Butterfly Dreams (25 page)

“You have a very low opinion of yourself, Corin. Are you aware of that?” Chris asked gently.

“It's not low self-esteem, it's just fact.” I shrugged.

Chris made a note on his clipboard. “So you're here because of Beckett. Can you explain that for me?”

I took a deep breath. “My parents died when I was a teenager. My mom and then my dad in pretty close succession.”

Chris's face went soft and sympathetic. “That's a lot of trauma for someone so young.”

“I'm afraid of dying. Like
really
afraid of dying. I think about it all the time. Every time I leave my apartment I wonder if I'll get hit by a car. When I cough, I think I have lung cancer. Every headache is a potential aneurism.”

I felt the familiar threads of panic. “My doctors think I'm crazy,” I said quietly, strangled.

Chris leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Why in the world would you think that?”

Tears started slipping down my cheeks. I couldn't stop them. And then the dam broke.

“Because I
am.
”

I started sobbing and couldn't stop. Chris handed me a box of tissues but made no move to touch me or console me, which I appreciated. He simply waited until I had cried myself out and was able to compose myself.

It took me fifteen minutes and I was able to dry my eyes and breathe normally again.

“I'm sorry about that,” I said sheepishly, not quite able to look at my therapist, though I was pretty sure he had seen a lot worse in his line of work.

“Don't ever apologize for feeling how you feel. I get the impression you don't do that much.”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Cry.”

I shook my head. “Not really,” I admitted.

Chris regarded me steadily. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that you're not crazy, Corin. Not in the least.”

“How can you say that? You've known me what? Twenty minutes?” I scoffed.

Chris sat back in his chair and tucked his pen into his breast pocket. “You've experienced a lot of trauma, Corin. You have established some destructive coping mechanisms. Your anxiety has become your crutch. But that doesn't mean you're crazy. Not by a long shot.”

His words loosened the knot in my gut that had been there since my dad had died.

“Dr. Harrison says I'm a hypochondriac.” I felt embarrassed to say it. But it needed to be put out there.

Chris smiled. “What you are is a smart, competent, accomplished young woman who has yet to learn how to work through her grief.” He paused. “I'd like to help you do that. I hope you'll let me.”

I had been so averse to therapy for so long, convinced it would never help me. That I didn't need it.

But things had changed.

I
had changed.

And I needed to believe that I wasn't crazy. That I
could
have a normal life.

That I wouldn't drag Beckett down with my issues.

I could do this.

I
would
do this.

For me.

“Yeah. I'd like that.”

“I really want to go to the spring carnival in the park,” I said one Sunday morning. Winter had finally caved to the might of spring. The air was clean and bright. The flowers were blooming. And I was embracing every moment of it.

Because of the man by my side.

Beckett had completely transformed my life.

It was still so unbelievable.

“You want to go to the carnival? Really?” Beckett scoffed.

“What's so strange about that?”

“You are probably the last person I can imagine subjecting herself to a crowded overpriced fair with half-cooked hamburgers and cotton candy.”

“It's called living, Beckett. Isn't that what you've always told me I should be doing?” I tossed a napkin at him. He tried to catch it but failed. He let his hand drop into his lap.

He was looking a little pale this morning. His eyes were duller than normal.

“Are you all right?” I asked, feeling a niggling of worry.

“No. I'm not all right. I think aliens have done a body swap with my girlfriend,” he exclaimed, grinning.

I must be imagining things.

I did that a lot.

Created problems where there were none.

Chris Riley said that I constantly anticipated the worst possible scenario so as to not be caught off guard should it happen. He said that when I felt myself becoming negative, I had to counteract it with a positive thought.

He was teaching me a lot about how to handle everyday situations that normally had me retreating and going into my protective shell.

Therapy worked, people. I never thought I'd say that.

My eyes lingered on my boyfriend's face.

Beck looks happy. He's smiling. We're in love.

Our life is just beginning.

So yeah, I was getting a lot out of therapy. More than I ever thought I would.

But I was by no means fixed.

I often wondered if I should just suck it up and admit I was always going to be fucked up.

Beckett wouldn't let me think that way too long though.

The silly man seemed to think I was amazing.

Apparently he had his own delusions.

“I haven't been to the carnival since I was eight. I think it could be fun.”

I should have taken note of the shadows beneath Beckett's eyes.

I would never forgive myself for ignoring the voice in my head that said something wasn't right.

