i can't believe within 20 days of uploading the last chapter i'm actually
updating with a new one O_o
and this one is. . . shall we say, considerably longer than all the past ones? or if it isn't and i'm just hallucinating, forgive me, because when i was typing it up it sure felt like it was the chapter that just would not end. . .
um, the rest of the guys and gals make their "appearance." well, not really, but they're mentioned! it counts, doesn't it? and they might be kinda. . . bashed, but not really. i love all of them, you guys, but this is buttercup and butch we're talking about, so who the hell didn't see a mini-bash fest coming anyway, especially when you're dealing with blossom and brick?
there is a LOT of expository dialogue in here because i try to explain to those who want an explanation as to how the guys came back and what the other guys and gals are doing just. . . um, how the guys came back and what the other guys and gals are doing ^^; so if i fail miserably just ignore it and read the rest of the chapter.
go see the powerpuff girls movie *is currently planning for a third screening of said movie* yes i'm quite sad.
-jen
"he was a boi she was a girl can i make it any more obvious?" -avril lavigne 'sk8er boi'
*A Skirt for Sunday Evening* pt. V ~-songbirdjen-~
"I called Brick last night," Butch says offhandedly a moment before he takes a sip of his Dr. Pepper.
I grin. "Oh really?" Despite giving everyone around him the impression he had a huge stick up his ass, I easily found Brick the best looker of the three and had, in fact, crushed on him a bit back when we were kids.
That is, until 7th grade. The grade that killed off all my former crushes and left me with the one I carry to this day.
But anyway, don't go thinking it was one of those lovey-dovey, blushed every time I saw him, swooned whenever he spoke to me crushes. As far as looks went, Boomer was too "pretty boy," Butch had been a bit too. . . um, "exotic" for my younger tastes, what with his dark hair and bright eyes (and I know that sounds weird since I could practically pass for his twin, but hey, cut me some slack, man) and plus, he was my best friend.
Brick, though. . . while he didn't exactly look orthodox (think freakish red eyes?), the thing I found most attractive about him was the fact that he couldn't stand taking shit from Blossom even more than me myself.
Throughout the entirety of our friendship with the guys, Brick and Blossom were the two that NEVER clicked. They hated each other for obvious reasons: both were the so-called "leaders" of their respective siblings, both had to have things their own individual ways, and allow me to rephrase the "stick up their ass."
It wasn't just a stick. It was an entire forest.
Thus they drove each other insane.
Which provided the rest of us with many hours of fulfilling entertainment and amusement.
As far as I knew, they were still at it and going strong in college.
"So what'd the sexy son of a bitch have to say?" I may not have had a crush on the guy anymore, but recurring jokes run rampant in my friendship with his brother.
"Something like 'BUTCH! It's not like THAT! You've got it all wrong!' and some other junk about it being an assignment they were working on."
My forkful of baked potato had stopped in midair on its way to my open mouth. "Why the hell would he say that?"
Butch takes another sip of Dr. Pepper before saying, "Because he didn't answer the phone. Blossom did."
Said fork drops to tray.
Buttercup's said mouth drops to floor.
Said Butch takes one more sip of Dr. Pepper before grinning maniacally. "Oh, he had fun explaining that one to me, he did." He leans his elbows on the table and looks pointedly at me. "Brick's only got one phone in his entire dorm, and it's in his bedroom. So not ONLY was his bitter lifelong nemesis in his living pad, she was in his SLEEPING pad too. So of course. . . " he pauses and throws a glance at me as I bite my lip and smile, playing out this scene in my head, "--of course when she answers the phone I immediately say 'Blossom?!' and Blossom screams 'BUTCH?!' and all of a sudden I hear this heavy thump and Brick in the back cry 'HOLY SHIT!!' and another series of thumps before Brick gets on the line and says 'Butch!' and he's heaving and panting and of course I have to say 'Brick you son of a bitch you weren't supposed to get laid before me!' and he starts screaming the shit about assignments and how I've got it all wrong and I respond 'But what the hell are you two doing in the BEDROOM?!' and HE says 'I swear to GOD, man, we weren't doing anything!! You KNOW I'd never even THINK about touching this bitch on wheels--' then all of a sudden Blossom, who hasn't said a WORD since she answered the phone, starts screaming at Brick for calling her a 'bitch on wheels--'"
"Which she is," I interject.
"Naturally," Butch concedes, "and they spend a good ten to fifteen minutes going back and forth while I calmly listen on the other line."
I grin widely. "So what'd they say?"
Butch looks off to the side then back at me. "My poor virginal ears have been tainted and scarred for life," he whimpers.
I crumple up my napkin and throw it at him. It hits him between the eyes. "You don't even HAVE any ears, Chastity."
"Hey! That's discrimination!"
I snort. "Seriously. What'd they say?"
He shrugs. "Beats me. I went off to take a shower and when I came back they hadn't slowed down."
For the umpteenth time I fidget in my seat. I'm still trying to get used to this goddamn skirt. "Sounds like classic Brick & Blossom rivalry."
The string of insults, taunting, and endless competition was now symbolic of the relationship those two had. Their desire to beat each other out at every cost was uncanny. In battle each had barked out orders with complete disregard for their respective counterpart's ideas or plans. In school they both enrolled in the highest level classes, determined that somehow with each homework assignment, each test, each final exam they'd finally prove which of them was truly the most intelligent. Come college application time they had sent out applications to Yale, Harvard, Stanford, NYU, MIT, UCLA; they even went so far out as to apply to Oxford and audition for Juilliard just for the sheer chance to best each other and gloat in the other's face should any ONE of those universities turn either of them down.
So yes, that was pretty uncanny. Even more so, however, was how SIMILAR the two were. Similar cannot even possibly describe it. Looking at the countless battleplans they mapped out (separately, keep in mind) every last one of them used the same tactics, had the same objectives. Every time the results came back from the homework & tests the grades were equally perfect right down to the decimal point, if any.
Even when they both graduated as valedictorians (note the "s"), an occurrence nobody in the history of forever could recall happening before, their GPA's seemed to be exact replicas of each other. Needless to say, skepticism about their honesty led to a full-fledged investigation by the school board that turned up nothing except for the fact that yes, they really DID hate each other THAT MUCH.
And need I say anything about their college applications? That's right. They received acceptance letters from every one of them. Juilliard had commented that Blossom's dance routine (she had graduated the Head Major of our high school dance troupe) was "romantic and compelling," while the pieces in Brick's art portfolio (he ended up skipping ahead into Advanced Art IV our sophomore year) were "dramatic and thought-provoking." Afterwards they quibbled over the several connotations those responses had.
My personal favorite had been Blossom jeering that "thought-provoking" was a nice way of saying Brick's artwork was about as deep as the shallow end of the kiddie pool.
And now, present day. Through a strange series of coincidences they both ended up selecting Harvard as their top choice and law as their major. Frequent updates (courtesy of Bubbles and the Professor back home) had confirmed this: Yes, they were both head of their class. Yes, they were both exepcted to graduate early (very early, in fact) with a Masters' Degree in Law (and a Minor in Business for Blossom and one in Psychology for Brick).
And yes: they STILL hated each others' guts. Word was they now held Chess tournaments every Friday evening starting at 9 that sometimes went past midnight and ALWAYS ended in a stalemate, regardless of who was black and who was white.
"Ah, siblings," I say with a sigh and salute the ceiling.
"Here here. Or is it hear hear?"
"Whatever. Say," I sit up in my seat, wincing as I tug at my skirt yet AGAIN, "what were you calling Brick for anyway?" While me and my sisters used the phone as our standard means of communicating with each other, the boys had always preferred doing so through e-mails and instant messaging. "You normally don't call--"
Butch's face had become dark and stoic. "They beeped me two nights ago."
