"How did you find this place?" Luc murmurs. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives the worn path to the gate I regret shutting.
"Before we first moved here, I'd tried to get away from him. Legally." I don't meet Luc's questioning eyes, wanting to know more. "It didn't end well and I needed an escape. I found the maps of the property and saw the road that goes past your place. It was your grandmother that showed me the clearing.” He doesn’t respond but I see him contemplate my words.
Luc gets out and opens the gate, shutting it behind me. I don’t miss the slight limp he has. He parks in the big garage attached to the house, just in case my father comes looking for me and sees my car. I'm quick to agree.
Luc opens the passenger door. I only pause for a moment before slipping my hand into his.
"Wait," I say when he's helping me to the garage door. He stops and his eyes meet mine.
"I have some clothes and stuff in my backpack," I explain.
Luc takes his arm off me and goes to the backseat to get my backpack. He puts it on his shoulder and his arm goes back around my waist again. It takes some pain off my ribs.
We get to the garage door which must connect to the house. I remember what Luc told me yesterday about having friends staying with him.
I hesitate at the door.
The fear must be evident in my eyes because he reassures me, "They aren't home, Rory. They won't be for a while."
I let Luc help me into the house. It's the same as I remember. There are floral prints and hand-knitted quilts everywhere. There's a few shirts and clothing spread around the place which I assume are Luc's and his friends.
His cheeks burn red and he goes around picking up stuff.
"It's fine, Luc." I chuckle, leaning against the bench. I smile tiredly when he chucks all the clothes he picked up into the closest room.
All in all, for a bunch of teenage boys, the house is pretty clean.
"Are you okay with my room? My grandmother has this weird rule that we're not allowed in the spare bedroom. She's done a lot for me so I have to abide by her rules," he says anxiously.
A secretive smile grows on my face. I crook my finger and he follows me down the hall to the last room. My fingers trail over the wooden sign on the door, 'Butterfly' engraved into it.
"How did you…?" He trails off when I open the door.
I take my backpack from his hands and put it on the bed, wincing at the sharp pain in my ribs. Picking up the quilt on the bed, I show him the stitching on it. In fancy cursive letters is my name. Myrealname.
"You're Butterfly?!" His jaw drops and I laugh softly. I look around at all the things Hannah’s added since I was last here.
Luc still looks lost and confused so I fill him in. "Hannah always said I was welcome here. I think she knew—to a degree. She hoped I would stay here with her. I never did," I reminisce sadly.
Luc guides me to sit on the bed with a tilt of his head. "Why didn't you?" He says quietly. He looks down at the hardwood floor.
"I was scared," I whisper. "Wasn't strong enough, I guess. It’s too close to him and I was afraid he'd come looking for me like last time. I didn't want him to hurt her for helping me." I look at his hand, resting on his knee and I resist reaching for it. "She told me about you." He grows still. He doesn't say anything so I continue. "She said she hoped you would come live with her. Last time I saw her, she told me she was leaving for a while. She said that she had to help her grandson. That her daughter had made some bad choices and he was paying the price."
He takes shaky, uneven breaths and I feel his shoulders shudder.
"She was gone the next day," I say quietly. "I didn't realise she was talking about you until this morning."
He sniffles and my eyes widen.
"Luc?" I say quietly and he lifts his head in time for me to see a tear roll down his cheek.
"Oh, Luc." I open my arms and he curls into me. His shoulders shake as he silently sobs. Ignoring my protesting ribs and the agony that hits me, I lift my arm to stroke his hair.
They're heartwretching, painful to listen to, sobs that have me breaking. I hold him tightly, letting him get out all his pain. His hands grip my shirt and I feel them shake against my back.
I run my fingers through his hair and he buries his face into my shirt, silently crying.
I rub a gentle hand up and down his back. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold him as tight as he's holding me.
