Silent Flutter (The Butterfly Series) Read online

  I had sub-par revenge sex with a Mama’s Boy. I looked to the left of me and saw a broad tanned bare back and rumpled blonde hair lying next to me. I rifled through the sheets to find my panties and quickly tugged them on. I stood up on the dirt-stained carpet next to the bed, pulled up my skirt and fished my shirt and bra out of the pile on the floor. I was out the door, boots in hand, and headed down the driveway when it finally hit me: I don’t have a car here. After assessing my surroundings I realized I was only five streets down from my crappy apartment and I started off on my three and a half mile walk of shame.

  Call me. We need to talk.

  I took a much needed shower and nap after returning from that miserable, embarrassing, nauseating walk home. When I finally woke three hours later, feeling like I needed another shower to fully cleanse myself of the night before, I leaned over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand next to my bed. I read his text message over and over again, trying to decide what it meant and if I was going to follow its demanding instruction. Why does Judd need to talk? Well, he can wait.

  I fixed myself a Bloody Mary to try and kick my hangover and a sandwich to hush my rumbling stomach. After a few hours of staring blankly at my TV, not actually watching any of the programs, I sat and stared at my cell phone once again, trying to build up enough nerve to call him. On one hand, the butterflies had returned at the thought of him wanting to talk to me, but on the other, I knew this talk was going to be anything but pleasant.

  After a lengthy debate with Inner-me, I decided it was best to ignore his command and try to get some studying done for Hell Week. I tossed my phone down on my bed beside me and lifted up my British Lit. book to start reviewing all of the chapters we had covered over the past semester. Around nine o'clock that evening I closed my textbooks and my notebooks and went outside on my shaky balcony for some fresh air and a smoke break. I chain smoked three cigarettes in a row and sifted through all of the jumbled thoughts in my aching head. When I returned to my room the small green light on my phone was blinking, indicating a missed call and a new text.

  My screen read: 1 Missed Call from JWV. Shit. I clicked through the menu items and opened up the unread text message: Quinn are you ok? Call me!Fuck.

  I didn't want him to worry, although I'm not even sure why he was worried about me in the first place. Didn't he have a girlfriend to worry about now? I decided to take the wimpy route and text him back rather than call.

  I'm fine. What's up?

  My plan at avoiding an actual voice to voice conversation failed. Only seconds after I hit Send, my phone rang.

  "Umm hey" I answered nervously.

  "What the hell, Quinn? I texted you this morning to call me and then I didn't hear back from you for almost ten hours! I thought maybe something terrible happened to you with that cowboy you left the bar with." So he did see us leave together. He was still watching me. Judd was using the tone that my dad used to use when I would sneak in the house well after curfew. Like a concerned parent whose anger heavily overshadowed the concern.

  "Well, I'm fine so you can get back to your girlfriend now, and stop worrying about me." It was a juvenile thing to say, but I couldn't help myself.

  "Nice Quinn. Real mature."

  "What do you want Judd? I asked exasperated. “What was so urgent that I needed to call you?"

  "What was that last night?"

  "What was what?" I played stupid.

  "That display you put on with Mama's Boy and all of the hostility? That wasn't you, Q. Letting some stranger manhandle you up and down the dance floor and practically drag you out of the bar to go take advantage of you somewhere."

  "You obviously don't know anything about me. That was me; the real Quinn. Before you came along and messed it all up."

  "How did I mess..."

  "And I seem to remember a certain stranger not too long ago dragging me into a dark hallway during a party to do some manhandling of his own. You might want to take note of who you're throwing judgment at here," I cut him off.

  "That first night in Our Hallway was different and you know it. And I don't believe that girl at Sours last night was the real you at all. You were drunk and sloppy and...and acting like one of the Groupies! And just how exactly did I mess everything up?"

  "Wow! A Groupie huh? Word around town is you are into the overtly slutty type. And I'm not sure I know what you mean by “Our Hallway was different”? I had only known you for what, two seconds, before you made your move on me? I don't see how that's any different than Mama's Boy. And for the record, I was calling all of the shots last night, not him, so no one was being taken advantage of."

  "Well then I'm glad I got to see a glimpse of the true Quinn Borders. Otherwise I would have never known what I was actually missing."

  Missing? Did he just say he missed me? I didn't know how to respond so the conversation went dead for almost a full minute before Judd started speaking again.

  "And what did you mean earlier when you said I "messed it all up?" What did I mess up, Quinn?" he persisted.

  "I don't know, Judd." I paused for a second; thinking about how I wanted this all to come out. "I was perfectly content with living out my college years emotionless and guarded when it came to guys and sex. I did what I wanted, when I wanted and with whom I wanted and never thought twice about it. Then you come along with your sharpie tattoos, and your "Our Hallway" B.S. and all of a sudden I'm some sappy girl from a Kate Hudson movie with feelings that I was unprepared to deal with. They scared me and consumed me and had me constantly questioning my every move…. And yours."

