The Butterfly Box_A SASS Anthology

by Anthology

  “Are you okay?” I take her hand in mine and hold it up between us, applying pressure to the wound on her finger.

  She slowly tilts her head back, pinning me with those big brown eyes that now, under the low, recessed lighting hanging just above our heads, I see glimmer with flecks of green and blue, and my heart starts to beat faster. Her pulse quickens beneath my grasp, its chaotic rhythm igniting a fire in my veins that has my entire body heating up, and as much as I know I should look away, break the enigmatic hold our eyes have on each other, I can’t.

  I can’t pull away from her.

  We remain as we are, gazes locked and hands held, lost in a cloud of muddled confusion and apparent desire, and it’s as if a lifetime of conversation passes from our unmoving lips and unblinking eyes.

  Cassi looks away first, the disconcerted sound of her voice cutting through our silence, causing whatever was floating between us to completely evaporate.

  “And this is why I don’t carve pumpkins.”

  She drops her gaze to the floor, and my lungs finally capture the mouthful of air they’ve spent the last few seconds trying to retrieve. I swallow down the lump of words caught in my throat. Pulling back the blood-soaked paper towel, I inspect the slice on her finger, making sure she isn’t in need of stitches, and deciding the cut isn’t too deep, I reluctantly release the hold I have on her. I sit back down on my stool, my heart still recovering from the shock of panic that sent it thundering in my chest at the possibility of her being hurt.

  “God, I’m such a mess.” She shakes her head and sighs, and I reach out, pressing two fingers beneath her chin and gently lifting it.

  “You’re not.” My thumb runs along the curve of her lower lip, my brows narrowing as I follow its path with my gaze. “You're just a little broken. And that, Cass, is its own kind of beautiful.

  “OKAY. TELL US more.”

  Turning my back to hide my eyes rolling over in their sockets, I begin to sift through the rack of undergarments in front of me, picking up a pair of red, cotton boy shorts. I glance at them briefly and then toss them into my shopping cart. “There is nothing to tell, really. We’re friends. I enjoy his company. End of story.”

  My sister lets out a condescending laugh, and I don't have to look at my mother to know she’s rolling her eyes at me. Over the last few days, their nagging has increased, causing my nerves to prickle with a frustration I didn’t realize I was capable of feeling. I should have known better and kept mine and Sam’s friendship a secret. Nowadays, it is impossible for a guy and girl to be friends and it does not automatically mean something more. I don’t understand why you can’t have friendship without intimacy or attraction. Don’t get me wrong, Sam is most definitely attractive. He has a smile that makes my stomach dance in knots and there is a flutter in my chest whenever he’s near, but I don’t have a strong enough heart to explore these feelings.

  Jenny picks up the pair of underwear I just tossed in my cart, holding them up to inspect them, and her nose scrunches up in what I can only assume is revulsion. “When did you start wearing granny panties? These are something Mom would wear.”

  I open my mouth, getting ready to answer her when Mom cuts in.

  “Hey, don’t think I can’t hear you. Just because I’m in my fifties doesn’t mean I’m wearing granny panties. Actually, Todd just bought me a nice th—”

  “Stop.” I bring my hands up to my face, my entire body cringing at the thought of my mother’s ass being in anything less than a full piece of cotton. “Please stop. I do not want to know.”

  Jenny looks over at me, the wrinkles on her nose multiplying as horror takes over her face. “That’s gross, Mom. TMI… T.M.I.”

  Sighing heavily and walking away, our mother leaves us be and makes her way over to the changing room. Jenny begins to shuffle through the hangers, grabbing herself a handful of sexy lingerie sets, adding them to the cart. “It's okay if you like him, you know.”

  Her words come out of nowhere, and an uncomfortable pull in my chest has me wincing. I shake my head, exhausted to be having to explain myself once again. “It’s not like that.”

  “Isn’t it?” Jenny pauses, and stopping her search, she looks over at me. “I’m not trying to turn this into something it’s not, Cass, but you two have been spending a lot of time together lately, and I just think if it’s not like that, you need to make sure he’s on the same page. I’m sure he is a great guy, and an even better friend; I’d just hate to see either one of you getting hurt because of some unspoken expectations.”

