Butterflies & Vicious Lies (Fractured Rhymes Book 1)
Butterflies & Vicious Lies: Chapter 8

AS FAR AS bad ideas go, this one is up there. Like, I’m sure breaking into the zoo and trying to pet a lion would be a better idea than this. At least when the lion mauled me to death, it’d be relatively fast. One look into Rafferty’s cold eyes tells me he plans on drawing this out as long as he can.

I’m tired of speculating what his plans are, and I’m exhausted from the constant fear of him jumping out of every dark shadow. At this point, I just want to get the show on the road. Once I know what he intends to do to me, I can deal with it from there, but this guessing game might be the death of me.

So, like a lamb knowing they’re about to be slaughtered, I walk into his house with my shoulders back and my chin high. It’s nothing more than a brave facade. Underneath the courageous face is a heart that feels like it might explode as it slams against the cage it’s kept in, and with each beat, dread spreads in my veins.

The sensation only grows as the scent of him wraps around me. There are fifty people crammed into this old firehouse, but I can still sense Rafferty first. The same expensive spicy cologne he’s worn since he was fourteen clings to every inch of this place along with the smoky scent of his cigarettes. It’s a habit I always hated, and for a time, he quit, but it seems he’s picked it back up.

I’m no more than five feet into the house when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He spotted me before I found him because, of course, he did. He’s been waiting for me to show up. Since the night police pounded on his front door with an arrest warrant, he’s been anticipating the day I’d walk back into his cage. The sad, or depending how you want to look at it, funny thing about it, is he didn’t have to trick me or trap me. I did it voluntarily.

It takes everything in me to not seek out the source of danger. There was a time that I searched for him in every room I walked into because I couldn’t wait to be near him. Now the idea of his touch has my stomach rolling.

Keeping my attention firmly ahead of me, I watch my roommate as she is greeted by the masses. Zadie, dressed in a pink top that ties around her boobs and a short skirt, floats inside, not a single care in her word. She’s completely in her element. Meanwhile, I’m certain I’m in one of the many circles of hell and the devil is waiting around the corner to collect his debt.

In thirty seconds flat, Zadie has drinks in our hands and she’s secured her place in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. The White Claw freezes my fingers while I stand silently beside her as she chats up people like they’re all her long-lost best friends. Like a fish out of water, I feel completely out of place. Do I dance? Do I introduce myself to the people standing close by and try to strike up a meaningless conversation?

This awkwardness is ridiculous. Rafferty hosted parties just like this one almost weekly in high school at his grandparents’ lake house. Adrian, his father, would have never allowed them to happen under his roof, so Raff had to get creative. I never thought I was a wallflower at those, but retrospect has me thinking otherwise. Those parties were only fun because I was with them. The boys hosting them were my boys. I enjoyed those parties because I was with the Blackwells, and when I was with them, I was at my most content.

Pax was my confidant and my best friend. Born just months apart, there weren’t many milestones we didn’t experience together, hand in hand. He was my rock when I needed one and the first person who could make me laugh. While he was my steady constant, Rafferty was my wildcard. His chaotic and unpredictable nature excited me in a way it probably shouldn’t have. He always had me on edge, but it used to be in a different way than now. It’s no longer exhilarating and addictive. It’s unsettling and nerve-racking.

“You’re a new transfer, right?” A deep voice has my mind returning to the present instead of the past. “I saw you earlier this week. We have the same history class. You were running late, and the professor was not happy. I’m spacing it right now, but I want to say your name is … Penny? Am I close?”

That was the class I went to after Rafferty cornered me in the empty classroom. I was so shaken up and disoriented that I didn’t retain any of the information or the faces from that class. I wouldn’t be able to tell you what the professor looked like, let alone what one of the many students looked like.

The guy standing before me is your traditionally handsome frat boy. His dark hair is longer on top but the waves have been perfectly placed. Styled with precision and effort. It’s as if he wants the effortless “I woke up like this” hair. Unfortunately for him, it’s obvious that he’s missed the mark on that one by the amount of product I can see in the strands. His short-sleeved shirt is collared, and I can’t tell in this lighting, but I would bet my next paycheck there’s a polo pony embroidered on it.

In other words, I’m really confused what a guy like him is doing at Rafferty’s party. He’s the kind of guy Raff eats for breakfast. I guess things really have changed and he just lets anyone into his house now.

I wince at the memory of walking in late for that lecture. The look on the older professor’s face had me wishing the floor would swallow me whole. “That wasn’t my best moment, and you were close-ish. I’m Posie.”

