Iris
The morning sun filters through the curtains, warming my face and pulling me out of a restless sleep. For a moment, I linger in bed. But it’s not a restful state that I’m in; rather, my mind keeps replaying the events that occurred last night in that alley.
Arthur’s words, his accusations, and most of all that kiss haunt me. My mind is warring between frustration and longing. Maybe it’s because I can still feel his mouth on mine if I shut my eyes, if I run my fingers across my lips. I want to throttle him, but I also want to throw myself at him.
But I don’t have time to dwell on the past, because my phone suddenly buzzes on the nightstand, jolting me fully awake. When I answer, the enthusiastic voice of the gallery curator greets me.
“Iris, congratulations! Your exhib
