Butterfly Suicide

by Loesch, Mary Ann

  “I can’t wait either,” he says. “I can’t wait to tell her how you were spying on me, how you always snoop through my stuff, what a little bitch you are.”

  “I don’t snoop through your stuff!”

  “Yeah, but mom don’t know that.”

  “Screw you! Let me loose!”

  “I don’t know. You look pretty pissed off. I had to tie you up because I was scared you were going to hurt me just like I was scared you were going to shoot me with the gun that one time.” He grins. “I bet Mom will believe that. She always believes me ‘cause she loves me best.”

  “You shot at me! You were the one with the gun. I never even touched it, you fuckin’ liar. Mom wouldn’t love you if she knew what an asshole you really are.”

  “Oh? Are you going to tell her or something?” Jude leans in close. “Well, you can try. In fact, go ahead and try.”

  “I will. I’ll tell her everything. I’ll even tell her how you hit Simone today.”

  “You will not.” He growls, punching me in the arm. “Simone is my business, not yours. You shouldn’t have been spying on us.”

  “It’s kind of hard not to when you’re shoving your tongue down her throat right outside my window.”

  “Have you ever tried to drink bleach, Stephen?” he asks, switching topics so swiftly I’m thrown off. “No? Well, I’m sure I can make that happen. I read about how you can mix a dab of bleach in with a soda and hurt someone pretty badly. It’s really easy to do, too. I mean, think about it. You pour yourself a soda, leave it on the counter, and then walk away to do something else. How easy would it be to pour some bleach in that? Then you’d never be able to speak to anyone again.”

  His eyes sparkle with madness.

  Three years ago he chased me around the house with a gun, firing it twice: once at the ceiling to scare me and then once directly at my leg. The bullet just grazed the flesh. Luckily, the noise attracted the attention of the neighbors who called the cops, but Jude forced me to take the blame, to say that I’d been fooling around with the gun. He’d whispered in my ear that he would kill me if I told the truth, that same glimmer of madness dancing in his eyes.

  So I shut up and try to calm down. My arms throb on both sides from where he has punched as hard as he can.

  Gotta calm down. He’ll get bored if I’m calm. Breathe normally. Pretend not to care. Act like him tying me up is no big deal. I pretend his bleach threat was a joke, that he wouldn’t dare do that—although from this day forward I will never take any kind of liquid from Jude.

  After a few minutes of watching me, he contents himself with drawing in his notebook. At one point, he pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and tapes it back into the book. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were whatever picture Simone made him tear out earlier. I wonder how he got it back?

  Doesn’t matter.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  Jude looks up and my blood runs cold. His eyes. They’re not normal. Yellow with a dark slit for a pupil, they focus on me.

  “What’s the matter, little brother?” he hisses.

  I jerk awake, terrified. Mom shakes my shoulder, calling out my name.

  “Here. I’ve got your medicine, Stephen.”

  My heart is racing. I gulp the pills down, wishing they could take any kind of pain away—physical or emotional. Mom runs her hand down the side of my face, her eyes dark and worried.

  “Go back to sleep,” she whispers. “You need rest.”

  Groggy from the shot earlier, I don’t want to sleep again. No more dreams. I hear a rustling noise outside the door, and for a moment, visions of my snake like brother come back to me.

  “Someone here?” I mutter. “Is Jude home?”

  “No,” she says. “Jude is gone, baby. Go to sleep.”

  I don’t want to, but the drugs in my system are too strong.

  The darkness of sleep pulls me back under.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MONICA

  It is Saturday night and I’m home. Sweeny Todd is on the television in my room, and I let Johnny Depp and Alan Rickman lull me with their version of the song Pretty Women as I camp out on my bed for the evening. I’ve turned the lights off, preparing to be fully immersed in the magic of musical theatre.

  Simone would never have approved. Even though I’m only a freshmen and I don’t have a car, Simone would have said I was being socially lazy or something. She had lots of older friends who could drive when she was my age, and I don’t remember her ever being home on the weekend unless my parents ordered her to.

  I don’t mind. Not really. But the next four years of high school are sure to be long ones.

  Unless my parents get a divorce.

  I bet they would move away from Rockingham, and since I’m underage, I’d have to go with one of them. But who? Would I have to pick between them? Or does the court decide that? What if one of them chooses to go to some God forsaken place where there is no Internet service or cell phones?

  “Monica?” Daddy’s voice echoes up the stairs to me from the living room. “You up there?”

  “Yeah!” I shout back before pausing Johnny Depp in mid song and going out of my room to the top of the stairs. Daddy stands at the bottom, his expression calm. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve got to go out,” he says. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Did you tell Mom?” I ask. “Does she know you’re leaving?”

  It’s a trick question because Mom has yet to come home. Wherever she was going when I saw her did not include returning here. What could she be doing? Actually, I have a pretty good idea what she might be doing and I don’t like it. In fact, the thought of her and Coach cozied up together in some love nest makes me nauseous.

  “She’s out, too,” he says, but doesn’t meet my eye. “I think she’ll be back soon.”

  “Will she?” I ask. “How do you know? Have you talked to her?”

