Page 12 of Butterfly

The tip of her tongue darts out over her bottom lip. She stays silent. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. But dammit, it’s a long scar. A lot of blood must’ve spilt. I don’t stop touching the scar until she sucks in a shaky breath.

“A friend of my roommate found me,” she says in a low voice that sounds like a confession. “She was the best student in her year. Medical school. I can confirm her skills are exceptional.” A corner of her mouth quirks up, but the smile has nothing to do with the genuine one from before. I keep rubbing her wrist, fearing she won’t talk again if I stop. “She arrived right after I had. She didn’t freak out, not even when I slapped her hands away. She wrapped a towel around my arm and made a tourniquet with her belt. Her movements were so fast, I wondered how many times she’d done that.” She lifts her shoulder. “The medics arrived in less than five minutes. Dumb luck.”

I pause to gaze at her. “Then what happened?”

Another breathy puff of air escapes her lips as I press the pad of my thumb to her wrist.

“I recovered and moved on,” she says, her tone clipped. “Tyler says I was like a butterfly, born again after a complete transformation. I’m not sure he’s right. Maybe I’m still a caterpillar.”

“You said you don’t have those thoughts, so you changed.” I hope so. Is she seeing a therapist? I hope that, too.

“I guess.” She’s tracing the pad of my thumb, making my pulse speed up.

I want to ask her more questions, but that would be crossing a further line. Besides, her arm is relaxing, and her fingers are flexing to touch my wrist. Ruining this fragile moment would be a sin. A shiver arrows straight to my groin when she caresses the calluses on my palm. What the hell is happening? Haven’t the foggiest. There’s almost nothing sexual in the way we’re holding hands, but excitement is stinging my skin. We lace our fingers in an intimate gesture that shocks me. We explore and touch each other’s hands. I could go on for hours. I caress her slender fingers. She strokes my knuckles. I touch her wrist. She rubs my palm. Each touch tells a story that makes me shudder.

When the announcement that we’re about to land comes from the speakers, I reluctantly let her hand go.

She traps my fingers between hers for a moment, her long eyelashes fluttering. “Thank you.”

I swallow past the sudden knot in my throat. “Thank you.”

Even as we recline on our seats, I feel her skin under my fingers and a warm flicker in my chest. The aeroplane shakes through the clouds. The bright lights in the ceiling glare at me and shock me back to reality.

Heathrow. London. Work.

Whatever strange moment I shared with Sienna is going to end soon. London’s grey sky adds a further layer of dullness to the descent.

After the plane lands, a lousy mood sets on me. This bloody trip has been a roller coaster of emotions, but I’m not sure the damn storm shook me as much as Sienna did. I help her take her bag from the overhead bin and breathe in her scent as I put an arm around her waist. She leans her head on my shoulder. No hesitation. No stiffness in her body. Her closeness has become familiar and comforting in a too-short time. Although she’s a stranger, the thought of not seeing her again leaves me worried. And she’s injured. I’d like to know how she’s doing.

After the baggage claim, we stop close to the sliding doors that are going to separate us when I take the VIP route out. Tyler and Jack are coming from the other side of the hall, having disembarked after the first-class passengers.

“Will you manage on your own from now on?” I ask, not sure what I’m referring to. I keep an eye on Tyler, who’s keeping an eye on me a few yards away. But I’m going to take this last moment alone with Sienna, despite his ‘protective big brother’ attitude.

“I’ll do my best.” She tugs at the bandage around her arm.

“Listen…” I take out a notebook from the pocket of my bag and scribble my number on it. “This is my personal number. The number only my family and closest friends have.” I hand her the piece of paper as her lips part and her neck straightens. “I’ll be in London for the next three weeks with little to do. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

She eyeballs the piece of paper, then me. Her fingers hesitate before taking my number. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. Call me. Even if you just want to talk.” I’m a breath away from begging her.

She nods, pocketing the piece of paper. I loiter, waiting for her to give me her number, but she doesn’t do anything, and I don’t ask. That would be creepy, right? She has my number. If she wants to call me, she will. No need to be pushy.

Through the sliding doors, Vance sweeps into view. Behind him, journalists circle like vultures, cameras at the ready. My heart sinks. I take a deep breath and brace myself for the questions and the assault of the flashes.

“I have to go,” I point out rather uselessly.

“Thank you for your help. All those trips to the loo. I feel like you know my physiology rather intimately now.”

I chuckle. She grins. Hell, this is awful.

“See you. Take care.” I smile at Sienna before leaving. She smiles back, but it’s not her genuine smile.

Four

Sienna

THE FAMILIAR SCENT of my flat in London has a soothing effect on my skittish nerves after I return from Heathrow. Like a cat rubbing itself against my legs, exhaustion takes me the moment I hop across the threshold.

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