Page 23 of Starving Butterfly
“Why did he do that?”
“I—I bit him.” Sadness crept into my words as I remembered the pain rushing through my face.
“Well guess he deserved it,” Scar’s voice sounded proud, and I glanced up at him then.
“I don’t like him,” I said.
“Me either,” he agreed.
He stretched his arms and yawned big, and a giggle slipped out of me. He looked like a lion when he did that. I liked Scar; he’d been so nice since the bad man kept him here. Scar stuck his tongue out and his eyes crossed, making me laugh louder, and I could almost forget we were stuck here.
Pain in my tummy had me clutching out, and the giggles disappeared with it. I doubled over, grabbing my stomach. A gurgling sound escaped me. “It hurts,” I cried out.
Scar was standing at the bars, no longer smiling, but a cold scariness crossed his face.
“Hey asshole!” He yelled, and it was so loud that I pinched my eyes shut and covered my ears.
A vibration filtered through my body as I looked up to see his fist slamming into the bars, mouth still agape in a yell.
For a moment I thought the sound was muted because my hands covered my ears, but the fog stayed. It was as if the world moved at the slow pace of a snail. Like I blinked too slowly, andthe world didn’t catch up. My body grew heavy and my eyes closed.Don’t go, little butterfly.I won’t, Reyna, I’m here.
I wokeup shaking and cold; it was so cold here. It was always cold, but this time it felt like someone shoved me into the freezer and made me a popsicle. Tears fell from my eyes as I huddled into myself.
“You awake over there?” Scar’s voice sounded scratchy and raw, like that cat’s sounded when the neighbor locked it outside all night.
“I—yes.” I whispered as I shivered against the floor.
“Come closer to the bars,”Scar spoke.
I started moving my arms only for them to scream in pain. A pained sound tumbled from my lips as I slowly crawled towards the bars, “What is it?”
He came close, so close I could see the ugly puffiness of his scarred eye and the thin, cracked lines of his lips. His face was smeared with dirt and red. Blood. I looked down at his large, scarred hand, and in it was a small piece of bread.
“Here, I saved this for you. They didn’t give me much.”
“T-t-thank y-y-you.” I chattered, and his arm reached through the bar; the chain jerked it backwards. A growl rumbled up his throat. He reached forward to put his hand to my head, the chain biting at his wrist the further he stretched. His hand felt cold against my forehead, too cold.
“You’re running a fever, trouble.” He spoke barely above a whisper.
“I— cold.” It was getting harder to think.
I brought the bread to my lips, munching on the slightly stale loaf. It satisfied the grumbling in my stomach, but thechill continued. Tears rained down from my face; I wanted this feeling to go away. I heard the sharp tearing of fabric, and then the next thing I knew, Scar placed his shirt onto my back.
“Turn around with your back to the bars.” He said as he leaned against the back of the bars. His large back was littered with scars, and there on his shoulder was a bandage with red in the center. I sat against the bars, and the moment his skin touched my back, I instantly felt better.
Scar gave me his food, his clothes, and now his warmth. I leaned my head back against his other shoulder as I brought more of the bread to my mouth.
“T-t-thank y-y-you s-s-Scar.” I mumbled.
“Don’t thank me yet trouble, we still have to survive the night.” He murmured a soft rumble that added to his warmth.
“C-c-can y-y-you t-t-tell m-me a st-story?” I chattered as I ate the last bite of bread.
“Yeah, I can tell you a story.” He sighed before starting, “Once upon a time there was a boy about your age, with brown hair and the brightest green eyes. He was the biggest strongest little boy of his age, he loved motorcycles and race cars and everything that zoomed around. He would spend hours in the backyard building racetracks in the mud.” Scar paused.
“H-he s-sounds nice, what’s h-his n-n-name?” I asked.
“Oliver, his name was Oliver.”
