Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than the plot. These characters are not my own. (The main ones at least)
Hope you guys enjoy this story! I am trying something a little different, so please bear with me.
Buttercup would be lying if she said she hated him. No, she didn't hate her husband. Though some didn't believe it, she loved him. She swore the world painted her as a villainous wrench with a deadly vendetta against her idiotic, hyperactive, loon of a husband.
When they officially started dating in their early-twenties, everyone who didn't know the extent of their friendship before their relationship, shook their heads and breathed heresy.
"Why would she date a guy like him? She must like being dominant. With a guy like him, she has to be…"
"He's so immature! With both of their tempers, someone's gonna get hurt.."
They might argue more than other couples, but the fighting never turned physical. At least not towards each other.
Sure, she'd thrown a vase toward his feet once, and he'd once thrown a lousy punch at their bedroom wall in frustration. Not enough to put a hole in the wall completely, but it did leave a dent that they promptly covered over with a framed photograph.
A black and white photo of the beach they went to on their 3rd wedding anniversary. She'd later realize the irony of it all.
She loves his smile, his laughter. His strength, his eyes. She loves when he'd hold her as they watched some cheesy horror movie with a piss poor critic rating. He always chose the most campish, ridiculous, over-the-top ones that would have them bursting at the seams with laughter. She loved how he could make her happy.
She opened her eyes bleary, arms reaching out in search of the body that should have been laying next to her. As her eyes gained focus, she turned her head to look at the empty sheets. Her hands could feel how cold they were.
She shifted in her bed and curled against the comforter that engulfed her body. Pressing her nose against his pillow, she breathed in his lingering scent.
A woody, dark tea tree smell. Very reminiscent of the cologne she'd gotten him for his thirty-second birthday.
The bathroom door was open, if he was here, he would have closed it. For some reason he hated when doors were left open. She on the other hand didn't care at all.
The room was quiet. There wasn't a creak nor whisper, she was alone. Reaching for her phone that sat haphazardly on her nightstand, Buttercup looked at the time. 6 am, Wednesday morning. Looking through her notifications she noticed a text from her husband.
She skimmed it. Something about how he had over time and would have to stay in the office late. He sent various heart emojis and said that he would be staying at his younger brother's apartment for the night. An apartment with the convenient location of being 2 blocks away from his office building.
Mitch never came home last night. It was the seventh time this month he'd done this. She understood, truly she did. Being the marketing director for one of the largest companies in the city was no easy job. Especially when freshly promoted for said role. He'd been working his way up at his company for the past ten, eleven years.
But just because she understood, that didn't mean she had to like it. Him and his overtime was one of the things they argued about the most. For all the things she loved about him, she had things she disliked as well. That's just the way it is, she figured. She made a mental note to speak with him again.
She was tired of waking up alone. Eating breakfast alone. Preparing and eating dinner alone. She was tired of being alone. Sure, she had her sisters, and her parents, but it didn't help that she and her husband lived on the opposite coast.
They relocated mostly for Mitch's sake. As a teacher, she was able to move around with more ease than others. At first, she didn't mind it. She was exploring Portland with excitement. The naturescapes and city life was fresh and new to her. She'd hiked and biked all over Oregon with Mitch until the site of mountains made her head swim.
Still groggy, she began to pull off her black nightgown. It pooled at her feet and she kicked it away in the direction of their closet. She'd pick it up later.
Yawning and stretching, she went about her shower routine with her thoughts filled with what she had planned for the day. She wouldn't bother making anything for breakfast. A granola bar and juice would suffice. Work was going to be tiresome. She had lesson plans to revise and a long night of listening to parents praise, berate, or embarrass their kids for 3 hours straight.
She'd probably eat at the parent teacher conference, so no need to cook dinner either.
Buttercup spent more time in the bathroom than she intended to, sprinting into her closet, she almost slipped on the damned nightgown.
What would people say if the Buttercup Mitchellson slipped on a piece of cloth, busted her head open and bled out for god knows how long because her husband had fucking overtime he wouldn't dare oppose. One of the "toughest" women in her hometown, Townsville. Her epitaph would be a joke.
