Unsettled: Thriller Standalone Page 4

  "You don't know anything about my Nana." My skin pebbles as his tongue runs over the divot in his lip that my teeth created. Even if Nana did care, it's not like it would matter. She's dead. His hand throws my wrist away as he stands, my body falling forward, so that I have to catch myself with a forearm in the dirt. I look up to find his cruel gaze scorching holes into my flesh. "And you don't know anything about me."

  Like always, he leaves me with just a taste, then promptly pushes me away, guarding that black heart of his. He is a tease without even intending to be; it does nothing but make me want him more. Despite how much I want to, I won't allow myself to beg him to stay. I'd rather die than let him see that kind of weakness from me. Something tells me that he'd hate that even more, though.

  Sitting up under his gaze, I grab my thermos and take a drink. Putting the lid back on, I see the dark blotches covering my wrist, Rhys's fingers branded into my pale skin. When I look at him, he's looking at my wrist too, lips parting at the sight. Before I can comment, he's spinning away from me. The heat burning behind his blues engraved into my memory as I watch his back disappear from me. My fingers dig into the dirt where he was sitting, eyes falling to his discarded cup.

  "Guess it's just you and me now, Nana."

  She's drunk. And not the cute, giggly kind that I'm usually drawn to, but the sloppy, fall on your face type. To say that puts a dent in my night is a wild understatement. Tonight was supposed to be about us, me and my Callophrys rubi. She's been a hard one to snag, but even with this latest hindrance, she's worth it. I watch as she comes stumbling over to where I'm sitting, practically falling into my lap as she comes to a stop. She ditched her heels an hour ago, her feet now dirty from stomping around without them. My hands gripping her upper arms is the only reason she doesn't fall onto the floor. She's a fucking mess.

  "Just... just one more dance. And then we can go to my place." She grins up at me, the minty sage hue of her eyes settling the annoyance tightening my limbs. She has the most beautiful eyes, my butterfly. I knew she would make such a stunning addition to my collection the moment I saw them.

  Taking a hand from her arm, I use my fingertips to push some hair away that has fallen into her face. The soft brown is so lackluster compared to those eyes of hers. Shame. "One dance." I return her goofy little smile with one a little less ridiculous, keeping her in place while I swipe my glass of water from the table. "Drink this first."

  She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue, her arm sloppily taking the glass. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I try to keep my face neutral as I watch her spill half of the fucking glass down her chin. I've spent far too many fucking nights planning this to have to wait any longer. Priming my butterfly for this took longer than anticipated, and I'm growing dangerously low on patience. She tries to set the glass down before it’s gone, and I grab the bottom of it, forcing her to finish. She sputters a bit but eventually swallows it back. Taking it from her hand, I swipe my palm over her chin, wiping away some of the water that missed her mouth.

  Nodding toward the dance floor and the other girls she's made drunken friends with, I curl my fingers into my wet palm, "Go."

  She drops a messy kiss onto my cheek, missing my mouth, then stumbles away. Fucking ridiculous. I should have known better than to let her drink tonight, I’ve seen how she gets; it's how she was when I first spotted her. Fucking train wreck of a woman. But not for too much longer. Soon, very soon, she'll be as flawless as the rest. I wipe my hands off on my thighs, ridding them of the water my butterfly left behind. Resting them there, my thumb swipes over the frayed edge of one of the rips in the fabric, using the rough feel of it to keep myself level headed as I watch my butterfly flap recklessly around the room.

  I can hear the current song nearing its end, and I lean over to scoop up the discarded heels, standing and walking into the mess of bodies toward my Callophrys rubi. Her new friends see me before she does, one grabbing her arm with a pouting look on her face. My eyes narrow on her fingers, teeth grinding as the piece of shit woman dares to touch something as precious as my butterfly with her filthy hands.

  "Can't she stay? We've just found each other!"

  Minty sage collides with my gaze, her hand softly pushing away the other woman with a shake of her head. She falls into me, wrapping her arms around my waist with another smile. The action is the only thing that saves that vile woman from the anger making my hands shake. Even so, my butterfly's skin feels tainted and dirty. The nagging in the back of my brain wants me to deviate from the plan and take care of this new woman, use the pointed heel of the shoe in my hand to shred her carotid artery right here on the dance floor.

