Flutter

by Olivia Evans

  Angry tears stung Presley’s eyes. She set her jaw and blinked rapidly to stop their descent down her cheeks. “Nothing is wrong with me,” she spat. “What on earth could possibly be wrong with me? Life is fucking perfect.”

  Dylan’s expression softened, and sadness dulled his eyes. He reached out and tucked Presley’s limp hair behind her ear, letting the tips of his fingers caress her jaw. “Baby, I’m sorry. I just don’t understand what’s going on. Some days you seem like you’re okay, and then I see you like this, and I…I don’t know what to do.”

  Presley shook her head. She wanted to scream at him, she wanted to hug him, she wanted to go back to the moment they decided to date and erase every single second. She wanted to cry for ever even thinking it. Confliction accompanied her every thought and feeling. It was exhausting. She was exhausted.

  “There’s nothing you can do. I have good days and bad days. Today is a bad day. I took a Xanax this morning. No big deal. I’m fine. Promise.” She hated herself for lying to Dylan, but short of telling him that every day was a bad day and the only time she seemed to be herself was under the influence of pills, there wasn’t another option. She couldn’t tell him how much she hated that he seemed to have completely moved on. How she wished he was as heartbroken and miserable as she was. She loved Dylan; hurting him was the last thing she ever wanted.

  “Do you want to get out of here? We can go back to my place. No one will notice.”

  As appealing as the idea was, being alone without the distraction of others was the last thing she needed. “No. I’ll be fine.”

  After that day, Presley truly began to shut down. Dylan stopped commenting on her appearance when she showed up at school wasted, content to stick his head in the sand and believe her lies. Presley didn’t blame him. Given the choice, she’d choose blissful ignorance any day, even if it was a lie. And for a while, it worked too. But like all things, it would come to an end. For Presley and Dylan, it was prom night.

  “God, you look amazing,” he whispered against her ear as they swayed to the music.

  Presley smiled and looked down at her dress. It was the first time in as long as she could remember that she hadn’t hated herself when she looked in the mirror. Her hair was twisted in a beautiful, messy updo, and her makeup was subtle and smoky, understated and bold. Her dress was a beautiful gunmetal gray that made her feel sexy and confident. Her shoulders were a little more squared, her chin a little higher, her eyes a little brighter.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she quipped, her eyes drifting over his tuxedo. A spark of lust burned under the surface of her skin. It was the first time in months she’d entertained the idea of sex, and the moment the idea hit, a wave of shame swept away the feeling as quickly as it came.

  Dylan smiled, unaware of the war swelling within Presley. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured, tracing his finger over her butterfly necklace before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her neck.

  She shivered and swallowed. “I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

  Dylan shook his head and pulled her closer. Presley could feel his erection pressing against her. It caused her stomach to drop. “Not like this, you haven’t. You feel like my girl again. You feel like my Elvis. Things finally feel the way they did before.”

  Presley’s eyes stung, and her throat tightened. “You mean before I got pregnant and had an abortion?”

  Dylan’s eyes widened as he looked around the room. “Presley, stop.”

  She pulled away from him, the half-dozen shots they’d had in the limo loosening her tongue. “What?” she asked, her voice rising. “I’m asking a simple question.”

  “Stop it,” Dylan demanded, his jaw flexed and eyes hard. “Don’t make a scene, Presley. You’re better than this.”

  Presley laughed and stepped away from him, her face twisted with disgust. “Am I? I think it’s safe to say I threw away any dignity I had the moment I murdered our child to make sure my credit cards weren’t canceled.”

  Dylan’s mouth fell open as he stared at her. Only a fraction of a moment passed before he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room and away from the sidelong glances of their classmates. Alone in the alley, Dylan released her arm and threw his hands out.

  “What the fuck is going on with you? One minute, you’re fine, and the next, you’re screaming about killing a baby in front of our entire fucking school. Do you want people to know? Is that what you’re doing? Because let me tell you, it’ll be a fucking miracle if no one heard you.”

