Chasing Butterflies

by Beckie Stevenson

  He says something that I don’t quite catch and then turns around and starts to walk back in the other direction.

  “See you later then,” I call out to him.

  He raises his arm in reply.

  I huff and fold my arms across my chest as I continue walking. I know Lulu tells stories and I’ve heard some of the rumours that are flying around about me but they don’t seem mean enough to prevent people—adults too—from looking at me. Whatever else it is that she tells them, it’s got the whole village afraid of me, and it’s been like that ever since I was a little girl. Sometimes I wonder if Lulu knows our secret, because that’s the only thing I can think of that would actually make people hate me. But then I remember that Granny said our secret would get us killed if it got out.

  I sigh, hating that I can’t figure out what Lulu’s problem is. My fingers brush over the leaves of the hedge I’m walking past and pluck a leaf off as I veer away from the little path and onto the main pavement.

  “There she is!”

  My head snaps to the right when I hear Jasmine’s shrill voice, and then I see her and three of her friends walking toward me. “Oh no,” I say as chills explode all over my body.

  Jasmine scowls at me. “Well, if it isn’t the weird little bitch.”

  I turn away from them and start to walk away faster.

  “Where’s that cute little satchel of yours today, Yara?” Jasmine walks up to the side of me, causing bits of dirt to kick up my calves. My scalp feels like it has thousands of tiny ants crawling all over it when I realise how close she is to me.

  “I left it at home.” I tuck a piece of my long hair behind my ear and look up at the cloudless, blue sky as dizziness crashes down on top of me. I screw my face up and fan myself with my hand.

  “It’s hot today,” she says. “Are you sweating?”

  I feel my shoulders stiffen as I shake my head. “No.”

  “Yes, you are. We can smell you.” She grabs at my clammy hand, and before I have a chance to pull away from her, she lifts my arm high above my head. “Oh my God!” She gasps, letting go of my arm.

  I pull my hand close to my body and feel hot tears prickling at my eyes. “Leave me alone, Jasmine.”

  “She’s got hairy armpits,” she yells to the others as she waves her hand in front of her face dramatically. “And by the smell of it, she hasn’t used deodorant this morning either.”

  My throat feels dry and constricted, but I manage to whisper, “I hate you.”

  “What was that?” she asks, leaning closer to me while she pinches her nose.

  “Nothing,” I mumble, turning away from her.

  “Oh, I think I heard you, Yara.” I try to cross the road to get away from her, but she pulls on the hem of my dress and yanks me back. “Let’s go and see just how much you hate me.”

  Gabriel

  I’ve never been so physically exhausted in all my life. Even the extra work I did while I was away at college was nothing compared to how I feel now.

  When I came back to Eleze a couple of months ago, I had no money left and no job. My best mate, Jonny, managed to get me a job with a big landscape gardening company, and I’ve been trawling across the county with the same group of guys ever since.

  I lean back in my seat and close my eyes with a sigh.

  “What’s up with you, Gabe?”

  I open one eye and stare at George, noticing the way he’s started to use my newly acquired nickname. I’ve realised since starting this job that none of the guys on the team call anyone by their real name. “Nothing,” I mumble.

  He rolls his eyes at me and then turns back around to look out of his window. I’m in the back of the works van with George, or Big-G, beside me. Matt’s driving and Bernie is in the passenger seat. Matt and Bernie have been arguing about which radio station we’re going to listen to, while George and I have done our best to ignore them.

  “It doesn’t seem like nothing,” George says. He doesn’t turn to look at me, but I know he’s frowning. George is always frowning, and it always seems to be aimed at me.

  “I’m just tired,” I tell him. “My arms are aching and my back is sore.”

  “You carved some good shit today.”

  I grin and playfully punch him in his shoulder. “I always do, don’t I?”

  He nods and turns to grin at me. “True story.”

  “What the fuck?” asks Bernie, sounding excited.

  I almost bang heads with George as we both lean into the middle to try and look out the front window. “What is it?” I ask.

