A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies - Christina Lee Page 0,47

way your mind works.”

When Rhys looked over his shoulder, he was surprised to see Emerson standing in the doorway, his gaze downcast and his lip between his teeth, as if unsure he should’ve witnessed their private conversation. But Rhys was actually glad he did.

“You’re welcome,” Sam replied as he drew away from the embrace and glanced back at the critters, seemingly nonplussed by how much he’d affected Rhys.

Rhys silently watched the caterpillars for another minute, thinking about how anchored he felt to this family even after such a free fall.

“Hey, if a group of ladybugs is called a…” Rhys trailed off, trying to remember their conversation from another birthday celebration.

“Loveliness,” Sam supplied, and Rhys nodded, still liking the sound of it.

“How about a group of butterflies?” he asked.

Sam pushed up his glasses. “A kaleidoscope.”

“A kaleidoscope of butterflies?” Rhys felt a bit breathless from the conversation. “That’s beautiful, Sam.”

And when he glanced over at Emerson, his eyes had softened before he turned and left them to their own devices.

That night Rhys had that dream again where he was falling. This time, however, he wasn’t surrounded on all sides by complete blackness. This time there was a filtering of colors around the edges of the darkness, like slivers of a rainbow. But he was still scared shitless as he flailed and whimpered, hoping he didn’t hit rock bottom and die.

“No!” he heard himself shout, though it didn’t even register as his own voice. It was raspy and raw as if maybe he’d been hollering the word for a while.

Suddenly he was whooshed back to his body as he felt hands insistently shaking him.

“Rhys, it’s okay.” Emerson’s voice.

He blinked his eyes open and saw blue irises and cinnamon locks hovering above him.

Rhys tried to talk. “Wh-what?”

“You were dreaming,” Emerson replied, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Y-yeah.” Pins and needles pelted his arms and legs as feeling began to return to his limbs. Shivering, he grappled with the covers, trying to get warm. “I dunno what’s happening to me.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He felt Emerson slide under the sheets, and suddenly he was wrapped in a light embrace. Rhys knew Emerson was being careful because of his ribs, and even though they still felt like a constant, aching bruise, he’d definitely welcome more pressure. Still, it felt so good as warmth seeped through his skin to his bones. He sighed and burrowed farther inside his arms, savoring the weight and heat of him. Emerson seemed to get the idea, enveloping him tighter. “It was just a dream, Rhys.”

“It was awful,” he said into his neck, taking in his musky scent. He’d never realized before how much it calmed him. Just another thing he’d taken for granted about his closest friend.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Emerson asked in a hesitant tone.

“I was falling. Into a dark, never-ending void.”

Emerson tensed. “Was it like a memory of your accident?”

“I dunno. Somehow, I don’t think so. It was black all around me, except this time, there was some light filtering in at the edges.”

“This time?” Emerson’s voice had taken on a higher pitch.

“Uh-huh. And it felt endless, and I was so frustrated and tried to reach for stuff, but there was nothing there.”

He started shivering again, and Emerson pulled him closer. “It sounds like one of those anxiety dreams where you feel out of control.”

“What do you mean?” he murmured, burying his nose into his skin, taking another deep whiff into his lungs.

Emerson drew back to look at him. “After my parents passed away, I would have these driving dreams where I’d crash into a wall. The car would spin and spin, and I wasn’t able to straighten the wheel or get the hell out no matter how hard I tried.”

Rhys inhaled sharply. “Fuck, I’m sorry that happened to you. Why didn’t you tell—”

“There was so much going on then, you know?” Emerson confessed in a tortured voice. “So much fucking stuff in my brain, I barely slept those first few weeks.”

“Yeah, I remember.” He pushed a stray lock of hair behind Emerson’s ear, muscle memory by now. When his fingers lingered near his temple, Emerson sighed. “And here I am, invading your life when you—”

“Are you kidding me?” Emerson’s voice was harsh and demanding, making Rhys wince. “Fuck, Rhys. You make me feel…” He trailed off as his rough breaths released against Rhys’s neck, making him shiver.

“Feel what?” Rhys whispered, almost afraid to ask.

The question hung heavily in the air, and Rhys couldn’t make rhyme or reason of why