But he insisted he was fine and I didn't want to nag him. Because I was trying not to fixate on the
could happen.

“Why don't we call Zoe and see if she wants to tag along,” I suggested, picking up Beckett's plate with his uneaten bagel. He said he wasn't hungry. That should have bothered me. The man ate like a horse.

“Do we have to?” Beckett whined, pulling me down onto his lap and nuzzling my neck. I tingled all over from his touch. I didn't think I'd ever get tired of it.

“Okay, you get a pass this time. But I told her we'd hang out sometime.”

“Hey, you agreed to that, not me. So that's on you, Cor-Cor.”

I pinched his side and he jumped. “Ouch!”

“Call it negative reinforcement. Every time you use that god-awful nickname, you're getting the pinch.” I pretended to pinch him again and he flinched.

“Okay, okay. I surrender!”

Beckett pressed his lips to mine, leaning me back over the arm of the chair. Just as he started to slide his hand up my shirt, he looked up.

“He's doing it again, Corin,” he whispered.

Sure enough, Mr. Bingley was sitting on the other end of the kitchen table, licking his paw and watching us. Beckett had developed a major complex about my cat.

I laughed. Deep from the gut.

Life was good.

I should have known nothing great could ever last.

If I had known how that day would end, I would have done so many things differently.

I would have focused on the small things. The color of Beck's hair. The way it curled around his ears.

The sound of his breathing while he slept.

The smile that he gave only to me.

The way he said my name just before he kissed me.

Important things.

Things that I'd never want to forget.

“Come on, let's ride the Tilt-A-Whirl!” I cried, pulling Beckett by the hand.

He was such a good sport. I knew the carnival wasn't his thing but he went anyway. For me.

“We just went on the Scrambler. Can't we take a break?” he asked, smiling, but it looked a little pained.

He was moving slower. Sluggish even.

You're being paranoid!
I silently reprimanded myself.

I was looking for something to be wrong when there wasn't.

Beckett would tell me if he didn't feel right.

He wouldn't jeopardize his health like that.

“Fine. But if I barf, I'm aiming it right at you,” he teased.

He kissed me as we waited in line and it was the best thing in the world.

“Hey, isn't that Adam?” Beckett asked after we got off the ride, puke free. He pointed to a familiar dark head in the crowd.

It
was
Adam. He was waiting in line for caramel apples, a giant panda bear tucked under his arm.

“He hates stuff like this. What in the hell is he doing here?” I mused. Beckett and I headed in his direction.

I tapped my friend on the shoulder and he jerked his head up, an annoyed look on his face. It smoothed out when he saw that it was me.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I said.

“Uh, yeah. Fancy that.”

Had we died and been reborn British?

“Hey, Beckett,” Adam said, nodding at my boyfriend.

“Howdy, Adam. That's an awfully pretty panda you've got there,” Beck drawled.

Adam fidgeted. What had him so nervous?

“Oh, yeah. That's not mine. I don't do pandas. I mean they're cute, I guess. But not my thing.”

Beckett and I exchanged a look.

“I'm back,” a high-pitched giggle interjected.

I watched as Krista came up and wrapped her arms around Adam's middle. “You're still in line? Geez, it's taking forever,” she complained.

I raised an eyebrow as Adam blushed. I had
never
seen him so red.

Like I didn't know something was going on between them. It had become way too obvious.

Krista finally realized we were standing there. “Oh hey, Corin! I didn't know you were here,” she chirped. Her hold on Adam was ironclad, and it amused me how uncomfortable he was.

“Yeah, we haven't been here that long. Krista, this is my boyfriend, Beckett. Beckett, this is Krista. She works at the studio part time,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

Beckett's eyes widened a fraction. “Oh. Well, it's nice meeting you,” he said.

Adam looked ready to crawl out of his skin.

“Well, we'll leave you to it. Have fun.” Adam nodded, not meeting my eyes. It was kind of cute.

“Let me know when you want to have that talk,” I whispered in his ear.

Adam cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay.”

Krista gave us a wave as we said our goodbyes.

“Did you know about that?” Beckett asked.

“I had a suspicion.”

“He looked like he wanted to jump off a very tall building.” Beckett chuckled.

“I know. It was awesome!” I agreed, grinning.

Beckett stumbled a bit and I pulled up short. “Are you okay?” I couldn't help but ask.

Beckett waved me off. “It was a rock, Corin. No need to look like someone ran over Mr. Bingley.”