  “I don’t give a shit if anyone heard,” Presley snapped, her hands balled at her sides. “I don’t care about any of those assholes. What I care about is that I’m the only one still sad about what happened. It’s like you don’t even care anymore.”

  “What do you want from me?” Dylan twisted his hands in his hair and paced in front of her. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Every fucking day for over a month I’ve asked you if you were okay. I’ve begged you to talk to me, but all you’ve done is pop another pill and tell me you’re fine. You won’t talk to me. You won’t let me in.”

  “Because you don’t want to be in here!” she screamed, pointing to her head. “It took you a week to get over what happened. It’s like it never happened as far as you’re concerned. Like you never really cared!”

  Dylan stared at her, his face colored with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he choked, his eyes glistening. “I begged you not to do it, and when you did, even though it killed me, I told you it was okay, that we would be okay because I fucking love you. And still, you pushed me away. Every fucking day, you’ve pushed me away when all I’ve wanted is to be with you.”

  “Because I hate myself,” she cried, tears running down her cheeks.

  “That’s your fucking problem! You don’t get to be angry at me for doing something I never wanted in the first place, Presley!”

  Presley’s face fell, and all the anger drained from her body. “You’re right,” she whispered, taking a step back. “It is my problem.”

  Dylan’s face twisted with pain and regret. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

  Presley shook her head and looked toward the curb. She lifted her hand and signaled for one of the waiting cars to pull forward. “I’m going to go.”

  “No, baby, please don’t,” Dylan begged, moving forward to catch her. “The last time you ran away from me in a cab was the worst moment in both our lives. Please don’t leave me like that again.”

  Tears pooled in Presley’s eyes as her stomach bottomed out. “This isn’t like that. I just want to go home. I need to be alone. I’m messed up, Dylan, and I’m the only one who can fix me.”

  “Please don’t go,” he whispered, his face solemn.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise. I just need to think. Please.”

  Dylan stared at her for a long moment before his shoulders dropped in defeat. He stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. “I love you, Elvis.”

  “I love you too.” Presley lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” With a final goodbye, she stepped into the waiting car and gave the driver her address. The entire ride, all she could hear were Dylan’s angry words telling her it was all her fault.

  Inside her room, she stripped out of her prom dress and twisted the knobs for her tub. As it filled with water, she walked to her bed and reached for the bottle of pills she kept hidden between the mattresses. Her throat tightened when she didn’t hear the familiar rattle. Panic swelled as she twisted the top to find the bottle empty.

  “No,” she whispered, dropping the bottle and pushing the mattress off the bed. She searched the exposed area, her hands trembling. The envelope she’d hidden there months ago was all that remained. She yanked it from the box springs and shook out the contents, hoping to find one pill, one sliver of relief. What she found was anything but.

  “Oh God.” With a shaking hand, she reached for the objec
t that had stolen her breath as vomit burned the back of her throat. The paper felt small in her hand, but its weight was crushing. Through bleary eyes, Presley looked at what was no more than a blob, but she recognized it easily as her baby. She wasn’t certain how the sonogram ended up in the envelope, but one thing was certain, the sight of it obliterated the final thread holding her together.

  She fell to her knees as her body trembled. She traced the outline of the tiny body. From the feet to the curve of its back and the head, she followed the shape until she reached the chest where a beating heart used to lie. It broke her in every way. Suddenly, she felt nothing.

  Leaden legs carried her to the bathroom. She stripped out of her underwear and stepped into the water. The heat caused her skin to redden, the steam billowing around her, yet Presley felt nothing. She sank into the water, the sonogram clutched to her chest. The invisible weight that pushed against her was unbearable. Gasping, broken sobs tore from her throat as she pressed the picture to her lips. It was everything she never knew she wanted. It was something she could never have. A dozen children would never give her the life in the picture. It was gone forever.

