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39

THE BUTTERFLY

M y mind flashes back to what happened in the motel. The Sheriff's boots stomping across the cheap carpet, the cold click of the Deputy's hand on his holster, Dr. Julia moving toward me as if I was a patient—like I was something broken that needed to be patched up before they carted me off somewhere worse.

Nearly everyone who has come into my life since my parents died has wanted something from me—or worse, wanted to hurt me. The truth sits heavy, like wet cement in my chest. It's not just a bad feeling or paranoia anymore.

Did I do something in a past life? Was I cursed before I ever had a chance to be whole?

The ambulance doors open, breaking the fog in my head. I blink, and the lights inside the vehicle are blindingly white, sterile, and far too quiet. I'm sitting on the gurney, my fingers tremble as they clench into the fabric of the blanket someone threw over my shoulders. My knuckles ache, but I can't stop holding on. If I let go, I might fall apart.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?" Jamie asks.

I don't answer right away. My skin stings where they touched me. I shift slightly, the paper lining on the gurney crinkling beneath me. My shoes are still untied. I curl my toes inside them like they might help me grip the world again.

"I need to stay here," Jamie says to someone behind me. "I need to sort out a few things."

I nod slowly. Everything in me wants to scream, to reach for him, to demand he stay. But I don't.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

I can’t keep it in any longer. I could say something to make him feel better, but if he had stayed or if he’d taken me with him, none of what happened would have happened.

"You left me,” I confess. I don’t hold back how I’m feeling in this moment. I look him dead in the eye and say them again, louder this time, I make sure he feels them.

"You left me!"

A single tear slips down my cheek. My hands grip the edges of the blanket so hard the veins pop out beneath my skin.

His mouth opens like he's going to speak, like there's something in him which wants to explain or undo it, but nothing comes out, because he knows I’m right. Maybe this thing between us isn’t what I need right now. Maybe it never was, and it was all in my head.

"I think it's best that we head to the hospital," the paramedic says gently.

"I didn't mean to leave you," Jamie says, his voice is rough. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

I close my eyes. I don't want to see his face. The worst part is that he truly believes his own bullshit.

"The right thing to do was to stay, or let me go with you. How were you supposed to protect me, if I was ordering take out and staying in a room," I whisper, eyes still closed.

His hand hovers near mine, not quite touching. I can feel his warmth against my skin. "I fucked up. I know that."

"You don't get to just say that and make it all go away,” I mutter. I can see the guilt written on his face, but for hours I was alone. He left, I still don’t know where he went or what he did apart from see Noah in the hospital.

“How is Noah?” It dawns on me, that through the commotion I didn’t even ask about him.

“Better. He’ll pull through.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want something to happen to him at my expense.”

I can’t even look at him. The pain is too much.

The Sheriff killed his boss so they could pin it on Jamie, so he’d take the fall for it. They killed Hunter for killing the Sheriff’s brother. The Deputy used to come into the diner for me.

We thought he was just some creepy customer. That is, until Halloween night, when he got all frisky with me. I didn’t realize it was him at first, not until I overheard Tracey talking to Jessica about it.

She made it sound like any guy who gave me attention only did it because I had slept with him. I heard her say it.

So I avoided him.

The same way, I did with the guy who gave me his number. I didn’t want to attract the wrong attention, even if I kept doing it anyway, without even trying.

"I know. I know I don't." His voice cracks slightly. "But I'm here now."

I laugh, short and hollow. "Until when?"

The paramedic clears her throat, uncomfortable witnessing our unraveling. I'd forgotten she was there. She fiddles with something on the monitor, as if she wants to remind us that we have to be on our way.

"They're going to commit me again, aren’t they?" I ask, not looking at either of them. “I’ve been another trauma, they’re going to say that I’m unstable again."

Jamie's eyes widen. "No. No, I won't let that happen."

"You can't stop it. You can’t stop anything."

"You're not unstable," he insists. "I'll fix this," he says with sudden determination. "I swear to you, I'll fix this."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I say, my voice low and tired. "It only makes it worse when you break them. You need to stay here, do your paperwork, or whatever it is you all do."

We hold each other's gaze for a moment, and I see it—the disappointment in his eyes, the quiet hurt he doesn't try to hide. But I can’t take that on right now. I’m barely holding my own emotions together, and his are just too much.

His boss is dead. So is my aunt. The mayor too. People are dying, and the only common thread between them... is me.

I need space. I need silence. I need the truth of it to settle in my bones so I can figure out how to keep anyone else from being dragged into this mess.

