Butterfly

by Jo Brenner

Some people pinned butterflies to keep them close. I was going to make this one fly far, far away. After all, she was the most beautiful girl I’d seen in my entire life. I wanted her more than I wanted anything. And I hated her for it.

I rolled my eyes at my thoughts as I bent down to pick up my pointe shoes from the corner of the room, only to immediately drop them. They were soaking wet. And slimy. And covered in a white, viscous liquid that—I picked one up between my forefinger and thumb and carefully, warily, took a sniff—yup, smelled like sour sex. My lungs went tight. It was semen. Mason—or one of his friends, but something about it made me sure it was Mason—had jacked off on my pointe shoes.

“Why would I keep eating McDonald’s, when there’s a five-star, gourmet meal, right within reach?”