  Non-committal, he shrugs but doesn’t say anything else. However, he gets out of there in a hurry.

  There is a deep silence, almost as if the house is holding its breath, but before I can enjoy the quiet, become a part of it, the sound of another car and the squeak of the garage door opening make my senses go on alert.

  Mother is home. She couldn’t have timed her arrival more perfectly.

  I go downstairs, ready to confront her.

  I will be tough and not listen to her explanations of why she is cheating on my father. No matter how she begs and pleads, I will not lie to Daddy or try to keep her secret.

  “Monica.” She stumbles in to the kitchen from the garage, grabbing the door for support, and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “What are you doing there?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  Bleary, Mom squints at me. Her eye makeup is smeared, reminding me of a sad clown, and she smells like a restroom after someone has thrown up.

  “Waiting? Oh, that’s nice,” she lisps. “I need to take a quick shower, baby.”

  “Where have you been all day?”

  “Went someplace with a friend. You know, girl’s day out and all.” She staggers over to the counter, her bra strap sliding down her arm. “Did you eat supper?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t Daddy feed you?”

  “No. He just left.”

  “Just like a man.” She throws her purse down. “Only thinking about himself.”

  “I saw you this morning.”

  She turns, confused.

  “Yeah,” I continue. “I saw you outside of the motel. With that man.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “He was kissing you.” I say it louder than I mean to. “And you liked it.”

  Mom’s chest rises and falls, but other than that, she is very still. Then her expression—all the motherliness I usually imagine is there—dries up, and she shrugs, letting any pret
ense of denial drop.

  “You were going to find out sooner or later,” she says, flatly. “Better you know now.”

  Cold seeps into me. I feel every ounce of warmth drain away. My heartbeat is loud in my ears. “What if Daddy finds out?”

  “He knows.”

  “What? How long has he known?”

  “At least two weeks.” She gets a glass and reaches into her purse to pull out a bejeweled flask. With trembling hands, she pours what is left in it and then takes a big sip. “Or maybe it’s been three weeks. I can’t keep track.”

  “And he doesn’t care?”

  “Are you that blind, sweetie?” she asks with an exasperated laugh. “Have you really not noticed what’s going on between me and your father?”

  I’m stung by her bitterness, by the implication that I’m stupid or something. What is it that I’m supposed to have realized?

  “C’mon, Monica!” She plops down in a chair at the kitchen table, her manicured nails clicking against the granite top. “Well, let me tell you what’s going on. Nothing. Nothing new. Your father stopped loving me a long time ago.”

  “Don’t say that.” Tears spring up in my eyes and I swallow hard. “That’s not true.”

  “Sweetie, you’ve just got to grow up about a few things. Simone was a bit more mature than you were at this age. She caught on pretty quick to the situation. It’s a wonder she didn’t tell you.”

  “What do you mean? How long has this been going on?”

  “For the last three years.” Mom sighs. “Your father and I have been at odds that long.”

  “You’ve been sleeping with that coach for three years?”

  “No. No! Rob is a new tryst. I just meant that for the last three years, your father and I have had an arrangement.”

  “What sort of arrangement?” But even as I say it, I know. They’ve been...dating...other people.

  “Your dad and I….well, things just weren’t working out between us,” she says. “We wanted to wait to get a divorce until you and Simone were older.”

  “So you’ve been...sleeping around...for three years?!”

  “I do not sleep around!” My mother stands. Whenever she is angry, she uses her hands to accent whatever point she is trying to make. Right now, it looks like they are going to fly off. “I am not a slut, Monica! I just date from time to time. You’re old enough to understand how the birds and the bees work.”

  “Yeah, I remember when we had the talk.”

  A slow and embarrassing conversation, she’d told me how important it was to wait until you were married before you slept with someone. At the time, I’d promised to never even think about getting naked with a guy until I was at least thirty-five. But here was my mother telling me how she slept around and that my father knew! Unbelievable.

  “I remember when we had the talk, too. You were completely clueless about what goes on between a man and a woman.” Mom rolled her eyes. “You turned ten shades of red. It was so cute.”

  Cute? What is she going on about? What is wrong with her?

  “Is...is daddy seeing other people, too?” I am on the verge of crying. The whole world is changing around me and I am struck by the sense that nothing will ever be the same again. The people in my life are all frauds.

  “Your father? Seeing other people?” Momma sneers, her face pinched with ugliness. “If you only knew…”

  She swings her arm, about to tell me all of my father’s sins, but knocks her glass to the floor. It splinters into tiny fragments and liquor streaks across the cold tile. The scent of alcohol is sharp.

  “Goddammit!” Mom curses and leaps up to grab a paper towel from the roll we have on the counter. “Would you look at that?”

  Her concern over spilled alcohol is more upsetting to her than her broken marriage. I steal away, unable to be around her any longer. Upstairs, I close my bedroom door and lock it, not bothering to turn on the lights. I catch sight of Johnny Depp’s face still frozen in song and I can’t bear to watch anymore. In fact, I may never be able to watch Sweeny Todd again without thinking about the time my mother told me she was sleeping around with other men.

