The Butterfly Pt. 2
The Butterfly Pt. 2 love stories
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joelsenteno Just a writer with no one to write to.
Autoplay OFF   •   3 years ago
A true story of love, and hate.

The Butterfly Pt. 2

I was ecstatic, I couldn't believe she said yes. The ring didn't matter to her, she only wanted us. We told everyone, it felt so good to introduce that woman as my fiancé.

I'd always wake up a bit happier then, I wasn't waking up next to my girlfriend, I was waking up next to my fiancé, a term of endearment I never thought I'd get the privilege of using.

Was I wrong for not picturing life without her, or taking everything she said at face value? I didn't think she'd pull me out of shark infested waters just to let me die on the beach.

I would sometimes take pictures of her when she wasn't paying attention, she loved that. To me, she was art, and I was a young Picasso.

I never gave this much of myself to another woman, she stripped me down to my soul and I was completely vulnerable. It's fucking scary, giving someone that much power.

I trusted her with it and she gave me even more. The porcelain I sat on was cold, the hairs on my neck stood up.

She paced back and forth through my small bathroom, impatiently waiting for this little stick to tell us what we want to hear.

We had tried to get pregnant a few times, and every test came back negative. I thought, maybe something was wrong with me. I thought we'd never get our little family.

I'm snapped back into reality by a small gasp from her, "Joel I'm pregnant!" I couldn't help but cry, I never had a real family, and here was my chance.

A chance at true happiness with this angel from up above. I pulled her in close and hugged her as tight as I could.

My tears of joy fell onto her arms as I embraced her, she wiped them away and assured me I'd be a great father. The rest of that day was a blur, I walked around with a smile from ear to ear.

I cooked her a big meal because she was eating for two now and she smiled with every bite, all the while we discussed schools and names, even nicknames.

I carried her in my arms up to our room and I sat on our couch with her still attached to me, her soft hands wrapped around my neck. My rugged hands wrapped around her waist.

Her hair was up, and I couldn't help but kiss her from head to stomach, I stopped there and just stared in amazement. We created something. Something beautiful.

Why would she aspire to destroy that? I wish I knew those days of happiness were numbered. At first, it was absolutely perfect.

I looked at this woman in a new light, my baby was inside of her and she's madly in love with me as I am with her.

I did everything I could to help, I never had a father growing up, so I wanted to be the best version possible. I cooked, I helped fold her clothes.

after a long day, I removed her make up for her, I made sure she took her contacts out and I dressed her sometimes for bed because the stomach pains were sometimes too much for her.

So, as I stand here with blood stained hands, the last thing I want to hear is I didn't fight for her.

Our time together was truly magical, but while I had a little time to myself, I could only recollect the drug fueled tirade the night before, asking me to leave her,

doubting my feelings for her, cursing me, and throwing my things around our room like a spoiled brat.

All followed up with tears, her cries trotted throughout my ear, resonating in my brain, I hated to see her cry.

Alcohol and cocaine were her drugs of choice, I remember how bad she would get during the comedown, especially when she combined the two.

she was only 115 pounds but I could still feel that slap across my face. I was angry but I comforted her anyway.

Maybe because her stories of agony and abuse she spoke to me about when I held her in my arms while drunk, stopped me from reacting.

I would never disrespect her with pity, I only tried to understand her pain. These stories only made her more interesting.

An open book with a climatic plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat until the end. That one last cigarette you have even as your lungs fill with blood.

Things often don't play out the way we want them to. I never knew such a wicked soul could embody such a beautiful woman.

Maybe she was the sun, while I was the moon, and we we're never meant to be in the same place at the same time.

Our lives weren't exactly easy before we met one another, I devoured my demons, she liked to play with hers. I didn't give up on her, we we're going to go through hell, but I wasn't worried.

I been there before. She was ready to dance with the devil though, I waltz'd through with her completely oblivious to my own well being.

Who knew trying to piece her back together would bring me to ashes? Reality snatches me from my thoughts, and my phone is ringing. I answer and I'm greeted by a sweet, low yet powerful voice.

'I'm home" those words were uplifting. She called my place "Home". I let her in and embrace her as always.

We sit in our usual spot, I cook some food and she tells me how the baby doesn't like spicy food, but she does.

I'm listening to this woman ramble about our baby, and her day, and food being out to get her. She was definitely a charmer, the only woman that could get a genuine laugh out of me.

She stops talking and grabs my hand and puts it to her womb. She felt something move, it was entirely too early for that, but I wouldn't dare rain on my love's parade like that.

Besides, no ones knows her body better than her, maybe she did feel something. She started to cry because it was so beautiful to her.

I cried too, I was so in love with these two that nothing in the world could stop me from being the best father possible.

We finish our food and I carry her up to our room, I set her on the bed and fall asleep next to her.

I wake up, and she isn't wrapped around me, that's unusual for her because I am her favorite pillow. I look around and see her in her bag, searching.

She pulls out that fucking baggie and I am taken by extreme anger. I speak logic and she yells profanity back. I didn't want to physically take it, she was pregnant, and I'm 180 pounds.

I would never be that guy, perhaps I should've been that night. She takes it in and I couldn't do anything but tell her to leave.

I asked again and again why would she do that with our baby in her, all she could tell me was that there's a chance she wasn't. She was consumed by her lust for the high.

Neither me or our child were a concern. Regardless of how much my heart may beat today, I died that night.

The ice in my veins became colder, the hole in my heart grew in size, and I no longer knew how to feel.

It wasn't the first time that she packed, but it was the first time that she left, the first time I just stood and watched.

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