~Buttercup~
August came and went without a word from Butch. She first had a hint he was avoiding her when she called him the day after they went to the beach together. She wasn't calling to say anything sappy—just to yell at him for dragging her to the beach where she got a sunburn. He didn't answer, and he didn't return her call.
It continued that way through July, and August. He didn't even have the nerve to call her and cancel his lesson—she waited all throughout the remainder of June at the pool, and for the first two weeks of July before she simply stopped showing up, deciding that he would be sure to speak up if she wasn't at a lesson.
He didn't.
She tried her best not to feel snubbed—this was, after all, what she wanted, right? He was her enemy and it made her life easier if he just left her alone. But it still bothered her. She would think about him, all the time, wondering what she did to upset him, or if this was one of his tactics.
"Vat is ze matter, Bianca? You 'ave been upset all summere," Madame DeFranc said one night, while they were closing up.
"She just doesn't like summertime, the psycho!" Eric called light-heartedly from the table he was wiping.
"You don't like summer? What's wrong with you?" Katie teased playfully.
"Ah, no, it is not zat. I am aware zat Bianca zoes not like summere. Zis is different,"
"It's nothing, really. Just feeling a little under the weather,"
"Hmm…why zon't you take tomorrow off zen? It 'as been awhile since you last took a break," Katie and Eric voiced their agreement.
Bianca looked at her three coworkers.
I could use just one day off…
Reluctantly, while doing a slow twist in her spot, Bianca agreed.
When it was time to leave, Bianca opted to walk home instead of receiving her usual ride from Madame DeFranc, preferring to risk the danger of walking home than to have to explain to Madame the real reason she was upset.
"Bianca," a tentative voice called out, one she had grown to recognize immediately. She debated turning around before she actually did.
Her lips formed a thin line as he walked towards her, his hands in his pocket and his shoulders hunched over.
"Nice of you to grace me with your presence," She crossed her arms across her chest, refusing to show emotion.
He shakes his raven hair and Bianca noticed a faint, new scar above his eye and nasty ones by his ear and neck. They were in the process of healing, but she could still tell whatever he did—it was gruesome.
She felt herself freeze up at the thought, and he quickly averted his eyes, "Listen-,"
"What is it this time?" she interjected rudely, causing him to switch his gaze on her, his green eyes intense, making her almost shrink back.
"Come with me,"
"With you? Where?"
He didn't answer her, merely held out his hand as his response. She was confused, but she took his hand anyway and he roughly pulled her in, their feet suddenly moving off the ground.
"You wanted me to come with you on the roof of a skyscraper…" she said slowly, once they had arrived.
Again, he didn't reply, merely sat down on the edge of the roof, and patted to the spot beside him.
"Contrary to popular belief, Butch, I can't fly, and if I fall, I will die," she said, her voice wavering.
She could feel his smirk, "Yes, because if you fall I will just look at you and go 'oh, such a shame,'"
He has a point.
She walked over to him and sat over the ledge, her feet hanging precariously over the edge. She let out a shuddering sigh and decided looking down was not the best thing.
Since when was I afraid of heights?
"Well?" she asked, after a few moments of silence. Instead of responding her, which he seemed to have a habit of not doing, he reached to the left of him and put down two bottles of red wine, and two glasses.
"Wine?" he asked, pouring himself a glass. She could feel her irritation bubbling, her mind running through the possibilities.
He's going to kill me. This is why he brought me up here…he knows. Or what if he's trying to get me drunk so he can sleep with me? The pig. Or what if…Whatever it is, don't raise suspicion by refusing. Just don't say anything you'll regret, and don't do anything you'll regret.
"Earth to Bianca? Quit over analyzing,"
Bianca took the glass of wine and drank, staring out into the night sky as the hours climbed, grateful she didn't have to go to work the next day.
"What if I fall?" she slurred, after one too many glasses. She was always a lightweight.
"I'll catch you," he said, looking at her from the corner of his eyes, drinking his wine slowly.
"What if you're not quick enough?"
