Monarch (Birds and Butterflies #4)

Prologue

Mari

Ten Years Ago

“Get on your knees and stay there, paparùda,” Lexi says with a sternness I don’t know if I like or loathe.

Regardless of my feelings, I obey. My knees hit the carpet with a soft thud, and I hold my breath, not knowing what is going to come next.

The rough pile irritates my skin even through my corduroy dungarees, but I know better than to reach down and scratch or adjust myself.

“Very good, paparùda,” Lexi comments with only half-interest as they wander around their bedroom.

Still, they’re using their pet name for me.

Paparùda. It means butterfly in Romani, a language Lexi doesn’t speak fluently, but they told me it’s one of the childhood names their mother and grandmother used for them, and so I feel it has to mean something that they’ve given it to me.

When Lexi and I took our friendship to…another level a little over a year ago, I never expected us to end up here, playing around with kink on Christmas Eve in their childhood bedroom. But here we are.

Muffled noises come from the TV and Lexi’s family in the living room directly below us, and I do my best to ignore them, to lose myself in the scene, which is what I read in a book I should call these sessions of ours.

But it’s hard to ignore the coughing and chatting and advert jingles coming up through the floorboards.

There are always hordes of people in Lexi’s house; their mum, their grandparents, their three older brothers, often an aunt or an uncle or both, and more regularly a handful of cousins.

When I think about it while laying in my bed at home, where only Mum and her girlfriend Dove live with me, I don’t know how they all fit into Lexi’s small council flat house, but somehow, they do.

They all fit in and never complain about the noise, or about the way only their grandfather decides what channel to watch, or about sitting on the floor because they’ve run out of chairs.

I’ve always envied Lex the comfort of having so many people right there, because even though I never wanted for anything – my mother has always gone above and beyond to stay close to me, and my fathers are just a short car ride away – I often felt lonely growing up as a single child.

I would never tell Mum this, but when I’m at Lexi’s house, I feel part of a real family, which is why I jumped at the chance to spend Christmas with them all when Lexi asked. Actually, it wasn’t Lexi who offered; it was their mum, but either way, I accepted very willingly.

“Do you think you should be punished?” Lexi asks as they come to a stop directly in front of me.

“For what?” I immediately protest, my eyes flying up to them.

They stand there with their hands on their hips and a very displeased expression on their face.

Lexi is shorter than me and much slimmer, too.

Their grandmother is Roma, and her dark eyes and classically elegant features seemed to have skipped their mother, who has Lexi’s English grandfather’s fair colouring.

But it didn’t skip Lexi. Lexi has these sparkling brown eyes, thick curled eyelashes, and strong features that capture attention immediately.

Not that they seem to do anything to enhance it.

Their perpetually messy hair is currently piled on top of their head, revealing an undercut that’s growing out slower than they’d like.

They’re wearing a huge, bright-green Grinch fleece jumper that swamps their small frame, but even so, they always seem to take up more room than anybody else.

They always seem so big and imposing. And as I often wonder to myself, I don’t know if that’s something I love about them or something I’m irrationally jealous of.

“Did I say you could speak?” Lexi demands.

“No, but technically, we didn’t really talk about what we were going to do. You just told me to get on my knees, and now you’re saying I need punishing, but for what?”

Lexi tuts at me, and their stoic expression melts into immediate annoyance.

“The book I read about kink said that we should talk about boundaries and expectations and have a safe word,” I explain.

Lexi flops down on their bed, just to my side. “Jesus, you read one book, and you think you’re a fucking expert.”

I get off my knees and sit next to them. Not close enough to touch, but close enough all the same. “I’ve never called myself an expert. I thought it was a good idea after we started playing around with…this new dynamic.”

“But it’s not going to be fun if we have to talk through every single thing we’re going to do before we do it.” Lexi reaches for their phone. I already know they’re not going to look back at me, and I may as well end this conversation now if I know what’s good for me.

Lexi has always been fiery. They don’t do anything they don’t want to do. They are independent and assertive and occasionally aggressive. Sometimes, they’re a bit facetious and feisty, if I’m being completely honest, but that’s what pulled me close to them. That’s what I liked.

Like. I still like it. I just always find it hard when they disengage from a conversation that’s important to me, like this one.

“Look,” I try one last time, “we’re new to this. To kink. It’s okay for us to fuck up sometimes.”

“You’re the one who pulled me out of ‘the scene.’” Their air quotes feel like a slap in the face.

I tell myself they care enough to argue with me, and that’s something. Even if they aren’t calling me paparùda anymore.

“I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to clarify some boundaries before we started. Jesus, it’s not like I’m being unreasonable here.”

Fine. I admit it. I can be a bit feisty too sometimes.

“Boundaries,” Lexi snorts, their eyes still pinned to their phone. “You sound like a middle-aged white woman’s self-help podcast.”

And you sound like a five-year-old, I want to scream, but I don’t. Instead, I reach for their hand. “Listen, it’s Christmas. Your whole family is downstairs watching Home Alone. Why don’t we go join them?”

Lexi suddenly throws their phone to the side and pulls their hand away from mine. “Actually, we should probably talk about something.”

Stunned by this, I blink several times at them.

I can’t tell if the lurch in my stomach is one of nerves or hope.

Lexi never starts conversations like these.

When I realised I had feelings for Lexi that were more than platonic and I sensed they felt the same, it was me who brought it up.

When it came to saying ‘I love you,’ I did it first. It was me who suggested we go on holiday together for the first time – a weekend in Brighton – and yeah, I guess it was me who said we should spend Christmas together after their mum suggested it a month or so ago.

“Sure, let’s talk.” I rearrange my body so more of it’s on the bed and facing Lexi. They don’t swing their leg up to mirror my posture. In fact, they don’t even look at me. But they do start talking.

