Julie's Butterfly

by Greta Milán

  Amazed at how forthcoming he was, she paused.

  “So you only take pictures of people if they don’t know they’re being photographed?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “And do these people ever find out that you’ve taken their picture?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “If a complete stranger came up to you and said, ‘Hey, I’m a photographer, and I took a wonderful picture of you while you didn’t know you were being watched,’ wouldn’t you start looking around for the nearest escape route?”

  Julie frowned. “I see your point. It would be pretty disconcerting.”

  “That’s precisely why I prefer to keep my work private,” he said. He set his cutlery aside and cleared away the remains of the meal. “We’ve still got a lot to do. Let’s get on with it.”

  “Fine,” she said and began helping to clear everything away. Julie rose and moved tentatively over to the stand, where a lamp was waiting to be photographed. As Bastian was still otherwise occupied, she stepped behind his camera. “May I?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “How does it work?” she asked.

  “Turn the dial to P for program. All the settings are saved in there.”

  Julie followed his instructions and looked through the viewfinder. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Is the camera switched on?”

  “Of course,” she replied, sounding affronted, but she checked the camera again to make sure.

  Bastian came over to Julie and stopped right in front of her. She was suddenly aware of the unexpected warmth that radiated from his body. A tingling sensation ran through her from head to toe. Unsettled, she took a step back to create more space between them.

  Apparently unaware of her reaction, Bastian inspected his camera, then removed the lens cap without comment.

  “You didn’t mention that,” said Julie in her own defense.

  As Bastian returned to the table, Julie thought his movements were a little too deliberately casual to be convincing, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

  She looked through the lens and centered it on the lamp. It automatically focused. The two familiar beeps were audible confirmation. She pressed the shutter button. The picture was transferred directly to Bastian’s laptop, which he had placed on the floor by the tripod. She studied it and was satisfied to see that she had just taken a usable catalogue image.

  “Is that all?” she asked in amazement.

  Bastian nodded.

  Julie took another photo, then grinned at Bastian. “This is fun.”

  He smiled. “I know.”

  Julie snapped a few more shots of the hideous blue floral lamp before moving it over to the table. She absently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she examined the lamp.

  “What on earth can I write about this abomination?” she murmured to herself. She was so focused on the lamp that she was unaware of Bastian’s presence until he moved. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm her racing heart.

  “How about this? Exquisite lampshade with hand-embroidered Baroque flower appliqué on a high-quality base of the finest pure-white porcelain,” he suggested.

  Julie giggled. “That’s really much too nice for this hideous thing.” She went to her laptop and swiftly typed in Bastian’s proposed caption. “If I’d known you were capable of coming up with such creative descriptions for these gruesome things, I’d have roped you in sooner.”

  “It’s not so gruesome,” Bastian remarked, amused, as he returned to his place behind the camera. “It’s not as bad as that vase with the contorted cat.”

  “Or the Mayan statue,” recalled Julie with a shudder. “That certainly would have gotten an F in art class.”

  Bastian scratched his chin thoughtfully. “And what grade shall we give this shining example?”

  “Let’s see . . . C minus,” she said, grinning.

  For the first time, Bastian returned her smile.

  CHAPTER 9

  “You can’t be serious.” Julie stopped short and stared at Bastian suspiciously. “Fight Club is a masterpiece!”

  Bastian grinned from behind the camera. “I swear I haven’t seen it.”

  “How can you claim to be a movie buff?”

  “I never did.”

  “Oh, really? A man who can quote movies from so many different genres without batting an eyelid is someone who knows his stuff.” Her eyes sparkled as she watched Bastian.

  It all began with a small jewelry box that looked like a miniature version of the Ark of the Covenant. Julie had opened the box and looked wide-eyed at Bastian.

  “ ‘Don’t look at it, no matter what happens!’ ” she warned him. He looked at her with an annoyed expression on his face but broke into laughter when Julie pulled the box out. He knew she was quoting Indiana Jones from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

  “We’re only missing the staff,” he remarked drily.

  Julie giggled.

  That was the start of a lively debate over the best movies in cinematic history, one that had been liberally peppered with quotes from the films. To Julie’s surprise, Bastian could hold his own in any genre—until they got to Fight Club.

  “Is that everything?” asked Bastian, looking around.

  “Yes, we’re done.”

  Bastian began to unplug his camera from the cables. “So what’s Fight Club about?”

  “Hmm. It’s about a lonely man who convincingly illustrates the materialistic nature of society. He has everything, yet nothing. He ultimately goes to pieces for that reason,” explained Julie as she sealed up the last box. “One day he meets Tyler, and they form this fight club together. He uses the pain and the fights as a kind of safety valve, as a form of self-help.”

  Bastian stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “Self-help?” he asked.

  “Feeling you’re alive through an awareness of your vulnerability and ultimately your mortality.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense to me.”

