The Butterfly Box_A SASS Anthology

by Anthology

  “You can’t be here.”

  “But I am here, Percy, just like always.”

  He shakes his head in a fast, frenzied way.

  “It’s too dangerous, Ida, you could be hurt…or killed.”

  He looks devastated at the thought, as if his soul is being ripped from him. I try to sound and look as reassuring as possible.

  “I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

  His hand works free of mine and he touches my face as if checking I’m real. I try to smile, to look as happy as I can. I want him to know how much I love him in that look, how much I want him to find his way back to the real world. He leans forward, resting his head against my breast. The gesture takes me by surprise and I hold his head there, trying as hard as I can not to cry.

  He jumps as another peal of thunder sounds outside. Thankfully the storm seems to be moving away. The rain is lighter and the wind has died down. The door across the room opens and I can see the feet of a few doctors and nurses. There’s distant screams echoing down the hall from the other patients, all locked in similar states. I know the staff are looking around the room, trying to figure out where we are. There’s another bolt of lightning followed a few seconds later by more thunder. Percy screams, grabbing a fist full of my dress. Someone bends down by the bed, Doctor Jeffreys’ face appearing beneath it. I shake my head to indicate he should go. He nods, understanding. I hear someone walk over to the chair across the room and take a seat. The other chair is pulled up closer to the bed and another person sits there as well.

  “Why – why are you here?” I hear Percy ask. His voice is muffled with his face still pressed against me, it shakes in fear.

  “Because you need me. Why else?” I answer. He holds me now, properly, tightly, and I hold him back. I want to make it alright again but I don’t know how.

  “I’m always here for you Percy.” I kiss his hair. “You should know that by now.”

  He stays still. There’s another small flash of lightning. I count down until the thunder like I used to as a child. Fifteen seconds…fifteen miles away. I sigh in relief and sag against the wall, bringing Percy with me. His head falls down to rest in my lap and I comb my hands through his hair.

  “I love you, Ida.” Percy’s voice seems far away. I’m so tired. I close my eyes, letting my tears fall again. A lump forms in my throat as I fight not to make a sound.

  “I love you too, Percy,” I manage to finally croak.

  I FALL ASLEEP resting on Ida's lap, listening to the now distant guns. I need to speak to Ida tomorrow, ask how she got here. However she got in is a weakness in our line. If she managed to sneak in, the Germans will be able to do it as well. The thought nearly scares me awake but I'm so tired, so very tired, that none of my limbs are able to move. I'm completely paralysed. The darkness takes me quickly. I imagine this must be what it feels like to die, sudden and absolute.

  Unlike my fall into unconsciousness, I awaken slowly. My hiding place is quiet...too quiet. The floor seems too hard as well. Mud is softer than this, this feels like wood. My clothes are thinner than my uniform ever was, whilst the air is permeated with the smell of disinfectant. I open my eyes to the dim light of morning. I start, sitting up, and swear as I bang my head on the underside of the bed.

  “Percy?”

  I look over at Ida. She's beside me, leaning against the wall and rubbing at her weary eyes.

  Last night. The trench. The bombardment...Ida.

  “What - where am I?” I ask, looking around me frantically. Have we been captured? Are we in Germany? How did I not wake up? Where's my gun?

  “In the hospital, my love.”

  I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me, I breathe out and look at her in confusion. The hospital? But why are we under the bed still? Were we both knocked out? No matter how I try to piece everything together it just doesn't add up. Squinting my eyes, trying so hard to make it all make sense, I realise I recognise the floor we're huddled on. I look over at Ida, she's wearing a dress I'm sure she's been wearing before...the last time I saw her. When was that?

  “What happened?” I need to ask her. She might know something I don't, especially if I was wounded. “I was - I was in France. There was a bombardment and - and you were there.”

  It sounds insane saying it out loud, but I know what I saw.

  “No, Percy. We were right here. I was here. There was a storm outside but you're safe.” She shuffles. “Did you hear me, Percy? You're safe, we're both safe.” She doesn't say these things in a challenging or aggressive way, but in a way of explanation. Almost as if she's explaining a nightmare to a child. But this had been real. I had felt it. I had been there. Or at least...I thought I had. I crawl out from beneath the bed and immediately recognise the room. I turn in a circle, taking in everything around me. The bed, the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the photo frame, the wash bowl, the chamber pot in the corner. It's all still there, completely untouched.

  But I had been there. Was it a memory? No, Ida had been there too. A dream? No, it was too real. I had heard it, smelt it, seen it!

  “What's happening to me?”

  I turn around and sink into a nearby chair. I no longer have the energy or will to stand. Ida's now stood in front of me. She looks worn out. Her clothes are rumpled, her hair is tangled, almost completely out of its style of a few days ago. I look at her, my entire body trembling in fear.

  “What's happening to me?” I repeat.

  “I don't know, Percy. You've-”

  Ida kneels in front of me, placing a hand on each of my knees. She looks at me with such sadness in her eyes, but she's clearly trying to hide it. It appears like she's trying to make a decision whether to speak or not.

  What have I done to make her so afraid of me?

