Page 39 of Made for Cyn

She laughs, and I smile because her face lights up when she does. Iris is effortlessly beautiful, although I’m not sure she sees it. “So is Bastion.”

Thinking it over, I silently agree, but I guess being around them the last few days made them appear more normal. Which is a mistake because I need to remember these are the same guys who threatened me.

Our conversation ends when we pull up to the mall, and Iris guides me through the stores until we end up in a funky little boutique where she works through the racks, pulling out dresses and hanging them over her arm as she goes.

When she glances back and spies me following along quietly, she starts piling stuff in my arms, too.

“C’mon,” she says, and grudgingly, I follow her into a dressing room.

“Try this on.” She’s already pulling at her clothes, and with a silent sigh, I take off my own, pausing when she drops her shirt and bares her stomach.

“Iris, where did that come from?” I gasp, pointing at her abdomen.

Running her hand over the wicked scar that covers her navel from one hip to the other, she shrugs. “A couple of years ago, I got pregnant and had an abortion, but I was stupid and didn’t tell my mom. I went to some skeevy back-alley doctor and got super sick.” Iris sighs. “It was so bad, now I can’t have kids.”

Shit. My stomach drops to my knees. “Oh, Iris, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. Now I don’t have to worry about a teen pregnancy,” she says with a shrug, but her eyes are dark with a pain I can’t bear to see.

My heart clenches brutally in my chest, and I reach out to her, but she turns away. Dropping my hand uselessly, I start arranging the dresses by color as she looks at herself in the mirror.

I can’t fathom what she’s feeling, but I wish she would let me comfort her, although maybe she just wants to forget.

Quietly we shuffle through the outfits until she says, “That one looks good on you.”

It’s not as short or risqué as what Iris wears, but it reveals more than I usually would allow, with the thin fabric hugging my curves and a hint of breast showing at the neckline. I wonder if Cyn would think I’m pretty in this. Ugh.

No, I’m not thinking about that jerk.

Nodding, I set it aside, trying on several more outfits, until Iris is satisfied with her haul, and we check out.

Before I can protest, she’s paying for mine too, and she glances at me impatiently before saying with a sadistic grin, “Relax, John is paying for it.”

Although uneasy, I back away, asking as we walk through the parking lot, “What’s the deal with John anyway?”

“What do you mean?” She’s scanning the lot, and once again, I get the feeling she’s avoiding my gaze. But why? Because of John or her painful truth revealed in a damn department store dressing room?

“Well, you don’t like him?” I ask tentatively.

“Naw, he’s a creep. But he makes Mom happy, so I leave it alone.”

“Creepy, how?”

“I don’t know. He just looks a little too hard, asks weird questions. You know?”

“Oh,” I say, at a loss. Maybe it’s not my imagination then. Now I know to avoid him if necessary, but at least weird stares and inappropriate questions are something I can handle.

Relaxing marginally, I let it go because there’s nothing I can do about it but try to follow the rules from now on.

“Hey, let’s stop by my friends for a while?”

“Um, okay.”

I have no desire to go home. Despite my resolve, my instincts are telling me to stay away, and now I wonder just what I can do to make up excuses not to be there alone. Maybe I should tell my mom? But I wanted to go to a real school so badly, and perhaps this is all in my imagination.

I mean, he asked for a hug. No big deal, right?

We pull up to a small home at the end of a cul-de-sac where Iris lets herself inside without knocking, and cautiously I follow, wondering just what I’m walking into now. Iris seems to follow trouble wherever she goes.

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