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Quickly walking toward my butterfly's place, I open the door and slip inside. I'm not wildly familiar with her place, but I know she has to have some kind of paper somewhere. Going toward the metal framed desk in her small living area, I dig around until I find some printer paper. It's thin and extremely boring, but much to my annoyance, it'll have to do. As I'm about to leave, I notice a spread of music sheets.
How perfectly poetic that would be, a butterfly made from her own music. Stuffing the plain butterfly into my pocket, I reach for one of the music sheets and fold that into a small little butterfly instead. The symbolism of it almost makes this drab night exciting. Stepping out of her apartment, I head toward the elevator. I know I need to hurry, I'm sure the police have already been called to the scene, and if they aren't there yet, they will be soon. I hate to admit that the thought of being so near to them does seem somewhat exciting. At least compared to how things have been going lately. A close run in might be just what I need to spice things up.
Pressing the button for the main lobby, I watch the doors close in front of me. Fuck. I should have thought to throw her guitar over after her. That would have made the whole music theme really hit. See, this is why I plan this shit and don't just do things all willy nilly. This could have been a thousand times better, and here I am, throwing my butterfly from her own rooftop because I've suddenly sprung up a case of boredom. The elevator doors open, and I walk through the lobby and out the doors, listening for sirens. I don't hear any, but I can already see the red and blue flashing from the adjacent street.
Well, fuck again. Pulling my jacket up higher around my face, I tuck my gloved hands into my pockets and walk toward the lights. It's going to be more difficult to get to my butterfly now. Each step has my heart pounding a little harder against my rib cage, that familiar anticipation making my skin prickle. Rounding the corner, I scan the scene. There are two patrol cars parked on the edge of the street, one officer directing traffic while three others are working to mark the area off from other pedestrians. Well, fuck again, again. There's also an ambulance, but it looks like the medics are just standing around talking to each other. It's not like they could do much though, my butterfly's face has been permanently etched into the cement.
Testing my luck, I continue to walk down the sidewalk. I'm not the only person here; there are others gathering around, whispering behind their hands. Some are even trying to take pictures or videos. My Pyronia tithonus has caused quite the commotion I see. But they won't even know she's mine if I don't get this fucking paper butterfly near her. Squeezing past two women who are crying in shock, I sneak as close as I can to the tape surrounding my butterfly. Even if I tried to throw it from here, I don't think it would make it, not to mention everyone would see me throwing it. Grinding my teeth at my own stupidity for being so unorganized, I watch the officers as they talk to one another.
I could put the butterfly on one of them.
It would be risky, but they'd find it later and know. Know she was one of mine.
Know that I was there, watching them.
Know that I touched one of them.
My heart is beating a mile a minute now, my fingers sweating in my gloves. This is exciting again. Now I need to figure out how to get one of them close enough to me to be able to slip it into their jacket pocket. Turning to the women next to me, I get their attention, "Do you know what happened?"
Sniffling, one of them looks over at me, shaking her head. "Some girl just jumped. I don't think we know her, but Mia said she has red hair like our friend Sarah who also lives in the building."
Well, it definitely isn't Sarah, but I'm not going to reassure them of that. "I know Sarah, wasn't she having relationship issues?" I have no idea if she was or not, but considering most college women are, I figured it was a good shot at getting these two worked up.
One of them gasps, both of their eyes going wide. Bingo. "Oh, my God! You don't think she would have jumped, do you? I thought she and Steven made up?!"
I just shrug, shaking my head as I look back out at my butterfly, now covered with a silver blanket to keep her out of sight. "I don't know. She was pretty broken up over something when I talked to her."
They both start crying again, one of them leaning from her friend’s grip to yell toward the police. "Sarah! I need to see if that's Sarah!" She pulls from her friend, hand reaching out to grab the yellow tape in front of us. "Please, I need to see if it's her!"
One of the officers breaks from their huddle, jogging our way to stop the woman from dipping under the tape. "Ma'am, we know you're concerned, but we need you to stay on the other side of the tape."
"No, I need to see if that's my friend; her name is Sarah. I need to see if that's her." She tries to fight from his grip, and I pull my hands from my pockets. Stepping forward, I grab her arm in an act of trying to keep her back. Before pulling her away, I slip my little butterfly into his unzipped jacket pocket. I keep my face sideways as I talk to her, profile to the officer as I keep her back. "You'll find out, but you can't go in there. If it is her, you wouldn't want to see her like that anyway."
She lets me pull her back, and her friend grabs her arm once more, cooing to her things I can't hear but also don't care to. I've accomplished what I needed. Turning from them, I walk back down the street. My heart is still pumping from the adrenaline of doing something so risky, but I can't deny how exciting that was. Too exciting. If I'm not careful, I'll walk myself right into getting caught just for a fucking thrill.
We're at the cemetery again, Rhys and I. It seems we're always here, him more so now than he was before. He's around a lot, actually. I'm scared to admit what that means to my lonely, desperate heart. It's dangerous for him to give someone like me so much attention, simply because I don't know if I could ever survive again without it. I certainly don't love Rhys; if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I'm capable of that simple four letter word, but I need him. In many ways, needing something, in the desperate, chaotic way that I need, is more powerful.
I need the intimacy he offers, no matter how cruel and twisted. I need the comfort he provides by not leaving me alone. I need to feel wanted in the same way he makes me feel it. He gives me a sense of purpose again. A sense of self-worth. I realize how shallow that may sound to most; the idea that I need this wicked strange man to feel worthy, the same man who fucks for his own pleasure, smiles at my pain, and slings insults more times than compliments. But when you're used to living in the pits of your own dark soul and have been taught by life that you're worth is based on how others see you, you simply don't care how shallow the situation is. Because at least one person, no matter how vile, mean, or cruel, finds you worthy.
Standing from my usual spot at Nana's grave, I look down at Rhys. Something about him feels off from the last time I saw him. I couldn't say why because he hasn't necessarily acted any different than usual, it just seems to be something I know. I can almost feel it. My mood stone has been swirling between brown and periwinkle like it can't make up its mind. Grabbing my backpack, I put a strap over my shoulder, "You hungry?"
Rhys's teeth slide along his lower lip at my question, eyes working their way from my worn sneakers, slowly up to my face. "I might be."
I don't need to look at my mood stone to know it's turned dark pink at his tone
. I don't think he's referring to the same type of hunger as I am. "For food, Rhys. Do you want to get something to eat?"
A loud breath blows from his lips, baby blues rolling as he stands. I watch as he steps up to my chest, his thumb swiping over my lower lip, roughly grating it against my teeth before his hand drops from me. "I'll go with you if that's what you're asking."
"It is." I want him to kiss me, even if it's just with his teeth. But I don't want to ask, so I turn away from him instead, squishing a dandelion into the grass as I start to walk away.
I’m jerked backward by my backpack, feet stumbling over themselves as I try to regain my footing. Bright blond hair and cornflower eyes drop into view as my face is yanked to face the sky by my short ponytail. "If you want a kiss, Hadley, all you have to do is ask."
His lips land on mine in the next breath, top teeth lightly scraping against my lower lip as he kisses me. The angle hurts my neck and back, but I don't fight it, my right hand rising to touch him. He pushes me away before my fingers make contact, the tips just brushing along a few wild strands. I stumble forward, and he chuckles as he passes me. I don't know how he knew I wanted a kiss, I didn't think I'd been that obnoxiously obvious, but I have zero complaints.
I follow after him, intermittently watching his back as we walk. He glances over his shoulder at me, "Where are we going?"
I shrug even though he's already facing forward and can't see it. "The diner on fifth avenue?"
