Butterfly Girl

by Rona Jameson

  His demeanor is meant for me to drop my guard and maybe do or say something to him I wouldn’t have done usually. However, I have no plans to completely let my guard down around him. After all, this man obviously worships the Reverend.

  “I’ll make sure he knows you followed his instruction.” I reach for the doorknob. “Is it okay to go now? We only get twenty minutes for break?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  My feet can’t carry me away from the classroom and Mr. Bradshaw quickly enough. It’s such a relief to get outside and into the warm sun that I lift my face and close my eyes unaware of the eyes on me. A hiss from over my shoulder distracts me and my eyes snap open. That’s when I see them—Alice and her posse, and the guys they hang out with. They stand around the yard whispering while they stare at me. Nervousness washes through me as another hiss, this time louder, comes from over my shoulder.

  “Wren! Over here.”

  Glaring at the others, I hold my head up high and dash to the corner where I heard Rafael’s voice. The moment I’m out of sight, Rafael takes my hand and quickly pulls me around the building to the tool shed. The wooden building smells of oil and mulched grass from the lawn mower that has been used recently. Two lawn chairs are open at one end and it looks like someone has already taken advantage of the secluded spot. “I wonder if this is what’s called a man shed,” I muse.

  “Yes, well, I’m not sure the Reverend would be happy to discover this little set up.” Rafael waggles his brows and lifts up a batch of magazines. My eyes pop wide at the sight of the naked woman on the cover. Rafael laughs. “And, I think a ‘man shed’ is one term for this.” He snickers and waves his arms around before he shoves the magazines back under one of the chairs. “The other—”

  “Don’t you dare say it out loud!” I gingerly sit in one of the chairs, and when I make sure it can take my weight, I lean back and place my backpack on my lap.

  A soft smile teases his lips as he sits in the other chair—the one with the naughty magazines beneath. Rafael reaches into his bag and pulls out a sandwich bag. “I’m hungry. Dad makes my lunch because he knows I wouldn’t eat until I got home otherwise.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  “Because it takes forever for me to get up in the morning. I don’t even have time for breakfast. I struggle to get to sleep early, so I stay up drawing. I like to read, too. It settles the turmoil inside of me.” Rafael eats in silence and refuses to meet my curious gaze.

  17

  RAFAEL

  “WHAT DO YOU READ?” she asks, giving me a sidelong glance.

  “Books,” I mumble around a bite of my sandwich.

  “Funny boy! What type of books?”

  I slowly chew and see her growing impatience, so I reply, “Paranormal.” I swallow my bite down with some water. “I like the Hunger Games series.” Sadness suddenly hits me. “They were the last books my mom bought me.” I become too interested in my sandwich while I try to hide the emotion my memory brought with it.

  “I think that is really nice. You have something your mom bought you because she knew you liked the stories. They were bought with love. I don’t have anything of my mom’s, other than the old wooden desk in my bedroom.” She shrugs. “The Reverend said it came from Mom’s side of the family, but I’m not really sure about anything anymore.” She stares off, and adds, “I’ve read The Hunger Games, well, the first book that is. The Reverend gave it to me. I don’t think he realizes just what the book is about, otherwise, he’d have burned it.”

  “You have spirit, Wren,” I say quietly. “Don’t let the Reverend take it away from you.”

  “I won’t,” she sadly agrees, not looking as though she’ll be able to keep that promise.

  It’s nice just sitting with her. She doesn’t fill the void with senseless chatter. I know she is beside me and that is good enough. Every now and again a slight blush creeps onto her face. I know she’s attracted to me and I don’t think she knows what to do about it. It’s obvious she has no experience with boys, and the way she looks at me makes my body hot and achy. I can feel a deep throb behind my zipper. She’s so innocent and that scares me. Even now, a deep red blush covers her cheeks while she keeps her face averted. It isn’t the only thing my eyes notice as I watch her, and maybe I shouldn’t have stared for as long as I have.