If I really am a curse, if this is all because of me, then the best thing I can do is be alone. I can’t risk losing anyone else—especially not Jamie.

A t the hospital, everything moves too fast and too slow all at once. They unload me onto a wheelchair, and I flinch when the metal touches my back. The halls are bright, lined with polished floors and the faint smell of antiseptic. I'm wheeled past nurses, patients, beeping machines.

I change into my gown and I stash my clothes to the side. A nurse comes in to take them, I’m not sure why, and I don’t ask. They check my vitals. Then, they shine lights in my eyes, afterward they press stethoscopes to my chest. I nod when they ask questions. Lie when they ask if I feel safe. The paper gown scratches against my skin. I sit stiffly on the exam bed, feet dangling just above the floor, legs swinging slowly like a child trying to pretend she isn't falling apart.

My fingers pick at a loose thread on the edge of the sheet. I pull until it snaps.

A doctor comes in with kind eyes and a soft voice. "Miss Stevenson? I'm Dr. Patel. How are you feeling?”

Really? Am I still Hazel? I thought maybe now I can go back to the person I was born to be, Penelope.

"Fine." The word comes out automatically, a reflex born from years of pretending.

He gives me a look that says he doesn't believe me but won't push. "Any pain anywhere? Discomfort?"

I shake my head.

"I see from your file that there was an... incident at a motel?"

I tense immediately. "What exactly does my file say?"

He checks the tablet in his hands. "Not much, I'm afraid. Just that law enforcement was involved and you were brought in for observation."

"Observation," I repeat flatly. "Is that what we're calling psychiatric holds now?"

Dr. Patel raises an eyebrow. "No one has ordered a psychiatric hold, Miss Stevenson. You're here for a routine check-up after a traumatic incident."

I look behind him, stare at the door for a few seconds, waiting for the therapist to walk through the door, for them to assign me another. one. To be lied to once again. It’s as if time stands still, as nothing is said nor done.

"So I can leave? When I want to?” I ask, reaffirming what he had previously said.

"After we've ruled out any injuries, yes." He pauses, studying my face. "Is there someone waiting for you? Someone who can take you home?"

Jamie's face flashes in my mind. "No," I say firmly. "There's no one."

Dr. Patel nods, not pushing. "We'll want to keep you here for a few hours at least. Just to make sure that you’re stable.”

He waits for a reaction, there’s none, so then he looks at my chart again.

“Do you want water or something to eat?"

I shake my head. The thought of food makes my stomach twist.

"Alright. Try to rest. I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

He leaves, and I'm alone again. The clock on the wall ticks loudly, counting seconds that feel like hours. The fluorescent lights hum above me, I lean back against the pillow and close my eyes, but I don’t feel like sleeping. I just want to relax and for the first time in what feels like forever, just breathe. No more fear. No more thoughts of the past, it’s as if I’m letting them all go.

Every now and then nurses come in and take my blood pressure, my temperature. They ask me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten. I always say three, because saying zero seems suspicious, and anything higher feels like giving in to weakness.

The room is small, with mint-green walls that have seen better days. There's a TV mounted in the corner, playing some daytime talk show with the volume almost muted. I stare at it without seeing, the colors blurring together like watercolors left in the rain.

I remember that I have no bag, nothing. I left whatever little things I had at the motel, and the rest at the cabin, but then I haven’t had a phone since I checked myself in at the asylum. For someone like me, phones seem useless. No one called me, only Tracey to say that I needed to do an extra shift, or Dr. Julia’s office to make a new appointment or shift one around. I close my eyes and try to remember how it felt to be normal. To walk down a street without checking over my shoulder. To sleep through the night without waking at every sound. To trust that the world wasn't actively trying to destroy me.

The door opens again, and a nurse I haven't seen before steps in. She's young, not much older than me, with braided hair and bright purple scrubs.

"Hey there," she says, her voice gentle but not condescending. "Dr. Patel asked me to bring your clothes. Hospital gowns suck."

She sets them on the edge of the bed. “The night nurse thought that you would want a clean set of clothes, so she cleaned it for you.”

"Thanks," I say, surprised by the simple kindness.

"No problem." She checks my IV, adjusts something. "You hungry yet? I can sneak you something from the good vending machine. The one with actual food, not just candy bars."

I almost smile. Almost. "I'm okay."

She nods, not pushing it. "There's a guy out there. Tall, dark hair, looks like he hasn't slept in days. Says he's your boyfriend."

My heart skips, then steadies. "He's not."

