Bright Green Eyes and Pale Green Skin
Townsville looked so peaceful at this time of day. The sun, high in the sky, shone brightly on the tall, windowed skyscrapers. Hundreds of little cars whizzed past on the streets below, like little wind-up mice making its way through an enormous maze. The trees were of a light, fresh green, its flowers just now blooming in the new spring air. The breeze floated around the citizens, engulfing them in a mixture smells including musty rain, from the shower an hour or two ago, and soft honeysuckle, its tiny buds flowering all over the city. There was a whole new array of smells near the park, where dozens of vendors, eager for new business, sold grilled hot dogs, just squeezed lemonade, sizzling hot nachos, and even bouquets of flowers from peoples' homes.
Buttercup sniffled and tossed a rock off the edge of the building on which she happened to be perched. She watched it fall, plummeting story after story down into an alley. Buttercup sighed and folded her arms across her chest. The city always seems nice when there's no trouble, she thought. …And when I'm ditching school.
It was true. Buttercup ducked out of school about an hour ago, just after she bombed her physics test. She decided she needed a break, so she dipped out from the gym when the P.E. students were headed to the fields. It wasn't like she needed to sneak out anyway – people would just assume she was off to fight crime or something. Then again, it might be weird if Blossom and Bubbles weren't with her.
Buttercup thought about what her sisters might be up to now… Blossom would be in Calculus, probably brown-nosing her way through derivations and summations. Bubbles would be in art, probably dirtying her hands in muddy clay or dabbling in watercolor paints. Buttercup should be in English, it's not like anyone would miss her: she was in remedial English, and her professor could care less about his below-average students. Buttercup smiled, imagining him taking attendance, with Mitch Mitchelson shooting crumbled papers into the garbage can, Elmer Sglue gazing out the window with his mouth hung open, and Princess Morbucks, haplessly tapping away at her platinum cell phone, probably texting her gossip girls or bumbling boyfriends.
Ahhh… school; how she hated it. Luckily, this was May, senior year, and she would graduate in a few short weeks. Then she would head straight off to New York City, where she would start her training to become a police officer. Buttercup was stoked, ready to finish school and get started with her career. She did have to admit, though, that she was wary about leaving Townsville, and especially, leaving the Powerpuff Girls. Yes, the three butt-kicking, ass-whooping, crime-fighting three would go their separate ways. Blossom was off to Harvard to study law, Buttercup was off the N.Y.C., and Bubbles, hanging back for safety but also out of desire, was staying in Townsville to study veterinary at the Community College. Townsville had gotten a lot safer over the years, with many of the old enemies rarely popping up, if ever at all. Now that the girls were fully capable of defending the city themselves, it was not necessary to stick together anymore.
Still, Buttercup had been in Townsville all her life, regardless of the very short stay in Citysville several years back. To leave it just seemed so… sacrilegious. She would be abandoning the home that she defended for so many years, leaving all the people that loved and admired her. And yet… Buttercup was more than ready to get on with her life. She was strong, independent, street-wise, and more. She followed her own rules, though obeyed the ones necessary to get by with the authority. Nobody messed with her, and nobody would get in the way of what she wanted.
Buttercup flicked a strand of her black hair out her eye. It fluttered back in her face, her bangs too short to go anywhere else. Her hair was overall short, layered just below her jaw line. She pulled a rather annoying strand from one of the four earrings on her left ear. Her bracelets clambered together lightly as they slid down her wrists. She quickly grabbed them and repositioned them. One of them was bright pink… Buttercup grumbled. The bracelet was from Blossom, and at this moment in time, Blossom was not exactly high on Buttercup's list.
Blossom, with her arrogant attitude and self-imposing ways, had been nagging Buttercup relentlessly lately about everything. It was always about grades, or laziness, or dirty clothes on the floor, or an over-flowing garbage can, or over-punching some crook. It could just be Blossom's way of coping with the fact that these, too, were her last days of crime fighting, at least for a while. It wouldn't be so bad if other people didn't side with her, including Bubbles or the Professor. Bubbles usually thought Blossom was justified in her actions, and the Professor, preferring order and cleanliness, would often pester Buttercup right along with her. Buttercup frequently felt herself an outsider in her family – not necessarily in an "emo" sort of way, just that she was, point-blank, a rebel. She didn't care how much of her clothes piled up, or if she wasn't making straight A's. She wasn't perfect like Blossom, or wonderful like Bubbles, and she wished that someone, for once, would take her side.
