Butterflies

Bad always held himself high. He always stood the tallest between Good and I. He never held any other light up to himself. But today, he was in the backseat of the car, staring out the window into the void; his expression empty. Good was in the passenger seat, looking straight forward. And I was driving, forward into nothing. I looked into the rear-view mirror at Bad. He didn't look back.

"You doin' okay back there Red?" Good asked him, turning his head to the right. Bad didn't respond. He didn't so much as turn to look at either of us.

"You've been like this all day." Good continued, turning back to look out the windscreen. "You want to tell us what's going on?"

"It's just going to be us forever," Bad mumbled, "isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Good replied with a confused look.

"There's never going to be any one else in our lives." He started, finally readjusting himself to address us. "There will never be that someone special, will there?"

I waited for Good to respond with an answer. But after a few moments of silence, I looked to see that they had changed spots. Good was now in the back seat leaning over in rest, and Bad now sat next to me, looking hopelessly forward into the void for the destination that would never come.

"It's just," he began, folding his hands, "I don't picture someone ever ending up with us."

"The others are happy." I told him, patting him on the knee. "Our friends are with who they want to be with. And if they aren't they'll figure it out."

"I know." He hissed, narrowing his eyes. "It's not them I'm worried about. It's us."

 "We'll just figure it out as it comes, just like we have been doing."

"What? You mean like how we've been 'figuring it out' for the past three years? Where absolutely nothing had changed?!"

I sat in silence. I didn't turn to face him.

"I know I'm not the only one who thinks like this." He continued, his tone lowering and becoming more somber. "It's just, I don't see the 'one' ever entering our lives. I've never had the inclination that someone has ever had a crush on us. I can't picture anyone that thinks about us in their last moments of consciousness before falling to sleep. I don't see anyone thinking about us in their dreams either."

"You're wrong." I told him.

"I've never thought that that anyone gets the butterflies when we talk to them," he carried on, ignoring me, "or even so much as smile at them. I can't imagine someone waiting in anticipation in front of their computer or phone screen for a response to their message. I don't expect that anyone will ever dream about us holding them in our arms, talking for hours on end into the early morning, where they happily fall asleep wrapped in our embrace. That won't happen. It never will."

I began to think about these two brothers that I had been blessed with. The Good one, who talked quietly, but correctly; my angel. And then the one who spoke eloquently, and louder that the other; my demon. Why did I have to get paired with them? Why can't, at least, the Good one talk louder?

"Do you ever see that happening?" Bad asked me. "I know that you fantasize about it happening; that's where I'm getting all of this from. But really. Will it?"

"I don't know." I stuttered, shrugging my shoulders. "Maybe?"

Bad stopped and looked into my eyes. He narrowed them, and then cocked his head over to one side. He sighed, and then threw himself back in his seat.

"What?!" I shouted, whipping my head in his direction.

"I can see what you're thinking." He mumbled. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he had slumped down into the chair. With his head pointed out the side window, he looked like a child.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I told him.

"That fire." He began. "I told you about that damn fire!"

"What fire?!"

"Her! I know that you're thinking about her! I know that when you think about 'the one,' you think of her! The one that you know for a fact that you have absolutely no chance with, but you hold onto that last shred of desire, hoping that its dying light will be enough to get you through the night unscathed!"

"I—." I tried to say.

"I know what you're gonna shoot back with." He cut me off, sitting up and folding his hands in front of him and looking upwards. "I have a shot with her. Just because you don't think so, doesn't mean that it can't happen. Or some shit like that."

"I don't know," Good finally chimed in from behind, "I kinda like her."

"God damn it." Bad growled. "I was really hoping you had died, or slipped into a coma."

"I don't think that I would say that we love her," Good continued, "but she has potential. And we certainly like her. What's the problem with that brother?"

"Please do us all a favor and jump out the door right now please?" Bad muttered.

"But I have a reason as to why I say this." Good declared.

"What's that?" I asked him. The road was coming to an end. I knew that it was all about to end.

"It's pretty simple," he sighed, relaxing in the seat as the sheets of white fell onto us, "when you look as her and how she treats us."

"What?" I questioned, my voice fading.

"We not only like her for the way that she dances with our angels, but also for the way that just saying her name can silence our demons."