"Figured. He's cute though. In that sad puppy kind of way."

This time I do smile, just a little. "He's also the reason I'm here."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Say the word and I'll have security toss his ass out."

I consider it for a moment. The image of Jamie, being dragged out by hospital security, protesting the whole way. It's almost satisfying, but not enough. He’s not the only one that’s been through a lot. I can imagine his fear at losing me, as well as Noah and Hunter. Fear makes you do crazy things, I should know, I’ve done them so many times.

"No," I sigh. "Let him come in."

She gives me a look that says she thinks I'm making a mistake, but nods. "Your call. Buzz if you need anything, okay? I'm Leah."

"Thanks, Leah."

After she leaves, I change into my clothes which smell like industrial detergent, but they're soft and warm. I fold the hospital gown neatly and place it at the foot of the bed.

My reflection in the small bathroom mirror is startling. Pale skin, dark circles under my eyes, hair tangled and limp. I look haunted. Maybe I am. I splash cold water on my face, run wet fingers through my hair in a futile attempt to tame it. It doesn't help much, but it gives me something to do with my hands.

When I come out, Jamie is standing in the doorway.

He looks worse than I do. His clothes are rumpled, hair a mess, eyes red-rimmed. Like he's been the one going through hell.

"How did you get back here?" I ask.

He holds up a visitor's badge. “I told them that I was your brother."

"Liar."

"Yeah." He doesn't deny it, and even chuckles, I would join him in laughing too. Just like we did in the graveyard, but I’m exhausted, I don’t have any energy I’m surprised that I’m still awake. "How are you feeling?"

I shrug, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed. "Like someone who just had to fight off her therapist, the sheriff and his son.”

Jamie flinches. “Psychos. Organ traffickers and murderers. You’ve had a rough night.”

"What?"

Jamie looks down at his shoes. “Nevermind. I’m just glad that you’re alright."

Jamie steps fully into the room, letting the door close behind him. He stands awkwardly, like he's not sure if he's allowed to come closer. Good. Let him be uncertain.

"So what happens now?" I ask, still not looking at him.

"You're free to go once the doctor signs off,” he says.

"And then what? I just go back to my life? Like nothing happened?"

"I got you a hotel room," Jamie says, pulling a key card from his pocket. "Nice place, downtown. Paid up for two weeks. So you don't have to go back to your apartment if you don't want to."

I eye the key card suspiciously. "Why?"

He doesn’t answer and stares at me blankly.

"No, why are you doing this? The Sheriff is probably in hospital…”

“No. He’s dead. The Deputy and Dr. Julia have been arrested, and no doubt they won’t be released on bail. They have a rat sheet longer than my arm.” Jamie runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more.

"I don't need your help,” I say flatly. “I have an apartment, and no one is chasing after me. We’ve found the killer, or rather the killers. Besides, if there are any murderers out there, I can protect myself. I don’t need your help.”

"Maybe not. But I'm offering it anyway."

I stare at the key card he's still holding out. Part of me wants to slap it away, to tell him to get out, to never speak to me again. But I'm tired. So tired. And the thought of going back to my apartment, to my bedroom, to see the tree where Ruslan used to stand at, before he was killed does make me feel sick, but it is something I want to do. I don’t want Jamie protecting me, and then if I am in danger, I find myself in a mess, not able to defend myself, because he’s not around.

Jamie doesn't respond to that, just nods like he knows he deserves it. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain.

"Did they tell you when you can leave?" he asks finally.

"Dr. Patel said a few hours. For observation."

"Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be alone?” He asks.

A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have asked, but then we had a murderer running lose. Now, we don’t. He doesn’t need to stay and I can go back to my apartment.

"You should sleep," Jamie says, noticing. "I'll wake you if the doctor comes back."

I want to argue, to tell him I'm fine, that I don't need his concern. But the truth is, I'm barely holding myself together. Sleep sounds like salvation right now.

"Just for a little while," I murmur, letting my eyes close.

I don't mean to actually fall asleep, but the next thing I know, I'm startled awake by a hand on my shoulder. I flinch back instinctively, heart racing.

"Hey, it's okay," Jamie says quickly, stepping back. "It's just me. The doctor's here."

I blink, disoriented. The light in the room has changed. Hours must have passed. Dr. Patel stands by the foot of the bed, clipboard in hand, watching me with concerned eyes.

"Miss Stevenson," he says gently. "How are you feeling now?"

I sit up slowly, still groggy. "Better, I think."