Perhaps, Buttercup thought, she was in need of a rebellion.
Buttercup stood up on the edge of the building, and smoothed the crinkles of her gray tank top. She picked at some rubbish on her pants, knocking at the pair of police handcuffs that she wore fashionably on her belt loops. She admired them a second, then looked back out. She peered over the city, silently navigating the streets for something interesting. A few blocks away and on the corner of 5th and Main, stood the most unlikely "café" in the city. It was always full of hooligans and petty criminals, who always dined on bitter black coffee and the worst burgers in town. Maybe Buttercup could have some fun picking on some stupid thugs over there. She stepped off the building and zipped on over there, her lime green streak blazing behind her.
She landed softly outside the building, a tiny place with grimy, black windows and dark green wood paneling. The dark wood sign above had the words "Gritz Café" carved from what was a probably a pocketknife. The café seemed so out of place in the modern city, but it definitely had character. Buttercup walked forward and pushed through the squeaky black door, clanging a small bell as she entered.
To Buttercup's surprise, the café was rather empty. Then she smacked her hand on her face, remembering it was only past noon -- of course the hoodlums weren't here. Buttercup shrugged it off and surveyed the room. Two dim, dusty lights hung from each side of the restaurant: one above the counter, and one on the other side of the room. Gnats swarmed around one of them, one straggling too close and zapping itself to death. About a dozen unpolished tables were placed haphazardly around, each with only a ketchup bottle, a saltshaker, and a peppershaker. The hostess, a burly woman with a spiky mustache and wiry gray hair, puffed on a cigar, as she ran a dirty rag along the counter surface. Only three customers sat around the place, one in the corner, reading the newspaper; one near the entrance, sipping on coffee, his sagging, sad eyes staring out the window; and at the counter, a tall gangly man in a leather jacket with long greasy hair covering his face. The air smelled like smoke, burnt bacon, and stale coffee, topped off with the pleasant odor of garlic.
Buttercup liked the place already.
She happily hopped over to the counter and sat on a stool, the cushion slashed in a few places, the foam stuffing popping out. The hostess glared at her, a few ashes floating to the floor. Buttercup folded her arms and rested them on the surface. She smirked.
"Whatcha serving today, ma'am?" she asked jovially. The hostess sniffed and slapped the rag down.
"Who are you?" she grumbled. Buttercup raised her eyebrows.
"Me?"
"No, the greasy kid here that comes in every day. Yeah, you. Aren't you one of them Powder Puffs?"
Buttercup winced. She loathed when people called her a "Powder Puff." Not only was that wrong to begin with, but it suggested that she partook in the homecoming Powder Puff games at school, where the football players dressed up with skirts and pompoms, and rooted for the preppy cheerleaders who wore helmets and jerseys, and played tag football. And they did all of this in the name of school spirit. Ew.
" Er, yeah. I am."
The greasy man at the counter stirred. His head lifted, and his hair dangled in front his shaded face. Buttercup frowned and glanced him. She looked back at the hostess.
"Grilled cheese and tomato soup," the hostess grunted. Buttercup sneered.
"What do you have to drink?"
"Coffee, Coke, and water."
"Then I'll have a Coke, thanks."
The hostess grumbled irritably under her breath, and headed through the door behind her into the kitchen. Buttercup inhaled deeply, taking in all the smells of the room, then sighed dramatically.
"That you, Buttercup?"
A chill crept up Buttercup's spine. She knew that voice… She narrowed her eyes and looked up at the greasy man. He lifted his head high, and his hair billowed past his ears, unveiling his emerald green face. His long, beak-like nose rose in air; his beady black eyes rolled to the side and gazed at Buttercup. He grinned, his lips thin from years of smoking, his teeth sharp and yellow. Buttercup's lip curled, and she scowled.
"Ace."
Ace turned to her, his seat squealing painfully beneath him. He was much older than from what Buttercup remembered – he was young adult last time she dealt with him. His body was very thin, covered in light, tattered blue jeans and a yellowing white shirt. His leather jacket looked years old, and way too big for his frame. A goatee shaped around his lips, which were stuck in the same, creepy grin he's had forever. He chuckled.
