A Trapped Butterfly
She was doing weights tonight. I saw them get delivered, watched as she ripped open the box like a kid at Christmas. She was watching herself in the mirror as she lifted them, she seemed proud of herself, I was proud of her too. I watched her push her blonde hair out of her eyes as strands stuck to her sticky forehead. Her nose and cheeks were pink, the nice rosy pinkness that only comes from exercise. Suddenly she sat down on the bed, defeated. I prayed she would get back up and go at it for a bit longer and I smiled as she stood up, picked up the weights and started again.
She’s not home at the moment. It’s only 2pm. I only picked up my binoculars to have a quick glance over and check everything was okay. I saw Cat. Prowling around like he owned the place, checking out every room and enjoying his freedom. Making the most of it. He’s curled up now, in his little basket, waiting for her.
She got home about 6 tonight. She bought some fish and chips back with her. She only ate half the fish and gave the other half to Cat. He gobbled it up appreciatively. She went and sat on her brown leather sofa and flicked on the television. It was some silly property show. I put my own television on. I looked back over at her and saw she was crying. Really crying. Black tears staining her face. I looked at the TV. Adverts. Why was she crying? She got a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She had a swig of her red wine and curled herself up, into a tight ball, closing her eyes.
Mmmm she’s making Lasagne. I was just watching the evening film 4 movie, Transformers 2 I think it was, when an incredible smell wafted through my open window and I had to investigate.
She’s got a blue polka dot apron on and she’s bobbing away in her kitchen to The Beatles ‘Michelle’, I think it might be the ‘Love Songs’ album. As she weaves through her cupboards she adds things to the large pan on the hob. She adds a bit of red wine from the bottle she’s drinking then tops up her glass. She takes her glass through to the dining room where the tables set for one, like usual.
It’s been a month today since she moved in. I worked it out earlier. A month is quite a long time. I know quite a lot about her. I know her favourite food is pasta. I know she watches the BBC news every night at 6pm. And if she misses it she watches the Channel 4 news at 7pm. I know she doesn’t like that as much though. She normally switches it off after 20 minutes. I know she has a phone call with the same person every Saturday at 4.30pm. I guess it’s her mother. I know she’s kind because she always strokes Cat and shares the sofa with him. I know she’s funny because she always watches the funniest TV programmes, I normally watch the same ones as her and she’s always laughing at the right bits. I know her really well now.
It’s half past 7. Where is she? She’s normally home by half 5. Quarter past 6 at the latest, if she has to go to Tesco’s. But she’s not there. Her little one bed flat looks so dark and still without her bouncing around it. I can’t even see Cat. I hope he’s alright. Who’s going to feed him? What if she’s hurt or in trouble with no-one looking out for her. I really should do something. Imagine if something happened to her. Imagine that. And I’m just standing here not doing anything about it.
It’s almost 9 now. I tried to watch Jurassic Park, the second one; my favourite one. Thought it might distract me a bit but it hasn’t worked. I can’t concentrate.
It’s gone 10 now. Maybe I could ring the police, report her missing. I’ll pretend I’m a family member or something. I should really do something. It’s getting ridiculous…….
Oh wait. Lights flooding in from the hallway, seeping into her flat and there’s Cat waiting patiently by the front door. She’s home.
She’s having a party tonight. I knew it was coming. She went to the local shop and got bags and bags of cheap booze and silly little party snacks. Who does she think she is having a fucking party anyway? It’s not like any of these people are her real friends. She doesn’t have any real friends. She knows just as well as me that those people are only there for the free booze and for somewhere to spend their shitty Friday night. They all had party hats on earlier, actual fucking party hats and they were playing that stupid game where you stick a person’s name on your forehead and everyone has to guess who you are. Some fucking party. I could have gone round if I wanted, wacked a party hat on, stuck ‘King Kong’ on my head and pretended I was interested in what everyone did for a living, how they liked to spend their free time. Rather fucking not. She’s laughing at some tall man’s joke now and flicking her hair. She looks like an idiot. A sad pathetic idiot.
HA! She looked a right mess when she got up this morning. Hair sticking up all over the place. Black circles under her eyes.
And then she had to tidy up all the mess that her ‘lovely friends’ had left for her. HA HA HA! Wine bottles everywhere. Fag butts all over the floor. Spilt drinks and flicked ash. It took her a good couple of hours. I lingered by the window a bit longer than usual this time. Half hoping she’d see me. Feel all embarrassed of how bad she looked and ‘cause of the horrible mess that her apartment was in. No-one came round to help her. Obviously not. Those people aren’t her friends. I would have warned her. Bet she feels like a fucking mug now.
