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Never in a million years would Lotta have expected to be in this situation. The wall to her back separated her from a lively fest celebrating the soon to be end of everybody’s high school education. Sat down on a bench in Bebe Stevens’ backyard, faced with nothing but the numbing cold of the season.
And, well. Him.
“Oh.” Lotta hadn't needed to turn her head to see who this was. In fact, he wouldn't have even had to say anything for her to know it was Butters. As soon as she heard the squeak of the backyard door she had taken off her headphones, without looking up from her lap just yet.
The pattern of his step gave him away, including the way it halted when he must've spotted Lotta on the bench. She wasn't looking, but she could feel it. The glare aimed at her, sharp like a dagger.
“Hey.” Meeting his eyes at last, she felt even colder than she did before. “What are you doing out here?”
Nothing about his stance or tone wavered. “I could be asking you the same.”
Lotta held his gaze for another moment, for as long as she could hold up this stand off. Then she scooted over, making enough room on the bench for Butters to sit down.
No reaction. Lotta laid her phone in her lap, the cover art of I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love gleamed back at her. She paused the music, killing the noise still distantly playing from her headphones before she put everything to the side.
It allowed for Lotta to hear the creaking of the terrace's wooden floorboards, as Butters slowly made his way over. In her ears it almost drowned out the partying in the house behind the two of them. Yet again, she didn't need to look Butters in the eye to be aware of his cautious, mistrusting gaze placed upon her.
“I felt sick,“ forcing the words out felt heavier than she expected. “I dunno why.”
Butters somehow narrowed his eyes further. “Sick,” he repeated. Something about the skepticism in his voice bothered Lotta to no end. She knew she felt sick. Just not why.
But this interaction barely came as a surprise for her. Lotta couldn't remember when it started, but for a long while now it seemed that Butters Stotch was doing this. Glaring at her when he thought she wouldn't see. They could still converse at a normal level, Butters gracing her with no less of an attitude than some of the other people in their grade. But the line in between always seemed paper thin, like one could count the days until Butters dropped the polite act and spoke to Lotta the way his glares did.
And she had the feeling today might be the day. Or, night rather.
“Yeah,” She laid her hands to rest on her lap. When she leaned forward slightly to meet his eyes, he turned away. “What about you?”
Butters had his arms crossed “Kyle pissed me off.” He allowed for no further comment. “If you’re sick, why did you even come here?”
The silent implication was obvious. It was more of a loud implication really, not helped by Butters' smart ass tone. All Lotta could hear was ‘If you’re such a great wannabe doctor then why did you come here sick?’ It made Lotta want to smack Butters square across the face, but lucky for him, she had standards for herself that wouldn't allow for this. Then again, her rebuttal was a far cry from appearing unaffected.
“Well. You came here knowing Kyle was here.” It was like kindergarten. Even with her monotonous voice she knew she gave away a hint of defensiveness, and one hint was already too many. At least it paled in comparison to Butters’ response.
“I didn’t,” he raised his voice, “I wouldn't be here if I'd known!”
“Exactly.”
Silence. She must have struck a nerve. The way Butters grew increasingly irritated was about as subtle as a shotgun blast. His leg bounced, eyebrows furrowed. Lotta knew full well the likelihood of agitating him further if she kept talking, and did so anyway.
“I get it. I would've passed on company like this too.”
If she directed her attention toward what was going on behind her, Lotta could make out a few of the voices inside. A loud whine that she easily recognized to be Clyde, with a more feminine voice calling out in response. Probably the hostess herself. Lotta could picture it clearly, despite this being the first - and probably last - time she will ever set foot in her house. The living room was crowded, a stir of visual and audible impact. Laughing, arguing.
She heard a few of the guests laugh, louder than the rest. It had to have been Jimmy’s doing. Maybe Nichole and Tolkien were still sitting arm in arm on the couch, as they had been for most of the evening. The sea of familiar faces was nauseating enough, as Lotta had observed earlier. But it wasn't until a certain face entered her vision that she left. He was off to the side, sitting on top of one of the windowsills. And he hadn't seen her. Behind his eyes was an emptiness suggesting he was some place entirely different, unreachable.