"What a sight for these very sore eyes," he said slowly.
"Back 'atcha," Buttercup spat. She sat and slouched, her arms still folded defensively in front of her.
"What are you doing at a place like this?" Ace asked. His eyes traveled from Buttercup's face down to her arms, and then back again.
"I felt like it," Buttercup replied, her lips pursing together.
"Not out of school already? How old are you?"
"I just turned eighteen in April."
Ace's thin eyebrows flickered. His smiled widened.
"Do you mind if I sit closer while we chat?" he asked. Buttercup rolled her eyes.
"Sure," she sighed. "Why not?"
Just as the hostess came stumbling back in through the door, Ace slithered off his seat and into the stool next to Buttercup. The hostess slammed the Coke bottle before her, and then stepped back into the kitchen. Ace moved a strand of hair behind his ear. He closed his mouth, and simply smiled at Buttercup.
"How've you been?"
Buttercup snapped open her soda and took a swig. She pulled the bottle away and smacked her lips together.
"I've been… around?" Buttercup replied matter-of-factly. She leaned on her hand, her elbow glued to the counter.
"That's good," Ace said, nodding his head. Buttercup made a noise and looked at him.
"What do you want?" she demanded. She was looking for trouble, but not this kind. One of the last people she wanted to see in town was Ace, former leader of the Gangreen Gang, and an embarrassing infatuation from her past. She had no desire to even look at him, let alone talk to him. Though she couldn't help but notice that, well, he still had some of his classic charm. There was something about him that, to Buttercup's misfortune, has always clicked in her head, and it still did today. Buttercup blocked any feelings firmly, though she was still aware of their existence. Now was not the time to even remotely think about things like that – Ace was not worth the scum on her boots.
"I just wanted to talk to you, maybe catch up on old times," Ace said thoughtfully. Buttercup laughed.
"Oh really? Old times? The times I used to kick your ass and make you cry for mercy?"
Ace's eyebrows lowered, and he frowned a bit.
"Why the tough exterior, Buttercup? I'm not here for trouble."
"I have every reason to hate you, Ace," Buttercup said shortly. "So I don't know what you want, but it ain't coming from me."
"Why you gotta be like that?" Ace questioned, his eyebrows rising curiously. "I'm a changed man. Hell, I'm a man now."
"Yeah, sure," Buttercup snorted, taking another swig from her Coke.
"Hand to God," Ace said, raising his hand. "I'm nothing like the boy you knew years ago."
"Yeaaahh," Buttercup repeated, still laughing.
"C'mon, let's just talk, please?" Ace begged, his eyes pleading. Buttercup rolled her eyes and looked at him. Her stomach flipped an inch, and for a second, she was captivated by his long puppy-dog face. He may have even looked cuter now that he was older… Shut the fuck up, Buttercup scolded herself.
"Okay, fine. What do you want to talk about?" she asked. Ace shrugged and reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes and dropped them on the counter. He slipped two cigarettes out of the pack and stuck one in his mouth. He held the other before Buttercup.
"You smoke?"
Buttercup snickered, about to reject it… then strangely, she nodded. She popped it between her lips and Ace lit it. Buttercup inhaled, and immediately felt the need to cough. Her throat tickled painfully, and she could feel her eyes watering. Instead, she cleared her throat loudly and quickly exhaled the smoke. Ace grinned and smoothly lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply, and puffed a cloud of smoke into the air.
"You don't smoke, do you?" he asked. Buttercup snorted.
"Not often," she lied. Despite the kids she hung out with at school, this was her first cancer stick ever. She hoped he wouldn't notice if she let it burn into ash, maybe taking one or two more puffs.
"So… what have you been up to these days?" Ace asked, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
"A lot," Buttercup answered. "I'm still in school, y'know."
"The high school? Pokey Oaks?"
"Yeah. Where else would I go?"
"I don't know. Whatcha been taking over there? How's classes?"
Buttercup clicked her tongue.
"A drag, dude. I'm, uh… I'm taking algebra, English, physics, gym, World Civ… the usual shit."
"Is the Krem still teaching?" Ace asked carefully.
