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"Did you make this?" She asks while taking another bite. At my nod, she picks up her garlic bread. "It's really good but not as good as my mom's."
I blink at her, letting go of the breath I was holding since it's obvious she isn't about to keel over. I have to say, I hadn't noticed until now how rude my little butterfly was. "Isn’t that always the case?" I take a bite of my own food, watching her fork like a hawk. "Can never beat a mom's home cooking."
She points her fork at me as she chews, nodding in agreement. "I think it might just need some more salt." She says around a mouthful of garlic bread.
My palms are starting to get sweaty as I watch her eat, eyes narrowing with each bite she takes that doesn't make her die. Did I not add enough? Did it get diluted with the food? I should have just shoved it down her snotty little throat. "I'll keep that in mind for next time." I try not to snap it at her, smiling to hide the irritation lining my voice. I didn't make the food, so her critiques shouldn't bother me, but it annoys me anyway. I didn't realize my butterfly was fucking Martha Stewart.
I slurp down some of my noodles, tongue running over my teeth after I swallow. Just when I start to think this whole thing was a lost cause, my butterfly jerks in her seat. Her hands rise to her face as she starts to smile; a hard, forced looking grin with pinched cheeks I don't think is one she's willingly making. Her body starts to shake, limbs jerking uncontrollably in her chair. Small gurgling sounds are coming from her stretched mouth as her arm almost knocks her alfredo onto the floor. I slap my hand on the table, a laugh bubbling up from my chest as she continues to shudder across from me.
And here I was doubting myself. I should know better.
Her hands seem to have gotten stuck near her face and throat, elbows jutting out like beautiful broken wings. Her back is spasming, her body only staying upright because of the arms on her chair and table's edge. My butterfly is purely divine as she flutters in her seat, the bright blue of her eyes shining like orbs of sapphire. Her glasses have been knocked askew on her head, so I push back in my seat, walking over to her. Grabbing the frames, I adjust them on her shaking body, brushing some of the hair from her face that has fallen from her ponytail. "That's better."
Moving back to my seat, I scoot back up to the table and pick up my fork. Taking a bite, I nod at my butterfly. "You know, the food tastes better now, and I can't quite put my finger on why." I smile to myself as she rocks and jerks in her chair. "Earlier, when you said the butterfly kisses are weird, that hurt my feelings, A
glais io." I take a bite out of my bread, swiping it through some sauce. "I put a lot of effort into finding my butterflies. Every one of you are special to me. You're all unique and talented. Beautiful." I pick up my last piece of chicken, swiping through the remaining sauce. Chewing, I watch my butterfly across the table, still fluttering for me. "I love my butterflies more than anything in this world."
Pushing my plate away, I sit back, crossing my finger as I lean back in my chair. "I pick my paper butterflies to match their real life counterparts. Each fold in that paper is a layer of my love and adoration. Each crease is my undying loyalty. They're my promise to always love you, always cherish you in my collection. Those paper butterflies are a symbol to everyone else that you are mine." I lick my lips, smiling at my butterfly. I knew it would take a good amount of time for her to leave me, but she's a fighter. "As mine, it's my duty to take care of you and keep you safe from the cruel, dark world we live in. The only way for me to do that is to keep you in here." I tap my chest, two fingers digging into my skin to tap where my heart sits below my ribs. "My heart, where you've always belonged. Forever immortalized. Forever cherished. Forever loved."
I stand once more, walking over to my butterfly, still jerking in her chair. Her legs have almost curled around the chair's wooden legs, her sock covered toes curled underneath her feet. My knuckles run along her twitching cheek. I can hear her breaths wheezing from between her clenched teeth; it probably won't be long now before she leaves me. "I'm doing this for you, Butterfly." A few tears have leaked down her cheeks, a drop forming at the corner of her eye that I wipe away. I smile down at her, so happy with my butterfly's performance, "Before you go, I think you should know the truth." I pause, brushing another tear away. "I didn't make dinner. I bought it."
