The Butterfly Thieves

Chapter Seven

Thomas made dinner for us; baked potato, green beans with mushrooms, and salad on the side. I just stared at my meal, poking at it with a fork. Thomas was at the other end of the table, using manners and the right silverware and all that shit my parents taught me but hated.

I sat with my legs crossed in my chair, not really caring in my elbows were on the table or not. I wasn't sure if it had bothered him, but he never said anything if it did.

"Dinner okay?" he asked, wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin. I wanted to wrap him with that stupid thing, around his face until he stopped breathing.

"Sure."

"Yes," he corrected me.

I just rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

"I could teach you how to use the silverware properly one day if you like?" he offered.

"I already know how."

"Then why don't you?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Because I don't want to."

"Fair enough," he shrugged.

I just kept poking at my meal, possibly waiting for it to move like a spider, walking away from my plate. I've done a starving protest before with my parents, and I knew I could now.

"Any news on Mikey?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "Nothing that I've come across. I've been checking. Is he good at hiding?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah."

"How did you two meet? May I ask?"

I sighed. "Through friends. He dated so and so, and I dated so and so, and through our groups, we somehow ended up together."

"I see."

"What about you?" I asked.

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you have a wife? A girlfriend? Something?"

He just stared at me, and slowly shook his head. "Long time again, I don't want to talk about it at the moment."

"Why not?" I crossed my arms.

"Because I don't feel emotionally ready to even speak to myself about it."

"How do you expect me to talk to you if you don't talk to me?"

He put his knife and fork down and started rubbing his chin. "That is a fair point. Do you feel like I don't share enough, therefore you don't anything with me? I just want to help you the best way I can. If you want to know more about me, ask."

"It's been like three days dude. I don't know anything besides your first name, and this cult town."

"Not a cult."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever man, it doesn't matter. When I get the chance, I'm running far from here."

"If you wish to. But why would you tell me your plan? Aren't you scared I would stop you?"

"Honestly, I get the feeling I can hit you with a baseball bat, and you would want to talk about how that made me feel."

He actually gave a pretty deep laugh and just smiled. "I can't say that you're wrong."

"Then give me a baseball bat?" I asked. "Want to see if it's true?"

He just shook his head. "If I thought it would help, I would let you. But, I do not own a baseball bat," he informed me, taking his plate to the sink. He walked over to my side and pointed to my plate. "Are you done?"

"Sure," I said, shoving the plate towards him.

I could tell it was annoying him every time I said it, so I made it a personal goal to say it as many times as I could in a day. However, even though he acted nice and king, he could snap at any moment and kill me. I still didn't know this man.

"Go take a shower in the upstairs bathroom," he told me.

"If I refuse?" I challenged him.

He shrugged. "I mean, it's your routine, you can do it in the morning. I just ask for a routine though."

"That wasn't a rule."

He just laughed and went on washing his plate. He wasn't talking to me anymore, and anytime I said something to him, he didn't reply. After ten minutes I grew bored of him and went upstairs to take a shower. I grabbed clothes from the dresser.

The sweats and hoodie were just a little too big for me. Thomas warned me these were thrift shop clothes, and hand me downs from the other butterflies. I felt so small in those clothes, like a small little child.

After I got out of the shower and dried my hair, Thomas was in the room down the hallway upstairs. He was making his bed, nice and neat. When he noticed me staring, he stopped. "Oh, you took a shower after all?" he smiled.

Then I realized, he used that stupid Jedi-therapist mind trick on me again, just like he did in his stupid therapy hour.

I narrowed my eyes, and went downstairs, and grabbed a book. He didn't come down for a while, but every time I got the courage to snoop around, I thought I had heard a footstep coming my way, and crawled back to my little reading spot on the worn down couch.

My eyes kept wandering to the clock.

"Bedtime at nine," he told me at the end of the stairwell. I jumped, not hearing his footsteps. "You will have to be in your room by nine. I suggest you don't drink water about three hours before bedtime, because I have to lock the door to your room."

"Lock the door?" I asked.

"For your protection. Though, I unlock your door the first thing in the morning."

Is the protection for you or me?" I asked, narrowing my eyebrows at him. He just tapped his nose and went upstairs, and I went back to staring at the noisy clock.

At nine, he came down and got me. I wanted to protest, I wanted to stay up like a little toddler, but I was yawning and aching so much that sleep was welcoming.

I got under the covers, and he stood in the doorway. "Goodnight, Milly. If you need me, I'll be at the end of the hallway."

"Fine."

"Tomorrow, we can work in the garden. Does that sound fun?"

"Sure."

He was silently yelling at me. I could tell with his eyes, the way fire was building up in the back before he shut the door, leaving me in the dark.

I heard the door locked, and then I closed my eyes, welcoming the darkness in the room.