"Krem? World Civ? Hell yeah, he's still teaching!" Buttercup exclaimed. "Asshole wants to fail me. I hate him."
"He succeeded in failing me," Ace laughed. "Fucking Soviet hack."
"I know, right?" Buttercup giggled. She took a small puff on her cigarette. It burned her mouth, but she tolerated it. In fact, she thought that she could get used to it…
"And you're eighteen now, yeah?" Ace asked her.
"Yeah."
"You're gonna be graduating, aren't you? Any plans?"
"Of course," Buttercup retorted. "I'm gonna be a cop."
"Naturally," Ace commented.
"In New York."
"The Big Apple!" Ace cried. "Why you going there? What, Townsville not good enough for ya?"
"Pshhh," Buttercup huffed. "You have no idea. It's away from here, more people, more nightlife. It'll be fun. Different…"
"Since when were you into the nightlife?" Ace asked, coolly taking one last drag on his cigarette, and blowing out a few perfect rings. He smashed the butt in the nearby ashtray and smirked.
"I imagine there's a lot that you don't know about me," Buttercup teased. She twisted her own cigarette out in the ashtray, the thing only half-smoked. She grabbed her Coke bottle and fiddled with the neck.
"Oh, really? What's one thing I don't know about you?" Ace interrogated. Buttercup chortled.
"I could write a novel about the things you don't know about me."
"Probably," Ace agreed. "So why not share something?"
"Okay… um… I have eight piercings," Buttercup said.
"Really?" Ace muttered.
"Yep. Four in one ear, three in the other, and this one on my nose," Buttercup tapped her nose.
"That's not that interesting," Ace admitted. "What else?"
"What about you?" Buttercup turned on him. "Why don't you tell me something about yourself?"
"Why should I do that?" Ace stammered.
"Because you wanted a conversation, and I think we should both contribute something, don't you think?" Buttercup eyed him, one eyebrow raised. Ace thought for a moment, then nodded.
"Yeah, I suppose so…" Ace agreed. Then he looked up at her. "What do you want to know then?"
"Hmm…" Buttercup had think about this one. Then she got it. "Dating anyone?" Ace cackled, his voice chattering like a sniggering hyena.
"Why would you want to know that?"
"Just curious…" Buttercup shrugged her shoulders and took the last gulp of her Coke.
"Not right now, I'm not… thankfully…" Ace's eyes quickly scanned Buttercup again, as if studying her pose. Buttercup felt uncomfortable, but brushed it off.
"My turn then?" she asked. Ace nodded. "Okay… I'm not seeing anyone either."
"Have you ever?" Ace asked right away. Buttercup smirked.
"It's not my turn anymore," she remarked.
"That's a shame…" Ace said regrettably. "Cute girl like yourself should have plenty of creeps on your ass."
"You'd think…" Buttercup's voice trailed off. She didn't want to talk about this. She didn't want to admit that she didn't have much of a love life, either, nor the fact that she kind of wanted one. She wasn't the one lucky with boys – that was Bubbles, for sure. She always had some googly-eyed dork carrying her books or giving her flowers. Blossom had the occasional nerd, but stayed pretty much out of the dating pool. Buttercup never delved into it, but she was always a little green-eyed when she saw couples snogging in the hallways or cuddling at the movie theater. She almost had something of a relationship with Mitch, but it proved nonexistent within a few weeks. Then there was Butch from the Rowdyruff Boys, but that didn't count. Buttercup shuddered at the thought.
"Cold?"
Buttercup came back to earth. She shook her head and mumbled "no."
"Alright, well, I guess it's my turn then," Ace said. He looked around the room, as if something in there would spark his thoughts. Apparently, it worked.
"I might be in love," Ace announced.
Buttercup gasped, then squealed with laughter. The other customers in the room turned their heads and glared at her scornfully. Buttercup slapped her hand on the table, almost knocking her empty bottle over.
"You poor sap"
"I would like to think otherwise," Ace said calmly. Buttercup took a few deep, shuddering breaths, the laughter still spilling out of her mouth. She put a hand on her head.
"I'm sorry, it's just… I don't know," Buttercup spluttered. Ace crossed his arms and stared at her, one eyebrow cocked. Buttercup instantly stopped laughing, and she cleared her throat. She laced her fingers together and placed them on the counter.