  I briefly close my eyes from the sight of her, but I have to look again.

  She is beautiful.

  Her breathing has become heavy and I don’t know what to do.

  That’s a first.

  She meets my eyes before quickly looking away. I want to capture her face in my hands and turn her toward me so I can taste her sweet lips. Instead, I offer her a piece of apple, which Dad cuts for me each day. He does it to make sure I eat some sort of fruit daily. I hate biting into an apple.

  I grin at the surprise on her face. “Enjoy.”

  She turns and hooks my gaze with hers—we’re both unable to look away. I caress her face with my dark gaze and swallow hard as though a piece of apple has gotten stuck in my throat. I’m happy at her reaction—confused and frustrated too. No matter what is happening between us, I have to make sure the Reverend never finds out. He won’t like it and if he can’t get to me, he’ll get to Wren. That isn’t acceptable.

  Wren suddenly starts coughing and patting her chest. I rub her back as I sit forward, and then pass her my water. “Drink.”

  She takes a deep pull and only slightly coughs. “I forgot to not breathe too deeply in here. I got a strong smell of oil.” She coughs again. “Gross.” She screws up her pert nose. “It really doesn’t smell good in here.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s the only place I could think of where we wouldn’t be watched.” I shrug. “Didn’t mean to nearly kill you.”

  “I’m fine now.” She becomes solemn and looks at me, so I raise a brow in question. “What do you think about the journal?” she asks.

  My jaw clenches. “I think it’s a load of crap.”

  “Me too,” she whispers. “I sensed something was off this morning.” She pauses. “What do you think is going on?”

  “I don’t know, but have you looked inside the book?” I reach for my copy and flip it open. “There is some crap about obedience and punishment on the first page. We have to sign our names under it saying we agree. The rest of the book has printed lines, with sections for good behavior and bad behavior. There is also a space for parents to sign after each entry.” I toss the book, satisfied when I hear it clunk on the lawnmower before tumbling to the floor. “This is bullshit.”

  Full of frustration in more ways than one, I start pacing in front of Wren. I feel like a caged lion, but it’s not because the journal affects me. I’ll write whatever shit the Reverend wants to see, with Dad’s help, but what about everyone else in the school?

  The journals, and what are expected from us is far too much. From what Dad has been told, the Reverend demands obedience, from the girls especially. He’d been responsible for the marriages of underage girls in Amarillo, despite what little evidence they could find to prove it. Dad is positive he has the same plans in Port Michael. One of my worries after Peter Wild had visited the Reverend’s house and looked at Wren, is that the Reverend is using Wren to demand loyalty from Wild. Will the man let Wren be taken by Wild, though? That is a burning question. I hope not, but from what I’ve heard about the Reverend, I wouldn’t put it past him. Wild, although, a friend of the Reverend’s, likes to do what he wants, when he wants. Dad thinks Wild has his own agenda. I certainly believe the Reverend does too.

  Wondering about the Reverend brings my gaze back to Wren, and her beautiful eyes swim with unshed tears. The moment I spot them, she blinks them away. I drop into a crouch in front of her and rest my hands on her knees. “Something bigger is going on, Wren. You have to see that.”

  “I know. This feeling in the pit of my stomach won’t go away. It’s as though some unconscious part of me is aware of what is about to happen, and it won
’t let me settle down.” She grips my hands with hers, and asks, “Does your father know? Is that why the Reverend doesn’t like him?”

  I desperately want to tell Wren everything, but, at the moment, I know I can’t tell her. Not only have I promised my father, but I’m not sure Wren would be able to carry on as normal if she knew what her father was capable of. She has a good idea on a personal level. However, she has no clue about his past. It would be written all over her expressive face.

  “My father is glad to be out of the city.” It isn’t a lie. “I got in a lot of trouble in the city, Wren. I was mixed up with the wrong crowd and kept getting arrested,” I admit, and lean against the door, my head back so I had a clear view of the cobwebs on the ceiling. “I’m not proud of it. For months I wasn’t in a good place. I eventually started getting better, but then they tried to pull me back into the group. So, we moved out here.” I shrug. “My father will laugh his ass off when I show him the journal.” I smile. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t make me sit with him while we made up shit to go in it.”