  I pull out my contraband cigarettes from under the bed. Stolen on a dare from Simone, I’ve been smoking them a little at a time. It’s not something I enjoy doing, but it is something rebellious and right now, that’s what I want. Rebellion. Even if it’s a small one.

  The window of my room slides open, making it easy to crawl on the roof where I light up. This is the same spot where Stephen and I shared a kiss on Friday night. The thought causes me to inhale too much and a coughing fit comes over me. I imagine myself falling off the roof from coughing so hard, and then think, what would it matter? It’s not like my mom would notice.

  I take a slower drag, and this time it doesn’t make me cough.

  In and out. Just breathe slowly. Try to process. Try to think.

  I must be the most oblivious kid in the world. How could I not know what was happening in my own house? How could I not see that my parents were in such a mess?

  I lie back on the roof and stare at the stars. Had Simone really known about our parents? Why didn’t she tell me? Who else knows? Is my family the talk of the town for a whole new reason?

  My mother…I’d never seen her so ugly. I don’t mean her appearance, but her tone, the way she spoke about my father, the plumes of scorn she’d emitted because I hadn’t been savvy enough to pick up on her sex life.

  And no matter what she thinks, it’s not like I don’t understand sex. I haven’t done it yet, but I’m not a Little Miss Goody Good either. Stephen is not my first kiss.

  My cell phone buzzes in my pocket.

  I almost don’t answer, but thoughts of Stephen pop into my head. Sure enough, the Caller ID shows his mother’s name. He must be calling from home. I’m so relieved, suddenly desperate for someone to talk to.

  “Hello? Stephen?”

  “No, dear, it’s Stephen’s mother, Karen.” Her voice is stiff and polite on the other end. “I apologize for bothering you, but I need to talk to you.”

  “Is Stephen okay?”

  “He’s fine. He’s sleeping right now. The doctor gave him some strong pain pills.”

  “Good. He looked terrible today.”

  “Well, two broken ribs are painful.” Mrs. Valley pauses a moment, taking her time to get down to the real reason she’s calling. I know it’s not to give me a status update on her son. “You don’t know how he got them, do you?”

  “Some boys jumped him last night.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  Was she serious? Did she not know how the other kids viewed Stephen because of what Jude had done? Could she be that oblivious?

  I take a deep breath and plunge forward with partial truths.

  “Because...because he was on my street.”

  Rapid fire, she rattles off questions.

  “Who were they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why was he on your street? What reason would he have to be there?”

  “I’m not sure. We are...partners in our Theatre class. Maybe he wanted to talk about that.”

  “That late at night? And why are you partners?”

  “The teacher paired us up. Mr. March is new in town. I don’t think he knew about...stuff.”

  “I see.” Her voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear it. “That must have been tough on you.”

  “We’re supposed to do a scene together in class.”

  “And...your father...your parents are okay with that?”

  “Not really.”

  Another long pause.

  “Monica, I’m sure you’re a nice girl,” Mrs. Valley begins. It reminds me of the way my own mother would dismiss kids who came to the door to see if I could play. If Mom didn’t like them, she would start in just the same way. I’m sure you’re a nice kid, but….. “It’s just that our two families have had such
a tough time lately. I don’t want to bring more trouble on you or create even more bad feeling.”

  Bad feeling? I almost laugh. I don’t think those words sum up the way my parents feel about her oldest boy killing my sister.

  “It would also bring a lot of unwanted attention to Stephen.” Her voice softens. “He’s all I have left and I have to do right by him. He wants out of here, you know. He wants to get out of Rockingham, and I mean to find a way for that to happen, but it might take time. The last thing he needs is to be picked on or bullied even more.”

  “Mrs. Valley, I would never want to do anything to hurt Stephen,” I say.

  “Honey, you have no idea what could happen if you work on this project with my son. If they will beat him up for walking down your street, what will they do if he does a school project with you? Think about it.”

  She hangs up, but her words ring in my ears for hours after wards.

  What could happen to Stephen if we partner up? A multitude of things. And even if I say to leave him alone, would that be enough to stop the Derek Andrews of the world who feel entitled to be jerks?

  And then there’s the attraction problem. I can’t deny how I feel, how kissing him makes my heart dance and every nerve ending in my body tingle. Are these things just amplified because of our situation? Are we only drawn together because of circumstance? I don’t know for sure, but spending time with him, learning about who he really is—these are things I want to explore.

  But…it can’t happen. How would we handle everyone’s reaction? Would my friends stop talking to me? I try to imagine going through the ostracizing Stephen has. The thought is scary. And even though I’m pissed at both of them right now, what would my parents think? Am I being disrespectful to Simone?

  Mrs. Valley is right. The pain of that realization almost knocks me off the roof in its intensity. I clutch the windowsill, trying to make sense of it all, trying not to be so damn selfish.

  I need to let Stephen go. Not just because it would put us both under the microscope of gossip, but also because it could be detrimental to his health. Seriously detrimental. I wanted answers about my sister and Jude, but not if it’s going to put Stephen in harm’s way.