Butterfly

by Jo Brenner

“A lot of the time, people—men especially—always use a hammer, because they can’t imagine anything isn’t a nail.” “So what do I do?” She rose, lifting her hand to emphasize our time was up. “Give him a tool that isn’t a hammer.”

I tried to squirm away, but he planted one of his arms across my lower back, pinning me where I was. Just like the butterfly he called me.

Let me show you who’s coming next. Spoiler alert: It’s you.” I giggled. “That’s so cheesy.”