Butters scoffed next to her, pulling her back to reality. “I thought you of all people would want to be here. Kenny’s here after all.”
The unbridled bitterness in Butters’ voice wasn't even the worst part. Lotta firmly grabbed the fabric of her leggings at the name he just dropped without a warning. She took a moment to bite back anything she wouldn't want Butters to see or hear, before replying: “He sure is.“
It didn't work. Her voice wavered enough for even Butters to notice. And like an open book, Lotta could read the confusion on his face morph, until everything clicked into place and his eyes widened.
“Did you and Kenny… break up or something?”
Break up.
She stared at him. There was such an audacity to… everything he just said. Lotta's brain hinged on these words. Break up. Break up? What the hell? What does that imply about what Butters thinks her relationship with Kenny even is? He thought we were dating.
“... You’re impossible, do you know that?”
A giggle of sheer disbelief escaped her, leaving Butters obviously confused about whether that was a yes or no to his question, and just irritated enough that it showed. Just as he looked like he was about to get up and leave, Lotta said enough to lure him back in.
“I guess I understand what he sees in you.”
She hadn’t even directed it at him. An admission of defeat without a recipient other than herself, Butters just happened to see the white flag. The movement to her right halted completely - she supposed he decided to stay. And decided to stare, too.
“What did you just say?”
Lotta had no clue what to make of that. No idea if Butters was angry, or confused, or curious or all three of those things. Despite trying, she couldn’t bring herself to repeat those words.
“Paying attention to Kenny always pays off.” Those were the words eventually tumbling from her mouth instead. Staring ahead she could easily picture Kenny, eyes covered by his long, blonde hair, or face buried deep in his parka. Standing by the wayside, or letting his eyes dart between his friends as they talked amongst each other. “He never shares much on his own accord.”
And she could compare it to seeing him one to one with ease as well. Up until recently, Lotta liked to think that there was a difference. That, while Kenny would never say it outright, he showed more of himself to Lotta than most others. That, even if it could just have to do with the nature of their relationship, it could also be something different. Something deeper they shared.
Trust. Yes, it was trust that she thought it for. Lotta wanted to kick herself.
“Do you remember two weeks ago, Kenny getting hit by a stray baseball?” It was a rhetorical question, she saw Butters waiting out in the hallway for him that day. She didn't wait for him to answer.
“We were talking about the weekend while I checked him over. About this and that, and then I remembered something.” Lotta grabbed her headphones and put them back in her lap, fidgeting absentmindedly. “You guys had band practice that Saturday. And I knew you sprained your hand the day before, so y'know, I asked about that.”
She took a breath, her mouth closed.
"And when I asked, something… changed. I only realized that after the fact. That his pupils got just a little wider when I said your name. That he's a lot more hesitant when talking about you. And…”
God this was stupid. She felt stupid.
“... and that he was blushing. It was small, but in hindsight it’s obvious.” Lotta buried her face in her hand. “I really thought he was just red from the baseball hit.”
A flood of memories swept her away. Recounting not just this, but every single moment just like it. Every moment that went unnoticed until it didn’t. At this point, Lotta wished Butters would burst out in laughter instead, or yell at her or anything. Anything to heave her out of this mess in her head and back to the bench on somebody’s terrace.
But just like always, it was up to her. She met his gaze again.
“Butters. Kenny likes you. He really likes you. And I think you should be with him.”
A glass fell to the ground and shattered on the other side of the wall. The muffled yelling that followed suit was a quiet noise compared to that of Lotta’s rapid heartbeat. Without a clue as to how, she could keep looking at Butters. At a stare somehow more bewildered than it was before.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I think you do. Maybe you just don’t want to believe me.”
“... You think Kenny likes-”
“I know he likes you, Butters.”
“And… and you want me to ask him out? But you like him too?”
It felt like a dagger to her chest. The fact that Butters of all people could tell. Had he figured it out just now or did he know all along? Was that why he was so much more standoffish seeing her with Kenny? Worried that she would actually take the next step?
“Yeah.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
“...”
“You’re not?”
“Of course not. But what’s the alternative here? Going out with Kenny and each day he wonders what could’ve been had he asked you out instead? I can’t do that.”
