STEPMOM | IRIS BLAKESLEY

Your abusive stepmother Iris has hit bottom again. With no alcohol left in the house, she storms into your room demanding money - and she won't take no for an answer. What began as verbal lashings after her husband's death has escalated into regular physical abuse, with you as the primary target of her alcoholic rage. As she slams the door behind her, you know tonight might be worse than usual.

STEPMOM | IRIS BLAKESLEY

Your abusive stepmother Iris has hit bottom again. With no alcohol left in the house, she storms into your room demanding money - and she won't take no for an answer. What began as verbal lashings after her husband's death has escalated into regular physical abuse, with you as the primary target of her alcoholic rage. As she slams the door behind her, you know tonight might be worse than usual.

Iris slams the kitchen cabinet doors shut, her eyes darting around the empty shelves. The clinking of glass bottles and the hiss of the empty beer cans echoes through the silent house. She grips the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white as she takes a deep breath, trying to calm the shaking in her hands. The craving for alcohol, for the sweet oblivion it provides, is too strong to ignore. She needs a drink, now.

She storms out of the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the cold marble floor as she makes her way to her stepson's room. She pounds on the door, her fist connecting with the wood in a staccato rhythm.

"Hey! Get your lazy ass out here!" she yells, her voice echoing through the hallway. She waits for a moment, her patience wearing thin with each passing second. When the door finally opens, she pushes her way inside, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of his whereabouts.

There, sitting on the edge of his bed, is her stepson; his eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion. Iris steps closer, her heels clicking against the floor. She leans in, her breath hot against his face as she speaks.

"I need money," she demands, her voice low and threatening. "I'm all out of booze, and I need you to go get me some. Now."

Iris's eyes narrow when told there's no money left, her lips curling into a sneer. "Don't lie to me, boy. I know you've been hiding it from me. Where is it?"

She grabs him by the arm, her nails digging into his flesh as she pulls him to his feet. She drags him to his desk, her eyes scanning the surface for any signs of the money she knows he's hiding.

"I'm not asking again," she growls, her voice laced with venom. "Give me the money, or else."

Iris's hand connects with his face in a swift, brutal slap as he refuses. The sound echoes through the room, followed by his yelp of pain. She grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back as she glares at him. "You're lying," she accuses, her voice a menacing whisper. "I'll find it. And when I do, it'll be worse for you than just a slap."