Grabbing the nearest sweater and slacks, she groaned at how teacher like the outfit looked. The sweater she grabbed was a black knit one with sliver thread weaved throughout. She grabbed a long white cardigan and some random silver charm bracelets. The slacks were something she never thought she would ever buy let alone wear.
She loved being a teacher, but she never thought she'd become one of those teachers.
Her 2nd grade classroom was decked out in the most colorful decorations. Good student charts and star stickers were a staple in her room. She had a shelf near her desk that was dedicated to all of the teacher related mugs and cups she'd been gifted by students over the years.
The largest drawer in her desk was nearly spilled over with all of the birthday and thank you acards students and parents had either made or bought her, and her student's drawings were plastered on the "art wall" of her classroom.
If you told her fifteen years ago that she would be an elementary school teacher, willingly spending time with sometimes bratty kids and suffering through horrible parent encounters, she'd laugh so hard that tears would fall down her red face.
One for her life long best friends, Butch thought she'd be an MMA fighter when they were kids. Only because she was good at Judo and Karate growing up. She picked up boxing too in high school, but that was just for fun.
Buttercup thought she would be some sort of CIA operative. Or secret service; that would have been cool.
Once she got to college, she took one early education studies class that changed her whole life. It fascinated her, and working with kids was something she'd already had experience doing.
Trampling down the stairs of her home she grabbed her "breakfast" and piled her seemingly never-ending documents, folders, and oversized bookbag into her car.
She took a brief moment to take in her front yard. The grass needed to be cut, and the neighbor's dog dug up the lavender plants she'd planted a week ago. Buttercup knew if she caught that damned dog and held it as ransom for her poor flowers, she'd be the bad guy.
She sent a quick text to Mitch and sped off to work. Plotting different ways to approach her neighbors about their pompous little (admittedly adorable) pest of a dog, she broke the speed limit in her attempt to get to work early and prepared for the first time in a week and a half.
It was nearly lunch time. Cafeteria food was generally gross, with its undercooked and unseasoned vegetables and its nearly spoiled milk and dry poultry. Today was a special treat. "Galaxy Pizza" was on the menu today, and she was determined it grab some before they ran out.
She even released her class to lunch 10 minutes before their allotted time, all for some stupid baked dogh. A simple small round shaped pizza with tiny chunks of pepperoni and pasta sauce under a layer of (sometimes) burnt cheese.
She had no clue why it was named that. Maybe something with the shape being circular? Like a planet? She decided not to think about it too hard.
"Mrs. Mitchellson! Ready for parent/teacher night?"
That voice sent chills down her spine. Jamison Cole. The one teacher in this school who had the balls to try to flirt with her. No matter how often she mentioned her marriage, flashed her quite sizeable wedding ring, or outright declared herself married, that man never stopped his stupid advances.
He was a student teacher under her guidance a few years back, and he'd stuck to her like glue. Roughly twenty-six years old now, he was eight years younger than her. She had no clue why he couldn't just mess with someone else.
Not that his age really meant anything. He was quite mature most of the time, and was a damned good teacher. He did learn under the best, so Buttercup had to give herself a pat on the back.
Turning to look for the face to match the voice, she saw him sitting with a couple of other teachers his age, waving at her like an eager child.
His dirty blonde hair was side swept stylishly, she guessed. His eyes were admittedly a pretty dark hazel, and he'd had the longest eyelashes Buttercup had ever seen on a guy.
They framed his eyes in a charming way, but Buttercup still didn't think he was some beautiful Greek God like his fanclub did.
He had his own posse of male and female faculty that practically worshipped the ground he walked on.
She gave them a business-like like smile, and walked closer so she didn't have to yell across the cafeteria.
"As ready as I'll ever be. I still have some things to square away so I'm going to take my lunch to my room. See you guys tonight?"
She really didn't feel like talking to him specifically at the moment, nevertheless sit down and eat beside him.
She might've lost her lunch if she did. His gaze on her would make her shudder so hard, she'd hurl.
"Yup! See you." He gave her a smirk that would have mirrored Butch's so well if Jamison didn't feel like a creep half the time.
She hadn't spoken to Butch in a while. They texted often. Every week for sure, but she hadn't actually heard his voice in what felt like months.
