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.

I stood in her empty bedroom, feeling a loss like I hadn’t felt since my mom had died. And swore right then and there that I wouldn’t suffer that loss twice. I couldn’t keep my mother, but a butterfly could be pinned down, kept—safe and close by.

“You still don’t get it, butterfly. You made my life hell because I couldn’t have you. Not when we were both under our parents’ roof. But I’m done with that. I’m taking what’s mine.”

“Maintaining my reputation meant I almost lost something incredibly important to me. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but after, I decided in order for me to get it back, I had to change my outlook.”

I had plans for my stepsister—the long-term, own-her-forever, lock her down with a ring and plant-fucking-babies in her kind of plans.

I’d given up Harvard, something I’d wanted forever, and reached out to Tabb to see if they’d accept a last minute applicant and hockey player. My father had threatened to disown me for it, and I prepared myself for the possibility, researching trade in prices for my beloved car. If I had to ride the fucking bus to make Leslie mine, I’d do it. No task was too big, no life was too small.

Who cared if it was illegal? Who gave a shit if it was fucking unethical? What did it matter if I was going to hell for it? I’d promised myself I’d do anything to make Leslie mine—and this was part of the anything.

Fuck. I loved her. I loved her. Jesus fucking Christ. Of course I loved her.

“It’s too late to turn back from this, butterfly. I told you last night, no take backs. You want irrevocable? This became irrevocable the moment I saw you dancing at our parents’ wedding.”

It all pointed to the same thing: he wanted me, but he didn’t respect me. I was nothing more than a possession to him.

“I know you don’t understand my tactics, but you belong to me. It’s my job to keep you safe. If that means watching you, wherever you are, without your knowledge or consent, I’ll do it. If it means hurting anyone who even thinks about touching you without your permission, I’ll do it. If it means stepping in front of a bullet and dying to keep you safe, I’ll do it. I fell down on the job before, because I wouldn’t admit to myself that you belonged to me. I won’t do it again.”

Was this what love was, for him? Possession, obsession, the need for control, dominance, and an unwavering determination to do whatever he needed to have me? If that’s what love was, it scared me.

That man wants to lock you down and make you swallow the key.”

“You’re thinking of sitcom love, romcom love. Antiseptic, perfect, not messy at all. Boring. That’s not real love, butterfly. When I say I love you, I mean the messy, dirty, dark, obsessive, can’t think about anything or anyone else, don’t care about anything else, kind. I’m in love with you, butterfly. That means I’ll do anything to make you happy, and safe, and mine. That might mean something else for another man, but the only man you’re getting is me, so the only kind of love you’re getting