"I will be," he reassured her, scooting closer, to which she didn't object to.
"What do you want from me?" she looked at him, her eyes narrowing as she sipped at her wine.
"I just need to feel something real for right now,"
The pig! He wants to have sex with me!
"And I don't mean sex, if that's what you're thinking," he said, as though he could read her mind. She lifted a hand up to his neck slowly, and ran her finger across a deep scar that was in the process of healing.
"What did you do? Fall into a knife?"
He laughed softly, ignoring her question. He carefully placed his arm around her, and in her drunken haze, she didn't mind.
"I used to know this girl," he began, "she reminds me of you sometimes,"
"Here I thought I was one of a kind," she said sarcastically.
He pretended he didn't hear, and continued talking, "she was just like me,"
"A womanizer?"
"Quit interrupting," he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, they were sparkling with amusement, "we were on different sides of the spectrum. She was my other half, yet we were always clashing with each other,"
"What happened to her?" Bianca asked, though she already knew the answer.
"She left,"
Bianca knew that was a lie—because she knew he was talking about her or rather, Buttercup—but she didn't press, how could she explain she knew it was a lie? She remained quiet as she realized—though she was drunk—this was golden, and he might be seconds away from revealing what they were planning.
"I miss her," he said instead.
...
"Why do you keep ignoring me?" she asked softly, after the two had merely just been staring out into the sky for a good ten minutes.
"I don't have the answers you want to hear," he answered, after some thought.
"No, but why did you ignore me for months?"
"I'll tell you later,"
"No," she pouted, pushing him slightly, "Now,"
"I had to run some errands…" he stiffened, "for my father," the way he said father made the word sound as though he was describing an enemy, rather than the actual meaning of the word.
"You could have told me,"
"I didn't get to,"
"You could have made the effort," she hiccupped.
"I didn't have a choice,"
"Liar. You always have a choice," she protested.
"No. I don't get to choose, Bianca"
Maybe it was his arm around her, or the cooling summer. Or maybe it was the alcohol—but something about the way he said those six words, as he brought her closer to him sounded so tragic.
She squirmed her arm behind his back, and straightened up, the two of them sitting beside each other as the sky began to turn lighter.
"I never knew you to be so dramatic. Things could be so much more simpler if you just looked to the right people," she murmured, not really intending for him to hear, surprised at herself for managing to sound so philosophical while under the influence.
"I wish it was as simple as sitting here with you, watching the sun come up," he responded, speaking at the same level.
She leaned his head on his shoulder, letting herself believe her sympathy for her killer was because she was drunk.
Butch.
Looks like I'm sleeping on the floor tonight. He thought, as he placed Bianca in his bed. He had not counted on her falling asleep on him. Just as he changed out of his pants, going to take off his shirt, he heard a small hiss that sounded a lot like his name.
"Butch!" she called, slightly louder this time. He turned around to face her and he felt that weird feeling in his stomach again. He pushed it down, reasoning that it had something to do with the wine.
"I need you to sleep with me," she whispered her eyes wild.
Still drunk.
"How about you try that again when you're sober," he said, turning back around.
"I don't mean sex," she hiccupped, the annoyance evident in her voice, "just lie next to me…I—I have a feeling I'm going to have a nightmare tonight. Please," she repeated, the fear evident in her voice.
Must not be the only one who is haunted with bad dreams. Butch sympathized as he began to put his black t-shirt on.
It wasn't his intention to get her drunk—he had read online that wine is romantic, and he wanted to apologize to her for his disappearance. Who would have thought that he, Butch Jojo, would be at a loss of words. He wanted to try and make her understand—he was who he was because he had to be, not because he wanted to be. But she never could, so he just didn't bother.
"No! Leave it off," she said suddenly, and he smirked at her as he could see her mentally slap herself for saying something like that, a small pink filling her cheeks.