  “I wish I could do that,” Wren says. “The journal will have been one-hundred-percent his decision, which means he’ll expect me to have it filled before he gets home each evening.”

  We hold eye contact until the bell rings for the next period. Wren takes a step toward the door, but I don’t move out of the way. I reach up and brush a lock of hair over her shoulder and then caress her cheek.

  Her skin turns a beautiful rosy shade at my touch and there’s a slight tremble in her hands. I caress her delicate neck with a finger and watch as she nervously licks her lips. I cup her jaw and tilt her face up to mine. I whisper softly, “I’m always here for you, Wren. If you ever need sanctuary, come to me.” I kiss her forehead and step into her body. She sighs at the full body contact, and the groan that releases from my mouth surprises us both. My hands reach for her hips and I pull her in close. “We need to get to class.”

  “Oh!” She blinks hard and I chuckle, letting her go. She scrambles and collects her bag before she dashes past me into the bright sunlight.

  “Wren?” I call.

  She glances over her shoulder.

  “We have a date on your roof later,” I whisper, and dash off in front of her.

  18

  WREN

  ON MY WAY around the front of the school, the sound of an engine draws my attention along the driveway. A brown UPS truck moves slowly toward the school building. I frown. I don’t remember ever seeing a delivery truck in town.

  In fact, as far back as I remember, no delivery truck has been allowed in town. I’ve seen plenty of UPS trucks at the church where deliveries usually take place. The packages will then get delivered to the relevant person.

  “Don’t you”—Mr. Bradshaw’s angry words startle me, and I drop my book bag—“have a class to go to?”

  Collecting my bag from the ground, I turn as Mr. Bradshaw, followed by four teachers, make their way to the truck. Mr. Bradshaw pauses and looks from me to the truck and back again. “You better go inside, Wren. You don’t want the Reverend to know you were late for class.”

  I sigh heavily at the same old line. The Reverend has always been used against me. Giving one last glance to the UPS truck, I enter the school building.

  The Reverend uses me to set an example to others. Oh, look at my obedient daughter. What utter nonsense. The words “disobey” and “obey” grate on my last nerve.

  Annoyed and feeling unsettled, I stride into the classroom with confidence, and everyone stares. I’m tired of everything—the stares, the whispers—but most of all, I’m tired of my life in Port Michael.

  It isn’t legal the way I’m treated and punished. The call I’d once made to child services had cost me three nights in the basement. Because when he wanted to and put in a real effort with his appearance, the Reverend could be charming and have the ladies falling at his feet. A long time ago, I thought he was my handsome daddy, with his sandy blond hair and strong arms to carry me in. I soon changed my mind about that. He’d certainly charmed the pants off the stuck-up woman who had been given my call to investigate. She’d been all smiles and flirty with the Reverend, who had sweet-talked his way into a good report.

  One of these days I’ll get my own back.

  Mr. Bradshaw walks inside the classroom with two large boxes on a wheeled carrier. Guess he replaced our second period teacher too as he’s not in here. I’d be lying if I said my curiosity hadn’t been piqued, along with the rest of our class. We all look expectantly at the front, and as Mr. Bradshaw stands and looks over us, I get that funny feeling in my belly again. Not moving, I stay frozen in my chair as the boxes are placed on the floor and opened.

  “To make the school look good, the church has decided to provide uniforms for the pupils.”

  My heart sinks to my toes, and I’m fairly sure my blood cells follow as the color drains from my face. Others glance around the room and I try not to notice the eyes lingering on me. It’s their way of saying they blame me for all this. It worries me that all this change is happening, and on the same day.

