Page 68 of Butterfly

Teddy’s smile was everything.

It stretched his lips, reached his eyes, and filled a vein in his temple.

Maybe the look would’ve scared others. Maybe they would’ve described it as manic.

But Ollie knew that smile was from a man unable to verbally express just how happy he was.

Which could only mean one thing…

Ollie widened his eyes as he heard the fluttering, the smacks against the walls where the butterflies collided with concrete.

“Really?” he asked softly.

Teddy nodded with enthusiasm.

Ollie carefully sat up and saw for himself.

There were three peacock butterflies flapping around their cell. They were bigger than Ollie thought they would be, brighter too, adding flashes of red to their bland grey décor.

For the last few nights, Teddy had been sliding the tray out from beneath his bed before they went to sleep just in case the butterflies were ready to emerge.

When they didn’t, he sighed and his shoulders drooped with disappointment.

The book had warned that pupas didn’t guarantee butterflies.

They could die.

And mid-August was late for peacock butterflies to emerge.

Ollie had begun to worry after they had passed the two-weeks mark and was contemplating asking Einstein to get a message out to Sebastian. They could try again the following year, or to hell with the caterpillar stage, Sebastian could fill the rats with live butterflies. Ollie scratched off the latter idea. It was cruel, and he was certain Teddy would not approve.

“Three,” Ollie murmured. “Where’s the fourth?”

Teddy ducked beneath the bed. The frame squealed as he sat down. Ollie yawned into the back of his hand before joining him on the bed beneath.

Teddy pointed to the tray and the pupa.

The last butterfly began to emerge.

Teddy held up his hand to Ollie, and Ollie linked their fingers.

They didn’t make a sound, but the other butterflies did, fluttering past, smacking into this and that, before beating themselves against the closed window.

Ollie frowned as a wave of sadness washed over him. Teddy beamed, crushing Ollie’s hand in his grip as he waited with bated breath.

It was the closest thing Teddy could experience to having children. He’d never have the opportunity, wouldn’t ever have a pet, a dog or a cat, an animal for companionship.

Ollie wondered whether he’d always be in this cell, on the squeaky bottom bunk with the furniture, always feeling like it was a day away from collapse.

The same meals, the same gym, the same concrete yard with no flowers or plants.

It was bleak.

He’d been inside for over a decade, and his pulse exploded at the simple sight of a butterfly. Ollie could feel it through their joined hands, the outright joy the moment gave him, and he was sharing it with Ollie.

He’d woken Ollie so they could watch the last one emerge together.

Teddy tugged Ollie’s hand, bringing his focus back to the butterfly, which crawled out of its confines. It flashed its wings, bursts of red as it felt them unfurl for the first time.

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