I stop fidgeting, my skirt forgotten. "They. . . beeped you?"
He only nods.
Almost immediately I start sputtering some strange string of words that I'm hoping at some point forms a comprehensible sentence. "But. . . you said. . . they were supposed to. . . when you came back. . . I thought. . . "
Finally I give up and slump back against the wall of the booth. "What did you tell them?"
"Brick is taking care of it," he mutters resolutely, signifying the subject is closed. "We shouldn't be talking about this in public anyway."
***
And perhaps this is the part when a basic summary of just how the Rowdyruff Boys came back into creation should be inserted.
At some point in his life, while we (my sisters and me) were still 5-year- olds attending Pokey Oaks Kindergarten, Mojo was starting to lack in. . . shall we say, adequate funding for the physical manifestations of his delusions of grandeur. So in other words, he needed more cash to continue being an evil genius and was running out of it fast since we were just too damn good at shooting said plans down, either by rendering his destructive inventions helpless or cornering him whenever he tried to hit the bank for more money.
Well, this "agency" approached him, separate from the government, mind you, that offerred to provide funding for his evil plans the rest of his life as long as he provide them with only one thing.
Actually, three. The boys.
Shady, I know. But that's the way the cookie crumbles every now and then.
The story actually goes a lot deeper than that, but it starts getting complicated.
Like how the agency had originally made several offers to the Professor for us. Or how come the boys were authorized to live in a VERY well-furnished home with no legal guardian and a supposedly limitless amount of cash on hand. And the big one: whether the actions this agency took sometimes were legal. I mean, Butch had frequently assured me that their actions were always ultimately for the better, yet I couldn't help but notice how every time we heard about another missing VIP or rumors that highly advanced military weaponry was being tested off somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, Butch. . . well, he would always be facing the other direction.
As far as I knew, I was the only one without any connections to this organization that was aware of the boys' involvement in any strange happenings. Bubbles maybe knew through Boomer, Blossom definitely not.
Me myself, I didn't find out till years after Butch and I had become friends, and only because I threatened to cut off our friendship unless he told me why they ran off so frequently without notice. I'd actually been kidding at the time, but Butch apparently had taken the "threat" quite seriously, because he wouldn't have spilled that info to me otherwise.
***
I bite my lip. "Sorry." The rest of my potato sits lonely on its little tray, along with what remains of my appetite. "I just. . . didn't want a repeat of the summer before our senior year."
In less than a second he yanks me by my collar and huddles with me over the table, leaning his forehead against mine.
The color drains from my face, as if on cue.
"Hey," he whispers, and I feel his breath puffing lightly on my lips. "Don't worry. I swear to you, nothing like that will EVER happen again." He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. "Trust me," he lets out with a sigh.
I somehow manage an "Ok" despite my strained breathing and his hand slips from my collar, brushing my cheek.
I sit back, but he continues to lean toward me, smiling apologetically and shaking his head. "I can't. . . imagine. . . what it must've been like for you to receive that letter." The smile fades from his face. "I shouldn't have listed you as a contact in case I--in case the worst happened. Brick and Boomer didn't choose one, and I never even thought the situation would get so serious that they would find it necessary to--"
"Butch," I interrupt, and he abruptly stops and lifts his eyes to mine. I grin wryly. "You want the rest of my potato?"
***
"So what about the rest of the family?"
"What about them?" I respond, trying to not walk too much like a guy what with the skirt and all on our way out of the food court.
"Weren't you on the phone with blue hotness last night?"
I roll my eyes and smile. Where I found Brick the best looking eye candy of the guys, Butch frequently referred to Bubbles as the "ultra fine superfly blue-eyed fair-skinned hot chick next door," otherwise known as "blue hotness."
"How did YOU know that?"
"I waited for an hour for you to get off the line so I could ring Brick, you dork. What's new with her? Is Townsville's resident 'Powerpuff publicity sellout' still modeling?"
"Not so much anymore. Said she wants to focus on 'other things.'" I pause dramatically. "Like men."
Butch makes a face. "Oh man."
I smack my lips together. "By the way, did you try to get ahold of Boomer?"
He gazes at me curiously. "As a matter of fact, I did. Why--oh, geez." He shuts his eyes and looks skyward. "Are they back together AGAIN?"
"Flew into Townsville two days ago," I spout grimly with a nod.
"This is--what?--the third time now?"
"Fourth, actually."
He opens his eyes and stares quizzically at me once more. "Fourth? You sure?"
"Yep. The first time was the last middle school dance in 8th grade where they decided they'd give it a shot since they flirted like hell anyway."
"Right, and then they broke up over the summer on the grounds that they wanted to see other people and broaden their horizons in high school."
"And ended up getting back together at Freshman Homecoming."
"But then they broke up SENIOR Homecoming because Boomer was going to an out of state college and Bubbles wanted to stay home."
"Uh-huh."
"So that's two right there."
"Uh-huh."
"Isn't that it?"
I shook my head. "At graduation they reached the conclusion that a long distance relationship was worth a shot and got back together, then broke up two years later--"
"Or two years ago--"
"--due partly because long distance was harder than they thought, and partly because of all the publicity Bubbles was getting for modeling at the time."
A hint of a grin grazes Butch's expression. "Ah, yes. I treasured that 'got milk?' mag ad like it was my child. I even had it pasted on the ceiling for awhile."
"Yeah, until I *edited* it that fateful evening while you slumbered. I still say the mustache I gave her looked a lot better than the milk one she had beforehand."
He places an adorably characteristic pout on his face. "That was kinda mean. She's your sister."
"Precisely why I would have preferred actual photographs around the dorm as opposed to the 'got milk?' and brand name clothing ads she modeled for."
"Aww. . . " Butch bounds in front of me and leans forward teasingly. "Sounds like somebody's JEALOUS."
Having nothing better to do, I scowl. "Tuh! Right. And pigs'll fly."
At hearing my words, Butch floats a few feet away from me and hovers inconspicuously. "Oink oink."
And how can I not help but crack a laugh?
"You interpret the term 'pig' a little loosely there, Butch."
Shrug. "Eh. you want some ice cream?"
A brief moment of silence. "You're hungry AGAIN?!"
"Food. It does a body good. Mint chocolate chip, if you please," he says to the lady working the miniature ice cream cart miles away from the food court where it SHOULD be.
"You just polished off two plates of jambalaya and half of a baked potato with ham and cheese! HOW can you still be hungry?!?"
"So do you want some or not?" he asks, ignoring my question as he hands over his money for the cone.
I cross my arms. "I'm not hungry, thank you."
"Ok, first the skirt, the shoes, the breasts, and NOW you're worried about gaining a little WEIGHT?" He approaches me, cone in hand, an incredulous look tinged with amusement on his features. "You really ARE turning into a woman--" he smirks slyly, "--WOMAN."
I lightly shove him away, careful to avoid the ice cream looming menacincly over my borrowed white shirt. "And you really ARE a pig, PIG."
Yet another smile. "Oink oink."
Which only confirms the suspicion that he really IS the cutest guy I've ever met.
***
"Oh, GOD, Buttercup," he moans exaggeratedly, waving the still full scooped mint chocolate chip cone under my nonexistant nose, "this ice cream is simply ORGASMIC."
A couple walking with their kid in tow shoot a menacing look at us, cover the child's ears, then hurry away.
I glance darkly at my companion. "That word doesn't exactly stimulate my appetite, Butch."
"What? You mean ORGASMIC?" he questions innocently. This time a group of teenagers passing by do their best to stifle their juvenile laughter as they point at us and giggle.
I open my mouth to retort but change my mind and sit down on a bench instead. "Well," I whisper playfully, lowering my eyelids, crossing my legs, and fiddling with the top button of my shirt, "not for ice cream anyway."
