Page 22 of Butterfly

Ollie curled over until his forehead rested against the back of Pichard’s knee. Pichard didn’t move, and he didn’t seem to mind Ollie hyperventilating down his legs.

Locks and gates clunked, the inmate screamed out protests as he was dragged away, and then the safety Pichard had provided Ollie with vanished. He stepped away, and Ollie bit his tongue not to call out for him to stay.

But Pichard had only stepped forward so he could turn and crouch down in front of Ollie.

“That fucking animal.”

He inspected Ollie’s face for a second time, and this time, his cold hands were heaven on Ollie’s raw cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Ollie. Keith was asleep. I didn’t know… I didn’t think he’d…”

“He didn’t,” Ollie said. “He was going to, but you came back.”

“I would’ve been a lot quicker if I’d had known.” He took hold of Ollie’s elbows. “Do you think you can stand?”

Ollie nodded and allowed Pichard to help him up.

“I want to go back to my wing.”

“I think you should stay—”

“Please,” Ollie’s voice came out desperate. “I just want to go back.”

“Okay,” Pichard whispered. He reached into his scrubs and pulled out a blister pack of ibuprofen. “One every four hours, no more than four in twenty-four hours.”

Ollie nodded numbly.

Seinfeld arrived to escort him back to the wing, cursing at the sight of Ollie’s red face.

“You’re supposed to fix them up, Pichard, not make them worse.”

“There was an unfortunate incident,” Pichard replied. “If you’d stayed like you’re supposed to, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Ollie blocked their argument out, floating down the corridor in a dream-like state. Seinfeld joined him at the gate, still cursing and spitting Pichard’s name.

Ollie didn’t say anything on the walk back.

The wing had been locked up for the night, which was a blessing. He didn’t want everyone asking what had happened. There was only one man he wanted, and he was inside their cell waiting for him.

“Here we are,” Seinfeld muttered, unlocking the door.

Teddy shot to his feet as Ollie stumbled inside.

Seinfeld slammed the door shut, startling Ollie forward a step.

Teddy caught him, giving him a tight hug before leaning him back to look at his face. He shook his head, lips twitching with his desire to say something, but his expression said everything.

It was horror, and distress, and panic.

“Could’ve been worse,” Ollie told him before breaking down in tears.

Teddy held him close, stroking warm hands up and down Ollie’s back and blowing into Ollie’s ear in an attempt to soothe him.

Ollie let himself be guided over to the bed.

Teddy lay down first, then pulled Ollie on top of him, still clinging on and stroking him.

Ollie told him what had happened, and Teddy didn’t let go. His grip got harder, then softer, harder again, and he pawed at the back of Ollie’s T-shirt like something might try to rip him away.

---