  “You've had...a breakdown, my love. It’s perfectly common in soldiers, I promise. Doctor Jeffreys says they’re getting new patients on a daily basis. The doctors are trying to help, they're working so hard, Percy. Doctor Jeffreys has had next to no sleep in months. But you won't let them help you, you have to let them help you.”

  My eyes cloud over. Her hands on my knees are shaking, I can't decide whether it's my own trembling causing it or her fear. I hate myself for making her look that way.

  “I'll try,” I croak. Ida looks at me. She smiles, ducking her head so I can't see her eyes. She doesn't believe me. I hear her sniff and she raises her head again, having sniffed back her tears. My own eyes tear up at the sight of her fighting so hard to stay strong.

  What has she already been through for me? As if my leaving for this war wasn't hard enough for her. Just after we were finally able to be together and I left, only for me to come home like this. My heart aches, for her strength and for her pain. My lips tremble as I try to figure out another explanation for what's happening to me. I don't want to believe I'm mad. What will my mother say? My father? My men? I look back at Ida and the pain in her face is so strong I no longer care about anything else.

  “I'll let them help me, Ida. I need help. I need help.”

  As I finally let that realisation sink in, the shaking gets worse. I feel as if my entire body is falling to pieces from the inside out. I shake from head to toe, clinging to Ida, bringing her into an embrace. She's the only thing holding me together.

  PERCY'S ARMS ARE around me. He's holding me in an uncomfortable position, but I don't complain. He is trembling so bad it makes me shake where our bodies are pressed together. He cries great heaving sobs into my shoulder. The noise of his cries reverberate around the room, going down into my bones and straight to my heart. It’s the sound of a man who has finally broken.

  The door behind me opens and I hear the doctor enter again, at a run. Percy's cries are definitely loud enough to have reached the main ward down the corridor. The doctor's footsteps halt at the sight of us. I'm not able to move to catch his eye and I don't want to. I want to hold my husband, make sure he doesn't get lost in his own fear and sorrow. For so many years, our entire
lives in fact, he had been the strong one. He's walked away from his family, fought his friends and associates, all for me, and he never so much as frowned. It is his turn to be looked after now. It is my turn to be strong.

  I hold him even tighter, making sure he knows I'm here for him. I've always been here for him. He wants help and he's going to get it.

  He is still howling in my ear, shaking all over with the pent up emotions of the last few days...months...years. More footsteps approach at the sound of him, all of them stopping in the doorway, held in place by the sight of Percy so helplessly lost in his own mind.

  “Don't leave me,” he chokes between sobs. “Please don't leave me.”

  “I'll never leave you. I promise.”

  “I'll get better.” His voice breaks as he continues to howl. “I can't lose you. I'll get better. Don't leave me.”

  “I'm not going anywhere, Percy. I'm right here. I always will be. I love you so much. I can't tell you how much because there aren't words for it.” Percy’s huge sobs escalate until they’re almost a scream. His fingers claw at my clothes, desperately seeking comfort, a release for the pain he is so obviously feeling.

  “I don't care what you have done or seen,” I continue. I need to keep talking, keep telling him I can do this, so I might start to believe it myself. “I just care that you're here with me. Just you and me, like always. I want you, I need you. In sickness and in health, remember? We made that promise. I won't forget. God himself couldn’t drag me away from you.”

  There’s a pause as his cries carry on, echoing around the room. He is trying so hard to regain composure. Eventually, he speaks.

  “I’ll get better. I promise I’ll get better.” His voice is so thick the words are almost unintelligible. He sniffs loudly and pulls away, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He looks over my shoulder at the doctor, who’s still frozen in the doorway. “Help me,” is all he says.

  STEPPING INTO MY house is surreal. Home, I’m finally home. Ida’s flowery perfume floats in the air. My hat still hangs on the hook by the door and some change from my pocket is still sitting on the hall table. I’d put it there on my last evening at home, so it wouldn’t roll across the floor when I removed my trousers for bed.

  Nina and Thomas, our two main staff members, bustle around. I take it all in silently. I stretch out my hand to rest on the banister. It’s cold and solid beneath my touch…real. The living room door is open so I can see part of the fireplace. Orange flames lick at a fresh log in the hearth. A painting hangs above the fire, a small clock ticking away on the mantel.

  Ida takes my free hand lightly in her own.

  “Are you alright?” she asks. I nod my head, although, I’m not entirely sure. It’s so strange to be back here. Having seen and done so much, then to see everything here exactly the same. I can’t formulate a thought to explain it. Ida smiles at me and kisses my cheek. I close my eyes briefly to enjoy the feel of her lips on my skin.

  The past few months have been hard, the hardest of both our lives, but I’ve fallen in love with Ida all over again. I had always been the one fighting for her, risking everything. Now I can see how strong she is too, how much of her even I never knew. She may be small in stature but I think she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.

  I'm not healed. I’ve been released from the hospital because I’m no longer a danger to myself or anyone else, but I’m far from healed. There's still a long way to go before I'm even close to that definition. As the doctor had said, it’s not as easy as all that. The mind is the toughest thing to heal. I’ll never forget what I’ve seen, what I’ve done and made other men do. I’ll be haunted by those things until my dying breath. The nightmares will always come and the visions will never be far away. There will always be the same quiet ringing in my ears.