They were best friends who tried to become more once upon a time, but the timing was off. Then she started dating Mitch, and they agreed to stay friends with no hard feelings. He was everything to Buttercup at one point, sometimes she feels like he still is.
She received a chorus of "seeing you later's" from the other teachers and she gave them one last smile before she turned and left the cafeteria with her food in tow.
Did she ever mention how much she hated parent conferences? There was that same business-like smile plastered on her face. She felt like tearing her hair out.
"Cory is doing so well this semester. He's got his multiplication tables down already. He's reading at a fourth grade level too! I think he will be all set for passing his finals in the Spring."
She wasn't lying, but she refused to be overly critical either. Kids are kids. Not robots. Some parents never understand that.
"Oh that's wonderful! Absolutely wonderful."
The mother in front of her was elated, but Buttercup could see the exhaustion in her eyes. In the way she held her son's hand and slumped tiredly against the child.
Buttercup knew Corey had two younger siblings, and she knew some of Corey's home situation. His father was absent, for reasons she did not know. His mother was juggling raising her kids, working, and trying to be mom of the year all at the same time.
In Buttercup's eyes, Corey's mother was SuperWoman. Though Buttercup loved kids, she had none of her own. It was agreed between her and Mitch that they waited until he was more stable in his career.
At first Mitch never wanted kids. He always said he feared being like his own father. A deadbeat. A man who would abandon his kid just to grasp at his early youth in the form of parties, drinking, and debauchery.
Buttercup would be damned if he turned out that way under her watch. It took some convincing and a couple of therapy sessions, but Mitch slowly opened up to the thought of having a family.
She didn't think she would have married him when she did if he was still so against it.
A child would make the home less lonely, she assumed. The quietness of the house consumed her sometimes. Sometimes, she'd go to the bar they'd always go to, just to be near people when Mitch took on overtime. Just to hear noise. Just to feel seen. Just to feel alive…
Maybe she needed to talk to a therapist herself.
Her meetings were now over, and she'd finished all of her lesson planning, color-coding of documents, and did a light redecorating. Her students drew their favorite cartoon characters. The amount of Paw Patrol drawing she was handed today was staggeringly large.
It was now 7pm, and she decided to finally leave. Mitch hadn't texted her about overtime again, so there was an 85 percent chance he was home. Food was provided during the conference, but she hoped that if he was home, that he'd cooked something. Her stomach felt like it was eating itself.
Climbing into her car, she made her way home. As she pulled into her street, she saw Mitch's car in the driveway. Her stomach flipped, it felt like she hadn't seen him in forever.
She carefully grabbed all of her things and dug around for her front door keys. After a little struggle, she got the door open. The first thing that greeted her was the smell of alcohol. Whiskey to be exact, and she knew they didn't have that in the house, only wine.
"Mitch?" She called out. Following the scent with her nose, she found the source in the living room.
In the darkness, Mitch sat with his head hanging down. Gripping the neck of the bottle so tightly, she was afraid he'd crack it.
"Mitch, baby what's wrong?" She approached him carefully.
He only drank like this once before. It was when his mother had a car accident that almost took her life when Mitch was in college. He sat in Buttercup's dorm room and drank till passed out.
"Mitch? C'mon. You're making me scared. Talk to me."
"If I talk, you'll leave me." Mitch slurred. His head rolling back, she could now see how cold his eyes looked. Like he was stone. Unfeeling.
She moved to sit next to him on the couch, just as she touched down on the cushion, he shot up. Standing above her, he growled out in frustration.
It was a miracle that he didn't topple over immediately.
"You'll leave me! You'll pack all your shit...my shit and leave. I know you!" He spat, staggering as he backed away from her.
"Mitch. Calm down and talk to me. Let's sit and talk it out." She felt like she was talking to one of her 2nd graders, she wondered if he felt that was too.
"You won't talk it out. You'll probably just bitch at me like usual and leave. You always leave." Mitch turned to walk away on unsteady feet. He fumbled against the coffee table.
Buttercup caught him fast enough that his head didn't bash the corner.
"Mitch, you're drunk. Let's get you to bed and we'll talk when you're sober." She moved to pull him on his feet.
"How can I tell you I got Rachel pregnant when I'm sober?"
At that she promptly let him go. She heard a loud thud and briefly wondered if it was his head against the wood.