Not to mention the fact that were they together, she wouldn’t put it past Butters to concoct some sort of scheme to make Lotta disappear without a trace. But that was beside the point.
There was something behind Butter's narrow eyes that Lotta couldn't quite place. He must be pondering still, something that given what they just talked about, Lotta did not have the patience for.
“Look.” She heaved a sigh. It was harder to do so than she expected. “You can just pretend we never talked about this. You can go back in there and tell Kenny how you feel. I’ll stay out of your way.”
“Who told you?”
“What?”
“Who told you that… that I like Kenny?”
“Butters, come on…” That’s what he was wondering about? Lotta couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Did you hear yourself just now? You asked me if Ken and I broke up, sounding like you just won a million dollars or something.”
It was surreal. Surely, Butters had to have known, right? Maybe not about Kenny’s feelings, but his own. Each glare directed at her, each time he tried to get time with Kenny, away from Lotta. It was just like with Kenny - once you see it, it becomes so obvious that it won’t stop appearing everywhere, every time something happens.
But judging from the look on his face, this was news to him. Lotta sighed again, wishing on the minuscule speckles of light in the night sky that there was a way to make her point that wouldn’t drag this out much more than it needed to be. In the process, she recalled something.
“Did he talk to you today?”
Butters shook his head, but undoubtedly hesitated to do so. “No, not here at the party,” he added.
Lotta leaned her head back. “He’s doing that thing again today. He’s… always a little distant, but today he is so completely out of it again. Something happened, and something has been happening, but I don’t know-”
Again, she made the mistake of looking to her side. Butters’ eyes were wide, but this time with… fear? He broke off the eye contact as fast as he could, staring at the ground. Lotta felt like the wall of the Stevens residence just crashed down on her.
“I can't tell you.” Butters murmured. Whether it was to Lotta or to himself, Lotta couldn't tell. She felt her throat tie shut, and no amount of her logical deduction, her theory being proven right just this very moment, could help that.
“Of course.”
“Huh?”
“Of course you can't tell me.” She caught her breath. “Kenny told you, not me. He doesn't want me to know.”
Lotta thought about that time Kenny laid passed out on a gym mat in a little abandoned room at their school that she used to call her office. If she focused, she could still feel the skin of his cheeks brushing against her thumbs as she adjusted his head. Rough skin. His body had flinched, no matter how gentle the gesture. Speculation was all that she had, and now she knows for certain it’s all she ever will have.
In a moment Lotta never thought to be physically possible, Butters seemed too stunned to speak. His mouth falling shut after failing to respond right away, then trying again. “It’s not-”
“Don’t.”
It was Lotta who shut him up on the second attempt. And for what was probably the first time in their lives, it worked.
“I heard enough about this.”
And Butters didn’t go for a third try either. It was strange, seeing him like this. Too uncomfortable to say anything. In a way it almost felt good. Like in some way, Lotta actually had the chance to get over on him, and win. Even if it wasn't in any sort of way that actually mattered.
They sat in silence once more, the party raging inside like white noise to their ears. All was said and done, right? She got it over with. Their fates were sealed, just as they had been laid out for them. She could just get up now and-
“You’re… handling this remarkably well.”
What?
Maybe it was just Butters' way of insulting her. Lotta didn't have it in her to clap back. She just let out a weak laugh, as she did before. “No I’m not.”
“... I think you are. You’re not, uh. Cryin’ or anything.”
“Well what the hell does crying solve? It’s done nothing but give me migraines the first four times this has happened.”
“Four times?”
Like chains wrapping around her and pulling her underwater, Lotta was dragged back there. To the elementary school classroom, the science lab. Starks Pond and the arcade. The feeble apologies echoing through her head.
Whyever were they apologizing? None of them were ever the first to reject her, that honor was taken by her father and she hadn’t cried about him in ages. It shouldn’t hurt anymore. Nothing should hurt.
“... Yeah.”
Why did she have to say it? Why did she say it was four times? Did she forget who she was talking to? This was Butters. For all she knew she could walk into school on Monday and find the words ‘Four Times’ smeared across her locker, carved into her table and they would echo through the mouths of everyone walking by for the rest of her academic career.