  The main war is over but my war has only just begun. It will never end.

  The men who could be were back at home. They walked, wheeled, or hobbled around in their civilian clothes, working their civilian jobs – if they could get them. The others begged, a trouser leg or jacket sleeve sewn short to cover their missing limbs. They most likely had the same nightmares as me, ducked every time a motorcar backfired, shivered in the dark with every storm, dived for cover every time a football was kicked towards them. As the doctor said, the mind is almost impossible to heal.

  I’m lucky, though. A lot of men have to deal with all this alone. They don’t have the warm embrace in the night when the nightmares come, the comforting smile when the fear begins to creep in. I know she won’t run, or judge me if I have a turn in public. I’ll always have Ida and she’ll always have me.

  My recovery, should there be one, will be an uphill struggle. I’ll never banish these demons, never be able to stop seeing the things that aren’t there. We’re still in our early twenties but we’ll never again feel young. The people we once were, the happy couple who would lie naked in each other’s arms for hours, are long gone. But we will always find our way back to one another. No matter what has already happened or what is still yet to happen, Ida and I will be the one, solid constant.

  “Can I take your coat, sir?” Nina asks. I nod, letting her remove my coat and hang it beside the door with my hat. I lay my foot on the bottom step of the stairs, smiling as it creaks - just like it always does. Nina looks at me quizzically, clearly unsure whether she should do anything else.

  “That’ll be all, Nina, thank you.” I put her out of her misery and she smiles in relief, curtsying before she turns to leave.

  Ida brushes past me, taking my hand, and I follow her. One foot in front of the other, I continue up the stairs…up towards our future.

  The End

  WHEN THE WEATHER matches a character's mood in writing, they call it pathetic fallacy. For example, if it is raining outside, an author might be suggesting that it’s raining in the character’s heart too.

  Today is one of those days for me: I’m pouring down, I’m torrential, and the darkness that dances around the perimeter of my life, closing in on me like a swarm of Dementors, shows no signs of letting up. There's an evil fist wrapped around my heart, squeezing and clenching and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to breath…

  Today we have to dress in black and walk with our heads bowed low, handkerchiefs at the ready, and I find myself battling against accepting the truth.

  Today, I’m meant to be upright and strong for my best friend, and I don’t think I can be the person he needs me to be.

  I’m struggling to hold it together.

  The patter of raindrops on the window becomes the soundtrack to my barely ticking pulse as I stare out at the dull skies, the bright light of the sun hidden from view by huge grey sheets that trail across the firmament in slow motion, as if time has stopped.

  And it has stopped.

  It has stopped still and I am not sure when or how it will start up again—I’m not sure if the whirring of the machinery will clank and turn again, allowing us all to move forwards, to trudge through life without him, knowing that the world will always be lacking because he is gone.

  Turning to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the spare room, I fuss with the stiff collar of the cotton shirt I’ve chosen to wear. The other women are wearing dresses, but I don't own any dresses.

  There are five fake pearl buttons that fasten the thing together and every one of them is in place, the top one choking me. You might suggest that I open it, but it wouldn’t make a difference: I am being choked underneath anyway. That invisible force that won't let go—the one that has me in a vice-like grip as it snickers behind my ear in a taunting whisper, trying to pull me under—slides its icy fingers around my windpipe now, still courageous and determined in its quest to force the life out of me—to leave me defeated and battle-worn.

  I flick my eyes across our old room to the grandfather clock that ticks away the seconds that are left before I have to join the other mourners, and I sigh through my nose.

  I can’t let him see me fal
l apart.

  I have to walk next to him, tall and confident.

  I have to show him that even though the bottom of his world has fallen out, leaving a gaping black hole that he could tumble into at any given moment, I will be there for him in every possible situation.

  I have to show him that he is strong enough to do this.

  “Jess!”

  I let out another sigh and slip into the ballerina pumps that sit by the door. “I’m coming. Two seconds.”

  Allowing myself one more look in the mirror, I tuck the short strands of my dirty blonde hair behind my ears and smooth my hands down the front of the black jeans that cling like a second skin to my legs.

  I’m not going to fit in today, but then I never do.

  We never do.

  I pluck my black leather jacket from the chair in the corner of the room, open the door and begin to descend the stairs.

  As I reach the bottom step—engulfed by a fear that my own emotions will let me down—I flip the oversized sunglasses that sit on top of my head so that they land like a pair of soldier standing guard in front of my face, preventing anyone from getting in and seeing me crumple.

  The house is full, but there’s only one person I want to be near. Unfortunately, he doesn’t really want to see me. He’s pretty much shut down since the accident and is refusing to talk to me aside from the odd grunt.

  I know why.

  He knows I’ll try to force him to say things he will claim he isn’t ready to say.

  Stubborn ass.

  So, even though I am going to stand there, solid as a rock by his side as we walk from the church, I know that meaningful words will be non-existent.