Chasing Butterflies Page 10

  My head swivels towards her. “Wha—?”

  Then, before I know what she’s doing, Yara swipes her paint-filled palm across my cheek. “I said shut up,” she says, giggling as she darts away from me.

  I playfully growl and charge towards her, squirting some lilac-coloured paint all over her. She yelps and skips over the patio, squealing and laughing at the same time. “We’re supposed to be painting the house!”

  I hear myself laughing as I chase her around the garden. “You started it, so now I have to finish it.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” she challenges. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  An hour later, we stand side-by-side, staring at the house. “Well, it’s certainly better than it was before,” she says.

  Instead of the horrible words, the walls are now covered with glittery, pastel-coloured paint. My eyes follow the trail of paint that runs down the wall, over the patio and into the grass.

  “It’s like a sparkly rainbow has dripped from the sky,” she says in awe. “Shame it won’t stay like this.”

  “Nothing nice ever stays nice for long.”

  She turns to look at me. “Why do you say that?”

  “No reason,” I say, turning away from her. “Just ignore me.”

  “And they say that I say strange things,” she mumbles.

  My eyes find hers, and then I can’t stop myself from laughing. “You’re kind of funny when you want to be.”

  “I’m funny all the time,” she says quickly. “It’s just that nobody has ever bothered to find out.”

  I clear my throat and nod towards her paint-covered legs. “We should get cleaned up. And I think you need to eat.”

  “Okay,” she says, nodding down at my jeans, “but so do you.”

  I sigh and look around at the mess we’ve made. “Are you seriously just going to leave all this?”

  “Yes,” she answers quickly. “Why wouldn’t I? Like you said, the rain will just wash it all away anyway.”

  “It might not rain for another ten weeks.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t care. I like it like this.”

  I take a deep breath and follow her as she walks into the house. “Shall I make us something to eat while you get changed?” I notice the kitchen is much tidier than it was the last time I was here.

  Yara shakes her head. “There’s no food.”

  What? “Well, what have you been eating?”

  “Nothing,” she says.

  “Hasn’t my mum brought you something to eat?”

  Yara hesitates and stares at me before she slowly shakes her head. “But your mum has been kind,” she says quietly, walking into the hallway. “She’s showed me how to use the washing machine and cooker and stuff.”

  “Jesus,” I say, pushing my fingers through my hair as I follow her. “When did you last eat?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, stepping up the stairs. “A couple of days ago, maybe.”

  “You can’t do that, Yara.”

  She stops when she’s at the top of the stairs and turns around to stare at me. “Do what?”

  “You can’t just not eat,” I say, stepping onto the first step.

  “I just forgot,” she mumbles.

  “How can you forget to eat?” I ask as I climb my way up to her.

  “You try being me for a week and let’s see how much crap you forget!”

  Chapter 13

  Yara

  Why has he followed me? And why on earth is he angry with me? “I told you I don’t know what to do now. Plus, I’ve had shed loads of other stuff to do.”

  His eyes bounce across my face, briefly pausing at my lips before he looks away, frowning as if he’s annoyed at what he’s just done. “We’ll sort it out,” he tells me. “We’ll get through the funeral tomorrow and then I’ll help you. We’ll get some proper legal help so we can sort out the house and see what you’re entitled to and stuff, and I promise you that it will all be okay.”

  I shake my head at him. “You shouldn’t make promises that you can’t keep.” It won’t be okay. It never is.

  “Don’t say things like that, Yara.”

  Why not? It’s true. “What’re we going to do about eating?” I ask, changing the subject. “I’m guessing you must be hungry too.”

  He looks at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Go take a shower. I’ll jump in after you and then we’ll go to the shop.”

  “Together?” I ask.

  “Together,” he says.

  I take a deep breath, my eyes staying focused on his, and then I smile at him. “Thank you for helping me today.”

  “You’re welcome,” he whispers, his breath dancing across my face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come help you before today.”

  “That’s okay,” I tell him. Now I know he wasn’t avoiding me. “And I’m sorry for not explaining anything about Granny to you the other morning and for being in your bed.”

  I’ve realised over the last couple of days that he thinks that what happened between us was wrong in his eyes. It’s not in mine, but I know I won’t ever change his opinion about that because he sees me as a little girl. He was embarrassed that I’d been in bed with him, worried about getting into trouble because of it. What’s worse, he regretted it before he even knew what we’d done…or hadn’t done.

  I need to accept that I’ll never be able to be like that with him. I want to more than anything, but I know he doesn’t, and I know I have to respect that. That’s what people do. That’s what I should do.

  “I overreacted,” he says carefully. “The other day. In my room. I shouldn’t have said some of the stuff that I said.”

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I know why you did and I understand. I won’t do anything like that again.” I look away from him, feeling a blush settle across my cheeks. “I won’t kiss you again when you’re asleep either. Actually, I won’t do anything when you’re asleep.”

