The Butterfly Thieves

Chapter Eight

 It was crazy to think how fast we fell into a routine. I tried not to say anything in our little therapy conversions, but he was really good at getting me to talk. By the end of the week, I started to hate him less. I truly believed he wasn't going to hurt or try anything.

I was still pissed off though.

I didn't want to be dragged here, to be 'cured'. I didn't need to be at all, and what right gave him to make that choice for me? I asked him if anyone reported me missing. He would shake his head and say, "Sorry, most of my butterflies don't get reported missing. It's sad really."

He was even pitiful towards me, and I wanted to scream.

Our routine went something like this:

7:00 am, wake up, Thomas unlocks my door.

7:30 am, breakfast

8:00 am, art therapy

10:00 am, journaling

11:00 am, reading

12:00 pm, lunch

1:00 pm, therapy

2:00 pm, garden work

5:00 pm, wash up

6:00 pm, dinner

6:30 pm, free time

9:00 pm, bedtime, then Thomas locks the door, so we could do the same thing again tomorrow.

I wasn't used to a routine, I actually had large hate for it before, but somehow he got me into it pretty fast and easy.

Though, my favorite part of the day was the garden. He actually let me take a book outside, and I just watched him pull out the weeds in the garden. It wasn't the worse, but not the most exciting.

I even found a little bench that you would have bought at Walmart for really cheap and sat there for a while reading.

It was the first time in a while that I got sunshine.

Thomas wasn't really worrying about me working on the garden so much, as to just getting sunlight. I was actually glad for that, before he doesn't know how bad my green thumb is. I look at a plant and it just fuckin dies.

I guess I just like looking at other people's gardens.

One morning, about after two weeks of everything, I went to my door to see it was unlocked, meaning I had to start the day, letting me know Thomas was awake. I tiptoed around, watching the pressure I put into my steps. He wasn't in his bedroom, as usual.

I never saw him in there, his bed never looked used. If I was allowed out my room at night, I would see where he did rest. At this point, I can't see how he did.

I went to the bathroom, combed my hair, and heard laughter downstairs as I was just about to put a ponytail in my hair. I stopped in the middle of it, letting it fall down again. I stopped in the doorframe, listening out for more noise.

Someone else was in the house!

I ran back to my room, changed into a long shirt and black sweats, and ran as fast as I could downstairs. I wish I knew where my shoes where. Thomas hid them from me, not letting me have them. Only could have slipped on shoes outside in the garden.

Nearly tripping over my two own feet, I managed to get to the kitchen, seeing Thomas having coffee at the table with another man. He looked young, fit, healthy. His long hair screamed hippy, but his clean shaved face and dress up shirt screamed Jehovah Wittiness.

"Oh! Milly," Thomas cheerfully said, standing up. "I didn't hear you. How did you sleep?"

I eyed the stranger. "Fine."

The stranger laughed, making me narrow my eyes. I had the urge to punch his pretty looking face.

"Milly, this is Jason," Thomas said, getting himself another cup of coffee.

Jason got up, and actually shook my hand. Where were we? In fuckin 1910's? Who the hell shakes hands these days?

"Nice to meet you, Milly," he said, showing his stupid straight white teeth. Didn't matter though how much I hated his face, he was a possible chance of getting myself out of the crazy house I've been forced into.

I pulled in closer, and whispered in his ear. "I'm here against my will. Please help me."

He just smiled, and actually had the nerves to laugh at me. "Okay."

I frowned, pulling back. I shook my head and still whispered. "No, I'm fuckin serious dude. You have to help me out-"

"Milly, don't bother," Thomas turned around. "Jason was butterfly number 19."

I let go of his hand out of disgust. He just crossed his arms and looked at me. "He drugged and kidnapped you too?"

"Well, some type of story really-"

"And he brought you here?"

"Well, yes."

"And you're here now? And you're fuckin friends with this creepy ass old guy?"

Thomas just sipped on his coffee, with no reaction. Maybe I was the crazy one, it would make sense.

"Thomas is my friend. He saved my life. I owe him everything."

I turned to Thomas, pointing a finger to him, anger running through my veins, reading to explode. "So that's what you do? You brainwash people? Why? Because you can't make friends on your own?"

Jason had the nerves to laugh. "She's a spitfire this one."

I swiftly turned back around to him. "He kidnapped you, dumbass! How stupid are you? Do you not hear yourself?"

Jason seemed to try to follow Thomas's rule of not reacting. It was almost as if he was his son. God, I hoped not, but it didn't sound like it. Jason didn't look like him, not the skin color nor the face. His eyes were shaped different, and his stance was different. He could have been a clone of his mother, but something told me that wasn't the case.

I just kept shaking my head and headed up back to my room. "You're all crazy! You're all f***ing nuts!" I screamed, stomping my feet hard on the staircase. I slammed my door hard enough for the house to shake and then hid under my covers.