"Yeah… sorry," she muttered.
"It's quite alright," Ace said.
"So yeah, um, who, if I may ask?" Buttercup questioned, wiping her eyes.
"Ah, you wouldn't know her," Ace brushed her off. "I only admire from afar, anyway."
"Try me," Buttercup urged, nudging him gently with the tip of one of her signature combat boots. Ace smiled.
"Well, she's this cute, spunky girl. I think she might be legal now. Short black hair, bright green eyes, short, but a personality bigger than the planet, a bunch of piercings, tough demeanor… she might have super powers. Do you know her?"
Ace looks straight into Buttercup's eyes, and she fidgeted nervously in her seat. She looked away, and began to pick at her fingernails.
"I, uh, I might…" she stammered. She could feel the blood flushing to her face, and she hoped that the dim lights wouldn't show her blushing.
"Well, I would say it was your turn, Buttercup."
Buttercup's lips twitched when he said her name. She smiled widely, and bravely turned back to him. She sighed and readjusted her seat.
"Well, I think I do know that spunky girl," she said carefully. "And I heard that she might just think that you were attractive, too. But that's all."
"Really, now…" Ace said, more to himself.
"Yeah…" Buttercup readjusted her seat again. This was becoming very awkward for her. Why was he – clearly – interested in her? How long had he been "admiring" her? And why was she – believe it or not – flirting with him? She really didn't like him, no matter how attractive he might have been. Buttercup just had a soft spot for assholes. Though, she could take advantage of this opportunity; she was looking for trouble, after all. She could get out some pent-up feelings with one quick make-out session with a stranger. And not just any stranger – a bad boy like Ace. Why not blow off steam and revolt a little in one go?
This could be fun.
"That's great!" Ace exclaimed. "So then do you know if she's busy later? Maybe we can hang out or somethin'?"
Buttercup lost her breath a moment. She sucked in a mouthful of air and held it a second. She exhaled, glad that she held back hyperventilation.
"Um… I don't know, actually. Um… What would, um, hanging out consist of?" she stumbled over her words, hoping not to sound too stupid.
"Ehh…" Ace looked to side suspiciously. "Anything she'd be up for, really."
"Oh, are you going to try and distract me, then try and kill my sisters again?!" Buttercup slapped a hand on her mouth, immediately regretting her words. She groaned and held her face in her hand. She didn't even realize that was going through her head – but her reaction was as natural as a reflex. Last time she "hung out" with Ace, his gang kidnapped her sisters and tried to hurt them, while this rambunctious Romeo distracted her with heavy metal music and his attention.
Somehow, Ace just laughed this off.
"Noooo," he chuckled. "I'm just looking for a good time."
Buttercup bit her lip. Come to think of it, this wasn't that great an idea anymore. This was Ace, anyway: one of her worst enemies, and the first boy ever to break her heart. He also happened to be the one person ever to truly humiliate her, all by using her and her feelings against her. She would never forget this sin, and she was surprised she came close to it just now. What the hell was she thinking, even talking to him? What was wrong with her? No "good times" could come from this, and Buttercup realized that she wanted out – now.
She scratched her thigh, her nails rubbing uncomfortably at the smooth, impenetrable cloth. There was a small tinkling of metal, and she looked down at the two cuffs hooked to her jeans. Suddenly, she thought of something… an idea… an idea so juicy, so vengeful, so rewarding, and above all, so entertaining, that she didn't bother to think twice. She grinned and looked back at Ace, who was sitting patiently waiting for an answer.
"Would we just hang out at your place, then?" she asked him. He shrugged, his nose crinkling a bit.
"If you want," he replied. "Anything."
Buttercup nodded and hopped off the stool. She reached in her pocket and tossed a few dollars on the counter. She looked at Ace expectantly.
"Well, what are we waiting for?"
Ace flashed his large, toothy grin. He slipped off his stool, sliding some money on the counter next to Buttercup's. He stood up, and Buttercup discovered he was at least a head taller than her. She had to look straight up at him.
"Eager, aren't we?" Ace commented coyly.
