Black Butterfly

Chapter 12

I didn't move. I didn't even breathe. I couldn't even hear the music, the feeling of the barrel on my back taking all of my focus. 

I took a shuddering breath and felt the gun press harder into me. "Don't move." He whispered. 

"I can't take a f*****g breath?" The words were out before I could stop them. 

A low laugh. The barrel moved to the nape of my neck. I sucked in another breath. "Don't talk either." 

I swallowed. How did I get here? My heart was racing and my breathing was short. Our close proximity must've hidden the gun from sight. "Now," he whispered into my ear, "You're going to walk calmly towards the entrance, and you're not going to raise any alarm." 

I tried to nod. Why hasn't Mason returned? My ass he was just getting water. Then a dangerous thought occurred to me. I'll walk by the bar, hopefully someone will see me. And the gun. It was completely reckless and stupid, but when you have a gun near your head it's hard to think straight. 

I started to walk slowly toward the bar, my eyes scanning for any sign of Mason. I kept my face neutral, but my eyes probably showed everything. I could die tonight. I thought. Mom will never see me again, and won't ever know what happened to me. And Anthony, oh my god Anthony. He's only fourteen. I shouldn't have come here. I should never have trusted Mason. 

I kept walking, tears threatening to fall from my eyes but I kept searching the bar. One tiny piece of hope longing to see someone willing to help. I made contact with a pair of familiar brown eyes. He looked at me. 

And then all hell broke loose. 

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Mason dove toward me, pushing dozens of people to the side. The man with the gun behind me saw and aimed his gun at Mason. The first shot went off. 

Time resumed its natural flow and people started screaming. They pushed others on their way to find shelter or escape through the front door. I dove to the floor in an effort to get away, shards of broken glass slicing my palms. Music still boomed through the speakers though no one stood at the booth. 

Mason reached behind him and pulled a gun out of his waist band, firing shots in quick succession. I whipped my head away and my eyes landed on the man who had shoved a gun to my back. 

Oh my god. It was the boy that had stared at me earlier. Then it hit me, I'd seen him at Denny's. He was the one Mason was asking about. Holy s**t. 

He had platinum blonde hair and storm grey eyes filled with fury. He matched Mason's fire, looking back every now and then to see where he was, where he was heading. Mason rushed over to me and crouched down next to me. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked, breathless. 

"Other than the fact that I've had a gun held at me for ten minutes, my palms are shredded, and I'm in the middle of a gun fight? Yes I'm totally fine." 

He huffed a laugh but stopped short when another shot came our way. He shifted in front of me and fired again. Gun shots were surprisingly loud and I covered my ears from going deaf. Meanwhile stormy eyes had made it to a back door. He lifted the gun and aimed it in our direction.

"The Ark will get her. You'll have nothing left." He said. Firing one last shot he ran out into the dark alley beyond. Mason bounded up and ran after him, crashing through the door. I finally took a breath. Adrenaline was coursing through me and it took me a minute to register the pain in my left arm. 

It was searing. Like all the nerves had been shocked with bolts of electricity. I groaned, and tried to clutch my arm, but touching it made it worse. I looked over and I could see blood dripping into a puddle on the floor. I've been shot. Holy s**t. f*****g hell, I've been shot. 

Mason came through the door and saw me gritting my teeth while laying on the floor atop shards of glass. Glass, right. My palms were slashed with cuts, some more painful than others. He rushed to my side and took my palms in his hands. I hissed as he pulled them towards him, my left arm rebelling in sharp pain. 

I groaned again and Mason saw my arm. Grabbing it with a force that made me yelp he twisted it to get a better look. I started to see dots. "I can't tell how bad it is. We need to get back to the house." He said and swore. I looked at him, little lines of blood and scratches littered his face. I reached up to wipe away the blood, but he pushed my hands back down. 

"I'm fine. Can you stand?" Mason asked.

I tried but the adrenaline had worn off and my knees buckled beneath me. Mason put my uninjured arm over his shoulders and lifted me up by the knees. It was getting harder to stay awake, pain threatened to pull me under. 

My head lolled. "Stay with me Calsy. We're going home." Mason grunted. His boots crunched the glass on the floor and the make out hallway was destroyed, things strewn across the floor. Mason pushed open the door with his back. 

We must have been a sight to see, him and I. An almost unconscious, bloodied girl and and almost equally bloody boy carrying that girl. Somehow the car was undamaged and the doors were open. Mason set me down in the passenger seat and crossed to his side. 

I frowned when he got in. "What's wrong?" He inquired. 

"I'll ruin the upholstery." I muttered. He laughed and a big smile settled on his face.

"Sleep Calsy." 

I didn't want to, I wanted to stay awake and make sure he was okay. But before the pain could drag me under I saw him look at me. There was such hurt in those chestnut eyes. Hurt, anger, and pain. Before I could do anything else, I was pulled under and everything went black. 

-

I woke up back in the cream colored bed, my shoes off and jacket off, the comforter over me. My head was pounding and when I tried to sit up pain, hot and sharp, raced down my arm. I still wore the red crop top and tight leather pants, which stood out darkly on the light colored bedding. 

The sun was out in full and the tiles sparked in the light. I have to get up. Grunting and groaning I pulled myself out of bed and tried to stretch, but my arm wouldn't let me. A white bandage was wrapped around it, fresh from what I could tell. I looked at my palms, long, jagged cuts went across the skin and it hurt to flex them. 

I opened the door and voices floated up to meet me. Head still throbbing I looked at the stairs and almost turned back. Please God, don't let me fall down the stairs. I gripped the handrail so tight my knuckles were white. 

When I finally made it down I stopped near the kitchen. People were gathered around a table arguing profusely. One was cooking on the stove. I made note of who was there. 

Mason, Nick, Olivia and Jo were the ones I knew. Two others, with their backs turned to me, were strangers. Mason caught sight of me and closed his mouth, and Nick followed his gaze soon after until everyone was looking at me. 

I looked down, heat rising in my cheeks. The two strangers were the last to look. A girl about my age with long, fiery red hair and a man older than many of us, but who held on to his youth with an iron grip. 

The girl spoke first, "Are those my pants?" 

The man spoke next, "Come here girl. You have a lot to tell us."