She looks so sexy sitting there in front of her mirror brushing her thick wavy hair. She’s been brushing it for ages now. I keep thinking she’s going to stop and then she picks the brush back up, takes it to the top of her head and brushes down again. Oh she’s so sexy, so, so sexy. I wish I could brush her hair. If I was there I’d gently cup her hair in my hand, tenderly grazing her neck as I did it, then with my other hand I’d pick up the hairbrush and start brushing, letting pieces of hair slowly fall out of my hand and back onto her neck. She’d ask me to do it again, telling me how nice it felt and I would. I’d do it again and again until she was moaning, crying out my name. She puts down the brush and stands up, it’s over.
He’s round there tonight. That man from the party. The one she was flicking her hair at all fucking night. Three fucking days? She doesn’t hang about. They’re drinking wine. Expensive stuff from the look of it. He bought it round. How clichéd. She’s flicking her hair again and laughing. She looks so ugly when she laughs, sort of contorted, like she’s in pain. He looks like a prick. Dark brown hair slicked back with far too much product. Cigarette hopelessly dangling from his permanently pouted mouth. He’s obviously just going to shag her then run a mile. Anyone could tell that.
I haven’t seen much of her tonight. That pouting pillock picked her up at ten past seven and they went out somewhere. Not sure where. She was dressed in a satin black shirt and a short grey skirt and she’d looked great. He was wearing chinos and a checked shirt and he’d looked like an arsehole. They got back about ten but its eleven now and he’s still round there. I haven’t wanted to look over too much, each time I did she was laughing more than ever.
They’re kissing now, on her black leather sofa, tangled together so it’s hard to tell whose bodies whose, whose hands are moving where. She takes off his shirt and throws it aside. He pulls her shirt up over her head and cleanly unhooks her bra, revealing perfect breasts. I see the muscles in his back tensing as he passionately grabs her, her bare chest pushing against his. He’s on top of her now pulling her skirt down to her ankles, lacy red knickers, I want to look away but I can’t.
She’s not there. She didn’t come home yesterday either. What if she’s in trouble? Oh who am I kidding, she’s obviously been with him.
It’s 8pm now and I just know she’s not going to come home tonight either. Feel like I haven’t seen her for ages. I really miss her.
How can she stay away for so long? How can she just leave Cat? She hasn’t even fed him. She put a bit of extra food out on Wednesday morning but that’s it. Poor cat.
She came home. But she was with him.
They watched some shitty action film. Probably his choice. Not like they actually watched it anyway. Spent the whole 2 hours with their tongues down each others throats. Fucking horrible. They got a Chinese as well. I don’t think she even likes Chinese. Well I’ve certainly never seen her fucking order one. I haven’t seen her properly for ages. It’s not fucking right. I care about her the most. I wouldn’t make her watch fucking action films and eat shitty Chinese food, I’d make her pasta and watch the 6 o’clock news. I feel her slipping away and there’s fuck all I can do.
He’s staying the night. Its 1am and they’ve just gone into her bedroom. He’ll obviously be round there all day tomorrow and almost certainly there all weekend. He’ll probably just be round there for fucking ever. I should have gone to her fucking party. I should have stuck fucking king kong on my head, ate fucking sausage rolls, told shitty jokes and laughed at even shitter ones. Maybe then she’d be going to bed with me instead of that prick.
He’ll have to leave soon, its almost 10. He’ll have work in the morning and he doesn’t have any work stuff here.
Why hasn’t he left? Its almost half 11. Unless…fucks sake. It’s bank holiday tomorrow.
I think I’m going to get rid of my binoculars. It’s a waste of my time. I mean it’s not nice anymore. I only watched so much because it was nice, she was nice, but now, with him. I’m going to stop now. It’s waste of time.
Its 7pm and I’ve put my binoculars away in my bottom drawer and I’m going to keep them there. I’ve only had one or two quick looks today.
I have nothing now. She’s left me with absolutely nothing. Fucking selfish bitch. I hope he does run a mile. I’d fucking love that. Leave her with nothing. Teach her a fucking lesson.
I caught that butterfly all by myself. The first thing I’d ever caught. I kept her in a box but she didn’t really like it and she always tried to escape. After a week or so she stopped trying to fly away. One day I opened the box and she wasn’t moving so I carefully scooped her out. Her wing quivered once in my hand and then she was still.
She’s home all alone tonight. For the first time in over a week. It’s late as well. Past midnight. He won’t be coming round; she’ll be alone all night. She’s drinking red wine and her cheeks are flushed and her eyes glazed. She’s drunk. Even better. Even easier.
© Copyright 2016 katyford1991. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Young Adult
Short Story / Thrillers
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