TWELVE: SYMBIOSIS

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

Lyra took her sweet, sweet time emptying her pockets, delaying the inevitable for as long as she could, and she did a great job at acting blissfully unaware of Iris' inner agony. Whether she was aware of how Iris was feeling or not was to be decided—Iris was starting to believe maybe she didn't know this variant of Lyra Sinclair as well as she had known the genuine one, or even at all—that was still to be decided, but it wasn't like she could do anything about it but wait.

She was still curled up in her worn out couch, tugging at a loose string escaping from the fabric of her cardigan in a feeble attempt to distract herself before her mind went haywire and ruined everything any further.

Iris missed her mom. It was one of those childish thoughts that would assault her out of the blue, now that their relationship was completely different than the one she'd left behind when she chose to rewind time so far back to the past. In this universe, they were fine, just mother and daughter, and Iris was the only one who felt the difference, hanging in the air like a missing limb.

After falling out with Lyra and truly believing she'd left Emelle Bay tucked safely inside a drawer she would never open again, moving all the way across the country and settling in on the East Coast, Iris and her mom had grown closer. With her mom's house in Providence, Iris knew she'd always have a safe place to fall back on in case she needed that extra support, which proved to be a more frequent occurrence than she'd ever considered.

With a house in Providence and an apartment in New York, Iris had successfully put enough distance between herself and Lyra to convince herself it was exactly what she needed to heal from the implosion of their friendship and the could-have-beens and all the almosts. Keeping that cold distance had been easier than devoting active time to missing Lyra, even though it had been one of the most painful things she'd ever had to experience. Lyra's death had been worse, uglier, but at least Iris had her mom then.

The kitchen in Providence had seen her weep and heave for oxygen, with nothing to hold on to but her mom's warm embrace as they both sat on the floor. Iris had had to mourn various things all at once—the girl she'd lost, the relationship they'd had, everything they could have been—and had to cradle the heavy weight of her grief in matchstick arms.

And yet, she'd never felt more secure, more protected than she did in that massive house, sharing the space with only one other person.

But that was then. That was another timeline. In this one, Lyra was still alive and things were different; with Lyra alive, a major source of heartache had effectively been erased, and Iris and her mom had, regrettably, not grown as close.

In the quiet of the darkest nights, Iris missed her mom and the tight bond they'd formed through hardships and shared grief. It tugged at every muscle in her chest, ravaged her insides, and it was a cruel reminder of everything she'd had to sacrifice just to keep Lyra safe and alive, but maybe there were necessary sacrifices.

Maybe it would be worth it.

Maybe Iris and her mom would inevitably find their way back to each other through other means, for kinder reasons that time around.

"I genuinely hope you'll believe me after this," Iris told Lyra, staring at the collection of random personal belongings spread on the coffee table, before she failed to swallow the lump in her throat.

There was a cyan lighter, a pack of cigarettes (Marlboro Red, the same brand Lyra had always sworn loyalty to, and it was comforting to know at least something hadn't changed following Iris' multiple time manipulations), a random button, some coins (forty cents in total, including three one cent coins, which would be important to remember) and a crumpled up bus ticket with a red line drawn across it from when she'd needed to test a pen.

"You could just ask me a personal question you wouldn't know the answer to otherwise, or something," Lyra pointed out.

"There aren't many things about you I don't know. I don't think you'd believe me."

"That sounds a bit creepy."

"I know. You wanted the truth, so I'm giving it to you. I've bared my whole heart to you, but there are things I can't do. I promised myself I'd save the rewinding for actual emergencies."

Lyra shot her a wry smile. "Like saving my life?"

"That is, indeed, an emergency. It's the whole reason I . . ." She gulped. "It's why I'm doing this. It's why I went back, it's why I returned to Emelle Bay in the original timeline"—she looked up at Lyra then, searching for some semblance of a sneer or mockery in her face, and was relieved to find neither, like she was taking it seriously—"and it's why . . . it's why I'm risking it all. Every action has consequences and all that, and messing with time once freaked me out enough; there's no way of being sure of the extent of the damage I've caused with all the rewinding I've done since that first moment. Neither of us are in mortal danger right now."

Lyra's lips curled into what could easily pass for a scowl, but it lacked the strength and the vitriol Iris knew to be characteristic of such an expression coming from her. It felt forced in a way, like it was some sort of persona Lyra was forcing herself to adopt and uphold because she thought that was what she had to do, who she had to be around Iris.

The latter, however, would always see right through her—she was the only person who did, or at least that was what she wanted to believe. It filled her with a sick, twisted sense of self-importance to know there was one thing in the world no one would ever be able to do as well or better than her and, though it was hardly something one got to brag about, she deserved a win for once.

"You could do something simpler," Lyra muttered, returning to her somber posture—the one Iris knew all too well, the one she'd been sporting during the period of time immediately preceding their falling out. When she was upset, Lyra either retreated deep within herself and closed herself off from the world or she exploded, devastating everything in her path, like the tornadoes Iris' time rewinding powers seemed to create whenever she used them. "You know I'd believe you."

"I don't know if you would," Iris confessed, before she could stop herself from running her mouth, and Lyra let out an impatient sigh, clicking her tongue. Iris was threading on a difficult, dangerous tightrope, and any wrong moves could doom the barely salvageable relationship they shared. It was fragile enough as is; risking everything just to prove a point wasn't the brightest decision Iris could be making, yet there she was again—giving in to Lyra's every wish and whim.

