Page 91 of Redeeming the Villain

There’s a brief moment, a split second in time, when you wake up and your mind is empty. There’s no pain, or grief, or sadness. It’s not something you notice when you have nothing to fear. You simply wake up and move on with your day.

But when agony waits for you on the cusp of your first conscious breath, it’s one of the worst phenomena. Because for that small moment, you just exist peacefully … and then suddenly, everything hits you at once, like a cannonball through the chest.

That’s what this morning felt like, but worse … because when I first woke up, I thought of Alora.

The surge of self-hatred that came next was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. The first thought in my mind, especially today, should have been of Micah.

He would have been fifteen years old.

Birthdays in general were never really something we celebrated—at least not loudly. I would always find a way to hide a present for him or scrounge a few dollars here and there to get him a small cake or cupcake.

My uncle told us that we had to earn our birthdays, and to no one’s surprise, we never did. We were naughty and big disappointments. He never let us forget it.

But no matter how many times he told Micah he was worthless, I would tell him how special he was twice as many. I refused to let Micah ever believe a word out of our uncle’s mouth. I like to think that I succeeded in the end.

I wish I could visit him today in some way, shape, or form. Maybe that’s what makes all of this so much harder. He’s imprisoned somewhere, wherever my uncle is hiding him.

All I have are a few pictures of him that I managed to steal from the house before I ran, along with his butterflies. He would’ve wanted me to keep them safe, and I always will.

Below the tattooed wordVillain, I rub over the black-and-white tattoo centered on my chest—aSiproeta stelenes, also known as a malachite butterfly, his favorite one. He used to say that he loved this one because of the green-and-black coloration and because the name reminded him of me.

The backs of my eyes burn as tears form.

“Fuck!” I shout.

My fists need to hit something, to punch this blood-boiling rage out of my system.

None of this would be happening if I hadn’t made Micah join me for a walk that night. I just wanted him to get some fresh air and ice cream. I just wanted him to get out of that damn house and away from our uncle.

Tears roll down my lashes and fall, plummeting toward the ground.

How can I face Alora today? How can I look at her and not think of the person responsible?

I know it’s not her; I know my hatred lies somewhere else. But I also know she’s connected to him whether I like it or not. I’ve treated her terribly over the years, and I don’t want to do it again.

Sometimes, my mouth gets in the way, my words lashing out and whipping toward people who aren’t deserving of the wrath. It’s always been my downfall, but it’s also been my shield.

If the rest of the world fears me, they won’t dare get close to me. They won’t get under my skin and sink their hooks in. They’ll never make it past the fortress I’ve spent years building.

I think avoiding Alora today would be the best thing for both of us. Besides, I need to spend time with the butterflies today, brush up on the species he had and the new ones I’ve added to his collection.

A thorn stabs into my heart as I remember the horrible things I once said to Micah about his love for these tiny creatures. Things that I can never take back.

But I can learn—for him. I can keep his collection going for the rest of my life.

Honestly, the more I read or hear about butterflies, the more fascinated I become. Like the fact that they taste from their feet—which is insane—or that their wings are made up of microscopic scales. Butterflies are like the world’s smallest dragons.

A knock sounds on my door. I’m sure it’s Griff.

“Come in,” I call out, wiping my eyes clean.

The door opens, and Griffin walks in, noticing my emotional state immediately. “Hey, man. How are you holding up?”

I could tell him I’m fine and that everything’s great. But he would know it’s a lie, just like I do. Besides, out of respect for him, I won’t.

“You know …” I trail off.

He nods solemnly. “Do you want to talk about him?”

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