Butterfly

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “And yet…she’s with them now.” Reese stands up and crosses the room, sending a gust of cold air to surge in and wake me up when he opens the door and turns to face me. “Do you think her mind will wait while you heal before you save her? Do you think you’ll be collecting your Caterpillar when you finally find your balls and realise you do have a choice? You’ve always had a choice, idiot, and you chose her.”

  With that, Reese leaves the room, slamming the door closed behind him. Another wave of air smacks me in the cheek, and nudges the pill boxes on the sideboard. After sitting up and gripping my enflamed stomach, where the fucking bullet lodged itself in a rib, I grab the pill boxes. I tip the contents of each one onto the bed between my legs, rolling my eyes when I see Reese has left one of each—the exact dosage. He knows I tried to end it, and doesn’t trust me to take the easy way out. That makes both of us. I’ve never trusted myself.

  I toss each of the pills back with the entire jug of water next to my bed. I know they won't work so quickly, after a week going cold-turkey on the meds that keep me human, but they’re the first step. I think about what Reese said, the philosophical all-seeing asshole, and stare out the window once more. Fluttering catches my attention and I stare at the butterfly dancing around the window pane, where rainbow-coloured flowers extend up from the bed below. It’s purple, a multitude of shades in one tiny little wingspan. The outside of its wings are frayed with black, spits of darkness flicking out across its body. A single red spot ghosts the purple, staining the purity with daringness, passion, and danger. The purple is my Caterpillar—she’s always been purple to me, like Doe is pink—her beauty, her innocence reminding me of the powdery colour she calls her favowit. Caterpillar is passionate, wise, and strong. She clears my mind and calms the rage that torrents inside me every minute of every day. Purple is magic, and so is she. Purple symbolises dignity, and so does Caterpillar—after everything she’s been through she stills stands tall and proud, owning her mistakes…unlike me. The butterfly flapping around the window, butting the glass as it tries to get in—like Caterpillar did, only she won—is joined by another, a darker shade of purple with more black extending inwards. The two are joined by a third, blacker still…it’s enough. Maybe I’m seeing them. Maybe I’ve slipped from reality and I’m hallucinating. I don’t care. The three butterflies in my sight, once magical and pure, gradually darkening towards death and destruction, are enough to convince me to go to her. Paired with Reese’s revelation that I would have felt it if she was never mine, and I’m tearing from the bed, ignoring the screaming pain in my abdomen, and reaching for the clothes conveniently left on the end of my bed.

  I hate him, the smarmy cunt, but I fucking love him for leading me here. He didn’t push, he didn’t instruct, he didn’t demand; he made me see for myself and it’s the sanest I’ve felt since…well, in my entire life. When I’m dressed, hissing through the pain, I yank the door open and run. I run as fast as I can, imagining I’m streaming through the water, my legs kicking in desperation, my lungs expanding and contracting effortlessly, like I’m born to do this. My arms keep my momentum, the steel wrapped around my mind keeping it safe.

  The cold air outside the hospital hits me, forcing its way into my lungs, expanding them and tickling the scars inside that threaten to rupture. The bullet failed—I won’t let the elements win. My lungs smart, the air wheezing in as it huffs out and I skid to a halt on the driveway, the brick wall of realisation forcing me to my knees. I fall to the gravel, little stones digging into my calves, poking me with mockery like the kids at school used to during recess.

  I’m not crazy.

  You need the crazy.

  She’s yours.

  Take her back.

  She needs you.

  You need her.

  She won’t survive.

  You won't survive.

  I heave with heavy breaths, choking on the oxygen I need to stay alive as if it’s poison.

  “Cooper,” an unfamiliar voice calls through the heavy, chlorine-infused fog. “Get up.”

  I don’t know why I do it.

  I don’t know how I do it.

  I know I’m drowning…I can feel the gentle whistle of rupture, the soft hiss of air, the faint whisper of death telling me it’s coming.

  But I get up. I get to my feet and I stumble toward the voice.

