The Evolution of a Drowning Butterfly

Chapter One

"Rose!" A scream rattled my door.

"What Claire?" I was not in the mood to listen to her obnoxious fighting with my stupid brother.

"Jordan is biting my foot!" she screamed.

"Stop biting her foot, Jordan, or I swear I will come out there," I said calmly, making my statement even scarier.

The screaming then stopped, and the kids ran off to go do whatever they were doing before Jordan decided to sharpen his teeth on my sister's metatarsal.

I hit the pause button on my iPod, grabbed my phone off my bed, and plugged my earbuds into my phone. Supported by the cozy rug beneath me, I went to my voicemail. I scrolled to the last one my dad left me and pressed play, letting the tears cascade down my cheeks.

Hey, sweet pea! Sorry, I'm gonna be a little late picking you up from your mother's. The office was insane today. Love you! See you in a little bit!

"Yeah," I scoffed, "Liar."

He was never given the chance. Shortly after he left me the message, there was an accident. His car. An intersection. A truck. He died on impact. He died, coming to get me. And that's my fault. I could've picked up the phone and told him to put his phone down before he got hurt.

But I didn't.

I let it go to voicemail because I was mad. Mad at my mom and my dad for getting divorced. Mad at my mom for wanting to move. I was mad at the world, so I did something you should never do: I ignored the person in my life that meant the most to me. And as a result, I lost my father.

My first word was "Papa." He was the one who spoiled me. We would go out for ice cream every Friday after school. Not concerned at all with the nutritional inefficiencies of our frozen delectables.

We would lay on our trampoline at night and watch the stars. He would say, "Look, sweet pea," and grab my hand, and together we would trace constellations. And then he would tickle my sides until we were both incapacitated from laughing.

And then he was torn away from me, and an enormous, gaping hole in my heart was torn away with him.

I blamed myself. I blamed my mother. I even blamed him.

My dad was brilliant, so why was he not smart enough to get off the phone?

His death affected me most. Being only five, the twins were never really close with Dad.

But for me, he was my everything. When I was upset, he was there to comfort me. I was a Daddy's girl through and through. The twins liked my mom better. That's an insane and horrible truth.

I remember that day. I held my bags by the door, ready to escape my mother. The police called the home phone. Apparently, Mom had forgotten to change the emergency contact numbers after the divorce.

Uh, Mrs. Cantell? I'm assuming you had a relation to Mr. David Cantell. You are the one listed on his medical file for emergency contact. He was in a bad car crash. He died on impact. I'm, uh, sorry.

The thing about the police is, they see so much, I guess they just don't know how to show compassion.

I broke down. I dropped the phone, the officer still uttering "Mrs. Cantell?", but all I could hear was the sound of my heartbeat crashing in my ears.

I woke up to my mother holding my head.

"It's fake, right? Some sort of prank?"

She just held my face and looked at me with tears in her eyes. Why did she have tears in her eyes? She didn't care about him. She left him the first chance she got.

I crawled away from her, pulled myself into the fetal position on the cold tile in the hallway, and sobbed. I stayed like that for hours until my mom had Stephen carry me to bed. I didn't go to school for a week. My heart felt permanently damaged. It no longer beat to Dad and I's favorite melody. It struggled to beat at all.

When I finally took that step into the school's grimy hallway, it was like I didn't exist. My friends ignored me. Occasionally, I got a worried, sideways glance.

They didn't know how to talk to me, and if they didn't, no one did. My teachers gave me small, encouraging smiles, and I was sent to the school therapist every Thursday.

She would just spew off some crap about how everything was going to be okay, but she was wrong. Nothing was going to be okay. I lost the one person that truly cared about me.

And now, my relationship with my mom was down the drain, my friends didn't talk to me, and my boyfriend broke up with me because I was "being moody," like he expected different.

I regained composure in the bathroom, wiped the tears from my face.

"Rose?" A small voice echoed down the hallway. "Are you okay?"

I found Claire hiding around bathroom doorway, and scooped her up in my arms.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I reassured her.

"I think it's time to start dinner," I told her, raising my eyebrows, "What do you want?"

She responded with an eyebrow raise of her own. "Mac n' Cheese?"

I set her down, and we both made our way to the kitchen. If I had to be strong for anyone, it was the twins, so I put on my best smile.

I pulled a sauce pan from the lowest cabinet on the right, filled it, and set it on the stove to boil.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," I told Claire.

She responded with a nod of her head, and I started towards the bathroom in my room. At the sound of a shrill scream, I threw myself back to the kitchen where I found Claire, on the ground, boiling hot water seeping through her clothes.

"What did you do?!" I exclaimed.

"I- I was trying to- I was trying to pour the pasta in and knocked the pot over," she choked through tears.

I grabbed ice and held it to the burn as tears broke through my tough facade. I couldn't handle this on my own. I wasn't supposed to be handling this on my own.

"Sissy, are you okay?" Claire asked.

"No! I'm not okay! I'm not your mother! I'm not supposed to be making your dinner, and you shouldn't have to be either! I can't keep an eye on you and Jordan all of the freaking time! It's not my job!" I screamed.

That was it.

I had cracked.

Claire stared at me wide-eyed, and I thrust the ice into her hands.

I yanked the phone off it's charger and dialed my mother.

Hello?

"Hi, Jennifer. It's your daughter. Your daughter that isn't supposed to be taking care of your other children! Your daughter that can't handle taking care of them! Your daughter who is pissed at you for making her grow up and basically be a mother years before she is ready! I wish Dad were here, because if he was, I would have left you a long time ago."

Silence.

With slam, the call was ended.

"I'm sorry," Claire said.

"Oh. Clairie, it's not your fault," I softened, feeling bad for making her feel bad.

I took a minute to hold her and check on her burn. Seeing that it wasn't bad, I sent her off to bed to await dinner.

After the kids were fed and asleep, I skipped dinner and drug myself underneath my own covers. Hungry and forgotten, I slipped into a world of comfort and dreaming.