Butterfly (23 page)

I sweep my gaze over her face,
memorizing every perfect feature. The arch of her eyebrows, the
button nose, the long eyelashes fanning against the creamy skin of
her cheeks.

So what if we don’t go any
further? So what if I don’t make love to her? I can wait. I just
love holding her, inhaling her vanilla scent, staring at her
beauty.

Grace’s eyelids flutter open,
and she looks up at me with a cute grin. ‘Morning.’

I lift myself up on one elbow
and lean over her. ‘Morning.’

Her fingers feather across my
face. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. But I just wish that we could…I
mean, I could…’ she trails off, biting her lip. ‘I don’t want you
to regret this. Being with me if I can’t—’

I press a finger to her mouth.
‘Don’t say it. Don’t even think about it. Like I said, we’ve got
all the time in the world for what comes next. And in the meantime,
we can have lots of fun
not
having sex.’

She rubs her thumb along my
bottom lip. I let out a groan.

‘What do you see in me?’ Her
eyebrows knit together in a confused frown.

‘You’re so perfect. So
beautiful. You’re funny. Kind.’ I run gentle kisses along the side
of her neck, behind her ear in between each word. ‘Cute. Sexy.
Courageous. Strong. Resilient.’

She sucks in a breath and
watches me with half-closed eyes. It’s incredibly sexy. ‘Really?
You see all that?’

‘Yes, and more. Much more. And
I’m going to spend all my time proving it to you,’ I whisper
against her collarbone. ‘Is this OK?’ I caress the soft skin of her
neck.

‘Yes.’ Her voice is hoarse.
‘It’s never been like this for me before.’ She strokes down my abs,
stopping when she reaches the top of my boxers and stroking back up
again. ‘I feel things with you I can’t even begin to explain.’

‘Don’t think about before.’ I
lace my fingers through hers. ‘The only thing important is the here
and now.’

She nestles into my chest, and I
suddenly remember to check the time. It’s Sunday, and I’m going to
be late to teach my self-defence class, even though I don’t want to
be parted from her for a second.

‘Do you want to come along to
the class or meet me afterwards?’ I say.

She stretches and kisses me.
‘I’ll meet you outside afterwards.’

‘OK, what do you feel like
doing?’

‘I want to create another new
memory. I want to do something I’ve never done before. And,
according to my counsellor, I should do something fun every day. I
think I should take his advice, since he seems to know what he’s
talking about.’

‘How about roller-skating?’

She laughs. ‘No, my balance is
rubbish.’

‘So, ice-skating’s out, too,
then, huh?’

‘Yep.’

‘Bowling?’

She grins at me. ‘That sounds
perfect. But you’ll have to teach me how.’

‘I think I can manage that.
Wouldn’t want your counsellor to get annoyed with me. He might kick
my arse.’

47

GRACE

We’re queuing at the reception
in the bowling alley when I check out the shoes people have to
wear. ‘Do we really have to wear those?’ I ask Ben. ‘They’ll make
me look like Goofy.’

‘No, Goofy’s no where near as
cute as you.’ He squeezes my hand.

We manage to get a free lane,
and I sit on a bench, tying up the shoelaces. Ben sits next to me,
his warm thigh pressing into mine.

I stretch my leg out. ‘See, what
did I tell you? Goofy.’

He chuckles and stands, holding
out his hand. ‘Come on.’

We walk to the lane and he sets
up the computer, adding our names to it. ‘I bet you’re really good
at this, aren’t you?’ I ask.

‘Passable. I haven’t played in a
long time.’

‘OK, so show me what to do.’ I
shout over the deafening noise of balls clattering down the lanes
and pins crashing. I stand with a hand on my hip as he selects a
ball out of the ball return machine, puts his thumb and first two
fingers in it, and tests the weight.

Not satisfied with the one he’s
chosen, he takes another and tries that one before saying, ‘OK,
watch this.’

He walks towards the line at the
top of the lane then does a little running skid as he gets closer,
draws his arm back, and fires the ball in a straight line towards
the pins. The ball slams into the pins dead centre, sending them
flying in all directions.

‘When you get them all down,
that’s a strike,’ he says.

‘I thought you said you were
passable.’ I smirk.

He arches an eyebrow. ‘Maybe I
was trying to make you feel better.’

‘I get another go because it was
a strike.’ He takes another ball and hurtles it down the lane.