  Don’t die, Butterfly.

  I’m coming…

  The gentle ebb and flow of water beneath me wakes me from my comatose state. My head is lulled, my chin to my chest, blood crusting to me from the wound on my head; it throbs with pain and fog whispers over my vision, promising concussion.

  “Caterpillar.”

  A scratchy voice makes my ears bleed, and I squeeze my eyes closed again. I don’t want to hear that voice. He told me he’ll kill me…and I hoped I was waking up to sweet, sweet death.

  “I thought you were dead,” he breathes on an emotional choke.

  “Isn’t that what you want?”

  My voice is weak, my throat dry, my soul done with purging and my body over the pain.

  “Not yet.” Gentle fingers stroke my cheek. “Not yet.”

  My breaths come heavy and slow, constricted and controlled. I look around me to see the dark shadows of midnight, and the silver sparkle of the moon above. A gust of wind surges through my hair, sending the tendrils whirling around me to whip at my face, and lick at my bare breasts. My nipples harden, and I turn my head to find my fiancé.

  “He’s on the hunt,” Griffin says, dragging both hands through his hair to smooth it back into place. “Apparently letting you go didn’t sit well with him.”

  “What?” I gasp. “Who?”

  “Cooper Jennings.”

  He’s not dead!

  Did I really believe he was?

  No, I hadn’t. I never felt it, and I knew I would. If he was dead, I knew I would feel it, and the hunger for revenge would die with him, no longer relevant.

  “He’s on the hunt?”

  “Yes. I got a call from Brad. He’s awake and looking for you.”

  “He’s alive.”

  “Yes.” Griffin smirks, tilting his head as he eyes me from head to toe.

  I shriek, shaking my head. If Cooper is on a rampage, there will be no picking or choosing, no specific targets. He’ll shoot to kill, and he’ll kill everyone in his line of sight.

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “Sure he is.” Griffin laughs.

  I yelp like a kicked puppy when he reaches out and grabs a fistful of my hair, forcing my head to face forward and look out of the misted window in front of me.

  Twinkles. Bright orange flickers of light in the distance, too close to be stars, too far to have any impact on the light around us. The lights move, up and down, up and down. When the wind blows, something blocks the twinkles, fluttering in front of them to cast shapes onto my vision like a puppet show. I’m mesmerised, fixated on the dance of light in front of me before I smell it.

  Salt.

  Cool, wet, salt.

  Keeping my head still, with no choice thanks to Griffin’s hold, I look around us. I can see a sofa to my left, partially blocked by Griffin’s body. Behind the sofa is a bunk bed, tucked away in a little alcove just a few metres away from me. To my left is a kitchen, just a small galley lined with pots and pans.

  I smell fish. I can smell the distinct aroma of salt and fish and an oil used to cook it.

  A TV crackles with electric snow at the far end of the kitchen console, and a red light flashes on the phone fixed to the wall beside it, signalling a voicemail.

  “We’re on a boat.”

  My voice leaks with the defeat I’m trying to hide. Griffin covered all angles, taking us far, far away from technological advantages, sniffer dogs, and sight. No one will see us out here. No one will know to look for us.

  No one’s looking for me anyway.

  No. Cooper is. I didn’t kill him; I shot him and he survived, like I hoped he would, and he’s
coming for me, like I prayed he would. But…he won't find me.

  “Now you understand,” Griffin says, letting me go with a smack to the back of my head. “I just felt the final lock break.”

  He rounds the chair to stand in front of me, his legs parted, arms folded in a menacing stance of domination and power.

  “You love the water so much,” he murmurs, something genuine hidden in the depths of his hatred. “No one will ever compare to something that has no regard for you in return. It’ll kill you in the end, you know.” I shudder, my breath hitching when I try to wrap my arms around myself and realise I’m bound. “It’ll become both the cause of your death, and the grave you will forever be bound to. I’m not stupid.” He kicks my calf, forcing me to look up at him with a wince. “You think I don’t feel you disappear when I fuck you? You think I don’t notice you slip away to find the man who broke you? It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I was supposed to be the hero.”