  “I can see tits,” Matt replies. “And legs and long, blonde hair.”

  “Where?” George shoves at my chest, pushing me out of the way, and sticks his head in the gap between the front seats. “Where is she?”

  “Pervert,” I grunt as I slump back into my seat.

  “There,” says Matt. He points at something—or someone, from the sound of it—but because George has blocked me, I can’t see who it is.

  “What the fuck? That’s some sick shit. Who is it?” asks George.

  I frown and then I hear Matt laughing. “It’s that weird girl. The one who killed her mother.”

  I feel the blood go cold in my veins. “Yara?” I say, trying to pull George back so I can see.

  “How do you know her name?” asks George.

  I turn to him and shrug. “She lives behind me. I think I’ve heard my mum mention her a few times,” I lie, feeling it burn as it leaves my mouth.

  They slow the van down, and I shove at George until I push myself through the gap. Then I see her. She’s standing on the pavement with her yellow dress around her ankles and thick brown tape wrapped around her bare waist.

  “What the hell?” I say.

  “They’ve stripped her and tied her to the fucking lamppost,” Matt says, laughing. “Pass me that,” he says, pointing toward his lunch box.

  Bernie hands Matt the box and then turns to stare back out of the window. “What is she wearing?”

  I hadn’t noticed the first time I looked at her, but she’s not wearing a proper bra. Her breasts are encased inside a grey-coloured vest that’s clearly been cut with a pair of scissors so it sits against her rib cage.

  Matt flips the lid open, and I watch in shock as he starts to throw grapes and strawberries at Yara. “Here you go,” he yells at her with a laugh. “These should keep you going for an hour or two.”

  Yara’s head was bowed, but she slowly lifts it now, her sad eyes scanning over our truck until they connect with mine. Fruit explodes and splatters across her red skin as Matt continues to chuck them at her through his window. I open my mouth to call out to her, but my words get stuck in my throat when she shakes her head at me. Tears start to streak down her face, wobbling at the bottom of her chin before plopping onto her chest.

  I’ve been in complete shock until now, not really believing what I’m seeing, but when I watch the first tear slither down her cheek, I suddenly realise what’s going on and how fucking wrong it is. “Stop it,” I hiss. “Help her.”

  “Why?” he asks, pulling a sandwich out of the lunchbox. “She’s probably hungry. And this is way too much fun to stop.”

  My hand flies out, trying to stop him but I’m not quick enough. He flings the sandwich through the air and it lands with a slap against Yara’s thigh. I watch bits of cheese fall to the ground as she looks down at it.

  “She’s probably thirsty too,” he says, laughing, as he unscrews the lid from his water bottle.

  “Let me out,” I say. My fingers fumble for the door handle as he throws water at her. It splashes in her face and clings to bits of her hair that have fallen over her shoulders. “Unlock this fucking door!” I yell as I tug on the handle.

  Matt and Bernie laugh, then the truck peels away and Yara disappears from view as we round the corner.

  “What the fuck was that?” I growl.

  “Ooh,” Matt says with a laugh, “have you got a little crush on crazy Yara?”
<
br />   “No,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re just being a knobhead for no good reason. How would you feel if that was your sister?”

  Bernie turns around, his long, curly black hair flicking across his cheek. “She’s nobody’s sister, Gabriel. What’s your problem, man?”

  I punch the headrest in front of me, making Matt’s head jerk forward. “Go back,” I tell him.

  “No way,” he says quickly. “We’re already late for our next job, and Mrs Turner wants you to carve her Bambi and all his little fucking friends.”

  It’s been two hours. I tried to get them to turn around, but they wouldn’t listen. I tried to get back in the truck and drive back as soon as we got there, but they hid the fucking keys. I’m so pissed off with them that I’m not sure I’ll be able to face them tomorrow—or ever again.

  My Jeep screeches around the last corner and then my heart drops into my stomach. Yara is still there, and her skin is even redder than it was before.

