Page 77 of Butterfly
Worthy of Donovan. His warmth and strength, the softness that makes up a man who could have turned out the exact same way I did, but chose kindness instead.
I curl around him as he wraps me up in his arms so tight I can barely breathe.
I think he knows I’m falling apart—I think he realizes he’s the only thing that can keep me together as he hugs me to him until I feel like I could dissolve and live in bliss just beneath his skin.
We lie like that for a while, the silence interspersed with the soft sound of delicate kisses that Donovan feathers against my hair, until his arms finally relax.
They’re still around me, though, reluctant to let me loose, unwilling to let me be anywhere other than by his side. Maybe he didn’t look hollow like me earlier, but the way he’s holding me now is proof that he felt the space between us just as much as I did these last few weeks. I don’t want that space anymore. I just want here. Now.
It’s the only place I want to be… and as the seconds trickle by and the world narrows down to the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear where I’m pressed against his chest, I know Ihaveto change if I’m going to stay here.
I have to be different. Better. The Shiloh he sees.
“I’ll try,” I whisper into the darkness, half hoping he’s asleep as the words come out. Donovan’s arms around me tighten, proof that I’m not so lucky.
“Try?”
“I’ll try to be the person you think I am. The person you think I can be.”
There’s a beat of silence where Donovan’s fingers drift along the length of my spine, as if he’s trying to feel the truth of my words in the space between the ridges. He chases honesty with goosebumps and leaves me shivering by the time his big hand cups the back of my neck to turn my gaze to his.
“You will?”
“I promise I will. If it means I can be yours, I’ll try.”
“I think you’ve always been mine, Loh.” The aching chase of pain in his answer tells me he’s still not okay with what I’ve done, but he’s here now. “Even before, every part of you.”
I understand what he’s saying—that even the killer in me was his. It means more than he realizes, and I roll my body so I can bury my face against his neck.
I didn’t think it was possible for a person to feel lost and found in the same heartbeat, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know how to be anyone other than what I’ve always been…
But for the first time, with Donovan’s arms around me, I feel like I can breathe. I feel seen for more than just my art.
I feel like being Shiloh, whoever he is outside of blood and death and pain, is possible.
For Donovan… for Donovan, I’m willing to try.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DONOVAN
He’s quiet this morning,a ghost in pajamas haunting the corners of my living room. Shiloh woke up early, slipping out of bed like he was afraid of the sheets while I slowly came to life in bits and pieces. By the time I made my way out to the living room, he’d tucked himself into a ball in the corner of the couch, his wide eyes watching as I stumbled around on sleepy feet like a drunken giraffe.
My head aches.
My stomach growls.
My boyfriend lingers at the edges of the room, glancing my way every so often like he needs me to say something to break this silence, but scared of what it might be.
I stand in the kitchen, listening to the coffee maker sputter and hum while I try to find words to offer him.
The coffee maker finishes dribbling out the last bit of coffee into the pot while the heavy silence curls between us. I turn and grab two mugs from the cupboard, then grab the cream from the fridge and add a dollop into my cup. Shiloh slowly rises from the couch and makes his way over to the counter beside me as I finish pouring our mugs full. He takes a moment to doctor hiscoffee the way he likes it, with more cream and sugar than I imagined possible in a single cup, then takes a small sip.
“Thank you,” he says, taking another sip.
“Hungry?” I ask, reaching out to stroke my knuckles down his sallow cheeks. He looks like he hasn’t eaten a thing in days, and I don’t like how pale he is. He startles at the touch, turning confused yet hopeful eyes up to mine. He doesn’t say anything, but instead looks away, placing his cup down on the counter. “Shiloh?”
“Did you regret me?” he asks, completely bypassing my question.
