Bleed No More:

INT. RAFE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Iris and Rafe sit at the foot of his bed. Rafe, anxious about the impending intervention, picks at the dying skin on his palms.

RAFE

Iris. I know you’re still doing it.

IRIS

You have eyes. You see all of me. So?

RAFE

(huffs) You’re not downplaying this. Not this.

Heat bubbles through Iris’s voice.

IRIS

Didn’t you tell me once that me doing this made me attractive to you? Made you realize I had trauma and that gave me substance? Am I not doing it for you anymore, then?

RAFE

Iris, stop—

IRIS

What was the point of holding me, kissing me, telling me my damage made me beautiful, if you’re not gonna put up with the reality of what my damage does to me?

RAFE

Trauma doesn’t make you helpless! Making yourself bleed because of it is a choice, and it’s hurting me too now.

IRIS

(scoffs) What is love without blood? Didn’t you say that? Guess all you’ve said before was bullshit.

Iris shoots off the bed and tries to stomp out of the bedroom, but Rafe grabs her wrist. Iris struggles, but Rafe refuses to let go.

RAFE

Iris! Iris, wait! I’m not… you know my words don’t always land properly. Please, listen.

IRIS

If you’re just gonna find some other bullshit to—

RAFE

No, I promise. Just, sit down.

Rafe lets go of her wrist, to give her the choice to stay or leave. Iris, after a beat, deflates and sits down.

Rafe lifts his electric guitar from its case by his desk, plugs in, the sits on the floor in front of Iris.

RAFE (CONT’D)

I wrote this… this song, to tell you what I really want. How I really feel.