  I climb out and rush toward her, noticing wreaths and flowers have been laid at her feet. “Fuck,” I whisper as I pull my knife out of my back pocket. “It’s okay,” I say when I get to her. “I’ll cut you free now.”

  I swipe my knife at the tape and tug it free from her body, wincing as it rips across her skin. Yara doesn’t look up or speak to me, but when she’s no longer tied to anything, she slumps forward and collapses into my arms.

  “Yara?” I say. “Yara, are you okay?” I don’t even know why I’m asking, because there’s no way she’s okay. God knows what it’s done to her being treated like that by the whole village. I need to hear her say something though. “I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “I tried. I really tried.”

  “Cut me too.”

  I frown, wondering if I’ve heard her correctly. “What?”

  “Cut,” she whispers. And then she blacks out.

  “Shit,” I hiss. I grab her dress and pick her up, carrying her like a baby to my truck. I gently lower her so she’s lying across the back seat and cover her sunburnt skin with her dress. My temper flares as I close the door and then climb into the driver’s seat. I turn the key in the ignition and glance at her perfectly still, sleeping face.

  How could someone do this to her? Why are people still treating her like they actually believe she’s cursed?

  Chapter 4

  Yara

  “Am I dead?” My head hurts so much that it must mean I’m dead. People that are alive don’t hurt this much…do they?

  “Not quite,” says a smooth, deep voice.

  I wish I were. “My head hurts.”

  “I imagine it does,” he replies. “And your skin too.”

  Where am I? Now that he’s mentioned it, my skin does feel hot and tingly. I wince and open one eye.

  Gabriel’s dark blonde hair has a ray of sunshine streaking through it. He turns his tanned face toward me and takes a deep breath. “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “Like crap.”

  I feel the rumble of an engine and push myself to a seated position. “Where are we?” He reverses the truck and I see the dark orange sun hovering just above the sea in the horizon. “We’re at the coast?”

  He nods, turning around to check behind him. ““I thought the breeze coming off the water would feel good. I spoke to a nurse and she told me to keep you covered and to make sure you get lots of water,” he tells me. “She said you might have a headache.”

  I rub my temples. “A headache is a bit of an understatement.”

  He nods and hands me a bottle of water as he drives out of the car park. “Drink that.” He drives up the sandy bank and coasts through the narrow lanes until I see the speck of lights from our small village in the distance.

  “Where was the nurse?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “You said you talked to a nurse,” I say. “Did you call the hospital?”

  “No. My mom is a nurse, so I just asked her.”

  I feel myself frown. “I thought she used to work at the salon.”

  “She did, but now she’s a nurse.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “You need to drink more,” he tells me, nodding at the bottle in my hand. “And eat this.” He hands me a bar of chocolate, which I snatch from him and unwrap like I’m possessed. I shove a square into my mouth and groan as the taste explodes all over my tongue.

  Gabriel turns his head towards me and watches as I slip another square into my mouth. My stomach gurgles in appreciation.

  “I’m taking you home,” he says gruffly.

  I nod and fold my hands across my lap, realising for the first time that I’m wearing my dress—which means Gabriel must have dressed me. I feel embarrassed knowing he saw me in my fake bra and ashamed that he witnessed what I let Jasmine and her friends do to me. Before, it felt like he thought I was normal…just a girl who was a bit confused. But now he knows how crazy I am and how much everyone hates me. I know he’ll hate me too, just like they do.

  We don’t speak the rest of the way. My eyes roam all over his Jeep, noticing the way the leather seats are worn at the edges and how there are empty water bottles and crisp packets littering the floor. It smells nice though, and I notice one of those tree-shaped air fresheners hanging from his rear-view mirror. He has roll-top bars that criss-cross over the roof and a dark green cover that fits snugly over the top of it.

  “You know,” I whisper, feeling the need to fill the weird silence, “butterflies only live for a short while. They just emerge and then flutter about. They mate and then they die.”

