Way Down I'll Go

Flutter, Float, and Change to Butterflies

"What the hell is up with you tonight?"

Jo raised his eyes from the soapy water in which his hands were plunged and threw a brief, questioning look at his boss.

"You've been whistling. And you almost smiled. Twice. You get laid or what?"

Jo ducked his head, his cheeks turning a deep crimson under his caramel-colored skin.

"You ARE getting laid! I knew it! Who is she?"

"I'm not."

"So you're just happier than I've ever seen you for absolutely no reason."

"Don't you have food to be prepping?" Jo quietly joked.

Frank let out a deep, belly laugh. 

"Damn, son. I never thought I'd see the day. You wrapping it up?"

Jo grabbed the towel next to him and flicked Frank's arm with it.

"Ow! Okay, okay, I'm going," Frank whined, rubbing his uninjured arm. "Just saying, if you're not careful, you're gonna have kids stacked up to the ceiling..."

Jo couldn't hear the rest of his speech over the sound of the faucet he'd turned on full blast. Frank was right, though. He was in a good mood. He told himself that it was the holiday spirit and that he was just excited to spend New Year's Eve with the boys. But that would be a lie.

He was excited because she was going to be there.

Jo helped Frank every year with a private New Year's Eve party, washing dishes until 11 PM. The boys were always allowed to wait up for him, and together, they would toast in the new year with apple juice. This year, Rachel would be joining them. The though sent butterflies through his stomach, which was annoying since he'd tried all week to remind himself what a piece of shit he was and how he wasn't allowed to feel things for girl like her. But it seemed his gut was determined to make his traitorous feelings known, since the butterflies had only intensified as the evening approached. In only five short hours, he would see her, and it scared him how excited he was at that thought.

"Of all the lazy sons of bitches..." Frank swore loudly.

Jo looked up to find him staring angrily at his phone.

"Bus boy called in. Kid, you're gonna have to bus tonight."

Jo cringed inwardly. The thought of stepping foot into that dinning room during normal business hours made him feel nauseated, let alone during a private dinner party full of the wealthiest residents in the state.

"Shirt's stained, boss," he said in a weak attempt to worm his way out of the job.

"There are some extras in my office." 

Frank left in the direction off his office, clearly expecting Jo to follow.

Behind the closed door, Frank opened the closet and rifled through a row of white dress shirts.

"This one should fit your skinny ass," he chuckled. "Strip."

The words were meant as a joke, but they triggered something in Jo, and suddenly he was back in that room, huddled in a corner. He could smell sweat, blood, and bodily fluids. The air was thick and his throat began to close as his heart raced.

A hand touched his shoulder and he scrambled back pressing his back firmly into the wall, his breath coming in short bursts through his nose.

"Jo."

He could hear Frank's voice, but all he could see was as the room, the stains on the floor, the dirty mattress in the opposite corner.

"Breathe, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you."