Butterflies Volume II

Chapter 35

Violet wondered when Billy found the empty pub they stood in. She still found herself wondering things about him only someone who doesn't know him would wonder, and she wasn't sure if that was a normal part of relationships or if it was just her. She sat on a barstool and watched them, Ryan engrossed in the game. They'd had only 6 months just to be themselves, and even though she had known him longer, she still begged for more time to fully know him. And for the first time in her life, she felt herself wanting to go to England if that could build another connection between them.

The ball darted across the pitch, Billy laughing. Ryan grinned also, enjoying himself. Could that not be their normal life? She could almost envision it being theirs.

"Where'd you learn how to play?" Ryan asked.

"Down the local pub," Billy explained, "Lenny and I'd spend hours at it while the old man was getting pissed with his mates."

Violet smiled, unlocking another memory of Lenny, piecing him together in her mind. In her twenties she watched as many British films and TV shows as she could, begging for a connection with her own accent. It was supposed to be her home, supposed to be where she was from. But no matter how much she watched, it never quite felt like her, and she never found herself visiting. If she did fly over, she feared it would be like flying to another planet, and she would be an alien to her own home, searching for clues to find home.

"Who's Lenny?" Ryan then questioned innocently.

And Billy answered easily, "my little brother."

It used to be so hard to admit, but it slipped off his tongue so easily then.

"He uh... He passed away," he explained, "I always used to let him win. But I ain't making the same mistake with you, governor. Sorry. Oi!"

He cheered as he scored a goal, Violet scoffing at his childish victory. He rounded the foosball table to his beer he had left on the side with the cookies. Ryan didn't seem the least bit affected by losing.

"It's okay," he said, "everyone at the Tower always lets me win. It's no fun."

He was solemn, something else on his mind. Violet kept herself away, looking to Billy to make the first move. She wouldn't overstep, having only met Ryan the handful of times. She did wonder how much he knew about her, if Homelander would even allow him to read her files or if he fed it to him in pieces. What image did he have of her?

"We saw your save on the telly," Billy said, "so, you're a big hero now eh?"

Ryan chucked softly, "not really."

"Come on, you're a star," Billy replied, "nailed your lines and all."

Yet Ryan faltered, "I actually... I accidentally hurt someone."

"What do you mean 'hurt 'em'?"

"I was supposed to throw them... But I did it too hard."

"They gonna be all right?"

Tears welled up in Ryan's eyes. They weren't. He had blood on his hands at such a young age. Violet looked away, because suddenly she was cast back to when she was his age, her powers still being uncontrollable. She remembered the first time she accidentally hurt someone, and it enraged her that she still hadn't yet stopped that for more kids. How many kids had to go through that? She caught Billy in the corner of her vision, concern written all over him, but she wasn't yet ready to tell that story.

And Homelander told him he should just not care. Ryan wobbled as he held back the tears, and Violet cemented her look into the wall. He used to be able to run free hurting her and being told not to care, that was what she was there for. Nothing had changed, he always saw everyone around him as beneath him, and he was trying to instill that into Ryan. But he was different, he had Becca in him, and he fought back tears for an accident. So much guilt in that room, the red walls reminding them of the blood on their hands. Did Ryan know they used to say the same to his father?