  I watch him rub the bottom of his jaw as he turns onto my road. “What do butterflies have to do with anything, Yara?”

  The Jeep rolls to a stop in front of the tall hedges that hide the front of my house from the road. I quickly climb out, ignoring the way my skin tingles and my head hurts, and hop impatiently by the gate. I’ve never shown anyone what I’m about to show him. I hope he feels as excited as I hope he will.

  I see him frown as he watches me through his window, and I gesture for him to follow me.

  He climbs out of the Jeep by pulling himself up with his arms and then jumps over the door. “What’s going on?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest. I look up at him in the glow of the nearby streetlight and realise that he’s a really, really handsome boy. Or is he a man? I sneak another glance at him as he waits for me to answer. A young man?

  “How old are you, Gabriel?”

  “Nineteen,” he answers. “How old are you?”

  “What was that truck you were in earlier?” I fire back, completely ignoring his question. “And who were those other boys?”

  He leans back against the gatepost and sighs. “It was the works truck and those men were my colleagues.”

  “So you’d call yourself a man?” I ask.

  He nods. “Of course. I stopped being a boy when I was sixteen.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “I’m a carpenter and a landscape gardener.”

  “A carpenter?”

  He nods.

  “Like you make stuff out of wood?” I push.

  “Yeah, sort of,” he says with a sigh. “I carve stuff, mainly. With my chainsaw. From trees, usually.”

  “Oh, like those ones down by the beach? The sea creatures?”

  “Yes,” he confirms. He smiles and it’s a real smile, the kind that reaches from ear to ear. I can tell that he really enjoys carving. “Those are mine.”

  “They’re really nice. Beautiful, actually.”

  “Thank you.”

  I grab his hand that’s a little bit calloused, pulling him through the gate and up the narrow path into the backyard. The feel of his skin against mine makes my whole body shiver. I’ve never held anyone’s hand before, but instead of it feeling weird, it feels completely normal. Like his hand was made just so mine could fit inside it like this.

  “Where’re we going?” he asks.

  “I’m going to show you the things that make me smile,” I tell h
im. When we reach the ivy-covered fence, I pull the gate open until it gives enough to let us slide through. “In here.”

  “What is this?” he asks as I drag him through the branches of the weeping willow until we arrive at the shed.

  I point toward it and hold the wooden door open so he can go in first. His eyes flash up to mine, but then he steps forward and into the shed that’s illuminated from the setting sun.

  He quickly screws his face up as if he doesn’t like what he sees when I show him the plastic boxes full of crawling caterpillars. “They’ll be ready soon,” I say, pulling on his arm to get him to follow me.

  I lead him across the grass until we’re standing in front of the converted trampoline that I’ve covered in additional netting and sashes of white fabric. Gabriel narrows his eyes and leans forward, looking through the mesh. “Are they butterflies?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He steps back and stares at me. I see questions in his eyes…lots of them. But I also see sadness and confusion, indecision and regret.

  I frown at him, wondering what he could possibly be so sad about, and then he tears his gaze away from me. “Why are you showing me these, Yara?”

  Because I need to tell you that I know something about you, too. “You remind me of a butterfly,” I tell him. “Free, but still flapping to get away. Something is keeping you here and you hate it.”

  “Flapping to get away?” he repeats, looking confused. “In what way?”

  I grab his warm hand again and notice a tiny zigzag-shaped scar on the underside of his chin. I want to ask him how he got it, but instead I say, “I think you’re running from something, Gabriel.”

  His eyes widen and he snatches his hand away so quickly that I almost stumble and fall before he walks away without another word.

  Gabriel

  I walk away from her, hating her in that moment. She was supposed to make me forget what I’d done, not confuse and trick me. She wasn’t supposed to question me, to make me feel like I’m the mental one. She wasn’t supposed to be so beautiful that it took my breath away, almost making me wish that not breathing was the way I could forget everything. She wasn’t supposed to make me remember the old me.