  “That would have never happened,” I breathe, shrieking when he strikes my face with the back of his hand. I don’t cower. I continue. “There was never a connection between us. You can’t submit to someone you feel nothing for. I don’t love you. I don’t even hate you. I feel nothing, and that is the only weapon I need against someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Someone you underestimated, you mean.”

  I shake my head. “No. You can’t beat me. You can kill me, sure. You can break my body, you can fry my mind until it’s nothing, but you’ll never win.”

  “I believe I already have.”

  I scoff. “No, you haven’t, and you won't. You’re going to remember me forever, Griffin. I’m always going to be the girl who refused to beg, who refused to bow…who refused to belong. You’re about to kill me because you know you’ll never succeed, and that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  “It will.” He nodded and sighed, smiling in amusement. “But what about Cooper? Death is nothing to the person crashing out of existence. Death ruins the people left behind. I’m going to let Cooper find you, when the water has stolen you and rotted your flesh. When your sanctuary has turned into your prison and stolen the beauty on that pretty little face of yours, he can have you back. He can bury his salt ravaged prisoner, his parasite-chewed prize. He can drag your bloated, wrinkled, dehydrated body from the water and know that he did this.”

  Burning tears trail down my cheeks, dripping from my jaw and onto my naked body. I shake my head, then nod. I have to not care. In a few minutes, it’ll be over. I won't have the choice over whether Cooper suffers or not, so I can’t care. I have to switch it off. I have to break from the cocoon and brandish my wings, ready to fly away from the pain. Doe will heal him. Medication will keep the pain away, his pills rejecting the images when his memories force him to see my death. He will survive. He will be okay. He will find another butterfly, and he will die a happy man. He will.

  He won’t.

  I know Cooper. I understand every crossed wire, every charred lobe that has skewed his perception of right and wrong. I love his obsessive ways, the intensity in his gaze, the aggression in his hands, and the way it all focusses on me.

  It’s always been me.

  I’ve always been his.

  “Griffin,” I sniff, licking the tears from my lips before I continue. “There has to be another way.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but the shrilling ring on the other side of the boat makes us jump and draws our attention away from each other. The red light flashes with fervour, begging to be retrieved, the call crying to be answered. Griffin knows who it is. His evil laugh joins the ring and I shudder.

  “I underestimated him.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Another slap sends my tooth through my lip, puncturing the soft flesh and instantly infusing the wound with salty air that makes my teeth snap together.

  “He had help.”

  “So someone else has his back. You know, when you’re a genuine person, with genuine intentions, who attracts and charms everyone around you, help is just a call away.”

  The phone switches to voicemail, and my body comes alive for the first time in ten days—ten agonising days without my butterfly.

  “Griffin Masters.” Cooper’s soft, deep, menacing voice fills the small space, and I'm suddenly hopeful. “You think I wouldn’t find you? You think I wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth to find my Caterpillar? Oh…” His growl makes me shudder with the hunger to watch him tear Griffin apart one skin cell at a time. “You seriously underestimate the power of a paranoid, anti-social personality.” His heavy, angry breath rasps down the phone and I stare at it, hoping he can just slide through the speaker and steal me away. I need him. The fire in my blood and the desperation in my soul needs him here, in my arms, in my mouth—in my mind, body, and soul. “I’m going to kill you, Griffin. I’m going to really fucking enjoy watching every drop of blood leak from your toxic veins and arteries. I’m going to flay you open, one inch at a time, until every slice of your soul begs for Caterpillar’s forgiveness. And then I’m going to choke her with my cock—just how she fucking likes it—and refuse her permission to give it to you. Your time is up, Griffin. You fucked me over once. You used my crazy against me and now…it’s time for me to pay you back with it.” He growls again, the animalistic lament of a predator on the prowl. “See you soon.”

