Angel ♡ Eyes

♡Chapter 38

The wind was howling. Blowing like crazy behind the three tall figures standing at the doorway.

The middle one—Freckles, as Buttercup remembered referring to her as—tilted her head as she examined the room. On her left—Blondie—grubbed from ear to ear. Then, to Freckles right, those dark glowing green eyes stared straight into Buttercup's soul.

"Took you long enough." Buttercup grumbled.

"Where's the rest of your posey?" Blondie's nose curled.

"You seriously thought that after you said you wanted to kill me and my family that I was going to let them stay here?" Buttercup snorted. "How fucking stupid are you?"

Blondie's eyes widened. "What did you just—"

"Brat." Freckles hissed.

Oh. So that's her name. Buttercup frowned. She'd assumed it was a rude name calling—like how she calls Brick a shitling or Butch an asswipe. For the second time in a few days, she decided names were a silly, unfortunate thing.

"Want us to sweep the area?" The one on Freckles right asked.

"Yes. Brute, take Brat." Freckles jerked her head outside, and her two little minions rushed off.

"Brute. Brat." Buttercup smirked. "Let me guess. You're Bitch?"

Freckles narrowed her eyes. "Actually it's Berserk." She snapped her fingers then pointed at Buttercup, then flicked her hand to the ceiling. "Alright, stand up."

Buttercup complied. She rose to her feet, keeping her hands visible. "If you wanted to get my family, you shoulda showed up a while ago."

"You think it's fast flying across the world?" Freckles—Berserk—rolled her eyes.

Buttercup was somewhat astonished. She was half expecting this girl to act crazy, wild, berserk even. Living up to her namesake. But she seemed to be poised, calm, collected. In some way, she reminded Buttercup of Blossom. An authoritative figure that commanded respect from her peers.

"We found—" the rest of Brats words were drowned out by the loud racing of Buttercups heart.

No. No. This wasn't part of the plan. Her eyes widened.

⚠️ 𝚆 𝙰 𝚁 𝙽 𝙸 𝙽 𝙶 ⚠️
𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝙰𝚋𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚎
𝙴𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎 & 𝙰𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑

Warning after warning after warning—shouting at her. Concurring with the fact she was terrified. Voicing her fears in her head, telling her she wasn't dreaming or imagining it.

Butch standing in the doorway with Brat at his side and a sharp knife hovering under his chin.

No. No. No. This was—by far—not the plan... Buttercup's chest rose and fell faster and faster.

Someone grabbed her arm and tugged her along. She didn't know what was happening. Her eyes were locked on Butch, who stared at her with his face twisted in an apology.

She was outside in a matter of seconds. The rain soaking her to the bone. She was shoved into the back of a car, Butch pushed down beside her. He leaned down to try and talk to her, but she held up a hand and shook her head.

No. No. No. This isn't the plan. This isn't the plan. Buttercup covered the bottom half of her face with her hand. Her eyes still wide her breathing still ragged. What the hell was he thinking? Was this intentional? No. No. No.

Berserk sat down upfront, starting up the car. Brat sat beside Buttercup, but she wasn't really paying attention to the blonde monster. Instead she focused on Brute—those eyes. Those eyes that showed a thirst for blood that ran crazier than Buttercup's own. Brute's lips quirked up into a menacing grin. She slid a finger across her throat, then pointed to Butch.

Buttercup's heart stoped. Pain raced to her head and a sense of agony twisted at every limb in her body. For the first time in years, she felt as if she might actually cry.

No. No. No! Don't touch him! Don't touch him! She closed her eyes. Everything hurt. Everything ached. Her heart wouldn't start. It was all too much. The whole reason Buttercup was the only one supposed to be at the house when the three girls showed up, was so that they couldn't hurt her family. But now? That plan was thrown out the window.

Butch's voice was quiet. "Butter—"

She shook her head again, cutting him off.

Pain. Pain and hurt and agony. All she could feel was the throbbing sting that could only occur when one was both mentally hurt and physically unable to breathe. Unable to get her heart beating again. Unable to ignore the constant alarms ringing in her head that if she didn't do anything soon she would shut down.

But if she shut down then Boomer couldn't trace her.

If Boomer couldn't find her, he couldn't find Butch.

If he couldn't find Butch then...

If she shut down they wouldn't find her in time.

The plan would be gone.

Everything would be flushed down the drain.

Their little found family would be down two.

This was not the fucking plan. She looked over at Butch only to find he was already staring at her.

She needed to breathe. She needed to get her heart working again.

But the panic that was suffocating her made that extremely difficult. Not to mention the fear that if she didn't make it all stop—

Butch rested a hand on her leg. He traced circles with his thumb on her thigh. He'd seemed to see the fear and panic and everything that was rushing through her head. And just like that, he knew how to fix it.

𝙱𝙿𝙼 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖

The parasympathetic nervous system counteracts adrenaline. Allowing one to calm down and breathe. It's also known as the "rest-and-digest" system. Opposite of "fight-or-flight", the parasympathetic nervous system promotes equilibrium—which pushes the body to relax.

Buttercup inhaled a shaky breath, taking in air she hadn't been able to do for what was far too long. She couldn't talk to him now. Not while the car was driving. Not while the three—monsters?—were in the car with them.

But she had one fucking question he was going to get an earful of later. What the hell was he thinking?