  "Can you take me home now?" I realize we're still standing there, my eyes leaving the woman I didn't even notice I was staring at to look down at my butterfly. This close, she looks slightly better than before she drank water, but still not great. Fuck, I need to get her home before she does something stupid like pass out. I'd fucking lose it.

  Forcing my feet to move, I take her hand and start to lead her toward the exit. My sneaker steps in something wet on our way, and I grind my teeth once more. She's fucking barefoot still, getting even more filthy and disgusting. Startling her, I yank her over to a vacant chair and make her sit. "Can you walk in your heels? The ground is dirty."

  She shrugs, looking down at her feet like they might have the answer. Breathing through my nose, I rub the side of my head with my knuckles. It's fine. This night isn't ruined, we just need to get to her place, and I'll handle it. It's fine. Crouching down, I untie my sneakers, ripping them off one at a time to slip onto her feet. I'll be fine in my socks, and although she looks fucking ridiculous, she won't get any dirtier now.

  Grabbing her hand, I pull her to a standing position, her smile making me pause. "You're so sweet to me."

  I lightly squeeze her fingers instead of responding, moving us back in the door's direction once more. I'm not sweet, I'm selfish.

  - chapter divider -

  She almost falls onto the floor while opening her apartment door, but I catch her arm, shaking my head at the back of hers. Thank fuck she lives on the ground level; I would have completely lost all control having to watch her clamber up a set of stairs. Pushing her farther into the space, I step behind her and shut the door. I close my eyes instead of watching her practically fall out of my sneakers. I shove my hands into my jean pockets to hide the tremble of irritation. This night is redeemable, I just need to calm down.

  Her hands landing on my forearms has me opening my eyes, minty sage swallowing me up and cooling that anger that was trying to take over. My butterfly smiles up at me, her slender arms circling my waist. I can tell she's going to try to kiss me, so I grab her face in my palms, stopping the progression of her lips. I don't want to kiss her while she's still so filthy.

  "Why don't you take a bath?"

  She laughs, a confused smile on her face when she realizes I'm not kidding. "Really? A bath?"

  I nod, shifting out of her arms as I move her toward the bathroom. She watches me as I push her pink seashell shower curtain to the side and crouch to turn on her faucet. I raise a brow at her, and she rolls her eyes before shrugging out of the thin straps of her dress. She's leaning a little farther than necessary as she steps from the fabric, and I reach out, grabbing her leg just below the knee to make sure she doesn't topple over. If she breaks her neck before I can, I... I don't know what I'd do, but it wouldn't be good for anyone in a five-block radius.

  Shutting the water off with one hand, I stand, looking down at my butterfly as she rubs her arms. "It's cold." She's smiling again, always so happy, my butterfly.

  "Get in." Leaning against her vanity, I watch her test the water with her palm, hurriedly getting in when it proves to be fine. I reach over and grab her pink loofah, pump some of her body wash onto it and hand it to her. Smirking, she takes it, rubbing it along her arm at a snail's pace. Breathing through my nose again, I drop to my knees and take it from her. She giggles at me
, leaning her head back to relax against the lip of the tub as I run the soap along her body.

  It's taken me two months to get my butterfly so trusting. Almost two and a half, actually. I almost gave up on her around the third week, but something kept calling me back to her. Those minty sage eyes of hers taunting me in my dreams. She's far too beautiful to be allowed to run amuck like she's been doing. No, she belongs pinned to my wall, strung up and admired. After some persistence, her weak little walls fell, and I slipped into her life seamlessly. I am the poisonous fruit she couldn't resist biting, her naughty secret that she’s kept hidden from her other friends or family. Unknowingly, she made that part incredibly easy for me. We only go to parts of town where we won’t be seen and I wasn't ever introduced to anyone she associates with. From any one of her friends and family's perspective, I don't exist.