“I’m leaving,” they say with the same sternness they used to order me to the floor. It felt a little odd earlier. Now, it’s utterly misplaced.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. The UK. I’m going to Amsterdam. In a week.”

I wait for the punchline. For them to invite me to join them. That this is their Christmas present for me. But it doesn’t come.

“What do you mean you’re going to Amsterdam?”

“Yeah, there’s like a group of artist-anarchists there, and a place just opened up in their warehouse studio living space. I’ve been friends with a few of them on Instagram for, like, forever. And so they are giving me the bed and the studio space.”

A bit more clarity returns to my mind. Not a lot, but a bit. I’m still all shallow breaths and thumping heartbeat.

“Well, when will you be back?” I ask.

And this is the moment Lexi decides to look at me. They turn those dark-rimmed eyes – like they’re wearing permanent eyeliner – on me, and without blinking or revealing anything, they say, “I’m not coming back. I’m moving to live there. For good. And I need to break up with you to do so.”

Roos – Six Months Ago

I know I’m dreaming because I have boobs. Bigger ones than I’ve ever imagined having. They’re perky but natural, and they move as I move. They are mine and they are real and I love not just the shape of them or the feel of them but how they make me feel. Like a more confident version of myself.

There are other signs I’m dreaming. Lex is smiling, for one thing. I haven’t seen xem do that in a long time. Smirks, half-grins, sneaky pouts, sure. But a big smile that bears teeth and love and joy? It’s been a while.

In my dream, we’re holding hands and walking through tulip fields, which is funny because that’s the landscape I grew up surrounded by, and it’s the very environment I raced to escape as soon as I hit eighteen.

And Lex wouldn’t be seen dead doing such a touristy, cheesy, predictable thing.

Even though I know – okay, suspect – that nature heavily influences xir work, there’s no way xe would prance around the tulips with me, both of us wearing pretty summer dresses like we are in my dream.

I often wonder if my dreams have meaning, and somewhere in my slumber, I start to wonder the same thing. Is this what I really want with Lex? Do I want xem to hold my hand and dance among the flowers with me? Do I want xem to be with only me? Do I want to be with only xem?

The tulips are changing now in my dream. They morph into little creatures I’ve never seen before, but I start to feel their sharp teeth or maybe pointed claws nip at my ankles. Lex drops my hand, and I mourn the loss instantly. I thrash around, trying to find xem, but xe’s gone. I can’t see xem.

The creatures start to climb up my legs, and my whole body gets itchy as I try to fight them off.

This physical restlessness, this visceral discomfort with my own body, is too familiar, too painful, and I want it to stop.

I want to stop dreaming, and even though I’ll lose my bigger boobs, I force myself to wake up.

It takes me a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room, looking for shadows to place myself.

The streetlight from outside filters through the curtains, and I see the chair near the corner by my bed, covered with my clothes as it always is.

I trace the shadowy outline of a glass of water on the bedside table, next to my phone, and the four – no, five – romance novels I’m currently reading.

Satisfied I’m where I’m supposed to be, I roll over and reach out for Lex.

But xe’s not there. That side of my bed is empty, and the sheets aren’t even warm. Xe’s been gone a while.

This isn’t unusual. Xe doesn’t always stay the night, and xe hadn’t made me any promises last night as we fell into bed together and fucked until we were so exhausted sleep was the only option. But I had hoped xe would stay. I always hope xe will stay.

I roll back and reach for my phone. Maybe xe left me a message.

Maybe xe felt struck by the muse or whatever the fuck it is that has xem getting up in the middle of the night and heading over to xir studio to paint until xe has a headache and a UTI.

But there’s nothing on my phone. I do find out, however, that it’s just gone four in the morning.

Needing to pee, I get up go to the bathroom. I leave the lights off, hoping that will help me go back to sleep once I’m back in bed, but as I’m washing my hands afterwards, I knock the glass soap dispenser off the side of the sink, and it shatters all around my feet.

“Shit!” I say before stretching to switch the light on.

Bending down, I pick up the biggest, sharpest shards of glass and use a towel to roughly sweep the rest into a pile that I will deal with in the morning.

My plan is then to jump out of my small bathroom and go back to bed, but that’s not what happens.

As I straighten up, I see that my mirror is covered in writing.

Lipstick writing. I curse Lex internally for doing it again and using my best MAC lipstick.

Xe has done this more than a few times, leaving xir crude version of love notes for me.

‘Fuck you for being so hot.’ ‘I’m still so wet.

’ ‘Be naked and hungry for me when I get home.’

But then I actually read the words written in my favourite shade of red. And then I read them again, and that’s when I realise how MAC Ruby Woo lipstick is almost the same shade of red as blood, especially the first drops to emerge out of a cut.

‘It’s not you, it’s me. Thanks for the memories.’

It has to be a joke. I forget all about jumping over invisible shards of glass, and I race back to my bedroom and switch on the main light. I retrieve my phone and call Lex’s number.

It rings three times, then just stops.

I text xem and it sends but isn’t delivered. I stare at the screen, waiting for it to give me the two ticks, but I already know I could sit here and look at it for a week and it wouldn’t change.

Fuck, xe’s really left me.

Again.

I throw my phone onto the bed with a groan that is so guttural, it hurts my throat.

“Fuck you, Lex!” I shout out as if xe can hear me. “Fuck you!”

Xe did it again. I let xem do it to me again.

I collapse onto the bed and curl around the ache in my stomach. I can’t tell if it hurts more this time than last. Last time, I was shocked, taken unawares. But this time, I can’t blame the element of surprise. The only person I can really blame is myself.

And Lex. Fucking Lex.