Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 7 - Artistic Talent

My senses came back to life in a tingling sensation. The thought didn't register before I found myself lying on the most torturous mattress that has ever been made. Whilst I lay unconscious, someone had managed to drag my limp body over to the hardest, most ill-fitting mattress they could find. Somehow, that same person, had also placed me in the most uncomfortable position, and now my muscles were as stiff as a taxidermized animal.

They could have laid me on my side! But no! They felt the need to lay me on my stomach with my neck twisted to the right, my waist twisted to the left and my limbs sprawled out in every direction like a starfish gone wrong.

My whole body ached like dead weight. I tried to move but every muscle was numb. The awkward position made any blood flow limited, and now I was regretting every decision I'd ever made.

"Uggghhh," I groaned with my face squished into the hardy mattress. I fluttered opened the only eye I could to its max. A thin slit full of eyelashes greeted my cornea as I tried to look in the only direction I could, still groggy with trauma.

"Welcome back, Butch," a recognizable voice greeted me. "Hope you had a nice nap there."

I opened my mouth, but only a groan escaped my lips. My god was I uncomfortable! Thank you, whoever you were, for the creation of this uncomfortable position.

"You've been out cold for three days," he said with a smile. "To be honest, you could have used a few more days, but I think you're drugged up on enough morphine to last you a lifetime. And FYI, this wasn't my idea." He knelt in front of me and stuck his finger in my ear.

I yelped. It was cold and wet, and a thick coating of saliva now covered the inside of my ear.

"Great. I'm glad I now have your full attention," he said as a thick pile of papers were slapped down to the floor by the mattress, making me blink. "By the way, Professor Wormwood says thank you."

I giggled, my mind going to another place with the drugs my heart was pumping faster around my body.

"What's so funny?" he retaliated, his hand reaching forward and touching my forehead. I retracted, not used to any type of touch, especially not from him, and he dropped his hand. "Well, you aren't burning up."

I giggled. "What did the woodworm say to the chair?" I grinned sheepishly, waiting for a reply that never came. "...It's been nice gnawing you! Get it?"

He knelt looking somewhat confused and disappointed at the lame Butch joke that'd just cracked through my lips. Sometimes brothers just can't wrap their small primitive minds around humour. What a shame. For him anyway.

He sighed heavily and spat a thick blob of gum onto the ground by his shoe, clearly not able to achieve his main objective. I giggled. "Spit it out, Butch!"

"Spit," I joked. "Get it cause you just, you know...yup okay...spat. By the way is that onion I smell? Have you been eating onions? Cause man! It's bad! Like gee g-"

"Shut the hell up! Or I swear to God, I'll sew that damn mouth of yours shut!"

"Eh, could probably use the vow of silence," I said, half shrugging against the mattress.

He rolled me over, so I was level with his face. A rush of pins and needles made me wince for a brief moment before the tingling sensation dispersed. "Your smart ass better not make me do it."

"Wouldn't I just love some quality bonding time with my older, drug addicted brother! Ooo! What fun we could have playing tea parties and dolls in your room!" I mocked, the morphine making my mouth loose.

His lips remained in a flat line. "You're really screwing this up for me. You know that right?"

"No?"

He smacked me right in my swollen eye, my head aching all over again. "I don't want to do this, but I just got this job and I need to make it work. You've already messed that up."

"How am I to blame?" I questioned.

"You just did, okay?" he sighed.

"No...?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he scoffed. "Are you that much of a child?"

"I grew up faster than you," I murmured, glancing away from him. It was true. I'd survived his torment, his constant beatings and everything else wrong with him for years. Another slap rippled my cheek as Jack's hand baseballed my face.

I groaned, my head not liking the sudden wakeup call. "What was that for?"

"Your fucking large ass mouth!" he stood up and snatched the file off the ground. He moved over to a large leather chair in the corner of the room, previously unnoticed by my limited sight. It stood out against the white flush of the surrounding walls as he settled himself down into the chair and opened the yellow file. Clearing his throat, he began to speak.

"Galgort Medical Lab. Experiment A47. Had symptoms of extreme facial change, nausea and according to you... looks ugly?"

"Well, have you seen her face? I mean, man, it's bad! That's some extreme plastic surgery gone wrong! Like wow, freaked me out with all the contortions, ya know?" I explained.

He turned the page around to face me, clicking his tongue. Her face was like something out of a zombie movie. It had bubbling warts, like radiation, covering the red raw skin. Her expression was a blank kind of lost and her hair was thin and straw-like, as though birds made their nests in there frequently.

I gazed over at Jack as he ignored me, flipping over the page and raising an eyebrow at what he was scanning. I knew exactly which page he was on.

"I may have gotten a little bored," I explained timidly.

"I can see," he replied. "Your artistic talent is shit," he said, throwing the page down at me like a frisbee. "It's useless Butch! It's a wonder I haven't caved your head in yet! You've ruined the most valuable research we had!"

"Glad I could be of service," I mocked, looking across at the ruined piece of paper. A large green crayon monster greeted my face. It was scribbled over the results and made me cringe at just how bad of an artist I really was. Two large bulging eyes, one bigger than the other, stared back at me and two thin sticks joined them to a bulky jelly-like body. Its multiple legs wiggled out in every direction. My drawing was perfection. "What are you talking about? My artistic talent is on point! I drew that whilst driving! Are you damning me, Jack? Cause like, I'm a brilliant artist."

He glanced back down at the file in his hand. "You're a shit artist, but what I really wanna know is what happened to the missing patient file."

I gulped. I remember that page clear as day, Katrina had handed it to me. I couldn't shake the shivers that came over me. The woman's face reminded me of that Hitler documentary on twin research we had to watch for history class one time. The only difference was she had no twin. Her skin had been covered in welts, red as sunburnt skin, and she had next to no hair. 

"I don't remember," I said quickly.

"Liar!" he stormed, standing up. "Where the fuck is it?"

"I already told you, I don't know!"

"Bullshit! Where is it, Butch?" he raged, advancing towards me with madness filling his eyes. It was the type of madness that said he was going to punch me into oblivion - the one I was used to.

"Okay, okay!" I said, putting my hands up to protect my face. "I'll tell you."

"Better hurry up," he said drawing closer.

"I may have," I paused, trying to think of an excuse.

"What?" he advanced, grabbing me by the collar. "Where the heck is it?"

"I may have accidentally used it as a tissue..." I lied.