Page 87 of Butterfly
Leaving? I guess it makes sense, especially since there’s no way for anyone to know that Iggy’s never going to be in danger like he was ever again. There’s no chance his dad is going to show back up and hurt him… there’s just his future and possibilities that I never had.
“I can go see him?” I ask, surprised at how small my voice sounds. My chest constricts when Donovan presses a soft kiss against my butterfly tattoo and the mottled reminder beneath of exactly why seeing Iggy is going to be so hard, but…
I think I need to.
And it’s strange… for some reason, his mouth against my skin doesn’t make me ache the way it usually would, the way just looking at it usually does.
It feels good. Maybe it’s because he knows what the scars are—because he understands and he still wants to touch me.
Or maybe it’s just because it’s Donovan.
“Shiloh?” I blink, my brain catching on to the fact that Pierre has been talking to me this entire time and I’ve been too caught in the feel of soft lips against my stomach to actually pay attention.
“Yeah, sorry. Haven’t had coffee yet,” I offer as a way of excuse. My fingers drift down into Donovan’s hair and thread through the strands gently as I focus.
“I told the nurses that a few of the teachers were going to come by and visit. His aunt seemed appreciative of it. I know some part of her feels guilty that this is happening, that she didn’t try to help sooner.”
She should have tried to help sooner, but I know better than anyone that it isn’t like the system really goes to bat for abused kids. Most of my foster homes after my mom died and my dad went to jail were full of heavy hands and assholes who looked at me as nothing more than a paycheck. I even had a foster sibling call once to let the local station know we were being deprived ofmeals… and they didn’t do a damn thing except send someone out to the house to checkafterletting our foster parents know they were coming.
Useless.
And I could remember the threats that if my dad ever got out of jail, they’d give me back to him. I’d like to think that at least that was a lie, simply told to make sure I stayed in line… but…
But I can still remember the first person I killed—not my dad like I wanted… but my foster dad. His hands hurt when they bit into my arm, and when he raised his fist to hit me for what felt like the hundredth time, I pushed him.
Hard enough that he fell down a set of stairs and cracked his head open on the ground.
Hard enough that even at thirteen years old, I knew from the odd angle he’d landed that he was dead.
I’d thought then about going down and running my fingers through the blood… I could see him in almost perfect overlay with my mom… but his blood wasn’t on the wall.
In the end, I’d just picked up the phone and called the local police department and told them that he’d fallen down the stairs.
The alcohol and drugs in his system made the lie easy…
I half wonder if the reason I was so good at getting away with murder is because my first one was so easy to talk my way out of… overconfidence is a heady thing.
Pierre lets out another sigh, proof that I’m once more living in a moment that has nothing to do with what he’s saying. It’s Donovan’s arms around my waist that bring me back to the present, though… his mouth still warm against my waist that finally makes me blow out a breath and nod before I realize Pierre can’t see me.
“I need to get ready, then I’ll stop by and see him. I think I’d really like that.” I’m surprised how small my voice sounds, how unsure… but that person that I’ve been over the last few days,unsteady on my feet and not positive of my place in the world is still trying to expand and find a home in my chest.
I don’t know who I am anymore, but I know I need to find a way to make sure the ghost of Iggy’s dad doesn’t haunt him for the rest of his life.
He needs to know he’s free, so he can grow up to be something… pure. Something good.
Something different than who I’ve been.
“Let me know if you need anything in the meantime, Shiloh, okay? I know this has been hard on you.” Pierre’s voice is sweet, and I sigh.
“I’ll be okay. Thanks for letting me know I can visit.”
“Of course.”
We hang up and I toss my phone onto the sheet beside me then turn my attention to Donovan, who hasn’t moved from his nuzzled in spot at my stomach.
“You have to head out soon, don’t you?” I already know the answer, so I’m not sure why I’m asking the question like I’m going to get something different. Still, it would be nice if Donovan could come with me… it would be nice if he couldmeetIggy, so he could at least understand the crime scene he walked in on. He’s seen him a few times, but seeing and knowing are two different things.
I might feel bad about some of the things I’ve done, but helping Iggy is never going to be one of them.