  He chuckles softly and then I feel his fingers brushing against my cheek. I look up, feeling my heart begin to hammer in my chest as he tucks a piece of my long hair behind my ear. “You’ve got paint on the end of your nose,” he whispers, tapping his fingertip against my nose. His eyes dance across my face as he smiles at me. “It’s actually all over you.”

  “I know,” I say, leaning into his hand that’s cupping my cheek.

  He gives me a small smile and then slowly pulls his hand away before shoving it into his jeans pocket. “Do you have any money?”

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “You do?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

  I nod. “I have a bank account.”

  “Where has the money come from?” he pushes.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just in an account.”

  He frowns, clearly confused by my answer. “How much money do you have? Did my mum pay for the funeral? Do you have enough money to get by for a while?”

  “I paid for the funeral,” I tell him, ignoring his first question...for now. “Your mum helped me to sort it all out though. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “She didn’t tell me about that, but I guess I didn’t ask. I just assumed we were paying.”

  Oh. “I have enough money to get by,” I tell him, “especially since my Granny left me the house in her will.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I got a call from her solicitor yesterday. It’s all going to be transferred into my name.”

  “Oh, right,” he says, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “That’s good then.”

  “And I have just over two hundred thousand pounds.”

  His mouth drops open just a fraction. “How much?”

  “I know it’s a lot,” I begin, “but—”

  “Yara,” he breathes, sounding excited, “this is amazing. This means you haven’t got to worry about anything.”

  I shake my head at him, wondering why he’s not getting it. “Gabriel,” I say, “I have to worry about everythi
ng. I’ve got a crumbling house to sort out, and I’m all on my own in a world that makes me feel so sick I can’t breathe. The only time I can breathe is when I’m with you.”

  I went too far. I was too truthful.

  I think about the shocked look that flitted across Gabriel’s face before I turned and ran away from him, locking myself in the bathroom.

  “Are you nearly done?” Gabriel calls through the door.

  “Yeah, I’m coming,” I shout. I rinse the conditioner out of my hair and stand underneath the hot water, relishing the feeling of warmth that spreads through my bones. When I’m finally relaxed, I wrap a towel around me and step out into the mist-filled room, flicking my wet hair off my face. I can feel water dripping over my shoulders as I rub the steam off a piece of the broken mirror that hangs above the sink.

  I sigh, staring at the jagged image of myself. The paleness of my skin and the darkness that shadows my eyes make it obvious I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. I hate how affected I am by what’s going on around me. I hate that it’s getting to me.

  The door swings open and I turn around, feeling like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. Gabriel is staring at me, so I spin back around, feeling embarrassed.

  I hear him take a step towards me and look into a piece of the mirror that only shows me his deep brown eyes. He doesn’t speak as he moves closer to me.

  Locking eyes with mine for just a second, he takes a deep breath and then I feel a single fingertip hook over the back of my towel. I instinctively gather the towel in my hands as he pulls, forcing the towel to drop right down to my bum, exposing the whole of my back to him. His eyes are cast downward as he gently skims my cool skin at the very top of my bum, and I suck in a quick, excited breath.

  Then I see him squeeze his eyes shut as if he’s in pain, and I think I finally understand. His words tell me that he doesn’t want me, but the way he looks at me, the way he smiles at me when he thinks I’m not looking, the way his breath exhales in fast little spurts when he touches me, the way I felt him give himself to me when we kissed…they all say something else.

  I swallow, feeling scared but curious. I don’t even know if this is what I want, or even what I’m supposed to do, but I want him to teach me how to do it. I want to explore these strange feelings I’ve been getting. I want Gabriel. All of him. So I spin around and let the towel pool on the floor at my feet.

  Chapter 14

  Gabriel

  The towel is on the floor, and I’m staring into her wide, daring eyes. I can’t look. I want to look. Shit. She’s naked. Completely and utterly naked.

  She continues to stare back, looking more confident than I feel at the moment. I pull in a deep breath then I let my eyes rake all down her delicious, bare body.

  Her breasts are large for her slender frame and they’re perfect. Her skin looks as smooth as a peach. Her stomach is flat and toned, and there’s a gentle curve to her hips that looks as if it was carved out of her body just for me.

  I reach out with shaking hands and rest them against her hips, breathing out deeply as my fingers curl into her skin. I slowly pull her closer to me, close enough to make the tips of her nipples brush against my bare chest. My breath stutters. I’m achingly close, yet nowhere near close enough all at the same time.

  I hold still for a moment, keeping my head down while listening to Yara’s calm breaths breeze out of her mouth and against my chest. Breathing in, I smell the kiwi shampoo she used to wash her hair and close my eyes.

  Deep down, I knew this would happen. I knew it the moment I pulled her nightie back over her face all those weeks ago. I knew it because I haven’t been able to think of anyone but her. I know it because my heart never beats so strong as it does when I’m with her.

  Is this wrong if I do this?

  “Gabriel?” she breathes.

  I clear my throat. “You’re not scared?” I whisper against her hair.

  She shakes her head. “No, not at all.”

  “I am,” I confess.

  “Why?”