  I notice Mr. Bradshaw staring in Rafael’s direction, so I cast my eyes over to him and notice he’s shot his hand up in the air for attention. His slouched position and the ruffled look make me want to smile. My heart certainly turns over at the sight of him. The moment his words leave his mouth, I cringe. “Are our parents aware of what is happening today?”

  “Yes, except your father is not. He isn’t a member of the church, so he wouldn’t have been informed.”

  “Does that mean I don’t have to wear one? Because, as you can see, I have my own.”

  “Biker uniform is not a school uniform, so as such, we have a uniform with your name on it, Mr. DeLacroix.” At that, Mr. Bradshaw tosses Rafael a package, which he catches on reflex. The items inside look navy blue and red.

  Rafael scowls and places the package to one side of his desk. He has no interest and is angry. I feel sick as I watch Mr. Bradshaw sort out the uniforms into neat piles on the desks at the front of the room. When he’s ready, he indicates for the students at those desks to pass the packages back. I take the one offered to me with trembling hands. Whatever it is for the girls, ours are a deep red in color. I stare blindly at it and want this day to be over with. Nothing is right about today. Every…single…thing is wrong. First the journals, and now the uniforms. I can’t help but feel like there is a message in it all for me. That the Reverend is telling me something. I’m just not sure what it is.

  A school uniform isn’t the end of the world, I try to reason silently. Tons of schools have them and they can actually look nice. If only there wasn’t a rock in my belly telling me this is all wrong. The uniforms haven’t been intended to smarten us all up, it’s more to keep us under their thumb in some way.

  I tune out Mr. Bradshaw’s lecture and hope he isn’t telling us anything important. My mind won’t let me listen when it’s so full of panic. I know what is happening isn’t right, but, at seventeen, how can I do anything to stop it? Who will I go to for help?

  Throughout the rest of the school day, I keep feeling Rafael’s gaze on me, but I don’t glance over at him. I feel ashamed that today’s changes are somehow all connected to me. The Reverend is my father and it makes me sick knowing he’s responsible for the new…regime. I don’t know what else to call it. Regime sounds more right than wrong, and when I’m leaving school, the last straw for me today is watching the computers being removed from the building. They pile them up inside a black van while the Reverend stands and watches.

  His eyes narrow when he spots me, but they noticeably darken when Rafael appears next to me. The Reverend’s body tightens, and as he turns toward me, Rafael runs down the steps at the front of the school. I hold my breath wondering what the Reverend will do. As luck would have it, he does nothing, but indicates with his head to head home.

  Tears run down my face and my breathing becomes heavy as a darkness settles inside of
me. I can’t understand what has happened to suddenly warrant the changes that have been made. It’s as though a plan had been formed and suddenly implemented.

  Going home across the back fields from school, I feel totally let down with everything and everyone who is supposed to be important in my life. Then I remember Rafael and the heat between us during break. He’s becoming important to me, and he certainly hasn’t let me down—not yet anyway. However, I feel that in my upside-down world, he is the only one I can trust and that he will always come for me when I need him.

  THE REVEREND ASKS me to try my uniform on for him after dinner. The material of the dress is thin and made of soft cotton. The hem brushes mid-calf, and as I turn in a circle in front of the mirror in the bathroom, I realize with horror that I’m too exposed. My cleavage shows, and when I stand a certain way, you can see my white panties. I frown at myself wondering why we’re expected to wear revealing clothing. This can’t be real. This has to be a mistake. There is no way the Reverend will let me wear anything like this in public. I can’t go downstairs looking like this.

  I dash back into my bedroom and toss off the dress, then I quickly change into dark-colored tights and a stretchy tank top in the same dark blue color. I tug the dress back over my head and dart back into the bathroom, checking I look presentable and nothing private shows. To my relief, my body will remain a secret.

  “Wren,” The Reverend shouts. “I haven’t got all night.”

  Grinding my teeth together, I walk downstairs. He waits in the kitchen with his arms folded tightly in front of him, and his chin tucked into his chest. His eyes lift first as he looks at me, and then his whole body seems to relax, and he smiles.