Even if he didn't hate her - which Lotta knew he definitely did, as little as he kept that a secret - everyone knew about Butters and his habit of running his mouth. He wasn’t laughing now but that didn’t have to mean anything. She had to act fast.
“More than enough times to get used to it, don’t you think?” Lotta shrugged, her feeble attempts at a lightheartedness she didn’t possess falling flat. “I mean, tonight was an improvement. Even if Wendy just invited me to come because she feels bad for me. Usually she just sort of forgets I exist.”
A knife twisting in her flesh. It shouldn’t hurt anymore.
“I can’t really blame her. She has other people to worry about. As does everybody else.”
What was she doing? All of this was making her more vulnerable. And while part of her knows, Lotta couldn’t help it. The bitterness that boiled up when she thought about how Wendy stood by the counter, with Stan in her arms, swaying softly to the music. The only person insisting Lotta show up not gracing her with more than 10 seconds of her time.
Even with her neck turned she felt a gaze on her that made her skin crawl. It was frustrating more than anything, that Lotta knew exactly what it was. It made her waver, knowing that Butters was staring at her with that same pitiful glance that she’s seen countless times before. I’m not pitiful.
She turned back around to face him. “Don’t look at me like-”
The words caught in her throat. Yes, Butters was looking her right in the eye, but it wasn’t just the pity that she was used to. There was something else.
Recognition.
And it burned worse now that she was staring back at it. So uncomfortable that she got up from her seat, standing there for a few seconds until she walked forth to the wooden railing situated on the edge of the platform. The view gave her nothing but dimly lit, snowy hedges and rocks. It wasn’t bright enough to banish the image of what she’d just seen.
Lotta let her arms come to rest on the railing, as she felt the wooden floor shift beneath her. Butters had gotten up to stand beside her. But it was fine. Everything would be fine. She didn’t need to think about anything that had just happened.
Something brushed against her arm, and a second later Lotta would find her headphones coming into her field of vision. Butters’ slender hand holding them out to her in a firm grasp, her phone clamped underneath.
As she slowly retrieved them, Lotta was grateful to not have to hear anything from him. Not a word from Butters, about understanding or caring. At least in silence, Lotta didn't have to muster up the energy. Energy that she did not have anymore, for any of this.
“It’s getting cold,” Butters finally said after a while, as though they haven't been out here for god knows how long. “Let’s head back inside.”
An exhaustion settled in Lotta’s body, enough to make her legs feel heavier than stone. Unable to set foot in that house again and possibly see what she'd set in motion tonight. “I think I’m gonna head home.”
Butters looked taken aback. “Are you sure? Is it not-”
“It’s not a long walk from here,” Lotta intercepted. “Don’t worry.”
“I could walk you home.”
Well, that was a first. Lotta shook her head softly, trying her hardest to smile whilst facing him again. She would have to hope that the light on the porch didn't reflect her tearfilled eyes too noticeably. “He’s probably looking for you in there.”
Butters was once more left speechless for a moment, bearing that newfound expression he had for her. He broke eye contact, fidgeting with his knuckles. “... Should I tell Wendy that you left?”
The weak smile faded. “If she asks.”
The two of them stood there for another moment, awkwardly, before Lotta got set into motion, slowly steering toward the garden fence. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around, Butters.”
She hadn't heard a reply from him, nor another creak of the wooden floorboards. But there was no point in turning around to see if he was still standing there. Meeting his gaze again was actually the last thing she wanted right now, it was almost less painful to imagine that the next day she would see him at school, Butters and Kenny would be walking around hand in hand, or otherwise completely inseparable.
At least she would see Kenny smile.
The fence gate opened without much protest, its squeak barely loud enough for Lotta to hear it over the music inside the house, that seemed a lot louder now that she was leaving. A few more steps, and she was on her way.
Lotta could appreciate the growing silence as she got further and further from the Stevens residence. It was only when all she heard was the heels of her boots on the concrete sidewalk and the occasional car speeding by in the distance, that a sense of dread began gnawing on her. Threatening to tear into her now that she was alone again.
She put her headphones back on and pulled her phone out briefly. Without a second glance at her screen, she hit the play button.
“-ese hands, stained red. From the times that I’ve killed you and-”
She turned it off.