Free Chasing Butterflies by Beckie Stevenson Page B

sorry. Sorry means you didn’t mean for it to happen. “Gabriel,” I murmur, my voice breaking at the end. “Why are you crying?”
    I’m desperate for him to look at me, but at the same time I don’t want him to look at me. I don’t want to see whatever it is that’s making him sorry.
    “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” Yes, you should. “I’m sorry, Yara. I’m really fucking sorry.”
    I gasp at hearing him swear. It’s not that I’m averse to swearing because Granny swears all the time, but I’ve never heard Gabriel curse before. “Look at me.”
    He shakes his head.
    “It’s the least you can do. Please.”
    He nods and then lifts his eyes to mine.
     
     
     
    Gabriel
     
    “I’m sorry,” I say again as I stare at her. I let my eyes linger on hers, wondering if she can see the shame and regret and guilt swimming through them. And then I look away. I don’t mind if she sees those things, but what I don’t want her to see is how desperate I am to kiss her again.
    That kiss was the kiss first kisses are made of. I already know that I never want to feel another mouth on mine again…that no matter how many times I kiss Yara, I know it’ll never be enough.
    “I can’t see you anymore,” I tell her. I want to see all of you.
    She sniffs as tears well up in her eyes. “Why not?”
    “It’s for the best,” I say. I wish it wasn’t.
    “Was I not doing it right?” Yara whispers. She wipes her eyes with her fingertips and I hate that I’ve made her cry.
    “It was perfect,” I tell her. “ You were perfect.”
    Her eyes dart all around as if she’s looking for a way to leave. “I have to go.”
    “Yara, I—”
    She’s gone before I can even finish my sentence. I turn around and slump against the tree.
    What the hell have I just done?

Chapter 9
     
     
     
    Yara
     
     
    Kissing makes you crazy. What I had before, or whatever they thought I had before, wasn’t crazy. Obsessing over someone, staring out of your window for days on end just to get a glimpse of them, and constantly daydreaming of their lips and how they made you feel like you were floating on a bed of fire—that’s crazy.
    If kissing makes you crazy, then hearing the person that kissed you—the person that made you feel so alive you felt like you’d died when they left you—tell you that they never want to see you again? That makes you feel like you’ve completely lost your mind.
    And if you aren’t completely whole or normal, then you don’t worry about what people might think if they found you cowering underneath your bed like a child in the middle of the night.
    “Granny!” I wail. I pull my knees to my chest and curl into the foetal position. “Please!”
    The door to my bedroom bursts open and I see Granny’s feet step into my room. Tears stream down my face and drop onto the bare floorboards. “Granny,” I sob, “I’m under the bed.”
    “Get up, Yara.”
    “I can’t,” I cry.
    “It’s just a thunderstorm, girl. You can’t keep doing this.”
    Lightning streaks across the sky and flashes into my room. I yelp and press myself against the floor.
    “Get the hell up,” she orders.
    “I can’t. I just can’t. You know why.”
    The thunder rumbles in the distance, making every single hair on my body stand on end. The way it booms and growls as if the clouds are angry with me— it’s definitely the noise that scares me the most.  It’s also the noise that’s haunted my nightmares for twelve whole years…the noise I can’t escape from.
    Before I know what’s happening, I’m being dragged across the floor.
    “Granny, no!” I turn over and try to grab onto something—anything—to stop her. “Please,” I beg. “I don’t want to get out.”
    “You’re getting out and you’re going to stay out. Every bloody time there’s a storm you’re quivering under there like a frightened baby. I’ve had enough, Yara. I’m sick of your shit.”
    “I can’t help it,” I wail as she pulls me