Teen Beach Movie Imagines

The Story Knows (Butchy)

Do you know what it is like to live inside a dream? One would not even know it was a fantasy if it was not called to their attention. The best part of a dream is that it feels so real you could die without ever knowing the truth. This is how it feels to live inside your story, but also why realizing that after all this time it was nothing but fiction was the rudest awakening you have ever been forced to witness.

You were never supposed to find out the truth. You're certain of it now, days or perhaps years later when you look the same despite playing through the story an untold number of times. There are a thousand different showings before a thousand different audiences, all starting within minutes or hours of each other. It should be enough to keep your mind occupied long enough to forget every detail of how you are nothing but a character. It is not.

It has been all this time, however. At first, you're not entirely sure what woke you from the story. It becomes apparent soon enough, but for the first time in what may be your entire life, or every one of your lives, you do not know the answer before the story ends. Perhaps it's that feeling of uncertainty that makes you realize how little you know. The musical number outside your window has two extra dancers. Your boyfriend is not singing alone when he begins to mark the restaurant as his own. He always has been before.

You don't have time to worry about that until after the song ends, though. Butchy is the leader of the bikers, he will always sing and you, as his girl, will always sing with him. You have never missed a step. He has never missed you.

What you miss is when the blond boy came into town. Staring at him is like looking out a window and belatedly realizing that the entire scene before you is clouded with rain. You do not know when the storm began, only that it is already over, and you have missed the entire thing. Something is wrong here, you think, and this boy may be the key to all of it.

Butchy does not miss your glance. He is only free to act on it, however, when the song ends, and he rushes to your side as soon as the plot allows. He takes your hand instinctively, for it has never belonged to anyone except him, not even for a mother or a father that your story didn't make time to name.

"What's with the new guy?" Butchy asks, eyes narrowed. He was written to be easily jealous a long time ago. He has never disappointed in his role.

You laugh, although you're not sure that what he said was funny. "Who knows? Not sure I mind him being here, though. I'd love a fresh face."

For the first time, you hear the sound of your own voice, truly hear it. Your words are shaped one way in your head, yet come out a different way, twanged into some sort of strong accent as if each sound were a guitar string plucked to perfection. You don't know that you've ever heard an accent like that outside of your town, or specifically, outside of the bikers. It makes you feel like a caricature, some off shade of what could have been a perfectly normal character.

Butchy's hand squeezes yours, making you focus again. You're not sure if he's dragging you back to reality or farther from it. "Everything alright, sweetheart?"

You nod quickly. "Perfectly perfect. Never been better."

He smiles, although it doesn't reach his eyes. "You sure? My momma always said that I was a great listener, and I'd love to hear ya talk if you need it."

You tilt your head at him. "Who is your momma? What's her name, Butchy? I don't know that I've ever seen her before."

Butchy's smile falters. "What are you talking about?"

"When have any of us seen our parents outside of photographs?" You ask, voice trembling slightly. "Can you see her face in your mind? I can't remember the color of my own mother's hair."