  Presley fell against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. She just wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to see her baby. She wanted the nightmares to end. Through blurry eyes, she looked around the room. The memory of the day she found out she was pregnant assaulted her. Dylan, scared and sad as he promised to love her always. Her dismissal of the baby, how easily she made the decision to end the pregnancy, it ate at her like acid.

  She looked at the picture once more, the edges smudged from her grip and the water sloshing in the tub. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into the empty room, her eyes locked on the sonogram. “You deserved better. I ended your life before you even had a chance to live it. I was a coward. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she choked, her voice distorted and broken.

  In that moment, Presley had complete clarity. She wanted it to end. She wanted it all to end. There was no hesitation when she grabbed the razor from the ledge of the tub and set the picture of her baby in its place. She paused for only a moment, taking one final glance at the picture before breaking the plastic and pulling the razor free. “I don’t want to be sad anymore,” she whispered before dragging the blade along her delicate flesh.

  Like a flower in bloom, her skin parted, and blood seeped from her vein. A trickle at first, it trailed over her skin and into the crystal-clear water below. Gasping from both the pain and relief, Presley moved the blade to her other wrist and followed the same path, starting at the center of her wrist and moving up, tracing the path of her life’s blood. This cut was deeper, cleaner, and the blood flowed quickly until the water around her was stained with red.

  The room began to blur, and in a final act of love, Presley grabbed the picture and laid it on her chest. Slowly, the world around her started to fade. She sank into the water as Dylan’s beautiful dimpled smile blinded her and the feel of their child warmed her. This was what she wanted. This was the peace she desired. The love she desperately craved.

  “Presley!” Frantic screams pierced the peaceful solitude of nothingness she had wrapped herself in. “She’s not breathing, Alexander! Oh my God, she’s not breathing! Call 9-1-1! Call them now! Our baby’s dying!”

  Presley wanted to call out, to tell them she was happy, that everything was fine, but like the anesthesia that had hindered her from stopping the doctor, she was helpless. Strong arms wrapped around her, snatching her from the warmth of the bathwater.

  “Grab a towel! Wrap her wrists! Goddammit, Presley, why would you do this?” The break of her father’s voice was almost enough to bring her to consciousness, but the world swam in swirls of colors as blood continued to pour from her body. Presley floated above the chaos, watching as paramedics tended to her wounds and breathed into her mouth in time with their compressions on her chest. She wanted them to stop. They didn’t understand she was finally at peace.

  The room became frenzied as an eerie silence blanketed the space. From above, Presley stared at her body. Blue lips and limp limbs covered in bandages and blood lay motionless on the floor. Her mother looked stricken as she looked from Presley to the sonogram she clutched in her hands as her father yelled out demands. It was too much. Presley couldn’t stand it a second more. With a final breath, she whispered goodbye, and the world around her faded to black.

  Warmth.

  Peace.

  Darkness.

  Presley wasn’t sure how long she’d been here. She didn’t even know where here was. There was nothing yet somehow everything in the vast space surrounding her. She wasn’t happy, nor was she sad. It was contentedness in the shadows, away from sound, smell, and color.

  “Is there no other way?”

  Presley sat up. The sound of her mother’s voice caused her brows to dip in confusion. She looked around but was met with the familiar expanse of dark.

  “Lilith, we’ve discussed this. There is no other option.”

  “Father?” Presley whispered, her pulse thundering in her ears. In the distance, a flicker of light sparked to life. Presley shook her head and tried to crawl away from the light as it danced closer, grew bigger. “No.”

  “What if she won’t do it?”

  Presley froze. The sound of her mother crying sent a jolt of anguish through her. It was nearly crushing, the rush of emotion, after feeling nothing for so long.

  “She doesn’t have a choice.”