The things you did for the people you loved were only as terrible as the things you could do to them.

"Iris," Lyra continued, caution tainting her voice. Lyra, the perpetual wild, fearless soul had never been intimidated by anyone or anything that wasn't Coraline Sinclair, so Iris didn't know what to make of the meek creature sitting in her dorm room with her. It could very well be a front, luring her in just so she'd do exactly as she beckoned, but it could also be a rare moment of vulnerability—a discreet call for help, something Iris had barely witnessed in the original timeline. If they had been there (certainly they must have), Iris had been too blind to Lyra's suffering to acknowledge them, neck deep in her own problems, and it had cost her dearly. "I don't know what kind of person I am—was—in that world you came from, and I don't know what you expect from me, but I can't be someone I'm not. The person I know I am, the person sitting here with you, would believe you and what you have to say, even though everything about this . . . situation . . . sounds like the most unrealistic thing known to men. It honestly sounds too bananas to be fabricated."

Iris chewed on her bottom lip.

Part of her was willing to give Lyra the benefit of the doubt, but she also knew better. She had given her the benefit of the doubt one too many times, with disastrous, fatal consequences—more than once, too, which only drove the point home even harder—and there had to be a time in the present universe when Iris had to give herself the same benefit. She trusted Lyra blindly, and loved her even more than that, but there were bigger things at stake.

The fate of the universe as a whole, for once. Any further attempts at rewinding time would have to be extremely sporadic, reserved exclusively for life or death situations, and this wasn't one of them.

"I'm not risking it, Lyra," she said, voice surprisingly firm for someone who didn't feel secure at all. "We're doing this my way or not at all. You either believe my word without forcing me to rewind when I've been clear about how hard and terrifying it is for me, or you believe the proof I'm willing to give you."

"Your way or the highway? Is that it?"

"Yes. I shouldn't even have to be proving anything—"

Lyra slammed her hands against her thighs in frustration. The harsh sound ricocheted off the walls of Iris' room like a bullet. "No! You should! This is my life you're toying with; you did all of this because of me, because you say you want to save my life—"

"So what, Lyra? Do you want me to feel bad for wanting to keep you alive? For caring about you enough to risk so much just for your sake?"

"Well, maybe you should! Maybe you should listen to the fucking universe and take the hint that sometimes things can't be avoided! You can't keep running away from fate forever!"

Those words hit Iris like a tidal wave of frigid water. No matter how much Lyra wanted to work to twist the narrative into making it seem like Iris was the real villain for rewinding time, for being so desperately in love with her to do all of that just to save her life, Iris still knew she was in the right. Even if she'd spent their entire friendship compromising for the sake of maintaining the friendship—at least it was something, even though it wasn't exactly what she wanted in the depths of her heart—that dynamic couldn't carry on forever. Call it toxic, call it manipulative, call it sickly co-dependent, whatever, but Iris had to find the right moment to call it quits.

Even when she did, she still waited for a better one, one where she felt Lyra's feelings and heart wouldn't be too crushed from the sudden shift. Even when Iris knew she had to be the one coming out on top, walking in the light, she still kept an eye on what was going on around her. She still had to accommodate Lyra's feelings somehow.

But not anymore. Not in this timeline.

They hit her hard because it was the first time she was actively witnessing Lyra admitting defeat, admitting there were stronger forces at play—forces a lot more intense than her own desire for self-preservation and constant protection of her right to free will.

Fighting the will of the universe would always prove to be useless, one way or another, and, while that was, in theory, true, it was a mindset Iris herself would adopt, ever the eternal pessimist (or realist, depending on how one chose to look at it), Lyra would always swoop right in to fight her on it.

Though it wouldn't necessarily come from a place of optimism and sparkles and everything nice, though it had never been a matter of Lyra being all sunshine and roses, they'd always found a way of balancing each other out, tossing the ball of skepticism about human nature from one court to the other depending on their feelings on any given day. She wasn't expecting Lyra to tell her she needed to believe in the intrinsically positive and kindhearted nature of humankind or anything of the sort, but she, at least, expected there would be some fighting back, some attempt at not lowering her arms and accepting what fate (a word she loathed) win this battle over her.

Had this always been Lyra, then? Had she'd always been a conformist to her core, in spite of every attempt she'd made at pretending she was the complete opposite? Or had the clear signs always been there, with Iris unknowingly choosing to hold on to what she'd assumed were the best, more positive sides of her personality?

Gritting her teeth, Iris ignored whatever emotions Lyra's words were tugging at in her heart, deciding she'd deal with those negative feelings when she was all alone with nothing else to worry about. Now, all she had to do was focus on the contents of her now empty pockets, commit everything to memory, and find a way of rewinding time to an exact point—the one where she'd asked her to do that.

Yes, she could go back and restart the whole dinner. Yes, she could go back and pretend she'd never cooked spicy noodles for her at all. Yes, she could go back and fix God knows how many things she'd gotten criminally wrong since first returning to the past.

And yet, she didn't.

And yet, that would have to be enough.

She got every single item correct. Though Lyra's face brightened up with excitement, thinking it was the coolest thing she'd ever witnessed, Iris failed to ignore the enlargement of the pit in her stomach, which had never been a great omen of things to come.

It would get worse. She knew it would. She just didn't know how or when.

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

the diner scene in life is strange was a lot friendlier than this one wasn't it lmao

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