Butch sits next to me, reclining against the bench's arm and propping his legs up on my lap, grinning all the while. "It's a wonder you haven't had a boyfriend YET."
"You scare 'em all off."
He whimpers like a puppy. "Does that mean you don't want me hanging around you anymore?"
"Yes. Go away. Now. On second thought, no. Stay."
"Why the sudden change of heart?"
I snatch the cone from his unsuspecting hand and help myself. "Because I really DO want some ice cream."
"HAH!" He points accusingly at me. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist!"
I purse my lips and take another lick. "You know damn well mint chocolate chip's my favorite."
Now he smirks. "I was actually talking about my suave debonair charms."
He makes a grab back for his cone but I maneuver it out of his reach. "Charms?! Pft! Charm my ass."
Suddenly his head is resting on my shoulder. "Is that an invitation?" He tugs at my skirt and surreptitiously runs his tongue over his teeth with a smile.
"Git offa me, you sicko," I growl, laughing as I push him away. "You are such a FLIRT."
"Only because you took my ice cream!" he whines, pouting again.
My turn to smirk. "Take it back. Your cone's too small anyway."
His eyes go wide and he fakes a gasp. "Too small? Just what are you trying to say, Buttercup?!"
"TakeitbacktakeitbacktakeitBACK!" I shriek, doubling over with laughter and thrusting the ice cream in his face.
"Thank you!" He gratefully plucks it from my grasp and proceeds to finish the rest of it in a few bites.
With a content sigh he leans back, legs still propped up on my lap. I take the liberty of tossing them off, which causes Butch to topple off the bench and crash at a weird angle on the floor.
"Jerk." I stick my tongue out at him.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm a jerk with a view," he says evilly and begins nodding his head in approval. "A very NICE view," he rephrases and it's at this moment that I notice his gaze is directed at the lower portion of my body--
"AUGH!" My face immediately turns a bright red and I roughly kick him away. He slides on his ass to the other side of the walkway, laughing histerically.
What I'm sure is the entire populace of the mall turns to stare us, and with a huff I walk myself over to him and drag him off by the collar of his shirt, mumbling something about how I hope he laughs so hard he chokes.
***
"I hope you realize I'm perfectly capable of walking myself," he grumbles some time later, obviously a bit sour after I dragged him up and down a few escalators.
By command I abruptly release his collar and his head drops with a loud (and strangely satisfying) 'THUD' on the tile floor.
"Fine then," I lightly comment, crossing my arms and taking a few steps before turning to watch him nurse his injured head.
He props himself up on one elbow and rubs the back of his head with the other hand, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth and squeezing an eye shut.
I find a silly grin developing on my face and quickly suppress it, reminding myself that he'll be gone all summer and besides, it's useless to fawn over a guy who'll never see me as anything more than a friend. . .
I take a deep breath and turn away, taking another couple of steps. I pause and shut my eyes. 'But even so. . . '
Another deep breath. I take my time exhaling, blowing the uncharacteristic bangs out of my face.
"God I'm gonna miss you," I mumble quietly under my breath, eyes still squeezed shut.
"It's not too late to change your mind," a voice whispers, and my eyes fly open to find Butch looming over me, concerned.
I quickly back away, embarrassed he heard me. "Um, a-about what?" I stumble over the words, avoiding his gaze.
He leans over in my line of vision. "About whether you want me leaving with Kendall tomorrow or not," he says with the utmost seriousness, no trace of a smile on his face. "Just say the word. And I'll. . . I'll stay."
I force a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous," I protest, moving to walk past him.
"I'm SERIOUS, Buttercup." He starts following me. "If you want me to stay here with you--"
"Come off it, Butch," I say roughly.
My voice is on the verge of cracking.
"You already have your ticket and everything--"
"Bloody hell, Buttercup, you know God damn well that doesn't make a shit of a difference," he snaps.
Surprised, I whirl around to face him, shocked at the ferocity with which he spoke. His attention is focused on the window of some store, closed for renovations.
He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales before continuing. "I'm serious, Buttercup," he repeats. "I mean," he turns to me, "I don't wanna leave you-- don't wanna leave you here alone. After all," and he smiles ironically, "whaddya gonna do without me around to keep you company?"
What AM I going to do without you?
"Maybe find a boyfriend." I intend to reply jokingly, but it comes out sounding fake and bitter.
"Hmp." Butch snorts a bit and walks past me.
"'Hmp?!' What the hell is THAT supposed to mean?"
"It means good luck," he casually answers.
"Oh, *I* see," I emphasize with my hands on my hips and voice dripping with sarcasm, "you don't think I'm capable of holding down a guy, do you?"
"It's not that," Butch lightly protests. He stops walking.
"I meant good luck finding a guy worthy of you."
***
It feels. . . like a huge dead weight has just been dropped on my shoulders.
My arms fall to my sides, my legs buckle a bit, and I'm suddenly exhausted despite the fact I'm wide awake.
"Wh-wha. . . ?"
Somehow I can't exactly place the 't' at the end of the word.
Butch lets his air out through his teeth, runs a hand briskly through his hair then abruptly shoves them both into the pockets of his jeans. He jingles his car keys twice and turns.
Dead serious.
"Really, Buttercup," and he starts walking towards me, which in turn makes me want to whirl around and run, but I can't move, "ask any guy--ANY guy-- you've ever hung out with from the time you could--I dunno--CHEW--and he will tell you," he pauses, having reached me, "you are one of the most FASCINATING members of the opposite sex it has ever been his pleasure to meet."
I force what is probably my 500th fake laugh of the day. "You're exaggerating--"
"Oh, come on, Buttercup!" he suddenly explodes. "You--you--"
He yanks his hands out of his pockets and starts gesturing wildly toward me. "Where the hell do I start? You don't back down from a fight! You don't worry about what you eat or if you're getting fat! You'd rather stay home and play video games than go shopping! You watch the Super Bowl! You don't care if you get dirty! Hell, you MAKE dirty jokes ALL THE FRIGGIN' TIME! You belch, you punch, you kick, and God DAMN you sure can beat the shit outta people! Not to mention you drink and cuss like a sailor! But wait--" he holds up his hands to stop me from interrupting "--that's only the HALF of it. In addition to being sick and sporty and, let's face it, EXCRUCIATINGLY violent at times, you're a really thoughtful, deep, and. . . " he shakes his head, trying to find the word, "God forbid, intelligent person. Yet you don't give a shit about IMPRESSING anyone. You NEVER go out of your way to make a good first impression and end up doing just that! And as far as looks go--"
Once again he pauses.
"You really can be quite a beautiful person once someone really gets to know you," he finally states, blushing a bit.
My body temperature rises considerably, and I'm betting it shows in the color of my face.
"I mean--" His eyes leave my face and dart around, avoiding me. "--well, when someone first meets you, they may not think you're much of a knockout, but. . . " He scrapes his upper lip against his teeth. ". . . after they've known you for quite some time, they start to see that you're. . . um, well. . ."
He blushes even more. "Really. . . pretty," he finishes softly.
His eyes fall to the floor.
I. . . honestly can't say I know how to respond to that.
Though my heart has apparently taken advantage of this moment to start pumping every ounce of available adrenaline to each vein and artery laced within my body.
"And you know what else?" he says abruptly, the redness starting to leave his face.
He doesn't wait for an answer. "Baby you sure can COOK."
This last one sounds so ridiculous that I can't help but break out of my daze and bust out laughing.
"Still not done," Butch interjects. He takes me by the hands and looks straight at me, cutting my laughter short.
Proper breathing appears to have been rendered superfluous for me lately as my lungs tightly contract, as does my stomach.
"Buttercup, there is NO other girl, super powers or not, who is like you. You are one in a million in a million. Granted, there are people--women especially--who probably aren't very. . . fond of you. But. . . coming from your best friend, you--well, you--"
And he suddenly drops my hands and gives a forced laugh of his own.