  “People have strong but conflicting feelings about it. Some find it brutal and say it glorifies violence. Others see it as a deeply critical work that reflects the struggle against mainstream values.” She placed the box on the shelf and turned back to him. “The acting is excellent,” she added, leaning easily against the table. “I highly recommend it.”

  “I’ll make a note of it.” Bastian rolled up the screen and dismantled the legs, then looked up at her. “I’ve never met anyone who knows so much about movies. How do you know all that?”

  Julie shrugged. “No idea. Some people love books, others love football. I just really like to watch a good movie.” She took a step forward. “Wait, I’ll give you a hand.”

  “No, thanks. I’m more or less done,” he said. He slid the screen legs into one another and winced. He swore under his breath.

  “Everything OK?” asked Julie.

  His expression darkened. “Excuse me a moment,” he said stiffly and left the room.

  Julie watched him uneasily. After laughing so much over the past few hours, she’d let herself feel a fragile sense of hope, at least that they’d see each other again.

  But when he returned, he was like a different man. The old coldness was back in his eyes, and his bearing was tense. He packed away his last few bits of equipment and carried them out to his car without a word. She was afraid that he was about to drive off without even saying good-bye, but after what felt like an eternity, she heard his footsteps in the corridor.

  She stood by the small table and zipped her bag shut.

  “Have you got everything?” she asked when he appeared in the doorway.

  “All done.”

  “Good.” Julie fiddled nervously with the keys in her hand. “I thought maybe we could go get a drink or see a movie.”<
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  He stared at her but said nothing.

  “I don’t want to give you any false hope,” he said eventually. “You’re a really nice girl.”

  Nice? Julie felt nauseous. How stupid could she be? Hadn’t he made his feelings quite clear at the opening and in her apartment?

  Bastian shrugged apologetically.

  “Take care . . . Julietta.” And with that, he turned and made for the door.

  Julie stared after him. The gentle way he’d spoken her name made her doubt his words against her better judgment. And the sadness in his eyes had betrayed him as he turned away.

  She watched him as he withdrew stiffly. His hands were clenched into fists, the black gloves stretching tightly over his fingers like fetters he was trying to break.

  She listened to his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

  She hurried after him.

  “Give me your gloves!” she called, surprising herself. Even to her own ears, her request sounded totally insane. She had no idea what had come over her, but she sensed for some inexplicable reason that those gloves held the key to everything.

  Bastian stopped by the warehouse door and turned to her. He narrowed his eyes incredulously. “I’m sorry?”

  Julie gulped. “If I’m not your type, then you can’t possibly care what I think of you.” She waited a moment to give him the opportunity to contradict her. To her dismay, he did not. “So show me your hands,” she demanded.

  “Why?” His casual tone was too strained to be believed.

  Julie folded her arms belligerently. “I’d like to see them.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it?” She raised an eyebrow and smiled provocatively.

  A moment’s tense silence reigned between them. In the harsh light of the warehouse, he looked like a cornered animal. She saw vulnerability and fear in his green eyes. His tense demeanor caused her to doubt herself, but it was too late now. She wanted to know what he was hiding.

  “As you wish,” he hissed. He removed one glove, then the other, jutting out his chin defiantly. There was a despair in his eyes that almost broke her heart.

  As Julie looked down at his hands, her eyes widened. They were covered in bloody patches. He must have hurt himself much more seriously than she’d thought when he fell the other night.

  There were also dark shadows across the backs of his hands that looked like large scars. Two blister-like swellings and several scabs covered the joints of his fingers, and his right thumb glistened with fresh blood. Hard skin covered the damaged nail beds where fingernails would normally have been.

  She went up to Bastian and took one of his hands gently in hers to examine it more closely.

  He flinched at her touch and backed up against the door. Now cornered, he could hardly contain his agitation.

  “It’s all right,” she said quietly. She gave him time to get used to her touch. His hand was warm and strong.

  He gradually calmed down.

  She frowned, deep in thought as she gazed at him. Were these burns or some kind of rash? No. The wounds were too uneven for that. She was familiar enough with injuries to know that these were at different stages of healing. The blisters were unusual and must have formed at different times. It looked like he got hurt all the time. As she realized this, her stomach tightened. As gently as possible, she stroked the scars and the deformed fingertips. “Does it hurt?” she whispered.

  Bastian swallowed hard. “You get used to it.”

  Julie raised her eyes to his. “What happened?”

  “Bad luck in the genetic lottery.” He attempted to sound casual and devil-may-care, but his voice reflected his bitterness.

  “A hereditary disease?”

  Bastian nodded.

  Julie carefully raised his hand to her face, stroking the scars gently with her thumb.

  Distraught by this affectionate gesture, Bastian closed his eyes. After a brief moment, he appeared to give in to her, to allow himself to feel her warm breath in the place where he felt most sensitive. The tension eased from his body. With a light rustle, the gloves fell to the floor.