  Yara

  I freeze, waiting for his answer but it never comes. My eyes dance over his chest and down his rippled stomach. My heart is thumping in my chest, and there’s an ache that’s settled in the pit of my stomach. If he walks away from this now—from me—then I know that ache will morph into searing pain. The sort of pain that’ll make it impossible for me to be anywhere near him again. I’m not sure I could bear it.

  I don’t know what it is, but there’s a coil-like feeling in my stomach, and it’s making me think about the things he could to do me—things I’ve read about in the novels I borrow from the library.

  “Touch me, Gabriel,” I whisper.

  His breath leaves his mouth in one fast swoosh. “I can’t,” he says quickly, but I can tell he doesn’t really mean it.

  “Why not?” I place my hands on top of his and pull them away from my hips until we’re tracing my skin together.

  He groans and says, “You have no idea what you do to me, Yara.”

  I really wish I did. I lean up on my tiptoes and whisper against the skin just underneath his ear. “Show me, Gabriel.” Even as I say it, I know he won’t. So I kiss his top lip, sucking at it so quickly that I don’t give him time to speak or to kiss me back as I pull away.

  “I don’t think you know what you’re asking,” he says.

  “I do,” I say, sounding a lot more confident than I feel. “I’m asking you to touch me…to kiss me. I’m asking you to do both of those things all at once.”

  He slowly lifts his head, finally looking directly at me. “Is that it?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m asking you to make me feel like a normal girl. A girl that feels pretty enough to deserve to be wanted. I want you to hold me, to whisper things into my ear that I’ll remember forever.” I reach up and gently caress his cheek. “But what I want more than anything is for you to give me a memory that I’ll never forget.”

  “A memory?”

  I nod and flick my eyes away from him. “I don’t have a single good memory.”

  “Not one?” he pushes. “No good Christmases or birthdays?”

  “No.”

  “That’s fucking terrible, Yara.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I lean forward and lightly kiss his chest. “I want you to be the first good thing that has ever happened to me. My first touch.” I take a deep breath and look back up at him, hoping he can see how much I mean what I say. “I want you to be my first lover, too. I want you to take everything I’m offering you. I want you to have it all.”

  He sighs, brushing the back of his hand against my cheek. “I really want to,” he confesses. “I want to take it all.”

  “I feel a ‘but’ coming.”

  Nodding, he says, “I’m not sure how to say it.”

  I feel my fingers shaking as I skim down his neck and over his shoulders. “You’re worried that I’m mental, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he whispers.

  “Well, I’m not,” I fire back. “I don’t think I ever was.”

  “What?”

  I huff out a big breath and feel tears wobbling in my eyes. The moment has gone and maybe I should let it go. I’ve realised that if Gabriel has finally decided he wants me in that way, then he should know everything there is to know about me first.

  Maybe the reason I feel so scared is because I have dark secrets that I know will threaten the fragile little bond we already have—the kind of secrets that eat you up and then spit you back out without caring how much damage they do. I should know because my secrets have eaten me up for ten whole years, and Gabriel needs to know what he’s getting into before he actually gets into it. He deserves to know.

  “Maybe you should shower and then we can go to the shop. We could talk over some food,” I offer.

  He smiles. “You want to talk?”

  “Yes. There are things you need to know abou
t me.”

  “Things?” he repeats.

  “Yes,” I reply, nodding. I lean down and pick up my towel, pulling it tightly around me. “I’ll get dressed and wait downstairs for you.”

  Gabriel

  As we walk through the aisles of the supermarket, something occurs to me. Yara isn’t sad about the death of her grandmother—or at least she doesn’t appear to be sad. She still walks with a slight spring to her step, as if she’s excited about what could possibly happen in the next five minutes. She still chatters on and makes me laugh. Maybe it hasn’t hit home for her yet.

  “Are you listening to me?” she asks.

  I shake my head and feel myself frowning at her. “Aren’t you sad that your grandmother has died?”

  She rears back in shock. “Where did that come from?”

  “Sorry,” I say as I step closer to her. I hold the basket out while she drops some stuffed pasta into it. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”

  “I am sad,” she tells me as we walk past the freezers, “but I’m not heartbroken.”

  Not like me then.

  We round the corner and nearly crash into our neighbour. “Oh, hey, Mr Phillips,” I say to him.

  He looks up and smiles at me, but as soon as his gaze falls on Yara, he scowls and looks away. “Hello, Gabriel. Have a nice evening.”

  I feel my mouth drop open as I watch him scuttle away. Yara sighs but then carries on as if she hasn’t just been completely ignored by our neighbour.

  “Does anyone talk to you?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Does anyone ever look at you?”

  She throws some shit into the basket and continues walking down the aisle. “No. Just you, really.”

  This is a lot worse than I first thought. I knew there’d been stories about Yara. I even believed them at one point. But that was when I was young and stupid. Mr Phillips is an adult that should know better.

  I feel anger on Yara’s behalf zap through my body. No one deserves to be treated like that. “Do you know why Lulu Deburge told those stories about you?” I ask.