Page 73 of Butterfly

“Consider this moment as a test. If he breaks up with you after you talk to him, he doesn’t deserve your time.” A smile tugs at her lips, making her look ten years younger. “I’m ready to bet that your…situation won’t change anything. I think I raised him better than that.” She pauses, her eyebrows arched.

“So, it’s a test for you as well?”

She laughs. “I guess so. Let’s go home.”

I grin as she hugs me, careful not to hurt my shoulder. Home. It sounds nice.

Alex must have followed his mum’s orders down to a T because when we enter, the scent of freshly baked pie and roasted potatoes fills the hallway. My stomach churns with nausea though. In the dining room, the table is set with red napkins, candles, and mugs of mulled wine. Lights blink in the Christmas tree, and Dart is sprawled on his favourite rug in front of the fire, although his rising eyebrows belie his stress. He isn’t happy about the shouting and yelling in the house. Neither am I.

Then I meet Alex’s gaze. His grey eyes are a storm of emotions I can’t place. I’m too busy sorting through the mess of my own emotions to understand what is going on inside him. My knees weaken. A bitter taste sours my mouth. Perhaps I’m not as strong as I thought.

“How are you?” he asks while the others are chattering.

“Nothing is broken,” I whisper. “I don’t think I can eat. Please excuse me with the others, but I want to go to bed.” I’ll talk to him. But not now.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me a stiff nod. I open my mouth, tempted to tell him to come with me, but I need to lie down and rest for a while. Or maybe I’m just being a coward.

All because of a donkey. Again.

Twenty-five

Alex

MY CHEST TIGHTENS as Sienna drags herself upstairs. Her pale face and shivering body show her pain, as if the cloud of sadness following her wasn’t enough. If only she trusted me, I think— My mum touches my arm, jolting me from my thoughts.

“You care for her, don’t you?” There’s a solemnity in her question that scares the shit out of me.

“More than I can tell. How is she?” I ask no one in particular.

Charles is still sulking, but he angles towards his wife, as if waiting for her to answer. After our fight, he disappeared and returned to help with dinner, without exchanging a word with me.

“Sienna needs help,” Fiona says, touching the rim of her glass. “Professional help. The support of loved ones is important, but it’s not enough. Unless she sees a therapist, her fears won’t go away.” She waves towards the sitting room where the drama happened. “Don’t get me wrong. She has good reasons to be scared, and that’s why she needs serious help.”

“I know.” I rub my forehead.

“I can suggest the name of a great therapist.” Fiona takes my hand. “But it must be her choice. If you could talk to her and make her understand how important it is, she might decide to try. She doesn’t want anyone’s help, does she?”

“She keeps everyone at a distance,” I say, thinking about what Tyler told me.

Fiona nods. “That’s what I mean. The extreme need to be independent is a sign of trauma and abuse.”

We let those haunting words sink in. Fiona is right.

“What happened to your face?” Mum asks Charles after the awkward moment.

He rubs the red spot where I hit him. “Nothing. I bumped against something.”

Yeah, he did.

Mum scowls but doesn’t ask anything else. “Go to her.” She nods towards the stairs. “I’ll set aside something for you two for later. Talk to her. We’ll have a quiet dinner, and I’ll take Dart out for a walk.” She rubs my shoulder. “Don’t worry about us.”

I glance around. Fiona is nodding encouragingly, and Charles seems about to say something.

“Thank you,” I say. “To all of you.”

Mum doesn’t let me go. “Be patient with her. Be kind.”

I kiss her cheek. “I will.”

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