"And now I'm babbling and just not making any sense at all, so I should just stop talking," he chuckles, raising one hand to his head as it shakes in disapproval.
"No, continue," I encourage him, smiling. That adrenaline seems to have been good for something after all. "I'm. . . what?" I look at him expectantly, inwardly surprised at my confidence.
His hand falls to his side. "Well, you're. . ." He shrugs. "I--I dunno, you're. . . you're. . . " he trails off again.
I cross my arms and raise an invisible eyebrow, still smiling. "Super?"
He breaks into a grin and nods slowly in agreement.
"Yeah," he says softly, staring at my face. "You're super. That's why," he reaches towards me and smoothes a stray bang from my face, "you should find a guy worthy of someone as. . . super as you."
At this point I'm feeling so connected, so sure there's a wave of electricity or something surging between us that's impossible to ignore, and I'm so tempted to breach whatever barrier is left and just take his face in my hands and kiss it when he breaks away and it disappears, leaving me to wonder How? How?
How could he not FEEL that?
We were so close, so together, how could he completely ignore all of it and just turn away so EASILY?
My head and my heart scream at me TELLTELLTELLTELLTELL him, bring him back, bring him back, forget about your God damn pride and just tell him HOW YOU FEEL--
"Look, Buttercup," he starts uneasily, turning away slightly. "I know. . . I know this is probably. . . or maybe more than likely, I guess, I think, sound, um, a little bit. . . strange, or. . . well, maybe really WEIRD, but. . . well. . . I. . .
. . . I have a confession to make."
***
Nothing.
Nothing but dead air.
The word CONFESSION hangs in the dark like a huge neon sign, taunting me, harrassing me, driving me absolutely insane.
"Confession?" I whisper, my voice sounding small and tiny.
Butch takes a deep breath and turns back towards me.
"Buttercup," he pauses and takes another deep breath, "sometimes I look at you, and . . . I see the person. . . the girl that you are and. . . I. . . I. . . "
"And you what?" I choke out, thinking It can't be it can't be it can't be. . .
". . . I look at you, and I can't help. . . can't help but wish. . . "
"Yes?"
It can't be can't be can't can't CAN'T--
"I wish I could've fallen in love with a girl like you."
***
It isn't.
The sound magically returns. I can hear the bustling of people, the gentle stream of the fountains. Somewhere off in the distance some birds are chirping and a baby starts to cry.
But I guess it's the result of some kind of scientific reaction, because now that I can hear all THOSE things I can't seem to hear Butch.
His mouth moves and smiles and forms shapes and what I'm sure is words but the only words I keep hearing above the symphony of noise is "I WISH I could've fallen in love with you."
Meaning he doesn't love me.
Meaning he isn't in love with me.
Meaning I will never, EVER be more than a friend, and it was stupid of me to think so, stupid of me to think it would change, stupid to get my hopes up over a silly little word like "confess. . . "
Stupid.
Rightfully oblivious to the turmoil of emotions somewhere deep in my chest cavity, Butch smiles and turns, starting to walk again. I move to follow but just. . . just can't.
My feet seem to have anchored themselves in the tile and all I can do is watch, watch him walk farther and farther away, leaving me behind and alone and hurt and confused and angry, so God damn ANGRY. . .
. . . at myself for being such an IDIOT.
"Idiot," I snarl under my breath, and violently punch the air, using so much force I spin around on my feet a few times before I steady myself again.
I give the empty space another hit, though what I really want to do is drop to the floor, hug my knees to my chest, and just. . . cry.
Cry out in the middle of all these people, Butch included, who couldn't possibly know how miserable I feel, how heartbroken, but most of all, how stupid and how upset I am at myself for feeling the way I did. . .
. . . and still do.
I stop beating up the oxygen and let my arms hang limply at my sides, the snarl on my face softening.
For a while I just stand there, in the midst of hundreds of people. It seems like the crowds are bigger now, which must mean it's late afternoon and mall traffic is always, for whatever reason, higher around 3 to 4.
Teenagers and moms and little kids shove past me, some of them grumbling something about people who never think of others. I ignore them all, trying to work out one Why? in my head.
Why do you still love him even though you know now for sure you'll only always be his FRIEND?
All of a sudden something smooth and cool drops onto my neck and slides down my shirt and at first I think 'Oh God no I'm not CRYING, am I?' until I notice the thing, whatever it was, or is, is dangling from a golden chain.
At the base of the back of my neck I hear a clasp shutting and feel a slight tickle as the chain drops onto my skin. I whirl around to find Butch, his arms slowly lowering, smiling the genuine smile at me.
"How do you like it?" he prods gently.
"Like what?" I say, confused.
He rolls his eyes and grins playfully. "The NECKLACE, you big dummy. How do you like the necklace?" Without waiting for an answer he reaches toward me and strokes the delicate chain. "Or not so much the necklace, but the pendant."
He starts to reach for the pendant down my shirt but catches himself and snaps his hand back, blushing a bit. "Um, I probably better let you get that."
Wordlessly I reach down my shirt, find the trinket and lift it towards my face.
"It's--it's jade," I remark, eyes darting to the jade stone hanging from his own neck. This one is different, though: instead of a carved mini-rod of stone it forms a ring, a polished green ring, and in the middle of this ring is some Chinese or Japanese character, exquisitely carved out of gold.
"Why. . . when did you get this?" I question, disbelieving.
"Just now." He shoots me his adorable confused look (STOP IT BUTTERCUP). "Don't you remember me asking you to wait here for a few minutes while I went off to 'do something?' Or are you completely zoning out on me now? It's only 3:37!"
"What does it mean?" I indicate the asian word nestled in the ring.
He gently pries the charm from my grasp and examines it. "You'd have to ask your sister. Let's just say. . ." he turns his attention to me and smiles his genuine smile again, "it's supposed to represent our relationship. Or friendship, you know," he quickly corrects, and drops the pendant back against my skin, where it slips back down my shirt, and it takes all my self control to keep from ripping it from my neck.
I can't wear this.
I can't have something so physically close to my heart that is a constant reminder of the extent of our relationship, of the lack of feelings of love for me as a non-friend Butch harbors, a constant reminder to me and everyone around me that 'Hey, Butch got me this because he loves me but not because he LOVES me. . . '
"So do you like it?" Butch inquires expectantly, anxious for some sort of response.
The cold jade feels refreshing against my skin but burns inside my chest, steadily pulsing DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU--
"It's beautiful," I say softly, cracking a thin smile on my face.
"Wonderful." He smiles that GODDAMN SMILE YET AGAIN and it melts and shatters my heart at the same time.
"I hoped you'd like it."
Taking my hand he twirls me around and starts walking. I obediently follow, limp and wilting like a rotting vegetable as we walk, steps matching the steady rhythm of DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU.
And he probably never will.
*end pt. V*
and i could end it there but that would just be cruel and unusual punishment for you guys. plus i have more coming anyway.
i apologize for any editing mistakes i made. my contacts are all worn out after being in my eyeballs for fifteen hours *_*
it took a hella long time to type this up. notepad (what i usually type my stuff in) busted out on me, saying it (the chapter) was too big and i had to transfer to word to finish typing the blasted thing.
for anyone who cares, this chapter itself took up maybe a fourth of my new notebook (new since i left all my other ones back in austin .) and 15 pages in word on size 10 times new roman font. it may not read very long, but damn, you sure feel it when you have to write this piece of shit up. . .
much angst toward the end. but angst can be good. plot twists galore. . . well, maybe not, but i'm just twisted. school starts in a little over a month. i hope i finish this thing before then.
and i used to have that necklace butch gave buttercup, only with red jade, not green. just in case anyone was interested in knowing that useless trivia bit.
review if you feel so inclined. i heart you ever so muchly, faithful readers :)
and this one is. . . shall we say, considerably longer than all the past ones? or if it isn't and i'm just hallucinating, forgive me, because when i was typing it up it sure felt like it was the chapter that just would not end. . .
um, the rest of the guys and gals make their "appearance." well, not really, but they're mentioned! it counts, doesn't it? and they might be kinda. . . bashed, but not really. i love all of them, you guys, but this is buttercup and butch we're talking about, so who the hell didn't see a mini-bash fest coming anyway, especially when you're dealing with blossom and brick?
there is a LOT of expository dialogue in here because i try to explain to those who want an explanation as to how the guys came back and what the other guys and gals are doing just. . . um, how the guys came back and what the other guys and gals are doing ^^; so if i fail miserably just ignore it and read the rest of the chapter.
go see the powerpuff girls movie *is currently planning for a third screening of said movie* yes i'm quite sad.
