Third POV
Butch couldn't forget it.
Memories in a slideshow corrupted the dark world in his mind. All he could see was distressed Buttercup. All he heard mixed in Buttercup's cries and pleading were Duncan's truths even when he closed his eyes. He could never escape her existence as she had done with him. She wouldn't have done that if it weren't for him.
Butch descends madly from the air until his back hits the ground. The impact shouldn't have hurt, but it did, yet it was nothing to what he felt. The action was but another reminder of how he treated Buttercup that day. She fell just like me, then she looked...there. Mirroring her actions, he turned and what he saw made his breath hitch.
There, near his fingertips, was a vibrant buttercup.
That should've been a push to go to his counterpart, but it was a trigger to Butch. He blasts the flower, growling under his breath. She was nothing like that fucking flower! The broken particles of the flower sway to the ground. He stares at it until he realizes it. "I broke it. I broke that flower like I broke Buttercup."
How could he go back to her? She could never return, so why should he? Just go home, Butch. There's nothing for you here. Laying there, thinking like that, makes his lungs and eyes burn. But there's nothing there either...His realization, pain, and exhaustion made him smile because, for a moment, it felt good. And whose fucking fault is that, dumbass?
Butch hears laughter. He thought it was a hallucination- high from his pain and all that good stuff- until he heard rapid footsteps passing. He was still near a frat party. That was a good distraction. Anything to get out of this hellhole I created.
Already in a drunken daze, Butch slouches and trails to the table. It was full of glazed meat and spiked drinks. He grabs everything and chugs it without chewing. He liked a show with his meal, so he turned to the frat members.
They partied as if their lives depended on it. Whatever worries they had left their bodies. They were nothing like the poor, unfortunate soul at the buffet. It was enviable how they laughed and kissed anyone. They didn't have a person who left them like it was nothing.
Even if they did, they wouldn't be the reason. Butch crushes another bottle of alcohol. He catches attention. Soon, there's a crowd cheering for him to chug and chug. Look at them, grinning and cussing. Buttercup used to do that. She'd still do that shit if I hadn't fucked up...What'd I do again?
The more he drinks, the more he remembers what Duncan said. He recalled in his head, then eyes. The crowd became multiple Duncans, shouting his faults as his skin prickles in horror, disgust, and rage. So what if I hurt her, made her cry, and left home?! She's done it to me, even killed me once, never cried, and I never went anywhere! Everything became a blur but his anger. That made his eyes clearer than ever to guide his following action.
Butch was heading to the person who never left his mind. He could accept her flee, albeit reluctantly, but he wouldn't stand her deserting his expectations. She was his counterpart, the baroness to his berserk, and she would fight no matter how much he broke her.
Word Count: 574