  Dropping her soapy loofah into the water, I slide my hand up along the inside of her leg, my heart picking up its pace. My Callophrys rubi knows she belongs in my collection, even if only subconsciously. Her legs shift in the water, the pink of her lips tilting in a small smile as my palm presses along her skin. She set up everything for me so perfectly that we were clearly meant to be. My fingers skim past her belly button as one of her wet arms rises to grip the back of my nape. Water drips down the front of my shirt, splating onto the tile near my knees.

  My fingers find the dip at the bottom of her throat, letting her arm pull my face to her lips. She's clean now, her touch no longer feels contaminated. I suck her tongue into my mouth, lap at the sweetness that lays past her lips. My hands are shaking again, but this time it's not from anger. I almost can't breathe, my other hand moving to cradle her cheek. Pulling my face away from her, I fall into the mint of her eyes. I was right not to give up tonight.

  "You're so beautiful, my butterfly."

  She smiles at my compliment, mouth opening with a response I don't let slip out. Her head is pressed below the water's surface with the part of her lips, her bright eyes shining like diamonds in the sea. There's always a moment of stillness when they go under the water, a moment of confusion, and maybe even disbelief. It's important to get a good grip in that split second or risk them getting free. I adjust my hands slightly, shifting my body farther over the tub as she thrashes. Her hands are grabbing at my arms, her nails sinking into them deep enough to draw blood. A knee comes up and knocks into my elbow, almost making me lose my grip, but I press down harder.

  I can feel her heart pounding against my fingertips, banging a tune of terror that burrows in my gut. Her eyes haven't closed once, round saucers shimmering the prettiest shade of green below the rippling of the water's surface. It coaxes my blood to boil beneath my skin, the stunning beauty of my butterfly the best aphrodisiac on the planet. My hips press against the side of the tub, her arms slapping up toward my face, jerking me around in the same rhythm of her body. Water is splashed all over the floor, her bare legs shining as they kick the sides of the tub. I can't help but allow myself to give in to the intimacy of it all. My head rolls back as her nails drag along the skin of my arm once again, lips parting on a moan as her heel hooks over the side of the tub.

  Her movements are slowing, her limbs looking heavy and weak, but her eyes never close. Those beautiful minty greens stay locked on mine as her arms drop into the water, and the last air bubble leaves her parted lips. My fingers unwrap from her, a hand trailing to rub along the slit of her lips as my hips knock into the side of the tub. I press my thumb against her mouth, blood welling up in a small streak I can barely see as the water rocks with the shift of my hips banging it back and forth. Feeling the cusp of my release, I yank my butterfly from the water and press her wet, slack lips to mine. I moan into her mouth as I lick the edge of her teeth, pounding my release into the tub as I breathe air into my butterfly's limp form.

  Letting her slip through my grip, I watch her splash back below the surface, my breaths ragged as I stare at the rippling form of my Callophrys rubi. Lifting my arms, I see several deep cuts from her nails and drop to my forearms on the lip of the tub. I'm tired, but I have to clean up. No one ever tells you how exhausting it is drowning someone, especially the ones who like to fight. Forcing myself up, I open a drawer in the vanity and grab out a pair of fingernail clippers. Going back to the tub, I kneel back down and grab one of my butterfly's hands.

  I clip each one of her nails down as far as I can, scraping bits of skin from underneath off as I go. She was able to get a few good scratches in; I want to make sure I leave here with no evidence of me being here. Dropping her hand, I grab the other one and give it the same treatment. I reach and grab a washrag from the top of her towel rack, going back over her hands with the remaining soap in the tub and making sure to really scrub what's left of her fingernails. Tossing the wet rag onto the faucet head, I stand, taking a minute to admire the way my butterfly's hair floats around her face.

  It may have been dull before, but it's nothing short of gorgeous now. She's as beautiful as a sea goddess, floating just below the surface with her unblinking green orbs. Walking from the room, I grab the pale green origami butterfly from underneath a magnet on the fridge and bring it back to the bathroom. I'd made it for her weeks prior, a gift that reminded me every day I was there of what was to come. Kneeling beside her once more, I place the butterfly on the edge of the tub next to a small puddle of water. Careful not to knock it into the tub, I lift my butterfly's hand once more, place a kiss onto her fingers.