But I’m not watching the ball.
I’m watching his muscles flex and ripple beneath the T-shirt he’s
wearing and the way his jeans ride low over his hips. The waistband
of his boxers peeking out at me. My body is hyperaware of him. The
way his strong fingers hold the bowling balls. His angular,
unshaven jaw. How seductive his mouth is. How soft his hair is when
I fun my fingers through those thick, choppy layers. His art for
conveying so much in so few words. The pulse beating in his neck.
Everything about him saturates my senses. I can’t stop looking at
him, and I can barely think straight with him so close to me.

He turns round and catches me
watching him, and our gaze meets for a moment before my cheeks
flush.

‘All right, then,’ I say, rising
to the challenge. I walk to the ball return machine and pick up a
couple of balls. ‘Game on.’

‘Here, this one’s probably right
for you.’ He hands me a pink ball, and I slide my thumb and first
two fingers into it, testing the weight like he did. OK, I don’t
have a clue what I’m doing, but what the hell.

I walk to the lane. ‘Do I have
to do that little skiddy run thing?’ I look out across the lanes
and see lots of people doing it.

‘No.’ His lips curve into a
smile, and he stands behind me, one hand on my waist, one hand on
my hand that’s holding the ball. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to
concentrate on what he’s showing me, because my stomach is doing a
cartwheel and my heart stumbles in my chest at his touch.

‘OK, so just pull your arm back
and try and aim straight down the centre. Don’t walk across the
line, or you’ll be disqualified.’

‘Wait ’til you see this. If you
can get a strike, so can I.’ I say it with more confidence than I
feel.

I fling the ball down the lane,
but it veers to the left and ends up in the gutter. ‘
What?
’
I pout at the disappearing ball. ‘It was doing so well! I think
this lane’s wonky.’

‘Right.’ He nods, picks up his
ball, and throws another perfect strike.

‘Hey! That’s not fair!’

He kisses my cheek before
grabbing another ball. ‘God, I love it when you pout like that.
You’ve got a competitive streak, haven’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

My next go is a lot better. I
manage to hit three pins on the first try and five on the second.
That’s nothing compared to Mr Strike King, though, who
unsurprisingly wins the first game by a mile.

I get better as the time goes on
and even manage a half-strike a couple of times. Then I hit nine
pins and jump up and down, fist pumping in the air.

‘Fluke,’ Ben says.

‘Oh, yeah? I was just getting
warmed up. Lulling you into a false sense of security. I’m an
expert, really.’ I stretch my arms behind me and move my neck from
side to side, as if I’m a professional athlete.

He tries to stifle a smile as I
pick up another ball and nail the last pin standing. ‘Half-strike!’
I yell.

I get better with each go, but
Ben’s game has gone to pot, and half his balls are ending up in the
gutter. After about four of his terrible shots, I finally realize
what’s going on.

‘Are you letting me win?’ I
frown.

He holds his arms out to the
sides, palms up, a smirk on his face. ‘Would I?’

‘Hmm.’ I narrow my eyes
playfully.

I end up winning the second
game, so we’re perfectly matched, even if he did let me win. As we
walk back to the reception to hand back the lovely shoes, I say,
‘That was great. I had fun.’

‘Good. Next time I’ll thrash
you.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ I elbow him as I put
my boots back on.

I leave him lacing up his own
chunky boots while I head for the toilets. I push the door open and
practically bump into a woman on her way out.

‘Oh, sorry!’ I take a step back
and recognize Claire, the girlfriend of Theo’s best friend.

Claire and I were never close.
She always gave the impression she thought she was above me because
she came from a rich family and went to Cambridge University to
study architecture. I was far too nerdy, plain, and common for
her.

But seeing her here immediately
takes me back to the night of the rape and the party we’d all been
to before it happened.

And just like that, the wound
has cracked opened again.

The breath catches in my throat,
pulse pounding in my ears.

‘Oh, hi, Grace. Long time, no
see.’ She tosses her long, curly black hair over her shoulder. ‘I
thought I saw you out there playing. How are you?’ It’s clear by
her tone she doesn’t really care and is just being polite.

‘Er…’ I take a deep breath and
steady myself on the sink. Sweat prickles at my hairline.

Her forehead crinkles. ‘Are you
OK?’