"If you say so,"
"Do you have something I could wear? I don't want to sleep in my work clothes," she slurred, gesturing to her black yoga pants and white t-shirt. Butch tossed her the same shirt he just took off, too tired to look for something. He reluctantly turned around like she asked. "You can look now," she said, crawling under his sheets.
The worst kinds of nightmares were once memories.
That night, all he saw was her.
...
Buttercup groaned as she was struck to the ground for what would be her last time. She looked to her sisters, the both of them groaning.
"How are they so strong?" the blonde one asked.
"I don't know Bubbles," the eldest responded, her head bleeding from one of Brick's blows. It would be her undoing.
Buttercup would not fall. She weakly got up only to fall back down again.
"Taunt them," a voice whispered in his head, one they all could hear and were not allowed to disobey.
Not that Butch had a problem with taunting. He had done it plenty of times before.
"Loser!" Butch called, laughing, as he flew down and kicked her when she hit the ground again.
The three brothers high-fived at their victory, knowing it would be a while before the stupid PowerPuffs interrupted their spree again.
"Kill them," the voice spoke again, sending a chill down every brother's spine. To actually kill was something the boys had never done before, but would end up doing every succeeding year.
"But they're already dying," Boomer said.
Idiot. Don't argue. Butch thought at the time. Suddenly they all felt a stabbing pain in their necks.
"Disobeying? If you don't, they'll kill you! You don't want to die, do you?" With years to come, Butch would look back at Him's reasoning as the stupidest thing ever. But to a thirteen year old, who's already been killed before, it was extremely motivating.
…
"Give it back Butch!"
He turned around to stick his tongue out at her. A big mistake, immdieatly afterwards he slammed into a tree, and Buttercup snatched back her blanket. She pet it lovingly.
They were about eight at the time and Butch looked at her with disbelief as he rubbed his head, "Never knew Butterbutt was such a girl,"
"Hey!" she growled, turning to look at him, her eyes filled with anger. Then, it switched, and suddenly they took on a more calmer appearance, "Don't think I don't know about Mr. Bear, Butch," she hummed, before shooting off in the air, no doubt going after Butch's favourite toy.
…
He followed her after school, not surprised to see she was scaring off some first graders from the swing set, even though she was six grades older than them.
"What do you want now, Butch?" she growled, sensing him before he even made himself seen. He climbed into the set beside her, remarking on how different she looked—how much older she looked. True, she was only twelve, it was only natural that she would quit looking like the five year-old she used to look like when he first met her.
Her black hair was in a loose ponytail, and she was wearing a green shirt with a black ruffled skirt, matched with green converse.
Quit looking at her like that. Butch thought at the time.
"I'm sorry,"
"Oh? You're sorry you sabotaged our project and now we're failing history and Mrs. Kelly is going to call my dad?"
"Yeah," he looked down.
"Well you can take your apology and shove it up your ass," she said, and in a light green flash she was gone.
Little did she know that he went back to tell Mrs. Kelly the truth, and in the end, he was the only one who got in trouble.
…
Butch woke up at around three in the afternoon, filled with an empty feeling in his heart, one he usually felt each time he dreamt about her. However, instead of waking up alone, he noticed there was someone else lying over his arm—someone very female.
His smirk fell when he remembered nothing happened.
I don't have to get up right now…He thought, as he got a whiff of her vanilla scented whatever. She smiled in her sleep and rolled over to him, practically snuggling underneath his arm. I definitely don't have to get up right now.
Author's Note: Look at Bianca, sleeping in Butch's bed-again. Hoe. Just kidding...
Anyway. I happen to have written this chapter because I like the Green interaction in my story so ha. I also wrote it as a bit of a time lapse and well, I wrote it cause I wrote it.
supersweetluvbug- thank you so much! haha I will try to keep up to your expectations :)!
kadienewberg- here's more romance ^ ;) hehehe.
Child Delinquent- I'm so glad you see my story like that!
As usual to my constant reviewers (old and new) thank you so much for your reviews, they mean the world to me.
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I like dramatic periods. Like this one.
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Hope this chapter made you fall asleep. Wait. That's not right...