In some ways, agreeing with Mitch was a good thing. When he found out about the problem, he became a very sweet, though extremely overprotective person. He was there to help her get out of her bed, down the stairs and into the kitchen. He cooked for them almost every day. He was there for her. Just like she needed someone to be.

In some ways, though, agreeing with him didn't really feel as good. She kept comparing him to a certain somebody, from the way he cooked to the way he comforted her. She felt like she was using him, and that made her feel guilty. She was trying, though. Trying to make her heart feel something for him. Unfortunately, all she felt for him was a sibling-like bond, the same as always. She wanted to feel something deeper, but deep in her heart, she could feel the yearning. The yearning to be with Butch.

Ever since Mitch came back into her life, she kept all the pictures of her and Butch safely underneath her bed. She didn't buy any business magazines, knowing his face would pop up one way or another. She made Mitch look at the newspaper before even reading it herself.

She wanted him, though. She wanted him, but he didn't want her, and if that redheaded bitch was his preference, then so be it. She didn't want to be like one of those divorced women who get drunk and mope and lose themselves over losing their husbands, but every single day without him made her feel insecure and worthless.

Ever since the divorce, she started to hate her reflection. She could hear it in her head, mocking her, telling her she wasn't good enough. At times, she learned to ignore the voices, but sometimes, looking at a mirror, she could see why he left. Why would anyone want her, anyway? She could see the stretch marks from her pregnancy, how she gained weight, how plain her hair was, and how dull her eyes where.

Why would anyone choose plain old her over Berserk, a sexy, thin, wild haired, bright eyed girl? Why would they go for her when they could get the next new thing?

Mitch caught her like that, staring at the mirror, with a look of disgust and self ridicule as she glared at herself. He turned the mirror around.

He then hugged her, rubbed her back, and murmured sweet words, bringing her back to reality. A reality were someone actually wanted her. A reality where he was there for her, holding her like she was a precious gem, afraid that she would disappear. She returned the hug, holding him just as tight. He was her anchor. He made her feel special. He made her feel...loved.

This is why she tries. She tries hard to change her heart's mind. Why cry for a traitor, a heartbreaker, when someone was already there for you? Why beg for a person to come back, when you already have a person thst would actually wait for you? Why question it?

Maybe it was a second chance. Her own second chance. Maybe the world was giving her a chance to be with him. She was glad. Someone cared. Someone loved her with all his heart. Someone who would't abandon her. Someone who would actually be there for her.

She smiled on his chest. Yes. She will learn to love him. She will learn to feel the same way he does. In the end, she just really wanted to feel something true. Something she thought she had experienced years ago.

For both their sakes, she will try.

o O o

Butch was clutching onto her. He was clutching on to her as she held on to him, too. They were, for once, not having sex. They were just...there. Beside each other, feeling each other.

Butch should be happy. He should be fucking proud of himself, having a sexy as fuck woman in his arms. Her arms wrspped around her should make him feel blissful. But why the hell did her touch made him feel dirty?

As he continued to rub her soft, flawless back, his eyes couldn't help but wonder back to a certain woman. She wouldn't have had such soft skin. She was a fighter, her skin littered with tiny scars in almost every part of her body.

As the woman he was with began whisper dirty things in his ear, things that she wanted for him to do, instead of having a hard-on, he began to remember his ex-wife's face, how red it would turn when he would whisper sweet things to her. How she would scowl, her face as red as a tomato, as she tried to whack him with anything close to her reach. He would chuckle as he quickly take the object from her, before placing it down and lifting her up, kissing her lips.

He blinked, before trying to push away the memories of her. Why the fuck would he even think of that? He was free. He was a fucking free man, for crying out loud! He shouldn't think of her in that light, not now.

He kissed the woman he was with, she groaned in delight, kissing him back. He tried to forget her, but instead of seeing the woman's sexy body, instead of seeing Berserk's face as he began to fuck her, he saw Buttercup's. He imagined it was her. All of a sudden, he knew he was fucked.