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The rain thundered perilously outside, coming down in buckets. Annabelle was grateful for the cracking fireplace she was curled up in front of with a book. Her father was out of town, making a delivery in the big city, so she had the house to herself - something that creeped her out slightly, so she tended to stay downstairs in the lounge and in the kitchen when she could. The warmth of the fire brought her comfort in more ways than one - not only did it shield her from the chill of the outdoors, but it calmed her mind, making her think of easy evenings sitting in front of the fireplace with her daddy.
Despite the peace of the evening, the rain thudding against the windows was so loud that she almost missed the knock at the door. Almost.
She frowned, uncertain as to whether the sound was just coming from her imagination, and sure that whoever would be knocking at this time of night could only mean trouble. Her eyes drifted to the the poker that sat next to the fire, and she was just about to get up and grab it, when there was another knock at the door - more insistent, and this time, accompanied by a familiar voice:
“Annabelle? Belle, are you in?”
Annabelle shot up, her book falling to the ground unceremoniously. She quickly wrapped a throw blanket around her shoulders and rushed to the front door and flinging it open, gasping at the sight in front of her.
“Hey, Belle,” the figure in her doorway looked sheepish underneath their dripping wet dark hair and sodden clothes.
“Butch,” Annabelle pulled her friend indoors, slamming the door shut and wrapping the blanket around Butch’s shoulders instead. “What on Earth? Come on, come get warm, I have the fire goin’…”
Butch pulled the blanket tighter around their shoulders, letting themselves be led into the sitting room. Annabelle pushed her gently but firmly onto the soft, worn couch before disappearing, muttering to herself about towels and tea.
Annabelle was loath to leave her friend on their own, but she knew that they needed to get dry and warm up as soon as possible. She headed to the linen closet, grabbing some clean towels, and detoured to her father’s room to grab some dry clothes for Butch to change into. She took a moment to take a breath; she could handle this - whatever this was.
Upon returning, she noticed that Butch had not moved from their spot on the couch. She quickly went over her shivering friend, fully intending to dry their hair off with one of the towels, but she froze when she took in Butch’s face.
She didn’t notice in the darkness of the front doorway, but here in the glow of the flickering fire, Annabelle could see all too clearly the blue-black bruise blossoming under her friend’s eye.
“Oh, Butch,” she sighed, tracing a finger lightly over the bruise. Butch’s eyes fluttered shut. “What happened?”
She wasn’t really expecting an answer, but her heart still broke as Butch just kept their eyes closed and let out a shuddery breath. The rain beat like a metronome against the window, providing a soundtrack for this awful evening and Annabelle’s shaking hands.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Annabelle worked swiftly on drying Butch’s hair and helping them change into dry clothes, before disappearing again to find a pot to heat some water over the fire to make some tea. She applied some herbal-scented salve to the bruising on Butch’s face, apologising under her breath as Butch winced at the gentle pressure.
Eventually, Annabelle ran out of ways to fuss over her friend. She brewed them both a mug of tea, steam clouds fogging up her glasses, and put yet another throw blanket around Butch’s shoulders before sitting next to them and pulling them close. Butch went willingly, their head falling against Annabelle’s chest, and Annabelle couldn’t do anything but wrap her arms around them tight. Butch’s dark curls were finally dry, tickling Annabelle’s chin, and the warmth of their body - despite everything - provided some much needed reassurance that everything would work out.
“Do you…” Annabelle clears her throat, tries again. “Do you want to… talk about it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but she feels as though she’s yelling. The body in her arms tenses at the question.
“What’s there to talk about?” Butch laughs - it’s cruel and miserable, nothing like her usual musical laughter. “If I’m gonna look like a boy, I’m gonna take a beatin’ like a boy. Nothin’ more to it.”
Annabelle sensed that there was, in fact, more to it, but she knew not to push. Her heart was breaking enough - she didn’t need to be aware of every reason Butch’s parents had given as an excuse to hurt their child.
“I’ll kill them,” She said, knowing it would make Butch smile, but also meaning it 100%. The way Butch’s parents treated Butch was a constant point of contention between them - growing up with a present and attentive father, Annabelle found it difficult to comprehend Butch’s home situation. “I swear it - they don’t deserve you. You’re wonderful.”
The words came easy to Annabelle; it helped that they were entirely sincere. Butch remained silent, but curled up tighter in Annabelle’s hold. Neither of them brought up the fact that Butch was shaking despite the warmth of the room.
Eventually, Butch’s breaths evened out. Annabelle, assuming her friend had fallen asleep, closed her eyes and finally let some silent tears fall of her own.
She was just considering waking Butch and suggesting that they head upstairs to bed, when her friend mumbled something unintelligible into Annabelle’s chest. Annabelle frowned.
“Huh? What was that?”
Butch leaned back, rubbing harshly at their tear-stained, bruised face.
“Why am I like this,” they repeated, and Annabelle heard the question clear as day this time. “Why am I… why am I like this.”
“Like what, Butch?”
“Like this! Why am I different? Why am I wrong?”
“Butch!” Annabelle clasped Butch’s hands, distraught. “Don’t you dare say that - there is nothin’ - and I mean nothin’ - wrong about you.”
Butch scoffed.
“You’ve known me all my life, ‘Belle. You know I’ve never been a woman like I’m s’pposed to be. But I ain’t no man either, so what the hell am I?”
“You’re my friend. And who cares what you’re ‘supposed’ to be? Daddy and my Ma did things the way you’re ‘supposed’ to, met, got married, had a kid - and look how that turned out. Ma wasn’t happy!” Annabelle sighed. “Look. Maybe you’re a little… unconventional. That’s not a bad thing. You’re also strong, and kind, and funny, and one of the two most important people in my life - the other being -”
“Your daddy, I know.” The two of them grinned at each other, the mood finally shifting to something lighter. “Thank you, Annabelle. I - I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Annabelle could feel her heart swell with affection.
“Crash and burn, probably,” she teased. “You’re my best friend, Butch. I’d do anything for you.”
The next morning, Mr Parker would return home to two teenagers sleeping curled up together like shrimp on his couch. At first, the sight would make him smile - when Annabelle’s mother had left, he was worried about his daughter and how morose she could sometimes get, but Butch had pulled her out of the darkness and offered her sanctuary. Butch was a good friend to his daughter, and so he had nothing but affection for them. However, he would then notice the dark bruise blossoming over Butch’s face, and his heart would sink. He knew Butch’s family - local cattle farmers - and he tried to deal with them as little as possible. They were cocky and aggressive; nothing like their child. His blood boiled as he put two and two together.
With a sad sigh, he left his daughter and her strange friend to sleep as he put together breakfast. He may not be able to save Butch from their tumultuous homelife, but he could at the very least keep providing a safe sanctuary they could turn to in the form of his home and his daughter.
It was the least he could do.