“Ahh, okay. Posie. That’s different. Is that a nickname or something?”

There’re people out there named Abcde, and yet, there are people who act like my name is the most interesting one they’ve ever heard.

“It started out as a nickname my dad gave me before I was born, but it inevitably made it onto my birth certificate.” There’s a whole story there but it’s not one I feel like telling. “What was your name again?”

“Ethan.”

That tracks.

Ethan reaches out to shake my hand but before I can offer mine, the music cuts off and a booming voice accompanied by a high-pitched whistle fills the room. While everyone turns eagerly toward the source, thinking this will be an exciting occurrence, trepidation pools in my stomach.

“Hey! Eyes up here, fuckers!” Rafferty shouts from his place halfway up the exposed staircase. Like sheep, people do exactly as he commands. He’s always had that effect on people. It’s more out of fear than respect, but it’s a skill that’s always served him well, and it’s one that will be hugely beneficial when he takes over the family business. “I have something I need to say real quick, and then we can go back to our regularly scheduled bullshit.”

Hearing the commotion, people come in from the backyard and an echo of low murmuring moves through the crowd as they wonder what’s going on.

Once they’ve stopped trickling in from outside, Rafferty continues, “As many of you know, since we’re graduating, this will be the last of these beginning of the year parties. After this, there will be no more of this open house bullshit. So, those of you who know you shouldn’t be here right now, savor tonight, because if you show up at my house again without invitation, I will drag you out the front door by your tongue.” Next to me, Ethan shifts uncomfortably. Well, that explains the mystery of what he’s doing here. “Since this is the last of these parties, it’s fitting that we would have a special guest.” Like he’s known where I was in the crowd the whole time, his eyes cut to me, and as they connect with mine, my blood freezes. I’m a deer frozen on a dark road with a semi-truck barreling toward me. All I can do is stand here and wait for impact. “I want to welcome her right, so I have shots of tequila coming around because that was always her favorite.”

People cheer as a group of guys dressed like caterers walk out of the kitchen with trays of shot glasses. The partygoers take the offered drinks without hesitation because they are blissfully unaware of what is happening. They probably just think Raff is being a generous host and kicking the school year off right with tequila. What they don’t know is Rafferty Blackwell—Wilde, or whatever the fuck his last name is now—is not inherently generous. His gifts come with strings and ulterior motives.

Rafferty’s lips turn up in a smirk as I’m handed a plastic cup from a passing-by waiter. Like Snow White who was just offered a poisoned apple, I inspect the golden liquid for signs of danger. Like bugs or razor blades. I don’t possibly see a way he would have been able to control what specific cup I took with everyone helping themselves to the trays. Unless he’s willing to drug everyone at this party. Which, let’s be honest, is undoubtedly something he’d do.

Rome, who stands a few stairsteps below him, whistles again, regaining everyone’s attention.

Lifting a glass of his own, Rafferty continues to pierce my soul with his glacial gaze as he says, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for her to be here, and now that she is … well, I’m just so excited for the fun we will have.” To anyone else’s ears, his toast sounds like a warm welcome. There isn’t a drop of malice or hate in his voice, and that’s what I replace scariest. Like a seasoned actor, his sincerity is perfectly executed, but still, all I can hear is the silent threat. His hand holding the shot gestures in my direction, and heads turns, trying to figure out who he’s talking about. “I want everyone to lift their glass to the one and only Posie Davenport. Posie, wave or something so they all know who you are.”

Before I can decide whether to out myself or not, Ethan takes that into his own hands. “Right here! This is her!” He motions wildly at me like he’s found the golden prize.

Fifty or more sets of eyes land on me, and with each stare, my plan to fly under the radar this school year dwindles into dust. This act from Rafferty is so out of character, news of it will spread across campus like wildfire. Which was exactly his plan. He doesn’t want me to be able to hide. He wants me front and center where he can see me. Where he can expose me.

Rafferty cheers, “To Posie! May this be the homecoming you deserve!” And as he does, it feels like someone is sitting on my chest.

Like a routine that’s been rehearsed, everyone erupts around me, repeating his exact words. Completely unaware of the punch line of this sick joke, they applaud and smile at me. One by one, they down the offered alcohol until it’s just me standing with a full glass.

“Come on, guest of honor!” Zadie encourages, her elbow giving me a little nudge. “I had no idea you knew him, by the way.”