  I don't like to play favorites, but I think tonight's little butterfly might just be. Letting her arm slip back into the cold water, I stand and leave the room without another glance. My clothes are still wet, but I had left extra here in anticipation of needing them. I go and get them now, replacing their spot in my bag with the wet ones. Thankfully, my shoes aren't wet, because I didn't pack a spare pair of those. I pause outside the bathroom door, tempted to open it up and take another peek, but I force myself to move, to walk down the hall and put my sneakers back on. Backpack full of wet clothes, I open the front door and step out into the night.

  I'm proud of myself for not letting this night get ruined. That wasn't exactly what I'd had planned, but it was even more beautiful. Nothing short of utter perfection.

  It's hot today. Way hotter than the weather forecast called for. My eyes slide to Rhys, peeking at him out of the corner of my eye. If I'm hot in my tee and shorts, he has to be dying in his black jacket and denim. My fingers lightly trail over the late summer mums as I watch him frown down at his phone, the petals soft beneath my fingertips. "Are you hot?"

  "No." He looks up, tucking his phone away to grab out a cigarette instead. Our eyes briefly meet as he lights it, my attention turning back to the flowers. There are a few butterflies fluttering along the blooms, their dusty yellow wings glinting in the waning sunlight. I hold my hand between the flowers, coaxing one onto my fingers. Smoke blows along my cheek as Rhys moves closer, "What're you doing?"

  I can hear the amusement in his voice, but there's no smile on his lips when I give him a quick glance. It's such a bad habit, smoking, but what isn't these days? I actually like the smell of the smoke, the smell of freshly lit tobacco and alcohol on the breath. It reminds me of the better parts of my childhood, of the sweet neighbor who lived next door from my parents. He may have started drinking at the crack of dawn, but he was kind to me. His liquor made him uncaring and extremely trusting. I remember watching his niece cry at his funeral, big fat tears that slid off her chin to splat onto the top of his coffin. Beautifully heartbreaking. That’s what Rhys is too. He smells like cigarettes and coffee; spicy, rich, and earthy. He's like a walking, breathing, living version of my favorite scent. It’s strange but comforting.

  Fluttering wings crawl along my fingers to the back of my hand, and I look at Rhys again. He's actually smirking at me now, lips wrapping around his cigarette as he watches me.

  "Do you like bugs?" My eyes leave the cobalt of his to watch the butterfly walk across the back of my h
and.

  "Bugs?" Like spiders and shit?" The smoke from his mouth puffs along my lips as he leans in to look at the flapping yellow wings still crawling across my skin. "No. I squish them."

  "But you like butterflies." It's not a question. The small tilt of his lips created by the little insect tells me he does, or at least more than other bugs. I roll my hand over, encouraging the little butterfly to settle on my palm.

  "Yea, I guess."

  "I hate them." I find his face, eyes settling back on the twist of his lips. Is it normal to be jealous that his smile is for a bug and not me? "Butterflies are little liars. Master manipulators at making everyone think they're something they're not." I swallow as his tongue wets his lips, watch them close around his smoke before looking back at my hand and the bug stretching its wings there. "They're ugly little caterpillars that have learned to grow pretty wings of deceit." I slap my other hand down, smashing the little yellow butterfly in my palm. Brushing my hands together, I watch it fall to the dirt, yellow dust from its wings staining my fingers. "They're nothing but pretty bugs."

  Rhys snorts, eyes on the butterfly at my feet as he drops his cigarette next to it. His sneakers rub both into the dirt. "You're so fucking weird."

  "You're my butterfly." His eyes find mine, hands tucking into his jacket pockets as he watches me.

  "Are you saying I'm a bug? Or that you hate me?"

  "Neither." Turning to face him, my sneakers bump against his, my finger rising to trail along the open zipper of his jacket. He watches me as I press along the seam hard enough it scratches my skin. "You're a pretty liar." I press into his zipper even harder, using the pain to spur my confidence. "And just like the butterflies, you've somehow manipulated me to see past all of those secrets you keep. And I want to taste your lies, Butterfly." I can feel the blood welling up on the pad of my finger, hand pulling away from him to look at the small drops of ruby gathering along the tip.