"W-what?" Buttercup tried to steady her breaths. Her throat started to feel tight.
Buttercup, croaked. A sob bubbled in her chest. "What?! Mitch, I swear to God-"
Mitch groaned. "There it is. The bitching."
She fought the urge to slap him. To hit him. To make him hurt the way she was.
Rachel was his coworker. A woman Buttercup had met multiple times. A tall,almost waifish looking brunette with green eyes and pale skin. A woman who the opposite to Buttercup's shorter height, thicker frame, and warmer sandy complexion.
A woman who always smiled at her and greeted her with a hug.
Mitch sat against the coach on the floor, not caring to sit next to his wife. He seemed more sober than before, but still drunker than tipsy.
"We had an affair. She got pregnant. She's keeping the baby."
He spoke so casually, like it was nothing to him. Buttercup couldn't breathe.
Buttercup gasped, "Overtime wasn't actually overtime." The pieces fell into place for her. Buttercup felt so stupid, so betrayed.
"Not all the time, no. We would go to my brother's apartment, when he was out. He had no idea. It just happened. Then it kept happening."
She felt her shoulder shake, "How long?"
Mitch scoffed and pulled an expression as if he was calculating rocket science, "Dunno, a year? Year and half?"
Buttercup stood, and made her way to the stairs. As she went up them, she heard him call out, " I told you. You always leave. You never listen to me. It's no wonder why I fucking cheated! How can I be happy with such a bitch?!"
She didn't even respond. As she got upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind her, she crumbled to the ground. She didn't know when she'd started crying, and she definitely didn't know when she cried herself to sleep.
"How could he do this to me? Why?"
Why didn't he communicate with her? Speak to her? Hell, divorce her? Was it the excitement of doing something forbidden?
Did he just want to hurt her? He said that she never listened to him, how could she listen to something that was never said?
She cried till her throat was sore. She bawled until her eyes were bloodshot. Eventually, the world went dark.
Opening her eyes, Buttercup took in her surroundings, a bit out of sorts and wondering why her rear stung so badly. She was still on the ground, her back pressed against the locked door of her master bedroom.
She reached for her phone as it lay on the ground next to her and noted the time, 3:12 am. She must've passed out for a couple of hours.
Then she was taken aback by the amount of missed phone calls and text messages she had from all of her family members. Her mother-in-law called her 10 times, and messaged her more than a handful of times. Her mother and father called her in total about twelve times, they reached out in the family chat, asking if she was ok.
Her sister's called even more.
Butch called her eight times. His frantic messages were completely unlike him. His brothers had called her a couple of times as well.
Rachel had called her once. Seeing her name made Buttercup's blood boil.
She read every text and her heart dropped. She frantically scrolled through them all. Confused and horrified.
Mitch was in the hospital. How? When? He was down stairs. She knew she left him downstairs.
She continued reading.
Drunk driving, Mitch crashed into a pole. Almost died on impact. He was now in emergency surgery.
Buttercup didn't know whether to scream, cry, or laugh. So she did all three.
An ungodly sound ripped through her throat. She sobbed, and laughed and choked. Rawness scratching at her voice she could barely take even breaths.
She'd never felt more broken in her life. Never felt such despair. Never felt so...strange.
When he admitted what he'd done, she almost wished for him to drop dead. She willed his head to explode, his neck to break.
She wanted him to choke on his alcoholic puke and lay there till he went silent.
Her malice was so strong, Buttercup almost convinced herself that she did that to him.
She caused his accident.
It rung in her head.
The last thing he'd called her was "Bitch". She didn't know if it was the alcohol that made him say that. A part of her believed that he really did think she was one.
With the way she'd wanted him to suffer hours ago, maybe she was one. A bitch with a deadly vendetta against her idiotic, asshole of a husband.
He'd called her a bitch in high school, more than a handful of times. Each time she'd given him a solid punch to the closest part of his body.
Whether it was his arm as he laughed and cooed at her to "chill" or a quick punch to his shoulder that made him wince in pain and surprise, she always let him know just how much she hated being called that.
She hated it, and now as she drove with shaking hands to the Emergency Care Hospital address her mother-in-law texted to her over an hour ago, she felt the tendrils of hate bubbling in her stomach for her husband.