  I could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head from the other end of the phone. He was silent, probably thinking of a nice way to tell me that the feelings weren't mutual and all of the "B.S." was just to get in my pants. Finally, he began to speak again.

  “If that's all true, then why did you stop coming to the parties and answering my texts? You just disappeared after we... after our night together."

  I didn't want to admit that I was falling too hard and afraid of getting hurt again. The Bastard left me jaded and broken and I was protecting myself from ever feeling that way again. I also didn’t want him to know that I knew about and was totally and completely jealous of his weekend trysts with several different Groupies, so instead I said, “Does it even really matter? You're with Erica and I'm back to doing what I know best."

  He sighed heavily before ending the call with, "No, I guess it doesn't. See you around QLB." Click. Once again, I’m not worth the fight. And for the first time since that drive back to my hometown almost two years ago, I cried. And just like the last time, I called Him.

  me and Him

  December 14, 2010

  Hell Week was finally behind me and I couldn't wait to spend a month away from campus, classes and my crappy apartment. And a month away from my feelings. Every exam taken over the past week was taken with a lump in the back of my throat, threatening tears. Tears streamed down my cheeks at night, alone in my bed, that I didn’t even understand. It wasn’t like I lost my first love (been there done that). It wasn’t like I lost a love at all. Was it?

  I packed the biggest suitcase I had full of clothes, shoes, jewelry and anything else that I may have needed for my extended stay at my parents' and loaded it all into my tiny black Malibu. My mom, dad and two older sisters were all waiting for me when I pulled into the driveway. I only lived forty-five minutes away, but I really didn't come back nearly enough. My dad always greeted me by swallowing me up in a big hug just like when I was younger and saying, "I'm so glad my baby girl finally decided to come home."

  Home: it's funny how someone can leave and live somewhere else for almost three years, but the place where you grew up and where your family is will always be considered home. Mom was cooking a roast and the whole house smelled absolutely edible. My sisters handed me a glass of wine and led me to the kitchen table so that we could sit and catch up, and they could pick my brain for all of the latest, juicy drama in th
eir little sister's life. I never seemed to disappoint them with a lack of drama.

  My oldest sister, June, was twenty-eight years old and living with a roommate, her best friend from college, in Galveston at the time. They were both single, but highly successful small-business owners. They opened up a little bookstore together near the bay called, A Sea of Stories, and it became very popular with the locals and tourists because of its nostalgia and charm. Back in college, June was a quintessential “party girl” like me, but, unlike me, she was a serial monogamist. It took her six years to graduate with a degree in Elementary Education and a minor in Business, and in those six years she had five "serious" boyfriends. All of them turned out to be either addicts or assholes, and now that she was finally living a successful, single life she decided to join one of those online dating services to find "the one." I was happy for her and hoped that this new-age way of dating would help her find the man she was looking for; the one she deserved.

  My middle sister, Marin, was twenty-three, married and had a baby girl on the way. She went to school at the junior college in our hometown to become a Dental Hygienist and got married right out of high school to the first and only guy she'd ever dated, slept with, and fell in love with back when she was sixteen. Some people were just lucky that way. She and her husband bought a house three minutes from our parents and five minutes from his. Marin never even entertained the idea of leaving our small hometown, and she was always captivated by my stories about my late nights of debauchery because that lifestyle was a complete mystery to her. I think she had only been truly drunk once in her life, after senior prom, and the phrase “one-night-stand” had her cheeks blazing and her mouth gasping in horror. If she only knew.

  Once we all ate dinner and played catch up on all the happenings in our lives; I decided to take my luggage upstairs, unpack and climb into my old bed. I didn’t tell my sisters about Judd, and I don’t really know why. I guess I didn’t want them to think that I was some silly girl crying over losing a guy that was never really mine in the first place. Tears welled in my eyes at the mere memory of him as I ascended the stairs, but I pushed Judd out of my mind and wiped my face clear of any trace of him.

  There is no place more relaxing than your childhood bed in your childhood room. I sunk into the mattress and let the nostalgia consume me and rock me gently to sleep. At around 10:00 that evening I was already starting to doze off when my cell phone buzzed next to me. It was a text from Him, my Best Guyfriend from high school and personal life coach when my love-life began to spiral out.

  What's up Quinn? Did you make it home ok? My sleepy fingers could hardly type back a response. Hell Week really took it out of me.

  Yeah I made it. Going to bed early tonight. I'll give you a call tomorrow and maybe we can get the whole group together.

  Sounds good. Night Sweetheart.

  Sweetheart? I did not even have the energy to question this unfamiliar, out-of-character pet name he'd just assigned to me. I clicked my phone off and drifted quickly back to sleep.

  I always looked forward to Christmas break because it not only meant that I didn’t have to use my brain for a month, but it also meant that all of my old friends would be home from college, too. After several phone calls, I was able to get the whole “posse” to meet up at our town's only bar called, Ricky's Watering Hole. Ricky’s was old, dingy, and smelled of stale beer and thick cigarette smoke, but they never checked I.D. The bar’s biggest clientele consisted of ancient, retired farmers who were missing more teeth than they had and terrible karaoke performers. If it weren't for the seven of us that night, the bar would've been almost completely empty. But the drinks were cheap, the company was good and the singing was entertaining.

