Page 45 of Butterfly

“Two weeks before I killed him, he came home drunk. He was his usual aggressive self, and I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I woke up on the kitchen tiles, and Leo was there, trying his hardest not to cry. He told me he hadn’t been hurt, that after our father had hit me, he went upstairs. Leo lied. He had been hurt. I walked in on him getting changed in the bedroom the day before I killed my father. He had bruises over his ribs, green ones that had almost healed. I realised he’d been being so careful around me, making sure I didn’t see, but I did, and I knew they were from that night.”

“From the night your father knocked you unconscious?”

Ollie nodded. “He told me it wasn’t what I thought. That he’d got them from playing rugby at school. I’d used that lie before. Leo used it on me, and he used the same tone of voice that I had, the slight cheer to it, like it was amusing that it looked more sinister. I told him to be more careful, and I saw the relief on his face when he thought I believed him. It was the same relief I felt when I convinced people my own bruises were from something mundane. It was the beginning for Leo.”

“Beginning of what?”

“Him turning into me. A punchbag. An empty shell. It was never supposed to happen to him. That was the sacrifice I’d made, to accept that was all my life would be, absorbing my father’s anger and living out the fantasy of his death in my head. As long as I kept Leo safe, I was okay with it, but I couldn’t. He still got hurt.”

“Leo getting hurt wasn’t your fault.”

Ollie snorted bitterly. “Maybe not, but when your life is only worth living for one reason and you fail that reason…it kills you inside. I died before my father did.”

“If that’s the case, who am I talking to now?”

“The Ollie I should’ve been. The one that, despite being here of all places, feels like I’m loved, that I’m cared for. I have friends here; I have Captain, who looks out for me, and I have…Teddy. I go to classes, as many as I can, and even though I’ve seen it all before, this time I listen, this time I learn. But I’m always scared.”

“Scared?”

“That I’ll lose it all. That these people, who have come to mean so much to me, will learn the truth about me, that they’ll see me like Leo did that night. The real me. That this is all just temporary, and when I leave here, I’ll revert back to that emotionless shell with no hope.”

“Hopeless…worthless…that’s how you felt during that time?”

“Yes.”

“And seeing the bruises, they were the catalyst to fight back?”

Ollie shook his head. “It wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.”

“You fought back,” Jarvis whispered. “You fought to take back control of your life, and Leo’s.”

“What if I’m too messed up to have a relationship with him?”

“Why would you think that?”

Ollie sighed. “I’ve been writing to Leo since I got here, and he finally wrote back. I love my brother. I miss him. But reading his words didn’t bring me the happiness I thought they would. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand how I should be feeling. There’s Ollie of the outside, and I don’t like him, I don’t want to be him, and there’s Ollie of the inside, and I’m happier being him than I ever was on the outside, but how does Leo fit into that?”

“Have you sent him another letter?”

“Not yet. I’m scared to.”

“Why?”

Ollie bit his tongue. “You want to know something that’s really messed up?”

“If you’re willing to tell me what it is, I’ll listen.”

“Leo thinks I killed our father to set us free, and it’s true. I set him free from his abuse, and I set myself free from him, that responsibility, that weight to carry. From nine years old, I tried so hard to keep him safe. I kept him away from the house, I took the beatings, I shut him in the bedroom. I cooked him his meals, I washed his clothes, I spent the money I earned on him. I bought him Christmas presents, and birthday ones, and I signed them from our father. And before I had a job, I stole presents from school, whether it was stationary, or a football, or a hoodie that didn’t smell so bad in the lost property bin, all so he’d havesomething. I tried so hard, and I still failed.”

“You didn’t fail him.”

“What if that’s all I see when I next look at him? My failure, and worse, what if he looks at me and can only see me from that night? That monster. It was never supposed to come out. It was always meant to stay in my head, thoughts, fantasies—”

“It was a coping method.”

“Maybe.”

Jarvis pursed his lips. “But your father pushed it into something more—”

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