Page 41 of Butterfly

His face, though, Ollie remembered his face in crystal clarity.

Leo’s expression had haunted him ever since. Twisted in fear, inhuman with terror as he watched Ollie on top of their father, stabbing him until he’d almost severed his head.

It was that image that woke Ollie up panting—Leo, not his father.

Ollie hauled himself out of the bunk, slipped down to the floor of the cell, and then rushed towards the toilet. His knees throbbed as they hit the ground, and he spluttered the first volley of sick into the toilet bowl.

Teddy shot out of bed, crashing to the floor beside him. Before he could touch him, Ollie glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

Teddy didn’t, but he stayed close, waiting while Ollie threw up everything in his stomach. When he was sure he had nothing left to vomit, he got to his feet and washed his mouth out at the sink. Teddy didn’t move from kneeling on the floor. Even in the dark, Ollie could sense his questions, the humming tension as he waited for Ollie to say something.

“I’m fine,” he whispered before brushing his teeth hard enough he tasted iron. He preferred it over vomit. Teddy stayed put on the floor, still waiting.

Ollie finished doing his teeth, then spoke to Teddy over his shoulder.

“I meant what I said yesterday. You don’t know me.”

Teddy didn’t react, and the hairs on Ollie’s nape lifted. Even mute, and in the dark, Teddy still spoke. Ollie heard it, Teddy’s assurance that hedidknow Ollie.

They’d been in Hollybrook for over a year together. They’d learned a language between them; they’d shared parts of themselves and jumped headfirst over the line of intimacy, but Teddy didn’tknowhim.

“You only know the me in here,” Ollie whispered. “You wouldn’t have liked me on the outside.” He looked in the mirror, only just able to see the ghostly reflection of himself in the cell. “I was sick in the head. Iamsick in the head.”

He stiffened at the warmth around his ankle. Teddy had reached out and gripped his leg, pulsing his fingers gently. He didn’t understand. Teddy had killed four people, but it had been an accident, no less forgivable, but it had been unplanned, an immature, senseless reaction to something.

But Ollie had thought about killing his father for years.

He had been unable to concentrate on much else.

And there was no regret, only a sense that he should’ve done it sooner.

Why didn’t he do it sooner?

“I…I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Teddy let out a long, slow sigh, tugging on Ollie’s ankle. Ollie relented, shuffling back until Teddy could comfortably wrap his strong arms around Ollie’s legs.

“Bad dream, that’s all.”

Teddy squeezed him harder.

“I feel better now,” he promised.

Teddy got to his feet, pressed a quick kiss to Ollie’s temple, then helped him back onto the top bunk.

“Night, Teddy.”

Teddy hovered by the bed for a long moment, then ducked underneath.

The next day during afternoon association, Ollie waited outside Captain’s cell.

When Captain finally came out with his gym clothes on and a towel slung over his shoulder, Ollie blurted, “Never mind,” and rushed to leave.

Captain caught his wrist in an iron grip. “No. You’re not going anywhere.”

He tugged, then let go. Ollie followed him back into the cell and sat down on the edge of the bed. Captain studied him for a minute, then sat, leaving a gap between them.

Captain sucked in a deep breath. “Teddy hasn’t—”

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