Standing from her, I grab her plate of food, then my empty one, taking both to the kitchen. Setting mine on the counter, I pull out the trash can and dump my butterfly's leftovers into the can. Setting her plate in the sink with mine, I grab all the extra food bowls and the garlic bread, throwing it away as well. Putting the can back under the sink, I rinse off the dishes with the sponge setting beside the faucet before putting them in the dishwasher, setting the water temperature to hot. Grabbing a spare rag from the drawer and a bottle of all purpose cleaner, I spray down the countertops and appliances, making quick work of wiping down all the surfaces I've touched.
Walking into the living area with my rag, I wipe down the door handle both inside and outside, I spray the remote, clicking off the tv before I clean it and drop it back onto the couch. Moving toward my now still butterfly, I carefully remove her glasses, using my rag to wipe down the frames before placing them back on her smiling face. I wipe down the table and chairs, even my butterfly's just to be safe. Moving back to the kitchen, I wipe off the spray bottle, opening the cabinet with my rag before using it to set the bottle inside and close the door. Lastly, I bring my rag to the washer, setting it to hot, just like the dishwasher, I use my rag to turn the knobs before tossing it in and bumping the lid shut with my elbow.
Taking my orange and blue paper butterfly from my pocket, I find my way back to my butterfly. Her fingers are still twitching on and off, but I know she's been dead for quite some time. Placing the paper butterfly on the table in front of her, I admire her a moment longer. Her performance was stunning like they all are. Perfectly executed. I'm pleasantly surprised that my first poisoning went so well, yet I didn't quite reach that level of excitement I've been looking for. This wasn't thrilling. My blood didn't pump in my veins, my heart didn't bang so hard against my ribs that it felt like it might burst. My hands didn't tremble with excitement, nor did I completely lose my breath. All of those things that used to happen when I first started my collection.
Backing from the room, I spin on my heel toward the door. Slipping my sneakers on, I throw on my jacket and gloves. Opening the door, I lock it from the inside before shutting the door. I pull the loft key from my pocket, already wiped clean and secured in an envelope, and drop in into the locked mailbox hanging by the door. Spinning away, I toss my hood over my ears to hide my head from the cold breeze and tuck my gloved fingers inside of my jacket pockets. I parked my car about five blocks from here, so I head in that direction.
I don't think I'm disappointed with tonight, but I'm not satisfied either. I tried something new, and despite all the signs pointing to it being what I've been lacking, it just fucking wasn't. I can't shake the hollowness in my gut, can't scratch the itch on my back. I'm missing something, but I can't figure out what.
I need more.
But more, what?
"Hadley!"
Pausing on the sidewalk, I look around, thinking someone called my name. When I don't hear it again, I keep walking.
"Hadley! Hey, hold up." Kyler runs up behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. He smiles, slightly out of breath, and I shift, so his hand falls. "I haven't seen you in a while."
I nod, stepping out of the middle of the sidewalk and shifting my backpack on my shoulders. "Yea. I've been busy."
He moves with me, crossing his arms over his chest. "What're you working now or something?"
I shake my head, "I mean, no. I just do that arts and craft class at the retirement home still."
"Then, why are you busy?"
I frown at him, lips pursing. "I just am. Did you have something specific you wanted to say? Because I'm on my way home and don't really feel like catching up."
His arms drop to his sides as he nods, "Right, I was just going to say that Joshua saw you at that diner on fifth avenue the other day." I wait for him to elaborate, blinking at him until he does, "He said you were sitting by yourself, and you seemed pretty angry about something." He pauses again like he's trying to find the right words to say. "He said you might have been talking to yourself."
I scoff, my hands finding the straps of my backpacks. "Joshua is an idiot. I was there with Rhys, a... friend of mine. He went outside to smoke for a while, then came back inside. As for being angry, you can mind your own business."
I start to walk around him, and he stops me, his hand touching my arm. "No, you're right. I'm sorry."
"Bye, Kyler." I shake off his arm, walking away. He doesn't follow after me, and I'm grateful for it. Despite how much he tries, we aren't close like that, and I have no plans to be.