  The line goes dead, and my heart thunders, falling, gliding, splitting, clenching, twisting, fluttering…Cooper is coming. He’s coming for me.

  Griffin turns to me, bending over the chair he’s tied me to, to lick the blood trickling from my lip.

  “How many strokes to a breath?” he asks.

  “Three.” I tip my chin in defiance.

  “And if there are no strokes?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He waves his hand, dismissing the idea.

  “Let me go.” I tilt my head to the side to nudge his forearm. “Let me go and I’ll make sure he doesn’t kill you. I’ll make sure you walk away from this.”

  He laughs. “He isn’t going to kill me.”

  “You’re right.” I nod. “He’s going to massacre you. He’s going to make you wish he would kill you, and then, eventually, your mind is going to kill you because you’ll give up. The weak always do.”

  With a roar, Griffin stands, turning to the kitchen counter. I don’t see it coming, but I feel the sharp stab. I don’t see him pick up the fillet knife. I don’t see the intent spark in his eyes; his evil doesn’t consume me until the blade goes in. I clamp my mouth shut, my eyes instantly bulging, sweat popping to the surface of my skin while my bones run cold. Griffin says nothing. He turns his back to me and folds his arms, leaving me bleeding out with each beat of the heart that belongs to Cooper, as a speedboat comes into view. I fixate on the white froth thrown up even in darkness, the foaming trail behind helping me count down to the end. He’s coming.

  I’ll be dead before he arrives.

  I feel his evil approach me. I feel his sickness reach out to me and ask for help. I feel his hopelessness connect with mine and I knows he sees death approaching, when he screams at whoever’s driving the boat to hurry. It’s no good.

  Blood is thicker than water.

  I’m drowning in one, while the other battles to save me.

  The whir of an engine fills the space and I swear, even in the cloud of near-death, I feel Griffin smile. He’s so fucking happy, because he knows Cooper will kill him, and he knows his death will be no victory. My death will be his biggest failure.

  “Prince Crazy is here for you, sweetheart,” he whispers, turning to me.

  I see the paleness of my skin in the darkness of his eyes. His smile tells me everything I need to know, as another wave of blood pours out over the knife and onto the netting he bound me with.

  “Ready for the main event?”

  I say nothing, knowing every move I make, every breath I take, carries
me closer to death. Even if I’m alive when Cooper climbs aboard, I won't make it back to shore and to a hospital. I keep my back straight, although it trembles against the back of the chair. I take short, shallow breaths, deep enough to keep me alive, but shallow enough to try and slow my blood pressure. I see Cooper preparing to climb onto the boat, his steel-grey eyes the epitome of devastation. I see Mike behind him, and smile. He’s on our side, and I can die knowing Cooper has someone to grieve with. He knew something wasn’t right—I knew he didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to see me after I returned home with my hero. Human intuition won here, and Mike helped Cooper become my real hero.

  They would need each other in the weeks ahead.

  I extend my fingers, reaching for Cooper while saying goodbye to them both.

  “Right on time,” Griffin sneers, before tossing my chair over the edge of the boat.

  The water takes me in with welcome arms and ripples of reunion as I crash through the surface. It holds me tight, wrapping around me, licking my wounds clean and celebrating my return with wet kisses of salty magic.

  It takes me in.

  It accepts me for all I am.

  It welcomes me home.

  Mike and I had made a plan. He tracked me down, after Griffin let something slip—making himself out to be the fucking hero. After we tracked them downwith the undetectable device in Caterpillar’s butterfly pendant, Mikedrove like a bat out of hell to get to the coast before it was too late. We stole a boat, we tore through the ocean, we made it…

  We had a plan. He would kill, and I would take the fall. It was the only way I would allow him to come with me, and I really need another pair of fucking hands.

  While he shot his boss, I would save the girl.

  We didn’t make it…

  A black wave crashes upwards, spewing bloody water onto the surface of the boat as I propel myself onto the deck on the opposite side. Mike holds the gun up, forcing Griffin to stand still. He didn’t expect two of us.