  When Julie was a little girl, Jo always kissed her grazed knees better. For a child, that was enough to heal small wounds. She wished a simple kiss could alleviate his pain and heal him now.

  She didn’t believe in fairy tales.

  But she believed in comfort.

  She put her lips to the back of his hand.

  Bastian suddenly broke out of his trance.

  “Spare me your pity,” he snapped.

  “But I . . .”

  He was suddenly so angry that he all but screamed. “There are some who are much more badly affected than I am.”

  Without another word, he turned and burst out of the warehouse.

  She hardly heard the door bang shut over the hammering of her heart. She was too shocked to understand his sudden flight. She had only wanted to be close to him. But instead, she found herself staring, once again, at a closed door.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bastian started his car angrily. He couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Shame and rage surged through him, and he couldn’t say which was stronger.

  He sped away from the warehouse, away from the woman who had seen him fully exposed.

  How he hated all this crap, now more than ever before.

  Bastian didn’t stop until he reached the flashing barriers of a railway crossing. Evening had fallen, and there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  His gaze fell to his scarred hands desperately gripping the steering wheel. He swore as he realized that his gloves must still be back at the warehouse. He opened the car’s glove compartment and rooted around for a spare pair and a Spanish leather cigarette case. It was small, discreet, and stuffed with bandages, cellulose dressings, and two sterile needles. He tended hastily to the fresh wound on his thumb and the blood blisters on his fingers, then tugged the gloves onto his hands. He then let his head thump back against the upholstered headrest and stared out at the empty street.

  The regular blinking of the signal light gradually calmed him. His heart rate eased, and his breathing was no longer ragged, though he still felt short of breath.

  What on earth had gotten into him?

  All he had wanted was to say good-bye politely to Julie, and suddenly, it had all gone haywire. He was still in a state of deep shock at his own behavior. He simply couldn’t understand what had made him comply with her request to reveal his hands. He had never felt so naked and vulnerable in his life. The touch and presence of this woman had completely unraveled him.

  He had endured so much in his life, defied every aspect of the pain.

  But that look of regret on her pretty face.

  He could bear anything, but not her pity.

  At least that was what he thought before she pressed her lips to his disfigured skin.

  That had been too much.

  A freight train rattled past on the tracks, echoing the harsh, silenced cry that was boiling up inside him.

  Once the train was gone, the red signal lights went out and the barriers were lifted. But Bastian stayed where he was. The loneliness and the quiet that surrounded him were somehow comforting. They were what he knew. He could hardly stand the thought that he had lost yet another battle.

  He was not proud of his abrupt flight—only cowards ran away. A vague image of his mother swam before his eyes, causing a stab of pain. He did not want to be like her. She had not faced up to her fears, but had instead disappeared when his wounds became more frequent, leaving him behind with many questions to which he’d never get answers.

  He became aware of a desire to change things. Perhaps he should go back, apologize for his outburst, and explain to Julie what was wrong. Perhaps this time it would be different. Part of him—the part that dared to hope—truly
wanted to turn the car around and go back. But he lacked the strength to overcome his shame.

  He stared into space, hearing only the sound of his own breathing. Gradually, he suppressed his emotions until the tightness in his chest eased. Then he ran a hand roughly over his face in anguish in an attempt to bring himself fully back to his senses.

  Though they hadn’t parted on the best of terms, he convinced himself it was better this way. He would have to let it go.

  Julie was better off without him.

  And he without her.

  He had everything he needed.

  Even some good friends. Elena and her brother, Felix, were the only ones he had allowed to get close to him over the years, and he had never regretted it.

  Felix suffered from the same hereditary disease as Bastian, though they had different forms and Felix’s wounds were substantially worse. Even a careless touch from a hand could cause him serious injury. It had become extremely difficult for him to set foot outside the house, and he was largely confined to his bed.

  Only the selflessness and support of his sister enabled him to lead a somewhat independent life.

  Bastian suddenly felt annoyed at the bout of self-pity he’d indulged in. Only last night it had been made perfectly clear to him that things could be so much worse.

  Elena had called him, at a complete loss, because Felix had fallen in the bathroom and severely injured himself. Felix had strictly forbidden her to call the paramedics, claiming that they were needed more urgently elsewhere. So Elena had called Bastian for help.

  Bastian had found his friend in a dreadful state. Felix’s already tormented body was covered in fresh wounds. Felix must have been in incredible pain, but he gave Bastian a complacent grin when he arrived.

  He and Elena hadn’t finished treating Felix’s wounds until late that night. Bastian had stayed on with him, distracting him with dirty jokes until the strong painkillers had taken effect and he had drifted off into sleep. Bastian hoped he was feeling better, though he feared the worst may be yet to come.