Her husband that she loved so much.
She took her time. Something about the fact that he'd gotten into a wreck, albeit pitifully drunk, made her more cautious as she watched the few cars on the streets speed past her. A part of her was in no rush to see her husband hooked up with tubes and wires.
She'd made it to the hospital in roughly thirty-five minutes. If she drove like a normal person would've with such news, she could've gotten there in twenty.
She'd already messaged her parents and sisters that she was fine, and that she would speak to them in the morning.
They were worried about Mitch. She almost told them not to be.
She messaged Butch before she'd even gotten into her car. She told him the same thing.
The emergency wing was nearly empty. Two people she'd recognize in an instant we're crying. Well, it was more like one was sobbing and the other looked blank.
Mitch's mother and step-father. She approached them quietly, but the sound of her tennis shoes against the vinyl flooring alerted them of her arrival. She wondered where his brother was.
"Buttercup! Oh, honey. I-I don't even know what to say! Mitch, h-he-"
Buttercup watched as the woman choked on her own words.
Martha was a sweet woman. A caring mother, who did her best for her children. She reminded Buttercup of Corey's mother. Their eyes held that same tiredness, the same warmth.
Gregory was the best step-father a kid could ask for. Mitch was his son, there was no argument. He stepped up when Mitch's biological father didn't.
Greg was a good man. Too bad he couldn't raise Mitch to be just as good.
Buttercup knew she looked like a mess. She left home with her work clothes still on. In her crying fits, she'd never gotten to change.
"He's on life support still, right?" Buttercup didn't have the energy to seem sympathetic.
"Yes, I just- How did he get that drunk? Why? Where was he going?"
Martha questioned. Greg stayed mum, blank and empty.
Buttercup sat down slowly into the seat next to Martha. Letting her head fall back. Martha didn't seem to know anything about Mitch's infidelity.
Buttercup decided that she would have to know.
"He got drunk...because he wanted to tell me about his affair. He told me, I stormed off. I cried till I passed out."
Martha flinched. Her hand clenched and she swung her body forward, collapsing into herself.
"No, no. Mitch, he's- he wouldn't." Martha cried.
Buttercup continued, " For a year and a half, he had an affair with Rachel Haines...from work. He got her pregnant."
At this Gregory broke. He could barely breathe.
"I don't know where he went after I blacked out. Possibly to Rachel's? I missed a call from her."
It hurt Buttercup to see Martha and Greg like this. They did nothing wrong.
It felt like hours went by with both parents saying nothing.
A doctor approached them softly. Buttercup saw him look away and back, the look on his face professionally grim and sympathetic.
"Family of Mitch Mitchellson?"
She knew what he was going to say. She felt it.
"I'm sorry to inform you that he didn't make it through the surgery."
That laughter, sobbing sensation came back. She clasped her hand over her mouth and screamed silently. Her vision blurred with tears, and she felt sick.
Martha almost collapsed. Greg closed his eyes.
Mitch Mitchellson was gone.
His last words to her rung in her head again. It was six in the morning when she'd finally made it back home.
Their home. It still felt of strong liquor, and seeing his belongings made her feel breathless. She ran to kitchen sink to throw up. All she got was a couple of dry heaves.
Her body was trying to expel something that wasn't even in her stomach. Her throat burned in exertion.
She'd spoken to her parents and sisters in a group call, she told them everything. She cried the hardest when her father spoke to her calmly until his voice cracked with a deep sadness that it never held before.
"We are going to fly over as soon as possible. We'll send you money for a hotel, you shouldn't stay in that house right now." Her mother told her softly before Buttercup ended the call.
She couldn't even walk past the living room, how the hell was she going to pack a bag?
Buttercup needed someone. She needed to not be alone. She grabbed her phone and clicked on the first contact she saw. Butch's.
He answered after the first ring. "Buttercup! Your sister's told me. I know you're not okay, so I won't ask. I'm sorry about your loss."
He love and care in his voice was overwhelming. She hadn't heard that voice in almost months.
"But I don't think I'm sorry. Last night, he told me he cheated. For over a year. I wanted him dead. I wanted it so bad, and now look."
She let out a brittle laugh. "What kind of person does that make me? The bitch he says I am?"