"Your vitals look good. No signs of physical trauma beyond some minor bruising." He glances at Jamie, then back to me. "I don't see any reason to keep you here, if you feel ready to leave."

"I'm ready."

Dr. Patel nods. "I'll have the discharge papers prepared. In the meantime, I'd like to discuss some resources for you. Support groups, counseling options. What you've been through is traumatic, and it's important not to face that alone."

I nod mechanically, not really listening. All I can think about is getting out of here, away from the antiseptic smell and the beeping machines and the pitying looks.

"Also," Dr. Patel continues, "the police will want to follow up with you in the next few days. Standard procedure."

My stomach drops. "The Sheriff’s department?"

"No, I believe the FBI.”

I glance at Jamie, who nods slightly. “It’s Okay," he mouths.

"Thank you, Dr. Patel," I say, managing to sound almost normal. "I appreciate everything."

After he leaves, promising to return with discharge papers, I turn to Jamie. "How long was I asleep?"

"About four hours. You were out cold."

I run a hand through my hair, wincing at the tangles. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed the rest." He hands me a paper bag I hadn't noticed before. "I got you some toothpaste and stuff from the gift shop."

I take the bag, oddly touched by the gesture. "Thanks."

"No problem."

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, testing my strength. My body aches, but it's a distant pain, like an echo of what happened rather than the thing itself. I brush my teeth in the small bathroom sink, the simple act of normal hygiene making me feel slightly more human. The hairbrush helps tame the worst of the tangles, though my hair still looks limp and sad.

When I emerge, Jamie in the room talking to Leah the nurse. They both look up as I approach. A wave of jealousy takes over me, I don’t like the way that Leah is smiling at Jamie. He seems taken by her, and the way they both look guilty as soon as I came back into the room.

"Looking better already," Leah says with an approving nod. "Dr. Patel left your discharge papers at the nurses' station. You're good to go whenever you're ready."

"Thanks," I say.

She smiles. "Take care of yourself, okay? And remember what I said about security." She glances meaningfully at Jamie.

I almost smile. "I will."

It takes me around twenty minutes to check out of the hospital. I sign some forms, then get prescriptions for sleep aids. There’s some pamphlets about trauma and recovery that I stuff into my pocket without reading. Throughout it all, Jamie hovers nearby, not quite touching me, not quite leaving me alone.

Finally, we step out into the early evening air. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the parking lot. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with air that doesn't smell like disinfectant and despair.

"My car's over there," Jamie says, pointing to the rental car. "I can take you to the hotel, or—"

"I don't want to go with you," I say suddenly.

He blinks, confused. "What? How will you—"

"I'll call an Uber. Or a taxi. I just... I need some space. To think."

"Is this about what happened at the motel? Because I swear to you, I never meant to—"

"You left me." I cut him off, the words sharp, laced with betrayal. "When it mattered most, when I needed you the most... you left. And then you show up at the hospital and flirt with the nurse like none of it meant anything."

Jamie flinches, like I’ve physically struck him. “Flirt?”

"You don’t get it, do you?" I shake my head, frustration rising with every breath. “I need to be alone. I can’t go to a hotel. I can’t hide in my apartment. And I sure as hell can’t keep pretending that none of this happened. I’ve been pretending for so long, and look where it’s gotten me.”

My voice cracks, and I don’t bother to hide it.

“This... this is why I am the way I am. If I ever want a chance at being okay again, I have to face it. Alone.”

Jamie nods slowly. “I’ll call you an Uber.”

It’s the first time it feels like he’s really listening. Like he finally understands that what I’m dealing with is bigger than either of us. My life didn’t start with him, and it won’t end with him. It’s been stitched together with pain and silence and things no one should have to carry. I’ve never gotten over the things that happened to me. I’ve just moved forward. One foot in front of the other.

I’ve been in more institutions than someone my age should ever know. And still—I hurt. Every day.

I take a deep breath. I don’t say another word, and neither does he. We stand in silence, until he gestures toward a car pulling up.

“That’s for you. Came quick,” he says, his voice low, the disappointment thick beneath it.

But this isn’t about him.

It’s about me.

And for once in my life, I have to choose myself. I have to be selfish. I have to do the hard thing and fix what’s broken in me—even if I have to do it alone.

The Uber stops in front of us. Jamie opens the door for me.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds it as he shuts the car door. "I'm so sorry."The truth is, as much as I want to hate Jamie for leaving me when I needed him most, I can't ignore the fact that he's the reason I'm here now.

He ruined me, and then he saved me, but I can’t keep expecting someone to save me. First I have to heal myself, alone.