Butterflies Volume II

Chapter 36

Violet wasn't entirely sure why Billy didn't follow her into the corridor. When she stepped back inside, he hadn't left his spot, and she quickly hid the victory on her face. She waved off his concerns in that she was sticking up for Ryan, and he didn't push. It was slightly odd, he didn't want to know what she said or what she did, he just let her.

And they went to bed, Violet assuming that was it for Joe Kessler. But Billy stayed awake, his arm around her, staring at the ceiling worrying. M.M. had said it, how much she was becoming like him, he could see himself in how she stormed out of the room. The want to kill Homelander bled into an obsession she was so blissfully unaware of. And he remembered all the pain it caused her and everyone he cared for when it was still his obsession, how blind he was to his own needs.

He played with her hands in her sleep, tracing scars. When it was over, she'd feel the guilt, and he wasn't sure if she could survive it. Without him, without the boys they're pushing away. Although he didn't know what transpired in that corridor, she came back joyous, and a part of him dreaded what she could have done. But then, as the evening faded into the night, and she assumed her regular routine, it dissipated, and in its place was an eerie silence.

She was operating under the need to sit on that victory, but there had to be something else, she couldn't ever hide from him. In the night when she's sleeping, so deeply, she's the most human. He could wonder what he wanted, worry all he could, let it consume him. And she would melt into his touch, no need to perform. Kessler must have said something, he must have punctured one gap, and it would follow him right into the shower the next morning.

Having not yet taken his pills, his eyes were heavy, his head pounding. He knew he shouldn't have gone into a hot shower without taking them. The disease thanked him in the violent way it knew how, reddening his eyes. He felt something twisting up his spine slowly like a slug, the same slug that he had been feeling around his body for days. He was getting weaker, that was the reason, and the mind created false realities. But as he closed his eyes, he felt the weight of the ceiling above him push down on his shoulders.

He fell forward, head first into the taps, trying to grab the shower curtain, but his weight just brought it down with him as he swept out of the tub onto the floor. His head hit the floor painfully, and he could still faintly hear the water running.

"Hey? What the fuck happened?" Violet ran into the room, looking around at him.

He reached out for her foot, and she crouched down immediately reaching out to the blood on his cheek. He winced.

"What happened?" She wondered as she gently lifted him up.

"You're right we need a shower mat."

"Or you fainted," she chuckled, checking him over, "I saw you haven't taken your pills yet, you need to be more careful."

She leant him against the wall, sitting down across from him. The curtain did well at covering him, almost wrapping him up like a burrito. He tugged one of his arms free.

"It's getting worse," he said, "I can feel it crawling around my body."

"I'm sure it's thriving off all that alcohol."

"V-"

"No Billy. I'm serious," she folded her arms, "I'm not letting you die prematurely because fell on your face. The doctor said 18 months, and I'm making you live those 18 months."

He surrendered, dropping his head back against the wall. If he wasn't still catching his breath, he would smirk at how sweet her anger at him was. That he could get used to her fussing over him. But in truth he knew it wasn't good to let her stewer in worry when she should be working towards normality. Violet flicked out a finger and the water turned off, the steam making the room slightly foggy. He couldn't allow himself to envision what life would be like for her after him, because then it would mean admitting he was worrying about how life was looking with him alive.