  The weighted truth of her words has my stomach lurching, and I nod my head, unsure what to say.

  It’s not like that.

  It’s not...

  Or is it?

  GRABBING MY BAGS from the passenger side seat, I fling open my car door and step out. A gust of cold air whips across my face blowing through the strands of my hair, and I tuck my chin further into my coat as I hurry to my front door, fumbling with my keys in order to unlock it.

  “Cassi.”

  The deep voice carrying over my shoulder has my heart jumping into my throat, and the bags in my hands fall from my grasp, their contents emptying across the concrete. I turn around, my hand clutching my chest as my eyes collide with Sam’s.

  “Shit, Sam. I didn’t know you were there.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Standing a foot in front of me, he bends down to gather my things from the sidewalk, scooping them up and placing them back into their bags. “I just came from the grocery store. I was going to head home, but I saw you pulling in and I figured I’d stop, see if maybe you wanted to do dinner and perhaps watch a movie. We don’t have to go out. I grabbed a few new releases from the rental kiosk...”

  His voice becomes a distant sound as the earlier conversation with my sister begins to replay in my head, and reality starts to tumble slowly down around me. I stare down at the man at my feet, his brown hair looking almost black in the dark of night and the equally dark scruff that lines his jaw, and my heart starts to beat faster.

  What are we doing?

  What am I doing?

  Am I unknowingly leading this man on to think there could ever possibly be more between us? Am I an idiot to think that's even a thought in his mind? More importantly, am I fool for not wanting to explore whatever this is that we have?

  Running a hand across my face, I brush away the flyaway strands of my hair blowing carelessly with the wind, and open my mouth to tell him I'm not sure dinner is such a good idea. The words are on the tip of my tongue when my eyes land on the thin scraps of black, lacy material on the ground—the same scraps an unsuspecting Sam is reaching over to pick up.

  Fucking Jenny.

  I’m going to kill her.

  Fire quickly collects in my cheeks, reddening my face and heating my skin, and I immediately drop to my knees, snatching the lingerie up before he has a chance to. I can’t speak. Embarrassment steals my thoughts, and I stutter, trying to search for an explanation as to why I've suddenly joined him on the ground. I give up fairly quickly, though, cursing under my breath and shoving the lingerie inside my coat and out of sight.

  Sam looks at me, confusion and curiosity narrowing his brows. “You okay?”

  I gulp down the nerves rising from my stomach and ascending into my throat, and nod my head. “Mhm.”

  His mouth contorts to the side as if he isn't convinced I'm telling the truth, and he straightens himself, taking a hold of my hands and bringing me with him. He doesn’t let me go. He stands in front of me, the rough pads of his thumbs making idle circles over the top of my hands, and I tilt my head back to catch his green gaze, only it’s concentrated on the movement of his fingers. The feeling of him on my skin—his soft, gentle strokes—spreads through my veins like wildfire.

  “So, um…” His voice is low, unsure, as if he’s afraid to ask, or just possibly afraid of the response he will receive. After a lengthy moment, his lashes finally lift, and when they do, when
our eyes connect, I lose any resolve I may have had at turning down his offer. “What do you say? Dinner and a movie?”

  I nod my head, my breath leaving me on long, but silent exhale, and I smile; it’s genuine—not at all forced. “Sounds great.”

  “Okay. Let’s get you inside. It’s cold out here.”

  Unlocking the door, Sam follows behind me, and I immediately excuse myself to my bedroom, ridding myself of the lingerie still hidden beneath my coat and then returning to the kitchen. Sam is standing at the counter, his hands working with precision as he dices up a plateful of vegetables. He must hear my footsteps, because the second my soles hit the hardwood floor, he’s turning to look at me, a smile on his face.

  “I hope stir fry is okay. I figured it’s quick and easy.”