  All at once, the life she’d tried so desperately to escape came rushing back. As if she’d been snatched through a vortex, she was assaulted with the sounds and smells around her but too disoriented to make sense of any of them. She swallowed and blinked. The room was blurry, the light harsh, blinding. A wave of confusion swept over her until a dull throb of pain radiated from her wrists. She pulled in a sharp, broken gasp and squeezed her eyes shut as her hands flew to cover her stomach. The scratchy fabric of the blanket was unfamiliar, as was the distinct smell of antiseptics that made her nose burn.

  Realization began to sink in as the beep of a monitor broke through the haze. The moment she understood where she was and why she was there, a feeling of emptiness and dread bloomed inside her chest.

  “No,” she choked as tears gathered in her eyes. It was supposed to be over. She wasn’t supposed to get a second chance. She didn’t want a second chance. All she wanted was to escape from the sorrow that swallowed her whole. The guilt that tortured her every second of every day. Maybe this was her punishment. Maybe living with her sin was greater than hell.

  Warmth covered her hand along with a gentle squeeze. “Presley,” her mother murmured, her other hand brushing away the tears beginning to fall.

  Presley shook her head, her eyes still screwed shut. Her chest ached with each jagged breath she pulled into her lungs. “No,” she repeated.

  “Presley, open your eyes.” The sound of her father’s voice, stern yet gentle caused the dread to shift to anxiety. He was going to be so angry. So disappointed. Tears continued to fall and cloud her vision as she slowly looked to her parents. Her mother’s eyes were red-rimmed, her makeup smeared. It was the most disheveled Presley had ever seen her. Her father, however, looked the same as always. His suit was neatly pressed, his posture defensive, his expression stony. Presley turned away. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear the disappointment in his eyes.

  “What on earth were you thinking?” he asked, his voice low and controlled. When Presley remained silent, he asked again, more demanding than before.

  “Alexander,” her mother interjected, her tone pleading.

  “Lilith, we found our unconscious daughter floating in a tub filled with her own blood. We thought she was dead. I think we deserve to know why.”

  Presley’s expression suddenly smoothed and her tears ebbed. Numbness started at her toes, crawling its way over her skin until it reached the top of her head. If they were angry now, it would be nothing compared to their reaction when
they found out that she’d not only gotten pregnant, but had an abortion.

  “I think we have enough information for an educated guess. Don’t do this now.” If Presley weren’t immobilized, she would have been impressed by her mother’s protective manner, but she was frozen with fear. Fear and emptiness. Fear and sadness. Fear and disappointment.

  “I’m not sorry,” Presley whispered, her voice raspy.

  Her father’s back stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “What did you say, young lady?”

  “Presley,” her mother choked. “Please don’t say things like that. We almost lost you.”

  “It’s what I deserve. After what I did…” She twisted the fabric of the blanket in her hands and pressed against her stomach.

  “You just need a little time away. Maybe a vacation,” her mother fretted, smoothing out the blanket and patting Presley’s hands. “We could send you back to Italy. You loved it there. That little vineyard—”

  “She doesn’t need a vacation,” her father hissed. “She needs professional help. First, she gets pregnant, then she has an abortion. Now she’s in a hospital with her wrists sliced open. If this gets out, my campaign is done.”

  “How—”

  “How do we know?” her father interrupted, his eyes cold. “Because your boyfriend came to the house looking for you the next morning. We’d gone home for a change of clothes, and he’d let himself in. We found him in your bathroom. Judith hadn’t cleaned yet.”

  His emphasis on the last part caused Presley’s heart to race. The image of Dylan seeing what she’d almost done, of facing her parents and telling them what led her to attempted suicide caused her face to burn with shame. “Can I see him?”

  Her father’s expression morphed into something cruel, hurtful. “Don’t you think if he wanted to see you, he’d be here? I didn’t even have to tell him to stay away. He did that all on his own.”

  Presley shook her head and looked at her mother, who averted her gaze. “I don’t believe you,” she said, her words choked with emotion.