-jen
"he was a boi she was a girl can i make it any more obvious?" -avril lavigne 'sk8er boi'
*A Skirt for Sunday Evening* pt. V ~-songbirdjen-~
"I called Brick last night," Butch says offhandedly a moment before he takes a sip of his Dr. Pepper.
I grin. "Oh really?" Despite giving everyone around him the impression he had a huge stick up his ass, I easily found Brick the best looker of the three and had, in fact, crushed on him a bit back when we were kids.
That is, until 7th grade. The grade that killed off all my former crushes and left me with the one I carry to this day.
But anyway, don't go thinking it was one of those lovey-dovey, blushed every time I saw him, swooned whenever he spoke to me crushes. As far as looks went, Boomer was too "pretty boy," Butch had been a bit too. . . um, "exotic" for my younger tastes, what with his dark hair and bright eyes (and I know that sounds weird since I could practically pass for his twin, but hey, cut me some slack, man) and plus, he was my best friend.
Brick, though. . . while he didn't exactly look orthodox (think freakish red eyes?), the thing I found most attractive about him was the fact that he couldn't stand taking shit from Blossom even more than me myself.
Throughout the entirety of our friendship with the guys, Brick and Blossom were the two that NEVER clicked. They hated each other for obvious reasons: both were the so-called "leaders" of their respective siblings, both had to have things their own individual ways, and allow me to rephrase the "stick up their ass."
It wasn't just a stick. It was an entire forest.
Thus they drove each other insane.
Which provided the rest of us with many hours of fulfilling entertainment and amusement.
As far as I knew, they were still at it and going strong in college.
"So what'd the sexy son of a bitch have to say?" I may not have had a crush on the guy anymore, but recurring jokes run rampant in my friendship with his brother.
"Something like 'BUTCH! It's not like THAT! You've got it all wrong!' and some other junk about it being an assignment they were working on."
My forkful of baked potato had stopped in midair on its way to my open mouth. "Why the hell would he say that?"
Butch takes another sip of Dr. Pepper before saying, "Because he didn't answer the phone. Blossom did."
Said fork drops to tray.
Buttercup's said mouth drops to floor.
Said Butch takes one more sip of Dr. Pepper before grinning maniacally. "Oh, he had fun explaining that one to me, he did." He leans his elbows on the table and looks pointedly at me. "Brick's only got one phone in his entire dorm, and it's in his bedroom. So not ONLY was his bitter lifelong nemesis in his living pad, she was in his SLEEPING pad too. So of course. . . " he pauses and throws a glance at me as I bite my lip and smile, playing out this scene in my head, "--of course when she answers the phone I immediately say 'Blossom?!' and Blossom screams 'BUTCH?!' and all of a sudden I hear this heavy thump and Brick in the back cry 'HOLY SHIT!!' and another series of thumps before Brick gets on the line and says 'Butch!' and he's heaving and panting and of course I have to say 'Brick you son of a bitch you weren't supposed to get laid before me!' and he starts screaming the shit about assignments and how I've got it all wrong and I respond 'But what the hell are you two doing in the BEDROOM?!' and HE says 'I swear to GOD, man, we weren't doing anything!! You KNOW I'd never even THINK about touching this bitch on wheels--' then all of a sudden Blossom, who hasn't said a WORD since she answered the phone, starts screaming at Brick for calling her a 'bitch on wheels--'"
"Which she is," I interject.
"Naturally," Butch concedes, "and they spend a good ten to fifteen minutes going back and forth while I calmly listen on the other line."
I grin widely. "So what'd they say?"
Butch looks off to the side then back at me. "My poor virginal ears have been tainted and scarred for life," he whimpers.
I crumple up my napkin and throw it at him. It hits him between the eyes. "You don't even HAVE any ears, Chastity."
"Hey! That's discrimination!"
I snort. "Seriously. What'd they say?"
He shrugs. "Beats me. I went off to take a shower and when I came back they hadn't slowed down."
For the umpteenth time I fidget in my seat. I'm still trying to get used to this goddamn skirt. "Sounds like classic Brick & Blossom rivalry."
The string of insults, taunting, and endless competition was now symbolic of the relationship those two had. Their desire to beat each other out at every cost was uncanny. In battle each had barked out orders with complete disregard for their respective counterpart's ideas or plans. In school they both enrolled in the highest level classes, determined that somehow with each homework assignment, each test, each final exam they'd finally prove which of them was truly the most intelligent. Come college application time they had sent out applications to Yale, Harvard, Stanford, NYU, MIT, UCLA; they even went so far out as to apply to Oxford and audition for Juilliard just for the sheer chance to best each other and gloat in the other's face should any ONE of those universities turn either of them down.
So yes, that was pretty uncanny. Even more so, however, was how SIMILAR the two were. Similar cannot even possibly describe it. Looking at the countless battleplans they mapped out (separately, keep in mind) every last one of them used the same tactics, had the same objectives. Every time the results came back from the homework & tests the grades were equally perfect right down to the decimal point, if any.
Even when they both graduated as valedictorians (note the "s"), an occurrence nobody in the history of forever could recall happening before, their GPA's seemed to be exact replicas of each other. Needless to say, skepticism about their honesty led to a full-fledged investigation by the school board that turned up nothing except for the fact that yes, they really DID hate each other THAT MUCH.
And need I say anything about their college applications? That's right. They received acceptance letters from every one of them. Juilliard had commented that Blossom's dance routine (she had graduated the Head Major of our high school dance troupe) was "romantic and compelling," while the pieces in Brick's art portfolio (he ended up skipping ahead into Advanced Art IV our sophomore year) were "dramatic and thought-provoking." Afterwards they quibbled over the several connotations those responses had.
My personal favorite had been Blossom jeering that "thought-provoking" was a nice way of saying Brick's artwork was about as deep as the shallow end of the kiddie pool.
And now, present day. Through a strange series of coincidences they both ended up selecting Harvard as their top choice and law as their major. Frequent updates (courtesy of Bubbles and the Professor back home) had confirmed this: Yes, they were both head of their class. Yes, they were both exepcted to graduate early (very early, in fact) with a Masters' Degree in Law (and a Minor in Business for Blossom and one in Psychology for Brick).
And yes: they STILL hated each others' guts. Word was they now held Chess tournaments every Friday evening starting at 9 that sometimes went past midnight and ALWAYS ended in a stalemate, regardless of who was black and who was white.
"Ah, siblings," I say with a sigh and salute the ceiling.
"Here here. Or is it hear hear?"
"Whatever. Say," I sit up in my seat, wincing as I tug at my skirt yet AGAIN, "what were you calling Brick for anyway?" While me and my sisters used the phone as our standard means of communicating with each other, the boys had always preferred doing so through e-mails and instant messaging. "You normally don't call--"
Butch's face had become dark and stoic. "They beeped me two nights ago."
I stop fidgeting, my skirt forgotten. "They. . . beeped you?"
He only nods.
