Page 36 of Z For Butterfly Man
Me. Plain, scarred, worthless me. And God help me, I want him too.
I’ve wanted him since the night he gave me his cut. Since he climbed through my window. Since he held me in his arms and promised to protect me. Maybe even before that, when I was just a little girl watching him from afar, wishing someone like him would see me.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. What do I say? How do I tell him that I know? That I understand now? That I’m not scared?
Me:Good. Miss you.
The response is instant.
Shane:Miss u 2, baby girl. Cant wait 2 c u again.
A strange, thrilling feeling spreads through my chest. I clutch the phone to my heart, closing my eyes. Then I exhale, collect myself and continue walking.
Dad isn’t home. Mother isn’t happy to see me this early in the day. She greets me with the nastiest of her vocabulary. She’s already helped herself to a couple of beers, and it’s not even noon yet.
I’m not especially ecstatic to be home early today either. I was planning on coming as late as possible. For thirteen years, she’s made sure to make my birthday the worst day of my life like it’sbeen for her. I don’t imagine this year will be different. Not until Shane.
But he’s not here today. I feel sick being near that woman when he’s out of reach. My stomach turns, literally.
I run to the bathroom and hurl my guts out. Sweat covers my face, and my temperature is rising.
“You disgusting piece of shit, are you vomiting in my bathroom?” The door bursts open, and my mother is standing there, glaring down at me as I crumple on the cold floor. “You sick or what?”
“Looks like it.”
“Don’t give a shit. You’re gonna clean that mess right away, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Just what I fucking needed.” She curses her way up the stairs. Then the door to her room slams open and shut.
I drag myself up, clean the bathroom, make myself a hot drink and find the Tylenol. A couple of hours later, I’m drowning in my own sweat, burning up in bed. Fuck, a couple of over-the-counter pills won’t help. I’m going to need antibiotics. That means a trip to the hospital. She’s not going to like that.
I force myself out of bed. The hallway tilts and sways. I grip the doorframe to steady myself, lean against the wall and take slow steps toward the stairs.
“Mom?” I make it to the bottom of the staircase and grip the banister. Each step feels like climbing a mountain. Halfway up, I have to stop, catching my breath. “Mom, I need—”
“What the fuck do you want?” Her voice cuts through my skull like a knife. The bedroom door flies open. She stands there, bottle in hand, her face twisted with rage.
“I’m sick. I need to go to the hospital.”
She laughs. “The hospital? For what? A little cold? You think I’m made of money?”
“Please, the fever is getting worse. I need antibiotics—”
“You need to shut your fucking mouth and leave me alone!” She takes a swig from the bottle, retreating to her room, mumbling as if I can’t hear her, “Maybe if I’m lucky, the fever will take you out and save me the trouble.” She slams the door so hard the walls shake.
I stand there for a moment, swaying on the stairs, my vision swimming. I stumble back down, gripping the railing tight. In my room, I grab my phone and shove it into my pocket. The hospital is about two miles away. I tell myself I can walk there and make it. Once I get there, they can call Dad to sign off on the meds. He’ll come. He has to come.
The cool air outside hits my feverish skin like ice. The world blurs at the edges. The sidewalk rises and falls beneath me. One foot in front of the other. Just keep walking.
I count my steps to keep myself focused. One. Two. Three. Four. How many steps to the hospital? A thousand? Ten thousand? Sweat drips down my face despite the January chill. My legs feel like lead. Everything hurts—my head, my chest, my bones.
The world tilts suddenly. I reach out for something to grab onto, but there’s nothing. My knees buckle.
The pavement rushes up to meet me. I try to catch myself, but my arms won’t cooperate. I hit the ground hard. Pain explodes through my shoulder and hip.
“Reagan!”
