'm 'endangering' myself in any way. God forbid women do anything or have fun."

"I'm just trying to—"

"I don't care, Iris." She ran her fingers through her hair to give it the messy but clearly still effortlessly chic look, long enough to brush against her shoulder blades. "This shit won't let me live my life the way I want to, and I need you to stop interfering. I know what you're trying to do, but I can't keep walking on eggshells. I can't stop being myself just because—"

"You're putting yourself in unnecessary danger because you know I'll save your ass, because you think these powers are harmless and a joke—"

Lyra spun on her heel, huffing her hair away from her eyes. Even in her burning rage, she was both an angel and a demon—one Iris couldn't stay away from. And she wouldn't—even if it meant getting scorched down to ash. "I don't want you to use your powers! That's what I've been trying to tell you! If it's set in stone, if it keeps happening, if I keep dying no matter what you and I do to try and prevent it, maybe take the hint and leave it. Don't accuse me of purposefully doing risky shit just because I want or need you to save me. I don't."

Iris hopped off the windowsill. Her hands trembled, her vision blurred. Moths filled the whole room and she was the only one who could see them. "Then why do I always have to do it? Why do you let me?"

"Because I can't stop you! You're the only one who can; if you just tried to listen—"

"I'm not listening to you when you're being unreasonable."

She didn't have the heart to admit aloud she was the one being unreasonable to a fault, unwilling to find a middle ground. For all of Lyra's faults, she wasn't completely in the wrong there, yet Iris insisted on holding the moral high ground just so she could pat herself on the back.

Congratulations! You did the right thing a passable human being would do! Here's your prize—the love of your life now hates your guts!

And, by the way? She's still going to die!

"Iris, I love you, but this is ruining my life," Lyra quietly admitted. Iris' heart could have exploded and Lyra wouldn't have noticed a thing. "You love me, and it's ruining both our lives. I'll do whatever you want me to do if it means you get to move on from this. Find your way back to your timeline. Let me go."

"What if I can't? What if I can't find a way of going back, and something happens to you, and I'm trapped here with nowhere to go? With no one to turn to?"

Lyra shook her head, face stricken with remorse. "You'll figure it out. If you can trigger moving backward, then taking a step forward should require the opposite, right? Besides . . ." She took in a sharp inhale, and cut the distance between them, cupping Iris' face between her hands. Shockingly, she was warm for once—or maybe their body temperatures had finally reached a point of equilibrium, corpse and gravedigger finally equal. Her lips pressed against Iris' forehead, scorching every inch of bare skin they touched and they were both a living flame. "If anyone can do it, it's you. You'll be okay. From what you've told me, you were thriving in New York. Great internship, great job, a mother who loves you unconditionally. I'd only be holding you back."

Iris shut her eyes hard, so hard she could have popped a blood vessel. "I was good at pretending to be fine. I was miserable, and no one noticed."

"You're miserable now. I've noticed it."

"It's not the same."

"Is it not?"

"You're alive—"

"On a technicality. One we both know isn't really right. Or, you know, real."

She finally walked away and picked up her leather jacket, throwing a quick goodbye over her shoulder and a promise to let Iris know she'd gotten to her destination safe and sound and when she'd be getting ready to return. It didn't quiet the thunderstorm simmering in Iris' bloodstream, not one bit.

Iris reached for her phone with trembling hands, nibbling at her already chipped nail polish. When the person on the other side of the line picked up, the first thing that came out of her mouth was a pathetic, wracked sob.

"Mom," she wailed. "Mommy, I need you."

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

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