She heard him take a sharp inhale.
"It makes you a hurt person. A person who felt betrayed." It sounded like he was shuffling out of his bed. "Damn it, Butters. I'm coming up there."
She was taken aback.
"Send me your address, I'm going to catch a flight." He paused. "Found a 3pm flight to Portland. I'll be there today."
She felt sick again. "No, it's okay. Butch, I'm okay. I just-"
Butch let out an emotional shout, cutting her off, "NO! It's not okay! He hurt you, and now he's dead! I should have never- Fuck!"
"Butch…" Buttercup sobbed.
"I should have never backed away. I should have never let him just waltz in and take you. Not when I knew how much I- How much I cared about you." Butch went quiet, and Buttercup could hear the shuffling off clothes and objects.
"I'll see you soon Butters. If you don't send me your address, I'll just get it from Blossom or Bubbles...I love you Buttercup, and I always will."
She didn't get to say it back. He hung up too fast.
Saying "I love you" was something they always did. In a platonic way, that would warm her up.
This time it felt different. It was hotter, and warm. It was fiery. It held a different meaning.
For the second time, Buttercup crashed to the floor. As she did, she wondered just how long those I love you's meant something deeper.
The darkness pulled at her faster than before. Memories of her and Mitch flashed in her mind. Butch followed. It was as if she was reliving years in seconds.
She embraced the darkness, if only to see more of Butch in her mind. His smiles, his eyes. His laughter. He still was her everything.
Even when it felt as if she'd lost it all.
She woke up to a blaring alarm. Strange as she'd long stopped using alarms after college. She'd gotten into the habit of waking early without an annoying beeping assaulting her ears. Mitch used them sometimes, but Mitch...was gone.
She remembered that she'd collapsed in her kitchen. Until she ambled upstairs and didn't remember, she shouldn't be in a bed.
Opening her eyes bleary she gasped at the raging headache that slammed into her the moment she pried her eyes open.
"Aw shit! Oh shit, shit, shit."
Her head felt like it was being split in four. She slowly opened her eyes again, and gasped.
She was in her old room at her parent's house. How the hell? What was even stranger was that Butch's favorite green hoodie that he used to wear all through high school and college was at the foot of the bed.
He'd gotten rid of that thing years ago. She was there when his brothers threatened to burn the thing when Butch puked all over it at a frat party.
"This is a dream. Yeah, a dream."
She moved to sit up, noting how lifelike everything felt. Her headache still throbbed, and she couldn't believe she could feel such pain in a dream.
She found the source of the alarm. A phone she hadn't seen in years. Dated technology that apparently had the loudest alarm she'd ever heard.
It luckily didn't have a passcode, amd she was able to see the time and date displayed briefly before it clicked off. 7pm, Thursday.
Why was an alarm set for 7pm?
She got out of the bed on wobbly feet, and passed the old dresser mirror. The sight she saw made her do a double take that made her vision swim.
Her face didn't look like her face. Well, technically it was her face. Just not her current face, her thirty-four year old face.
The face staring back at her was almost fifteen years younger. Her face was smaller, slimmer. Her hair, shorter.
Buttercup started to freak out.
"Holy shit, holy shit."
She jumped and hit her toe on the dresser. She let out a curse, "Holy, fucking- shit!"
That definitely felt real.
Her door opened, and that pair of eyes and smile she loved so much greeted her.
"You kiss your mother with that mouth Butters?"
Just as she looked younger, so did he.
The sight of him in front of her shocked her. She couldn't breathe.
"Mitch…" She breathed. Legs going numb, she held onto the dresser for stability.
" Butch said he ison his way to the theater, and that Chloe, Diana, Kev, and Rich are there already. You got your nap, now let's go! I don't wanna miss the previews."
He was dead. But here he was. Twenty years old. Smiling at her as if he didn't break her heart and betray her.
He'd stopped calling her "Butters" a couple of years after they started dating. She never thought she'd hear him say it again.
This Mitch, was a close friend. Not her boyfriend. Not her husband.
Just Mitch Mitchellson. The guy she'd been friends with since high school. The guy in their friend group.
If this was a dream, Buttercup decided that it was a cruel one.
Thank you for reading the first chapter!