Staring up at the man who was once my everything but now wants me as his enemy, I lift the glass to my lips. “There was a time I knew him better than anyone.” The dark fog of hate around him has made him unrecognizable.

“What changed?”

The answer is easy.

“I broke his heart.” With that, I down the shot, the burn of alcohol combining with the surge of emotion in my throat. “I need a minute,” I tell her over my shoulder before pushing through the people.

I’m not sure where I’m going, I just need a second to readjust the mask I’d originally walked in here with. If tonight is the night our battle begins, I need to keep my armor up the best I can.

Drunk partygoers chant my name as I weave between them toward the back sliding glass door that looks like it was part of the other modern updates that were made to this historic site. With the door closed behind me and the sounds of my name drowned out, I finally feel like I can hear my own thoughts, and the fall air allows me to breathe easier.

Walking to the less illuminated side of the patio, I lean against the redbrick exterior of the house and close my eyes. Bearing the weight of this was so much easier when I was living on the opposite coast, but being back here, face to face with him, the weight feels like it’s crushing me.

“You shouldn’t have come back, and you really shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

A voice to my right has my eyes snapping open and breath catching in my throat. Jumping away from the wall, I face the person concealed in the shadows. They sit on the cold concrete ground with their back against the brick wall. He rests his tattooed arm over the knee that’s pulled up toward him while the other is out straight. The bottle of booze, the source of his slightly slurred speech, sits close by without a lid.

“Pax…” It’s a name I’ve said thousands of times, but this time it comes out as a mournful sigh.

He interjects before I can say anything else.

“I’m serious, P.” The nickname has my heart constricting. It’s a name that makes me long for the times we’ll never get back because I struck a match to them. “Why would you come back here?”

In uncoordinated and sluggish moves, he pulls himself off the cold ground. The glass bottle clanks against the concrete as he does, the liquid left inside sloshing against the sides. On instinct, I move closer, hands reaching out to help steady him if need be. Before I can touch so much as his black shirt, he’s jerking out of my reach to avoid any contact.

His own hands fly up to keep me at bay. “Don’t,” he snaps with a sharpness in his voice I don’t recognize. Pax was always the gentle one.

Instantly, I regret my move. Fighting the desire to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest, I step back to give him his space. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” I trail off, at a loss for words even though there’s a hundred things I want to say to him. So, I go with the simplest option. “I’m just sorry, Pax. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you but know I wanted to. Fuck, did I want to be here.”

He doesn’t answer, and the shadows cover whatever expression he wears on his face, but I can feel his eyes on me. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me. Does my face bring up only bad memories like it does for Rafferty, or does Pax remember the good times too, like I do?

My nose burns and tears threaten to fall. “You can talk to me. You used to be able to talk to me about anything.” There wasn’t a single thing we couldn’t talk about. Every dark detail, we shared with one another.

His laugh is dark, humorless. “That worked out really well for us, didn’t it?” His words cut deep, opening old wounds and creating new ones too.

His head shakes, and without a word, he pushes past me.

“Pax…” I try, wanting him to stay a little longer.

He stops feet away from the door, but he doesn’t turn back toward me. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too, Posie. I’m sorry about your dad.”

My dad. Two words have the oxygen disappearing from my lungs. They used to be two words that filled me with comfort and safety, but now they just make me sad.

Paxton disappears through the glass door, cutting off any chance of me responding, but it’s fine since I’m not sure I’m able to speak without crying right now. And I don’t want to shed any more tears over it. I spent my allotted amount last year and it cost me a scholarship.

Feeling uneasy from everything that’s happened in the last ten minutes, I move across the patio, intending to sit in the place Pax had just vacated, but halfway there, my body begins to feel funny. Like every nerve beneath my skin is humming. It starts in my toes and fingers, then trickles down from the top of my head. Like a cascade, it takes over my body, and my vision starts to grow dark at the edges.

My eyes blink rapidly, like that will fix it but it only gets worse, and as it does, my legs begin to tremble.

You’re going to pass out, a little voice says in my head, sit down before you bash your head in on this concrete.

I try my best to gracefully lower myself to the ground, but I end up falling backward halfway down. Through the fuzzy haze overcoming me, I can feel the burn of broken skin on my elbows after they take the brunt of the impact.

Footsteps come from my left and my head feels like it’s a hundred pounds when it lolls in the direction of the incoming sound. I can see nothing but blurred shapes at this point, but the blurred figure standing over top of me is unmistakable.

“Okay, Butterfly, let’s play,” is the last thing I hear before I succumb to the darkness.