"She forgives me." A tear rolls down her cheek. "Well. Maybe not yet. But enough to talk to me."
I wrap my arms around her.
She leans into my touch. "I never thought she'd forgive me."
"I know."
"I never thought you'd forgive me."
"Me either."
"But you did." She presses her forehead to mine. "And you… You're here."
"Always."
Her fingers dig into my t-shirt, pressing the cotton into my skin. "You promise?"
"Yeah."
"What if I start using again?"
"You won't."
"But what if I do?"
"Sweetness, you know I hate thinking about this."
"I know…" But you have to. It could happen. We have to be realistic.
"I'll make sure you get help." I brush her hair behind her ear.
Iris slipping is my worst nightmare.
At first, it was a plague on my thoughts, this constant fear she'd start getting high again. That I'd be the one to push her into using with some stupid fight.
I still wake up terrified some days. I still have moments where my head goes to dark places because she's too quiet. Or home late. Or evasive. Or moody.
I'll never get over it. Not completely.
But it gets easier every day.
The fear fades quickly now. I trust her.
I know it takes more than that. I know there are going to be times where it's harder or easier.
But, whatever happens, I want to be there to hold her up.
To ease her burden.
To watch her dreams come true.
"You want to talk about it, sweetness?"
"Later." She presses her lips to mine.
She tastes good, like sugar and coffee.
Like she's everything I want.