  The seven of us sat at a worn-out, old card table at the back of the bar and caught each other up on our lives. The Girls prodded me for details about Judd, but I was not very forthcoming with information. "It was fun while it lasted and now it's over," I told them. It was best to remain vague in order to avoid ruining my good time with old friends by dredging up unpleasant memories. That was not a path that I wanted to head down; not tonight anyways. I could see Him grimace out of the corner of my eye every time Judd's name was mentioned. He felt protective of me and despised any guy that made me cry. He used to be good friends with The Bastard but they had not spoken in over two years, not since he broke my heart freshman year.

  After many laughs and even more drinks, The Girls and I decided to grace our friends and the locals with an off key, out of tune karaoke rendition of Kelli Pickler's Red High Heels and a couple of the guys followed it up with Garth Brooks' Friends in Low Places. How fitting, I thought, as I looked around at the dusty, tattered Watering Hole that we currently inhabited; to most people, this was definitely a “low place.”

  Around one in the morning I decided to switch to water until Ricky himself called for “Last call” at 1:55. A cop would inevitably be waiting in the dark along the tree line on my parents' back country road and I didn't want to take any chances.

  Over the next week, my high school friends and I got together for drinks, or a movie or a late- night poker game as much as possible. I never realized how much I missed them or how calming and fuss -free it was to be around them until that winter holiday. On Christmas Eve and Christmas day; however, we took a small break from hanging out to spend time with our families.

  Christmas Eve in my family was just another excuse for everyone to get drunk and gorge themselves on smoked turkey and high caloric sweets. We opened presents that night in a silly game of White Elephant (where everyone brings a hideous gift and you get the chance to steal and fight over said gifts) until someone ends up pissed off for some reason or another. My mom, sisters and I had a secret pact to buy something actually worth a damn and then we'd tell the each other which package ours were in so we'd know to choose one of those from the pile. Somehow though, that year I ended up with a 3-D magnet of Rudolph that sang "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" if you pressed his red nose. My mom said she bought some jewelry from a vintage boutique in the mall and wrapped it in a plain white bag: turns out there were three other plain white bags in the pile and I chose the wrong one. It had only been three hours before I "accidentally" dropped my new magnet in the toilet. "Oops! I guess I've had one too many Candy Apple Martinis," I lied.

  Around midnight I decided to head upstairs to pour myself into bed. The holidays always had a way of wearing me out. At two in the morning I was jolted from my sleep by my custom ringtone of Dolly Parton's, "Hard Candy Christmas," blaring beside me. Groggily, I leaned over and slapped the phone off of the nightstand and rubbed my eyes to try and adjust them to the alarmingly bright screen. The song was on its second course of "I'll be fine and dandy" by the time I finally answered it.

  "Hello," I mumbled sleepily.

  "Oh sorry, Quinn! Were you asleep already? I thought y'all always partied pretty hard on Christmas?" Why was He calling me so late?

  "I was really exhausted so I turned in early. It's cool though, what's going on?"

  "I just wanted to be the first one to tell you Merry Christmas!" He sounded like He was the one who drank too many martinis, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I received at least a dozen text messages and a couple of phone calls at midnight telling me the same, exact thing.

  "Merry Christmas to you, too!" I chimed with forced enthusiasm. "I'll call you tomorrow, Okay?"

  "Okay… but hey… before you go back to sleep, I wanted to ask you something," He added quickly.

  "Umm, ok. What’s up?” I asked hesitantly. I wasn't sure where this was going or what he could possibly need to ask me at two o'clock in the morning.

  "Do you think we could go, like, to dinner in a couple of days? Not tomorrow or anything, because I know its Christmas and you'll be with your family, and I'll be with mine too, but the night after maybe." He was speaking really fast and running all of his words together. He seemed... nervous.

  Was He asking me on a date? No
. He couldn't be. I had been very clear about my feelings for Him from the start. He was my Best Guyfriend and nothing more.

  "Yeah, that could be fun. Do you want me to call the rest of the group and see if that night works for them?"

  There was a long, awkward silence before He starting speaking again. "I was kinda thinking it could just be me and you," he admitted weakly. "I've got a present for you and I wanted to give it to you at dinner."

  My eyes shot open wide now. Shit! A present? Why would he get me a present? "You really didn't have to do that. We've never gotten each other anything before and I wouldn't have anything to give you," I stated, trying to dig my way out of this.

  "It's just something small. Please, Quinn. Just one dinner. It won't be like a… like a date or anything. Just two friends eating and sharing good company."

  Not a date, I noted. "Ok, one dinner. I'll call you tomorrow. I'm going to try to get some sleep, I've got a busy day tomorrow. G ‘night."