"You're so tall," Buttercup stated, ignoring his comment. She turned on her heel and led the way out the restaurant. They stepped out into the bright, afternoon sun, both shading their eyes from the light. Ace reached into his coat pocket and placed his cat-eye sunglasses over his eyes.
"We're walking, I suppose?" he questioned, looking down at Buttercup. She glanced up at him, mild shock on her face.
"Walk?" she repeated incredulously. "Did you forget who I am?"
She snatched his arm and lifted him effortlessly into the air. She rocketed forward, heading towards the old dump up north. Ace gasped, and his body fluttered haplessly in the wind. He reached up and clung with both hands to Buttercup's wrist. She rolled her eyes.
Within minutes, they arrived at Ace's dingy hole in the wall, a simple shack with a rusting, metal roof and weathered, wooden walls. Buttercup landed at the front door and entered, Ace stumbling in after her. Buttercup looked around the place, remembering the card table and set of chairs on the right, and the busted television set near the door. The only difference was the old, tattered couch in front of the television had been replaced with a full-size bed in an iron bed frame. Perfect, Buttercup thought. Ace shut the door behind them, and he watched Buttercup.
"The bed's new," he said.
"Yeah, I know," Buttercup huffed. She turned around and folded her arms across her chest. "Anything else new?"
"A full bottle of green apple vodka under the bed," Ace replied.
"Great." Buttercup nodded and moved her hands on her hips. She glanced back at the bed and smirked.
"Why is there a bed in here to begin with?"
"Well, I live here and when it gets lonely, I hire strippers to come and amuse me," Ace answered, stepping over to the bed and reaching under the mattress. He pulled out a tall, clear bottle, and he looked back at Buttercup. He smiled.
"I call bullshit," Buttercup laughed. She hopped on the bed, bouncing lightly, the liquid splashing inside the bottle in Ace's hand.
"Okay, I don't live here," Ace admitted. He opened the bottle and took a long swig. He pulled the bottle away, some alcohol dribbling down his chin, and sighed. He passed the bottle to Buttercup. "I don't really get lonely, either."
"Of course not," Buttercup said, taking the bottle. "You just hire the strippers." He took a huge gulp of vodka, and immediately wanted to spit it out. The liquor burned down her throat, down her intestines, lighting her stomach acid aflame. He pursed her lips and looked away, making a disgusted face. Ace chuckled and took the bottle from her hand. He replaced the cap and slid the bottle back under the bed.
"So maybe I lied a little," he said.
"So you do hire strippers?" Buttercup asked, still trying to keep the alcohol down. Her stomach grumbled angrily, but Ace didn't seem to notice.
"No, but I do get a little lonely," he said quietly. He kicked off his boots and leaned back on his hands, staring at Buttercup. Buttercup looked at him, uneasy. He still had his sunglasses on, and she couldn't tell where his eyes were, whether they were looking into hers or otherwise. She forced a smile on her face.
"Is that why you have the alcohol then? Kill some loneliness?" She mirrored him, leaning back on her arms, too. Ace tilted his head down, the sunglasses sliding down his nose, revealing his eyes.
"Do I look like an alcoholic? Please. I drink to have fun, not to kill time," he removed his sunglasses and tossed them aside on the ground. His eyes set just below Buttercup's, and she quickly became aware that he was starting at her lips. She licked them and looked away, still not used to this flirting thing.
"What else do you do to have fun, then?" Buttercup asked slowly, dishing for the right answer.
Ace did not speak, and instead sat up and gently put a long, thin hand on Buttercup's face. He leaned forward as he moved her face to his. He kissed her, pressing his lips softly against hers. She sat frozen, unsure of how to react. Should she kiss back, or push him away? Should she push further or keep it this way? Before she knew it, she was already pressing back, both hands behind his head, kissing him harder. She leaned forward, and he pulled her on top of him, their kissing growing faster and heavier. Ace slipped a hand on Buttercup's side and slowly starting pulling up her shirt. She pulled away, the two of them panting.
"This is how you have fun?" she asked with a smile.
"Well, it's one of the ways," Ace chuckled. Buttercup leaned forward and kissed him again. She slipped both her hands under his shirt and pushed his shirt up. She looked at him again and grinned.
"Show me the other ones."
