“You’ve made some mistakes, there’s no two ways about that,” Sophia finally says.“But what happened that night isn’t your fault.None of that was your fault.”
The butterfly is done.It’s just as pretty and perfect as I wanted it to be.Maybe even slightly better.But I can’t see that perfectness anymore.It doesn’t make me happy.I’m still just lost.Like I was that night.Like I’ve been since that night.Right up until Blade showed up at my studio almost two weeks ago now.But everything is still all messed up.Nothing is perfect.
“Go look,” I tell her, having trouble stringing more than that together.“In the bathroom mirror.Before I bandage it up.”
She gives me another loaded look, a searching look, like she’s checking for my reaction to what she said.All she’ll see is regret.And that hasn’t solved anything yet.
I say nothing and thankfully neither does she.Instead, she gets up and walks to the bathroom like I asked her too.A gasp is followed by another loaded look in my direction.
“This is beautiful, Bella,” she says.“Better than anything I could’ve hoped for.And my sagging skin isn’t getting in the way at all.”
She’s grinning wide as she checks it out some more, moving her arm this way and that.
“It’s like it’s alive,” she says.“And the colors.They’re amazing too.So real.So shimmery.”
“Glad you like,” I say as I join her in the bathroom, holding the bandage to put over it.“I wanted you to love it.”
“And I do.”
She’s gazing at me but I’m avoiding her eyes.I’ve seen quite enough of the fuck up that is my past in them tonight.And heard it in her voice too.
“You have to keep it dry for a few days.And apply this ointment.”I hand her a small vial of it.
“I didn’t want to push you,” she says once we’re just standing there under the glaring fluorescent light in the bathroom.
This room also has a stained-glass window.It’s a colorful picture of a meadow full of flowering trees.And I’m pretty sure those dots I can’t quite make out are butterflies.“You can talk to me anytime.”
“What’s the point?”I ask.“The past will still be the past.Why bring it forward to mess everything up now?”
“There’s something to be said for releasing the past,” she says.
“I don’t think I’m one of those people that can be saved,” I say.“I can only be forgiven.Maybe.”
She doesn’t speak, just wraps her arms around me and it’s very hard to keep the tears in.But I manage it.Because crying about it never solved anything.Back when I still lived at home with my family, I’d do a lot of yelling and screaming and arguing.But that didn’t solve anything either.None of this can be solved.It just has to be endured.I’ve learned and relearned that so many times in the last ten years.
“If you’re looking for my forgiveness, you have it,” she whispers.
And I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until a tiny tear escaped despite its pointlessness.“And I’m sure others will forgive you too.In time.Because none of it is really your fault.You were too young to be blamed for your addiction, for giving your heart away, for making the wrong choices for the right reasons.”
What she’s saying makes perfect sense.But it’s just words.And words, like crying, don’t make anything better.I’m not sure anything ever truly gets better.
“You have to forgive yourself first, Bella,” she says and lets me go to gaze into my eyes again.
This time I do return the look.And get lost in her eyes again.But also found, in some bizarre way.
“I’ll work on it,” I say and extricate myself from her arms.
But I think both of us know I wouldn’t know where to begin.In Blade’s arms is a good start, a little voice in my head is telling me.But another one is screaming at me that I’ll just fuck it all up again.Maybe worse than the first time.That I should leave.That being alone is better.At least there’s no one around to be hurt then.But there’s no one to love either.
19
Blade
I’ve been away from Bella most days and much of the night each night, busy with club business, for over a week now.She’s been patient, not asking many questions, focusing on her art and getting clients.My mom has a whole family of butterflies adorning her collarbone now and I don’t know how I feel about that.Not bad.But definitely weird.Must be some kind of late midlife crisis or something, seeing as she pushing seventy.She’s talking about having one on her hand and I’m thinking that’s entirely too many butterflies for one person, but she seems to enjoy them.And they are very pretty.Bella’s finest work, I’m sure.
We’re sitting on the back porch of her home, sipping the extra sweet iced tea she likes to make, her rocker creaking as she sways back and forth.I should take a look at that, see if some WD-40 will do the trick.A lot of things in this house need fixing up.And I’ll get to that.As soon as we weather this storm with the MC.A storm that’s just growing wilder and wilder with no end in sight.
But I won’t ruin this calm, perfect evening with thoughts of that.The sun is setting over the city in the distance, the sky above us already turning grey.The air is still warm, and not so smoggy for a change, enveloping me in its velvety smoothness.The only way this would be even more perfect would be if Bella were here too.Preferably in my lap.But she’s out getting supplies, and I’ve found she likes to do that on her own.