Almost immediately I start sputtering some strange string of words that I'm hoping at some point forms a comprehensible sentence. "But. . . you said. . . they were supposed to. . . when you came back. . . I thought. . . "
Finally I give up and slump back against the wall of the booth. "What did you tell them?"
"Brick is taking care of it," he mutters resolutely, signifying the subject is closed. "We shouldn't be talking about this in public anyway."
***
And perhaps this is the part when a basic summary of just how the Rowdyruff Boys came back into creation should be inserted.
At some point in his life, while we (my sisters and me) were still 5-year- olds attending Pokey Oaks Kindergarten, Mojo was starting to lack in. . . shall we say, adequate funding for the physical manifestations of his delusions of grandeur. So in other words, he needed more cash to continue being an evil genius and was running out of it fast since we were just too damn good at shooting said plans down, either by rendering his destructive inventions helpless or cornering him whenever he tried to hit the bank for more money.
Well, this "agency" approached him, separate from the government, mind you, that offerred to provide funding for his evil plans the rest of his life as long as he provide them with only one thing.
Actually, three. The boys.
Shady, I know. But that's the way the cookie crumbles every now and then.
The story actually goes a lot deeper than that, but it starts getting complicated.
Like how the agency had originally made several offers to the Professor for us. Or how come the boys were authorized to live in a VERY well-furnished home with no legal guardian and a supposedly limitless amount of cash on hand. And the big one: whether the actions this agency took sometimes were legal. I mean, Butch had frequently assured me that their actions were always ultimately for the better, yet I couldn't help but notice how every time we heard about another missing VIP or rumors that highly advanced military weaponry was being tested off somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, Butch. . . well, he would always be facing the other direction.
As far as I knew, I was the only one without any connections to this organization that was aware of the boys' involvement in any strange happenings. Bubbles maybe knew through Boomer, Blossom definitely not.
Me myself, I didn't find out till years after Butch and I had become friends, and only because I threatened to cut off our friendship unless he told me why they ran off so frequently without notice. I'd actually been kidding at the time, but Butch apparently had taken the "threat" quite seriously, because he wouldn't have spilled that info to me otherwise.
***
I bite my lip. "Sorry." The rest of my potato sits lonely on its little tray, along with what remains of my appetite. "I just. . . didn't want a repeat of the summer before our senior year."
In less than a second he yanks me by my collar and huddles with me over the table, leaning his forehead against mine.
The color drains from my face, as if on cue.
"Hey," he whispers, and I feel his breath puffing lightly on my lips. "Don't worry. I swear to you, nothing like that will EVER happen again." He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. "Trust me," he lets out with a sigh.
I somehow manage an "Ok" despite my strained breathing and his hand slips from my collar, brushing my cheek.
I sit back, but he continues to lean toward me, smiling apologetically and shaking his head. "I can't. . . imagine. . . what it must've been like for you to receive that letter." The smile fades from his face. "I shouldn't have listed you as a contact in case I--in case the worst happened. Brick and Boomer didn't choose one, and I never even thought the situation would get so serious that they would find it necessary to--"
"Butch," I interrupt, and he abruptly stops and lifts his eyes to mine. I grin wryly. "You want the rest of my potato?"
***
"So what about the rest of the family?"
"What about them?" I respond, trying to not walk too much like a guy what with the skirt and all on our way out of the food court.
"Weren't you on the phone with blue hotness last night?"
I roll my eyes and smile. Where I found Brick the best looking eye candy of the guys, Butch frequently referred to Bubbles as the "ultra fine superfly blue-eyed fair-skinned hot chick next door," otherwise known as "blue hotness."
"How did YOU know that?"
"I waited for an hour for you to get off the line so I could ring Brick, you dork. What's new with her? Is Townsville's resident 'Powerpuff publicity sellout' still modeling?"
"Not so much anymore. Said she wants to focus on 'other things.'" I pause dramatically. "Like men."
Butch makes a face. "Oh man."
I smack my lips together. "By the way, did you try to get ahold of Boomer?"
He gazes at me curiously. "As a matter of fact, I did. Why--oh, geez." He shuts his eyes and looks skyward. "Are they back together AGAIN?"
"Flew into Townsville two days ago," I spout grimly with a nod.
"This is--what?--the third time now?"
"Fourth, actually."
He opens his eyes and stares quizzically at me once more. "Fourth? You sure?"
"Yep. The first time was the last middle school dance in 8th grade where they decided they'd give it a shot since they flirted like hell anyway."
"Right, and then they broke up over the summer on the grounds that they wanted to see other people and broaden their horizons in high school."
"And ended up getting back together at Freshman Homecoming."
"But then they broke up SENIOR Homecoming because Boomer was going to an out of state college and Bubbles wanted to stay home."
"Uh-huh."
"So that's two right there."
"Uh-huh."
"Isn't that it?"
I shook my head. "At graduation they reached the conclusion that a long distance relationship was worth a shot and got back together, then broke up two years later--"
"Or two years ago--"
"--due partly because long distance was harder than they thought, and partly because of all the publicity Bubbles was getting for modeling at the time."
A hint of a grin grazes Butch's expression. "Ah, yes. I treasured that 'got milk?' mag ad like it was my child. I even had it pasted on the ceiling for awhile."
"Yeah, until I *edited* it that fateful evening while you slumbered. I still say the mustache I gave her looked a lot better than the milk one she had beforehand."
He places an adorably characteristic pout on his face. "That was kinda mean. She's your sister."
"Precisely why I would have preferred actual photographs around the dorm as opposed to the 'got milk?' and brand name clothing ads she modeled for."
"Aww. . . " Butch bounds in front of me and leans forward teasingly. "Sounds like somebody's JEALOUS."
Having nothing better to do, I scowl. "Tuh! Right. And pigs'll fly."
At hearing my words, Butch floats a few feet away from me and hovers inconspicuously. "Oink oink."
And how can I not help but crack a laugh?
"You interpret the term 'pig' a little loosely there, Butch."
Shrug. "Eh. you want some ice cream?"
A brief moment of silence. "You're hungry AGAIN?!"
"Food. It does a body good. Mint chocolate chip, if you please," he says to the lady working the miniature ice cream cart miles away from the food court where it SHOULD be.
"You just polished off two plates of jambalaya and half of a baked potato with ham and cheese! HOW can you still be hungry?!?"
"So do you want some or not?" he asks, ignoring my question as he hands over his money for the cone.
I cross my arms. "I'm not hungry, thank you."
"Ok, first the skirt, the shoes, the breasts, and NOW you're worried about gaining a little WEIGHT?" He approaches me, cone in hand, an incredulous look tinged with amusement on his features. "You really ARE turning into a woman--" he smirks slyly, "--WOMAN."
I lightly shove him away, careful to avoid the ice cream looming menacincly over my borrowed white shirt. "And you really ARE a pig, PIG."
Yet another smile. "Oink oink."
Which only confirms the suspicion that he really IS the cutest guy I've ever met.
***
"Oh, GOD, Buttercup," he moans exaggeratedly, waving the still full scooped mint chocolate chip cone under my nonexistant nose, "this ice cream is simply ORGASMIC."
A couple walking with their kid in tow shoot a menacing look at us, cover the child's ears, then hurry away.
I glance darkly at my companion. "That word doesn't exactly stimulate my appetite, Butch."
"What? You mean ORGASMIC?" he questions innocently. This time a group of teenagers passing by do their best to stifle their juvenile laughter as they point at us and giggle.
I open my mouth to retort but change my mind and sit down on a bench instead. "Well," I whisper playfully, lowering my eyelids, crossing my legs, and fiddling with the top button of my shirt, "not for ice cream anyway."
Butch sits next to me, reclining against the bench's arm and propping his legs up on my lap, grinning all the while. "It's a wonder you haven't had a boyfriend YET."