  I inhale deeply, the smell of crushed garlic and olive oil sautéing on the stove making my stomach grumble in anticipation. “It’s perfect.” Crossing the short distance and pulling out a stool, I sit across from Sam, resting my elbows on the counter and watching as he continues to prep dinner. “You’re pretty good at that.”

  A light-hearted chuckle rolls from his mouth, and I’m gifted a lopsided grin. “I’m okay, I guess.” He shrugs, turning around to dump the veggies into the pan on the stove and then moving to wash his hands. “Growing up, I did a lot of cooking at home. My, uh… my father wasn’t really the most proactive when it came to having dinner on the table.”

  I remain silent, and I sense he knows I have no idea how to respond, because he sits back down at the counter and continues to speak. “After my mom died, I think a part of him died too. The man I had grown up knowing with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes, well, he ceased to exist. He became someone who was withdrawn, lost in a sea of grief he had no idea how to save himself from.”

  I swallow down the knot in my throat. “And now?”

  Sam shakes his head, a sadness in his eyes that I’m seeing for the first time ever, and my heart clenches. “He checked out, Cass... mentally, he checked out and he never checked back in.”

  His words hit me. They soar through the air, striking my chest as if it is me he is speaking of, and I suddenly feel like the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. I look away, trying to catch my breath, and when I’ve managed to regain my composure from my momentary lack thereof, I swing my head back around to face him. I need to say something, but all I can think of as I stare at him are his five words he had spoken to me that first day in the cafe.

  “I even see you, Cassi.”

  And what does he see when he looks at me? Does he see a mirror of his father? Does he see a girl who is lost in her own grief and drowning in sorrow?

  Because I am…

  I am, and no matter how bad I want to be rescued, I can't seem to find the shore. I'm stuck in this vast ocean of guilt and sadness and all I want is someone to throw me a damn buoy.

  The warmth of Sam's hands covering mine and the sound of his voice drags me back to the now.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blink away the burning sensation in my eyes and pull in a quick breath, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “I'm sorry.”

  I'm not even exactly sure what I'm apologizing for: his father and the fact he essentially had to grow up without either of his parents or my silence as my mind processed the realization that I too, am someone who has, figuratively speaking, checked out.

  “It's okay. I didn't tell you that to have you feeling sorry for me. I just—”

  “Will I ever get to meet him?” I blurt the question out, and Sam’s gaze snaps to mine, an incredulous expression painted across his features.

  “I… I don’t—” His mouth snaps shut, and his brows knit as it becomes clear his mind is still attempting to piece together my words. “You actually want to meet him?”

  I lift a shoulder to my cheek and glance down at my hands which are still connected with his. “Yeah. I mean, only if you want me to, of course.”

  How have we come to this? How have I gone from not knowing if I should see this man again, to wanting to meet his father?

  It doesn’t make sense.

  I BLINK AWAKE, my sleep-ridden eyes taking longer than they should to adjust to the darkness, and my entire body tenses. My heart rate increases, slow at first than faster, as I feel the warm body I’m pressed against shift ever so slightly beneath me.

  “Shit.”

  The curse flies from my mouth on a hissed whisper, and I squeeze my eyes shut as my mind whirls with confusion, trying to replay the last few hours in my head. Searching for a reason as to how we’ve ended up in this position, and concluding that we must have fallen asleep on the couch while watching the last movie, I lay stock-still, afraid any sudden movement will rouse him from his sleep. I gingerly lift my head from his shoulder, and tilting it back, I catch a glimpse of the man passed out peacefully beside me.

  Painted in the soft glow of the moon, his face is even more handsome than I’ve allowed myself to notice. I’m staring, and for once, I don’t care that I am. My eyes trace over the hard lines of his jaw, my fingers twitching with the urge to smooth themselves over the dark stubble covering it, and a flutter of something I can’t define lands in my stomach. So long has it been since I’ve been close to a man, my body is practically yearning for attention—attention that my heart just isn’t ready to receive. Closing my eyes and sighing, I begin to sit up, my movements slow and tentative as I try to put some much-needed distance between us.

