Page 71 of Butterfly

“You need an X-ray,” Fiona says in the practical tone professionals use. “The area is too swollen and dark to understand if something is broken. Your scapula might be fragmented, or something else might be broken. Let’s go to the clinic.”

“I’ll come with you.” Bethany touches my good shoulder. “I won’t leave your side.”

“Not Alex,” I stammer. “Not him.”

She caresses my head. “No, don’t worry. It’ll be just the three of us.”

When Fiona stands up, her legs are shaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

I’m staring at the floor when we cross the sitting room, Bethany’s arm wrapped around me.

“Sienna.” Alex rushes to me, invading my space. “How are you?”

I can’t reply. I can’t say anything. My throat is swollen, and my heart is going wild.

“We’re taking her to the clinic for an X-ray.” Bethany steers me away from him. “All is good, but be a dear and prepare the table for dinner. Everything is almost ready. We won’t be long.”

“May I talk to Sienna for a moment?” Frustration turns his voice sharp.

Charles shows a matching frown.

“You may not. Not now.” Bethany pulls me towards the door.

“I’m ready.” Fiona grabs her keys and dons her coat. “See you later, darling.” She gives a kiss to Charles, who reciprocates without too much enthusiasm, his thick dark eyebrows knitted together.

“But what happened? Why did you shout?” Alex asks.

“See you later,” Bethany repeats.

Before leaving the house, I don’t turn to glance at Alex, but the weight of his stare on me presses to the back of my neck.

I silently apologise to him.

Twenty-three

Alex

THE BACK OF my throat is dry from my ragged breathing. From the window, I watch Sienna leave the house in Fiona’s car, wishing I were with her. But no. She doesn’t need me. Not at this moment when she needs me the most. How screwed up is that?

Whatever. I stride to the kitchen and do as I’m told, pulling out plates and fancy glasses.

“Will you stop it?” Charles says, entering the room. “No need to slam everything on the table.”

I shut the door of the pantry hard enough to make it bounce back. “You didn’t need to shout at her like that.”

“You did the same.” His lips are pressed together. He opens his mouth, but then, as usual, he clams up.

“What?” I’m glad Mum isn’t here, or she’d slap us both. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want to tell me?”

He points a finger at me, his neck red. “You never have time to come home.”

“I have a demanding job, and if you think it’s an easy one—”

“Fuck your job. I don’t give a damn about your job. But it’s a job you wouldn’t have if Mum and Dad hadn’t supported you. And how do you repay them? By not being here when they need you.” The words rush out of his mouth in a torrent of frustration that is dragging me into a dark place. “Dad died without you. We were all there next to him, but you were at a party. I had to hold his hand and tell him his son was somewhere else. Do you have any idea of what that did to me?” His voice cracks.

Shit, he never told me that. “Dad died suddenly. I couldn’t have known. Had there been warning signs about his health, I would’ve been here.” A pounding is thudding in my ears. I was busy that day. With Rebecca.

“That’s what I mean.” He rubs his eyes. “Do you have to wait for one of us to be on the sickbed to come here?”

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