"You scare 'em all off."
He whimpers like a puppy. "Does that mean you don't want me hanging around you anymore?"
"Yes. Go away. Now. On second thought, no. Stay."
"Why the sudden change of heart?"
I snatch the cone from his unsuspecting hand and help myself. "Because I really DO want some ice cream."
"HAH!" He points accusingly at me. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist!"
I purse my lips and take another lick. "You know damn well mint chocolate chip's my favorite."
Now he smirks. "I was actually talking about my suave debonair charms."
He makes a grab back for his cone but I maneuver it out of his reach. "Charms?! Pft! Charm my ass."
Suddenly his head is resting on my shoulder. "Is that an invitation?" He tugs at my skirt and surreptitiously runs his tongue over his teeth with a smile.
"Git offa me, you sicko," I growl, laughing as I push him away. "You are such a FLIRT."
"Only because you took my ice cream!" he whines, pouting again.
My turn to smirk. "Take it back. Your cone's too small anyway."
His eyes go wide and he fakes a gasp. "Too small? Just what are you trying to say, Buttercup?!"
"TakeitbacktakeitbacktakeitBACK!" I shriek, doubling over with laughter and thrusting the ice cream in his face.
"Thank you!" He gratefully plucks it from my grasp and proceeds to finish the rest of it in a few bites.
With a content sigh he leans back, legs still propped up on my lap. I take the liberty of tossing them off, which causes Butch to topple off the bench and crash at a weird angle on the floor.
"Jerk." I stick my tongue out at him.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm a jerk with a view," he says evilly and begins nodding his head in approval. "A very NICE view," he rephrases and it's at this moment that I notice his gaze is directed at the lower portion of my body--
"AUGH!" My face immediately turns a bright red and I roughly kick him away. He slides on his ass to the other side of the walkway, laughing histerically.
What I'm sure is the entire populace of the mall turns to stare us, and with a huff I walk myself over to him and drag him off by the collar of his shirt, mumbling something about how I hope he laughs so hard he chokes.
***
"I hope you realize I'm perfectly capable of walking myself," he grumbles some time later, obviously a bit sour after I dragged him up and down a few escalators.
By command I abruptly release his collar and his head drops with a loud (and strangely satisfying) 'THUD' on the tile floor.
"Fine then," I lightly comment, crossing my arms and taking a few steps before turning to watch him nurse his injured head.
He props himself up on one elbow and rubs the back of his head with the other hand, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth and squeezing an eye shut.
I find a silly grin developing on my face and quickly suppress it, reminding myself that he'll be gone all summer and besides, it's useless to fawn over a guy who'll never see me as anything more than a friend. . .
I take a deep breath and turn away, taking another couple of steps. I pause and shut my eyes. 'But even so. . . '
Another deep breath. I take my time exhaling, blowing the uncharacteristic bangs out of my face.
"God I'm gonna miss you," I mumble quietly under my breath, eyes still squeezed shut.
"It's not too late to change your mind," a voice whispers, and my eyes fly open to find Butch looming over me, concerned.
I quickly back away, embarrassed he heard me. "Um, a-about what?" I stumble over the words, avoiding his gaze.
He leans over in my line of vision. "About whether you want me leaving with Kendall tomorrow or not," he says with the utmost seriousness, no trace of a smile on his face. "Just say the word. And I'll. . . I'll stay."
I force a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous," I protest, moving to walk past him.
"I'm SERIOUS, Buttercup." He starts following me. "If you want me to stay here with you--"
"Come off it, Butch," I say roughly.
My voice is on the verge of cracking.
"You already have your ticket and everything--"
"Bloody hell, Buttercup, you know God damn well that doesn't make a shit of a difference," he snaps.
Surprised, I whirl around to face him, shocked at the ferocity with which he spoke. His attention is focused on the window of some store, closed for renovations.
He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales before continuing. "I'm serious, Buttercup," he repeats. "I mean," he turns to me, "I don't wanna leave you-- don't wanna leave you here alone. After all," and he smiles ironically, "whaddya gonna do without me around to keep you company?"
What AM I going to do without you?
"Maybe find a boyfriend." I intend to reply jokingly, but it comes out sounding fake and bitter.
"Hmp." Butch snorts a bit and walks past me.
"'Hmp?!' What the hell is THAT supposed to mean?"
"It means good luck," he casually answers.
"Oh, *I* see," I emphasize with my hands on my hips and voice dripping with sarcasm, "you don't think I'm capable of holding down a guy, do you?"
"It's not that," Butch lightly protests. He stops walking.
"I meant good luck finding a guy worthy of you."
***
It feels. . . like a huge dead weight has just been dropped on my shoulders.
My arms fall to my sides, my legs buckle a bit, and I'm suddenly exhausted despite the fact I'm wide awake.
"Wh-wha. . . ?"
Somehow I can't exactly place the 't' at the end of the word.
Butch lets his air out through his teeth, runs a hand briskly through his hair then abruptly shoves them both into the pockets of his jeans. He jingles his car keys twice and turns.
Dead serious.
"Really, Buttercup," and he starts walking towards me, which in turn makes me want to whirl around and run, but I can't move, "ask any guy--ANY guy-- you've ever hung out with from the time you could--I dunno--CHEW--and he will tell you," he pauses, having reached me, "you are one of the most FASCINATING members of the opposite sex it has ever been his pleasure to meet."
I force what is probably my 500th fake laugh of the day. "You're exaggerating--"
"Oh, come on, Buttercup!" he suddenly explodes. "You--you--"
He yanks his hands out of his pockets and starts gesturing wildly toward me. "Where the hell do I start? You don't back down from a fight! You don't worry about what you eat or if you're getting fat! You'd rather stay home and play video games than go shopping! You watch the Super Bowl! You don't care if you get dirty! Hell, you MAKE dirty jokes ALL THE FRIGGIN' TIME! You belch, you punch, you kick, and God DAMN you sure can beat the shit outta people! Not to mention you drink and cuss like a sailor! But wait--" he holds up his hands to stop me from interrupting "--that's only the HALF of it. In addition to being sick and sporty and, let's face it, EXCRUCIATINGLY violent at times, you're a really thoughtful, deep, and. . . " he shakes his head, trying to find the word, "God forbid, intelligent person. Yet you don't give a shit about IMPRESSING anyone. You NEVER go out of your way to make a good first impression and end up doing just that! And as far as looks go--"
Once again he pauses.
"You really can be quite a beautiful person once someone really gets to know you," he finally states, blushing a bit.
My body temperature rises considerably, and I'm betting it shows in the color of my face.
"I mean--" His eyes leave my face and dart around, avoiding me. "--well, when someone first meets you, they may not think you're much of a knockout, but. . . " He scrapes his upper lip against his teeth. ". . . after they've known you for quite some time, they start to see that you're. . . um, well. . ."
He blushes even more. "Really. . . pretty," he finishes softly.
His eyes fall to the floor.
I. . . honestly can't say I know how to respond to that.
Though my heart has apparently taken advantage of this moment to start pumping every ounce of available adrenaline to each vein and artery laced within my body.
"And you know what else?" he says abruptly, the redness starting to leave his face.
He doesn't wait for an answer. "Baby you sure can COOK."
This last one sounds so ridiculous that I can't help but break out of my daze and bust out laughing.
"Still not done," Butch interjects. He takes me by the hands and looks straight at me, cutting my laughter short.
Proper breathing appears to have been rendered superfluous for me lately as my lungs tightly contract, as does my stomach.
"Buttercup, there is NO other girl, super powers or not, who is like you. You are one in a million in a million. Granted, there are people--women especially--who probably aren't very. . . fond of you. But. . . coming from your best friend, you--well, you--"
And he suddenly drops my hands and gives a forced laugh of his own.