‘Just…um…hot.’ I fan my face and
force myself to breathe.

‘So, is that your new boyfriend
you were bowling with?’

‘Pardon?’ I’m trying to
concentrate on what she’s saying, but it’s taking all my effort to
stand upright.

‘Your boyfriend? The guy you
were messing around on Theo with?’

Suddenly the frightened girl is
gone, and a raging anger sparks inside me. That’s what Rebecca said
he’d told them all, starting rumours about why we weren’t together
any more.

My spine stiffens. ‘What do you
mean?’

‘He said you were sleeping with
some other guy, that’s why he broke it off with you.’ She jerks her
head towards the door. ‘Is that him outside?’

‘No,’ I say, much louder than I
intend to. ‘It wasn’t like that. It was…Theo’s a liar.’

She holds her hands up, eyes
wide. ‘OK, don’t shoot the messenger. That’s what he told
everyone.’

The words I wrote in my journal
flood into my head.

I am only a victim as long as I
blame myself and remain ashamed.

Well, I’m not ashamed anymore,
because it’s not my fault. I’m not blaming myself. And I’ll be
damned if I’m going to be a victim.

I’m not hiding anymore. I’m not
faking it. I’m not pretending this was something other than what it
was. Something snaps inside me, and my hands shake with fury. ‘He
raped me, Claire.’

‘What?’ Her face scrunches up
with disbelief.

‘Theo raped me,’ I repeat,
fighting the lump swelling in my throat that’s making it hard to
breathe.

She shakes her head, looking at
me as if I’ve just been beamed down from another planet. ‘Why would
he rape you? You were his girlfriend. He was sleeping with you
anyway.’

‘I don’t know
why,
Claire, but he did.’

She shrugs. ‘Look, I know you
and I were never really friends, and I could tell you were pretty
naïve when Theo started seeing you. Most of us always wondered what
he saw in you, actually. I’m guessing you were a virgin when you
met, but let me tell you, hon, guys expect sex from their
girlfriends, you know. That’s what happens in a
grown up
relationship.’ Her tone is condescending and sarcastic, and I
wonder what other lies he’s told about me. ‘So what if he wanted it
a bit adventurous and rough?’

‘No, it wasn’t “adventurous” or
“rough”
.
It was rape.’

‘Maybe he thought you needed to
experiment a bit. Try something different, because they get bored
easily if you don’t give them what they want. Loads of women would
love to have a chance with Theo.’

I can’t believe what I’m
hearing. Cannot believe the excuses spewing from another woman’s
mouth.

I want to scream.

‘And if it were true, you
would’ve reported it, wouldn’t you?’ She juts her chin in the air.
‘You’re crazy.’ She takes a step back, a look of disgust on her
face. ‘This is just some kind of ploy for attention, isn’t it,
because you’re jealous he’s seeing someone else? God, no wonder he
dumped you.’

She doesn’t believe me or
doesn’t want to. And I don’t know whether to blame her or not. Who
wants to believe their boyfriend’s best friend is a monster? Either
way, I need to get out of here. I’m not going to lose it in
public.

‘It’s not just me he’s raped,
Claire. He’s done it to someone else, too. Ask him to tell you the
truth.’ I storm out the door and straight into Ben, who’s waiting
outside.

‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ His
eyes are wide, taking in my panicked expression, his hands on my
shoulders.

‘I need to get away. Now!’

He doesn’t say another word.
Just nods and takes my hand, leading me outside.

‘I need to hit something,’ I say
as we walk down the street at a furious pace. I clench and unclench
my free hand. It’s a good job we left my car at my flat. I don’t
think I could drive in this state.

‘We can go to my place. Hit my
punch bag.’

‘Yes,’ I say, but that’s all I
can manage, and I love that he doesn’t push me to talk. If he did,
tears would spill out right now, and I don’t want that.

I’m not crying over Theo ever
again.

I grind my teeth as we walk at a
fast pace, and when we get to his flat, my jaw is aching. I kick
off my shoes as soon as we’re in the door. He takes my hands and
slides on the boxing gloves in silence, pressing the Velcro
fastenings down securely. He attaches his iPod to speakers and
turns it up loud, playing some heavy rock music that I don’t
recognize. It’s got a fast, thumping beat, and that’s exactly what
I need to punch to. Then he stands behind the bag and holds it
while my fists fly.