  And then I freeze.

  Throughout the night—in the midst of sleeping—the top button of Sam’s shirt has come undone, revealing a sliver of his chest, but more than that, it reveals the start of the red scar that disappears beneath his dark gray button-down. In the six weeks that I’ve known him, in all the time we’ve spent together, I’ve never seen it. Thinking back now, I remember all the times he’s reached up to adjust his collar and how I’ve never paid any mind to the habit—never given it a second thought. But now… now it’s staring me straight in the face, and I can’t look away.

  Hit with the force of realization, I’m robbed of the oxygen in my lungs, and a collection of tears begin to line my tired eyes. In the back of my mind, I’ve always known the heart within Sam’s chest is not his own. Of course, it’s not. It’s Adam’s. But I’ve never allowed myself to dwell on that fact. I couldn’t, because if I had, I’d be reminded of everything I struggle day in and day out to accept. I’d be reminded that I’m living my life only half alive—reminded that my forever always is gone. He’s gone. And I’m here, broken and alone.

  Adam.

  The thought of him consumes me, and I find myself moving once again, only this time, I’m not moving away. I’m moving in closer. The sudden need to touch Sam’s chest, to feel the heart beating beneath his ribs has my hand reaching out. Any logical thought, any voice of reason, is pushed aside as the tips of my fingers graze the soft cotton material of his shirt, and as my palm flattens against warm, hard muscle, the tears welling in my eyes spillover, unbidden and fast, wetting my skin as they race one after the other down a single watery path. The familiar beats thumping beneath my hand has me gasping on the air I can’t fully inhale, and I bite down on my lip to stop its incessant quivering.

  My next breath leaves me on a choked-sob, and as I attempt to pull my hand away to stifle it, Sam’s eyelids flick open. He stares at me, dark green eyes only half awake, but filled with sympathy and understanding. I want to drag my gaze away, because this increasingly intense and awkward situation is doing a number on my nerves, but Sam is moving before I have a chance to react. Silent and with our eyes held, he takes hold of my hand. His fingers curl around mine in a gentle embrace and as he guides them back to his chest, placing them directly over his heart… over Adam’s heart… the last remaining pieces of my own heart completely shatter.

  I can’t breathe.

  Each breath I take cuts deep, feeling like a thousand shards of broken glass sliding down my throat, their sharp and
jagged edges slicing me open and filling me with a new level of pain. It’s raw. It hurts. And I don't know how to make it stop.

  I look at Sam, this beautiful man who has come into my life at the cost of losing my forever always, and I’m hit with another agonizing emotion: guilt. It nearly consumes me. Deep down, I know Sam isn’t exactly just a friend. It's the reason why Jenny's words held such impact. He’s becoming more than that, and it scares the hell out of me. I’m scared that I don’t have it in me to explore what we could be. I’m scared I can’t give him any part of my heart because it doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to Adam. It always has.

  Begging the tears to stop and the paralyzing ache to subside, I sob out the only thing I can manage to say. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

  He shakes his head, silently telling me words are not needed, and without warning he reaches out with his other hand, curling his fingers gently around the back of my neck and pulling me to him. I willingly collapse into his chest, my entire body trembling and my hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt as the hurt pours from every crevice in my broken heart.

  There are a million reasons for him to let me go, to push me away and walk out of that front door… but he doesn’t. He continues to hold me close, his one hand smoothing up and down my back, soothing the release of my emotions as his lips press lightly against my forehead. His breath is a warm gentle caress as he whispers softly to me.

  “It’s okay, Cass. Shh... it’s okay.”

  I stay as I am, wrapped up in Sam’s supportive arms, yet, lost in the comforting sound of Adam’s beating heart.

  HAVE YOU EVER felt your heart find a steady rhythm; it’s beats almost melodic and so in tune it has you closing your eyes just to hear its beautiful song?

  No?

  Me neither.

  Until now...

  Breathing deeply, I rest my head on the sofa pillow, closing my eyes as my hand continues its gentle strokes up and down the length of Cassi’s back.