"And now I'm babbling and just not making any sense at all, so I should just stop talking," he chuckles, raising one hand to his head as it shakes in disapproval.
"No, continue," I encourage him, smiling. That adrenaline seems to have been good for something after all. "I'm. . . what?" I look at him expectantly, inwardly surprised at my confidence.
His hand falls to his side. "Well, you're. . ." He shrugs. "I--I dunno, you're. . . you're. . . " he trails off again.
I cross my arms and raise an invisible eyebrow, still smiling. "Super?"
He breaks into a grin and nods slowly in agreement.
"Yeah," he says softly, staring at my face. "You're super. That's why," he reaches towards me and smoothes a stray bang from my face, "you should find a guy worthy of someone as. . . super as you."
At this point I'm feeling so connected, so sure there's a wave of electricity or something surging between us that's impossible to ignore, and I'm so tempted to breach whatever barrier is left and just take his face in my hands and kiss it when he breaks away and it disappears, leaving me to wonder How? How?
How could he not FEEL that?
We were so close, so together, how could he completely ignore all of it and just turn away so EASILY?
My head and my heart scream at me TELLTELLTELLTELLTELL him, bring him back, bring him back, forget about your God damn pride and just tell him HOW YOU FEEL--
"Look, Buttercup," he starts uneasily, turning away slightly. "I know. . . I know this is probably. . . or maybe more than likely, I guess, I think, sound, um, a little bit. . . strange, or. . . well, maybe really WEIRD, but. . . well. . . I. . .
. . . I have a confession to make."
***
Nothing.
Nothing but dead air.
The word CONFESSION hangs in the dark like a huge neon sign, taunting me, harrassing me, driving me absolutely insane.
"Confession?" I whisper, my voice sounding small and tiny.
Butch takes a deep breath and turns back towards me.
"Buttercup," he pauses and takes another deep breath, "sometimes I look at you, and . . . I see the person. . . the girl that you are and. . . I. . . I. . . "
"And you what?" I choke out, thinking It can't be it can't be it can't be. . .
". . . I look at you, and I can't help. . . can't help but wish. . . "
"Yes?"
It can't be can't be can't can't CAN'T--
"I wish I could've fallen in love with a girl like you."
***
It isn't.
The sound magically returns. I can hear the bustling of people, the gentle stream of the fountains. Somewhere off in the distance some birds are chirping and a baby starts to cry.
But I guess it's the result of some kind of scientific reaction, because now that I can hear all THOSE things I can't seem to hear Butch.
His mouth moves and smiles and forms shapes and what I'm sure is words but the only words I keep hearing above the symphony of noise is "I WISH I could've fallen in love with you."
Meaning he doesn't love me.
Meaning he isn't in love with me.
Meaning I will never, EVER be more than a friend, and it was stupid of me to think so, stupid of me to think it would change, stupid to get my hopes up over a silly little word like "confess. . . "
Stupid.
Rightfully oblivious to the turmoil of emotions somewhere deep in my chest cavity, Butch smiles and turns, starting to walk again. I move to follow but just. . . just can't.
My feet seem to have anchored themselves in the tile and all I can do is watch, watch him walk farther and farther away, leaving me behind and alone and hurt and confused and angry, so God damn ANGRY. . .
. . . at myself for being such an IDIOT.
"Idiot," I snarl under my breath, and violently punch the air, using so much force I spin around on my feet a few times before I steady myself again.
I give the empty space another hit, though what I really want to do is drop to the floor, hug my knees to my chest, and just. . . cry.
Cry out in the middle of all these people, Butch included, who couldn't possibly know how miserable I feel, how heartbroken, but most of all, how stupid and how upset I am at myself for feeling the way I did. . .
. . . and still do.
I stop beating up the oxygen and let my arms hang limply at my sides, the snarl on my face softening.
For a while I just stand there, in the midst of hundreds of people. It seems like the crowds are bigger now, which must mean it's late afternoon and mall traffic is always, for whatever reason, higher around 3 to 4.
Teenagers and moms and little kids shove past me, some of them grumbling something about people who never think of others. I ignore them all, trying to work out one Why? in my head.
Why do you still love him even though you know now for sure you'll only always be his FRIEND?
All of a sudden something smooth and cool drops onto my neck and slides down my shirt and at first I think 'Oh God no I'm not CRYING, am I?' until I notice the thing, whatever it was, or is, is dangling from a golden chain.
At the base of the back of my neck I hear a clasp shutting and feel a slight tickle as the chain drops onto my skin. I whirl around to find Butch, his arms slowly lowering, smiling the genuine smile at me.
"How do you like it?" he prods gently.
"Like what?" I say, confused.
He rolls his eyes and grins playfully. "The NECKLACE, you big dummy. How do you like the necklace?" Without waiting for an answer he reaches toward me and strokes the delicate chain. "Or not so much the necklace, but the pendant."
He starts to reach for the pendant down my shirt but catches himself and snaps his hand back, blushing a bit. "Um, I probably better let you get that."
Wordlessly I reach down my shirt, find the trinket and lift it towards my face.
"It's--it's jade," I remark, eyes darting to the jade stone hanging from his own neck. This one is different, though: instead of a carved mini-rod of stone it forms a ring, a polished green ring, and in the middle of this ring is some Chinese or Japanese character, exquisitely carved out of gold.
"Why. . . when did you get this?" I question, disbelieving.
"Just now." He shoots me his adorable confused look (STOP IT BUTTERCUP). "Don't you remember me asking you to wait here for a few minutes while I went off to 'do something?' Or are you completely zoning out on me now? It's only 3:37!"
"What does it mean?" I indicate the asian word nestled in the ring.
He gently pries the charm from my grasp and examines it. "You'd have to ask your sister. Let's just say. . ." he turns his attention to me and smiles his genuine smile again, "it's supposed to represent our relationship. Or friendship, you know," he quickly corrects, and drops the pendant back against my skin, where it slips back down my shirt, and it takes all my self control to keep from ripping it from my neck.
I can't wear this.
I can't have something so physically close to my heart that is a constant reminder of the extent of our relationship, of the lack of feelings of love for me as a non-friend Butch harbors, a constant reminder to me and everyone around me that 'Hey, Butch got me this because he loves me but not because he LOVES me. . . '
"So do you like it?" Butch inquires expectantly, anxious for some sort of response.
The cold jade feels refreshing against my skin but burns inside my chest, steadily pulsing DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU--
"It's beautiful," I say softly, cracking a thin smile on my face.
"Wonderful." He smiles that GODDAMN SMILE YET AGAIN and it melts and shatters my heart at the same time.
"I hoped you'd like it."
Taking my hand he twirls me around and starts walking. I obediently follow, limp and wilting like a rotting vegetable as we walk, steps matching the steady rhythm of DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU DOESN'T LOVE YOU.
And he probably never will.
*end pt. V*
and i could end it there but that would just be cruel and unusual punishment for you guys. plus i have more coming anyway.
i apologize for any editing mistakes i made. my contacts are all worn out after being in my eyeballs for fifteen hours *_*
it took a hella long time to type this up. notepad (what i usually type my stuff in) busted out on me, saying it (the chapter) was too big and i had to transfer to word to finish typing the blasted thing.
for anyone who cares, this chapter itself took up maybe a fourth of my new notebook (new since i left all my other ones back in austin .) and 15 pages in word on size 10 times new roman font. it may not read very long, but damn, you sure feel it when you have to write this piece of shit up. . .
much angst toward the end. but angst can be good. plot twists galore. . . well, maybe not, but i'm just twisted. school starts in a little over a month. i hope i finish this thing before then.
and i used to have that necklace butch gave buttercup, only with red jade, not green. just in case anyone was interested in knowing that useless trivia bit.
review if you feel so inclined. i heart you ever so muchly, faithful readers :)