Page 7 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

Birdie

The room spins. Every shadow hides danger, every sound an intruder. “I’m not crazy.”

“Nobody is saying you are.” Tristan cuts through my spiraling thoughts. His face is a mix of concern, unasked questions and unspoken doubts.

My mind reels. “The gun wasn’t there. He had it. He used it on me.” The metal against my skin has left a cold trail so visceral it’s almost visible. The raspy breaths in my ear. The feeling of his fingers… I didn’t imagine all of that. The fear, the pain, the excitement, it was all real.

“I need to get out of here,” I say abruptly, moving toward the door. I can’t bear to be in this room any longer, surrounded by reminders of what I’ve gone through—or what I think I’ve experienced.

Tristan steps in front of me, blocking my path. “We need to talk about this. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that you don’t believe me.

None of you do.” My breath races with frustration and fear.

“And I don’t blame you. Everything I said has happened.

He altered it to appear like it didn’t. But I know what I experienced, Tristan.

It wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. He was here, in this room, and he. .. he...”

I can’t finish the sentence. The memory of Butterfly Man’s touch makes me feel sick and dirty. The memory of what I let him do to me… I want to scrub my skin raw, to erase every trace of him from my body and my mind. “Get out of my way.”

“No. I can’t let you leave like that. Look at me. Please,” he urges.

I glance up at him, searching his face for any sign of the trust and belief I so desperately need.

He leans in imperceptibly. His hands, resting at his sides, twitch with the desire to reach out, but he lets only his gaze convey what his hands cannot. “If the entire universe conspired to doubt your truth, my heart would defy them all, forever anchored in unwavering faith in you.”

The Nightingale’s Whispers , chapter fifty-six.

“I believe you, even if you don’t think I do,” he says softly.

“You have no idea how much it hurts me to know that you’ve been in danger and I wasn’t there to save you.

You have no idea how I feel that you’re in so much pain and there’s nothing I can do to take it away.

Please, Birdie, I just want to understand so I can do something. Help me understand.”

I rack my brain, revisiting the tormenting incident step by step. “He must have put it back. Before he left, he must have put the gun back in the dresser. It was dark, and I was too distracted and worried about…Brandon…to notice.”

“You said he,” he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, “inserted it inside you.”

The image flashes bright and hot in my head. My insides twist. “Yes.”

Confusion and concern rise to his expression again. He’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle to be solved. “But the gun looks pretty clean to me, Birdie.” He goes to the dresser and examines the gun. Then he shows it to me. “No signs of any…fluids on it.”

I stare at the dull weapon that mocks everything I have to say. It looks exactly as it’s always been since Tristan confiscated it from Blake. If I was fucked with it, it would, at least, have a trace of my wetness on it.

“The stalker might have had the time to put it back but not the time to clean it. Besides, DNA on the gun could be evidence you insist he’s made sure not to leave,” Tristan says.

“I…” My shoulder lifts in resignation. “He didn’t use this gun on me then. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen at all. He lied. He must have had another gun, and he just hid Blake’s. Then he returned it before he left.”

A tired sigh leaves Tristan’s chest, as if he’s saying, “Are you listening to yourself?” He has every right to question me and my sanity. Am I losing it? Have the stress and lack of sleep pushed me over the edge? Have I imagined Butterfly Man doing unspeakable things to me in my bedroom?

Doubt plants its roots in my mind. I mean, the whole scene seems to be cut out of one of my books. And I was in my head, picturing him, before it happened.

No. I didn’t imagine it. Butterfly Man was here. I point at Tristan, my eyes wide. “He said, and I quote, ‘When the man with the motorcycle returns, prepare for some good news. I’ve left him something precious where he’s at’.”

“What?”

“Did you not say you found something at Gia’s? He knew exactly where you were going, and he left you a note there, didn’t he? How could I have known that if I’d imagined it?”

His jaw clenches. His eyes, a storm of uncertainty as they flicker between doubt and affection.

I lift my chin. “Unless I’m lying to make you believe me. Say it. Don’t be shy.”

“You’re just not making any sense. How could he know where I was? He’s watching, okay, but how could he watch me and be here with you at the same time? I’m not bugged. I thoroughly check daily. We all do.”

“What about your bike? You found a tracker in my car.”

“My bike is still at the garage in Boston. I’ve arranged for it to arrive on the island tomorrow. I took one of our cars tonight, which are all secure, Birdie.”

“Then, like you, I don’t know how Butterfly Man did it. All I know is that he is real, and he was in my room tonight, whether you believe me or not.”