***
Ace snored loudly. His stomach rose slightly from beneath the red bedspread that covered his naked body. Buttercup, in her black bra and underpants, sat at the foot of the bed, one eyebrow cocked, smoking a cigarette she stole from Ace's jacket. She flicked some ashes on the floor and frowned. She asked herself if all guys passed out after sex. What was the problem? Yeah, she guessed her first time could've been better, but she couldn't have been that bad. Or maybe it was so fantastic that he was too exhausted to stay awake. Or maybe Ace was just a lightweight.
Buttercup giggled quietly. That was probably it. She couldn't complain too much, though. Ace falling asleep made her plan significantly easier. She flicked the cigarette away and stepped off the bed, careful not to disturb Ace. She found her clothes scattered on the floor, and quickly changed. She glanced at herself in the crusty, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. She readjusted a few piercings and tried to make her hair as normal as possible. It was almost 3 P.M., and she needed to head back to school before her sisters found out she ditched.
Buttercup snuck back over to the bed, her boots creaking against the wooden floors. She leaned over the iron frame, watching Ace sleep peacefully. She had to wake him up before she left.
"Ace," she called. "Ace, I gotta go."
Ace grumbled softly, and then snorted loudly, finally stirring. He blinked wearily and looked at Buttercup. He smiled.
"Morning," he said. He tried to move his arms, but his surprise, he couldn't. He tugged. He saw Buttercup grin as he looked up and saw his wrists, cuffed to the headboard by a strong pair of police handcuffs. He chuckled and looked back at Buttercup.
"Kinky," he muttered. "But you're all dressed?" He narrowed his eyes, confused, as Buttercup took a step back.
"I guess so," she said with a shrug.
"What is this?" Ace asked playfully. "A little game? I thought we were having fun!"
"You know," Buttercup began, her voice low and soft. "About ten years ago, this one asshole, okay? He did something really, really shitty. See, he led me on, acting like he was into me, letting me hang out with his friends, stuff like that. I fell for it, like a real dummy, you know? Now, that stuff was bad enough, but then – THEN – he did something worse. He tried to have his friends hurt my sisters."
"Buttercup, I don't know what—"
"He tried to hurt my sisters," Buttercup repeated, ignoring Ace. "Yeah, they can piss me off a lot, but they're still my sisters. They're my family, and they mean everything to me. But not only did that bastard try to hurt them, oh no… he humiliated me. He took advantage of me, used my feelings against me, and humiliated me!"
"Buttercup, you know I didn't mean anything! That was so long ago…"
"Look, Ace, I'm not saying I have grudge. But I really feel like that bastard still has a price to pay, you know? So, um, if you see him – green skin, greasy black hair, handcuffed naked to his bed – could you tell him something for me? Tell him I think he's a loser, an asswipe, and most definitely a lousy fuck."
"Buttercup! No! What are you doing?" Ace yanked at his wrists, frantically shaking the headboard and trying to escape. Buttercup smirked.
"The police station is close by," she said. "If you scream loud enough, they'll hear you, and they'll help you. In fact, because I do have a heart, I'll tip them off. What do you say? But I gotta go. I have to get back to school."
"Are you serious?!" Ace cried. "Let me go! I'll die here! No!"
"You won't die," Buttercup laughed, rolling her eyes. "The cops'll just find you and laugh their asses off, trying to figure out how you got yourself into this."
"You… you little…" Ace stammered. "You'll be sorry for this!"
"Oh, because they'll believe you? Me? Buttercup? Fucking you and handcuffing you to the bed? Nah. Tell them a stripper left you hanging. Ha! Get it? Hanging?" Buttercup burst into laughter, probably more amused than necessary. Ace seethed and fought again with the cuffs. He sank back into the bed, his face twisted into the vilest of expressions.
"I can't believe this is happening to me," he grumbled.
"Sucks to be you, don't it?" Buttercup asked. She strutted over to the door, and then glanced back at him. "You won't be breaking anymore hearts, now, will you?" With that, she pushed open the door and stepped out, leaving Ace to wallow in his own humiliation.
Buttercup smiled as the afternoon soon blazed on her face again. She felt warmth, a euphoric, wonderful sense of warmth, but not necessarily from the sun. Of all the things Buttercup was feeling at the moment, one feeling stood out.
Liberated.