I smacked his arm. “Don't ever joke about Mr. Bingley getting run over.”

“Well, you need to explain to your cat bad things happen to felines playing Peeping Tom every time I try to get in your pants.”

“Maybe you need to start keeping your hands to yourself,” I suggested, biting my lip.

Beckett pulled me up against him and gave me a kiss to beat all other kisses.

“Not going to happen,” he said thickly.

I was soaring so high, I was pretty sure I'd never touch the ground again.

So that made the crash completely devastating.

“Come on, Beck!” I pulled on his hand. I was on a massive sugar buzz and feeling slightly slaphappy.

We had ridden way too many rides and eaten way too much food.

It was the best time I could remember having in a long time.

But as the night wore on, Beckett stumbled a few more times. When I asked him about it, he only said he was getting a little tired.

Why didn't I pester him?

Why didn't I demand he tell me the truth?

Because I was enjoying my happiness. Finally.

I pulled him toward a carnie booth. A giant lit-up clown spun around in circles as people threw balls into its mouth. It was no doubt rigged but I wanted to give it a try.

Beckett was falling behind and I had to tug on him to get him to catch up.

“Let's play!” I called over my shoulder.

I handed the carnie a dollar and he passed me three balls.

The first one went in.

The second one went in.

The third flew through the clown's gaping mouth.

I jumped up and down, clapping my hands. I felt Beckett squeeze my arm.

“Corin—”

But I wasn't listening.

I wasn't listening!

The carnie guy handed me a horrible-looking stuffed brown bear and I whirled around, smiling high.

“Beck, look I won!”

He was so pale. His eyes were glassy and his hand was clutched in a fist over his chest.

Over his chest…

“Beckett, what's wrong?” I demanded.

I felt fear then.

Potent, real fear.

“Nothing.” He waved me off.

And then he bent over and threw up in the dirt. I gasped, vomit splashing my shoes.

“Fucking drunk,” some asshole said from beside us.

“Oh my god, Beck!”

He collapsed onto the ground. His breaths were wheezy gasps. His eyes started to roll back into his head.

“I love you, Corin Thompson.”

“Call 911!” I screamed. I tried to pull out my phone to make the call but my fingers wouldn't work.

“The ambulance is on its way, sweetheart,” an older woman said.

“Beckett!” I sobbed, the tears rolling down my face.

He was incredibly pale. His lips were tinged with blue.

I leaned down and pressed my ear to his chest.

It was quiet.

So, so quiet.

I listened for his breath but there was none.

Beckett's heart had stopped.

“No,” I wailed.

Get it together, Corin! Snap out of it!

I had to help him!

I would be damned if he was going to die on my watch.

I rolled him flat on his back and put my lips around his. Administering five quick, successive breaths into his mouth.

Then I started pumping on his chest. Over and over again.

Then I breathed for him some more.

I continued like this for what felt like forever.

And every time I stopped to listen to his silent heart, I wanted to wail in anguish. I was pretty sure I was going to lose my mind.

But I couldn't afford to.

Beck needed me.

So I breathed for him.

And I pumped his heart.

Until the paramedics came and took over.

“I love you, Corin Thompson.”

Why had I never said it back?

“I love you, Beckett,” I whispered as the EMTs put him on the stretcher, still administering CPR. Never stopping.

“I love you.”

But I hadn't said it when it counted.

Only when it was too late.

My heart was beating loudly in my ears. A strained sound that made it hard to hear.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

An echo of a ticking clock going on and on and on. Never ending.

My skin felt clammy and I was having trouble breathing. The crowded carnival was too loud. Too bright.

Too much.

And even though the air was cool for the end of April, I was burning up.

“Come on, Beck,” Corin called over her shoulder, squeezing my hand and pulling me down the midway.

I followed her, practically tripping over my own feet, feeling dizzy and off balance.

I rubbed at the tender spot just below my collarbone. A spot that was still slightly sore two months later.

It was that shitty Tilt-A-Whirl. I knew that guy kept us on way too long. I'm just feeling residual motion sickness. That's it,
I told myself, trying hard to believe the lie.

Corin led me toward a game with flashing lights and a grinning clown face cackling as it spun around. “Let's play!” she urged, laughing in a way that was only now becoming familiar.

Because when I met Corin, she didn't laugh.

She hardly ever smiled. And it had become my single mission in life to help her find reasons to.

Seeing her smile was now as essential to me as breathing.

From that very first day I spoke to her at the Mended Hearts support group, I knew that I couldn't be truly happy unless she was too. As cheesy as it sounded, my weakening heart recognized what it needed to beat again.

She made me want to spout hyperbole and bad poetry.

She made me think about sunshine and moonbeams and staring at the stars all night just because we could.

I wanted to drown her in compliments even when she rolled her eyes and told me to shut up.

She made me want to be
everything
and
anything
.

With Corin you had to love like you breathed.

Because it was necessary.

I stopped suddenly, wrenching my hand free of hers, swaying slightly on my feet.

Maybe it was something I ate. The food at this place is probably crawling with salmonella.

I was pretty sure I saw the man serving my hot dog wipe his nose on his hand first.

That had to be it. I had ingested strange-guy bacteria.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

I should have known better than to delude myself like that. Because excuses meant the difference between life and death. I couldn't afford to miss the signs. To ignore the clues my body was trying to give me.

But I needed the blissful ignorance for just a few moments longer.

Corin was still laughing, not having noticed that I was no longer behind her. I didn't want her to stop laughing.

She had spent a good portion of her life avoiding happiness. I wanted that for her. The happiness. The joy.

She deserved all of it and so much more.

I wanted her to have
normal
. I wanted her to have a
future
.

I wanted her to have a
life.

So I tried to convince myself it was just gas pains. Or that maybe I was starting to come down with a bug.

Anything…
everything
but the truth.

I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to clear them. I suddenly felt as though I were staring down a dark tunnel, my breath wheezing in and out with effort.

I stumbled toward Corin, my hand reaching for her, wanting to touch her.

Needing
it.

“Corin—”

“Beck! Look! I won!” she squealed, her brown eyes shining as she held onto the ugliest stuffed bear I had ever seen.

I tried to smile at her giddiness.

My lips stretched and then fell. I couldn't do this one simple thing. One thing that meant the difference between that smile and her tears, and I couldn't fucking do it.

Corin frowned. “Beckett, what's wrong?”

The pressure in my chest became unbearable, bile rose in the back of my throat. I tried to wave away her concern, holding onto the last threads of my denial with stubborn tenacity.

“Nothing,” I said, my voice rough and raw.

I involuntarily braced myself as the pain in my chest spiked and I felt the shock as the defibrillator that was meant to keep me alive struggled to do its job.

I leaned over and threw up on the ground, sagging to my knees in the dirt. I paid no mind to the gasps of disgust around me.

“Oh my god, Beck!” Corin's voice was no longer happy. She wasn't smiling or laughing. And that hurt more than the agony in my chest.

I knew that it should only take a couple of minutes and I'd start feeling better. My heartbeat would regulate and I'd be able to breathe again.

That's what my doctors had told me. I'd read all the pamphlets. I felt prepared.

So I waited in silent pain.

But it didn't happen.

I didn't feel better.

With every second I felt so much
worse.

There wasn't enough air for me to suck into my lungs.

There wasn't enough blood circulating through my body.

And there would never, ever be enough time.

Fate was a cruel, heartless bitch.

“Beck!” Corin yelled, and I wanted to tell her it would be okay.

To just give me just a second and then I would be fine.

Then I would win her a stupid prize from a rigged carnie game. I'd kiss her senseless on the Ferris wheel. I'd hold her hand and pretend that we weren't living on borrowed time.

For just one night we'd have the chance to be young and unburdened with the darker parts of life that had shadowed us for entirely too long.

I couldn't lie.

Not to her.

Never to her.

My body shook as another shock hit me, my heart trying to beat on its own and failing.

Always failing.

My eyes burned with frustrated tears. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rage. I clutched at my shirt, pulling it away from hot skin.

I didn't spare a moment for sadness or regret. I was taken over entirely by anger.

I hated my inadequate heart that felt absolutely
everything
but couldn't do the one thing I needed it to.

To keep me here.

With Corin.

It wasn't fair that after pushing Corin so hard to trust me, to trust in
us,
that my heart, that wretched, useless organ, would take it all away.

I looked up at the crying woman beside me. My beautiful, shattered Corin. I wished I could say the thousands of words she needed to hear.

You'll be okay.

You can get through this.

You're strong and brave and fucking amazing.

I love you.

I curled my hands into fists wanting things I'd never have.

I felt Corin's tears on my face. Her hands in my hair. I wanted this forever.

But we weren't so lucky.

We had run out of time.