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Butterfly

I opened my eyes and noticed a strange man sitting next to me. He pulled a small metal bottle from the inside pocket of his coat and took a sip. The smell of alcohol made me nauseous, and I ended up vomiting. My stomach and head hurt, and I was having trouble thinking straight.

"You need medical attention," the man said as he stood up. "Don't be alarmed, but I need to carry you." He moved slowly, watching for any negative reaction I might have, but I felt so unwell that I could barely express discomfort with the physical contact; I just wanted to sleep.

Now and then, I mustered the strength to open my eyes and observed the man navigating through narrow lanes and quiet side streets, avoiding the bustling main street filled with holiday tourists. I had no clue about our destination, and his willingness to help felt rather unusual. Strangers typically didn't lend a hand in dim and grimy alleyways. I opted to shut my eyes again, and upon reopening them, we stood before a massive red door.

The sound of footsteps echoed on the floor, doors opening and closing as we moved forward. I felt the softness of a smooth sheet beneath me, the gentle touch of the kind stranger vanished, as did the weight of his coat over me, replaced by the softness of blankets, which made me relax and fall asleep immediately.

I was still sore when I woke up, with a dry throat and aching stomach. I opened my eyes and found myself under a very high ceiling, something unusual in modern houses. I looked around, and the strong light coming through the large windows bothered me for a moment. I sat up in the big bed and glanced around, just as the door opened, and the man who had helped me entered, carrying a tray.

"Finally," he said, smiling and approaching. "It seemed like you weren't going to wake up anymore until last night when you started moving. I figured you'd wake up hungry, so I prepared something light for you."

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice hoarse, and my mind still confused.

"Don't I even get a 'good morning'?" He said playfully, but I wasn't in the mood for that and looked at him seriously. "Alright. My name is Fabian Astor."

"Mr. Astor..." I began, but he raised his hand, interrupting me.

"Just call me Fabian," Fabian smiled and offered me a plate of sliced fruits, which I gladly accepted.

"Fabian, thank you for helping me. I don't know what could have happened if you hadn't shown up," I said, feeling a shiver run down my spine.

"You can thank me by telling me your name," Fabian extended his hand like a formal greeting.

A name. Something so simple that makes us individuals, yet it had always been ignored, making me feel insignificant, lower than even an animal. At that moment, I wondered if anyone in my life had ever called me by my name other than my college professors. Even my relatives used cruel nicknames like "useless orphan" or "slow."

"I don't have a name that deserves to be remembered," I said, my voice sounding sadder than I intended.

"Alright, but I need to call you something," Fabian said, running his perfectly shaved chin. I prepared myself for what was coming, but the surprise surpassed any feeling I could have at that moment. "Butterfly."

"I'm sorry?" I said, unable to believe what I had just heard.

"Since you don't seem comfortable telling me your name yet, I'll call you Butterfly," Fabian said calmly. I chuckled without humor at the nickname he had chosen.

"I don't think I deserve such a delicate nickname. I'm not worthy of the beauty of a butterfly," I said, thinking of the beautiful imperial butterfly with its unique shades of blue that stood out in nature, while I faded into the objects around me.

"I disagree," Fabian sat beside me on the bed, slowly reaching toward my face and pushing the brown hair behind my ear. "You're like a butterfly, ready to emerge from the cocoon and spread your colorful wings for everyone to see. You just need a ray of sunshine to wake from the long slumber."

I was stunned by Fabian's words. His casual way of acting and speaking left me confused, and unsure of how to respond. I was accustomed to being compared to a rat, a dirty and useless creature forced to survive on the margins, hiding from predators every day. Fabian got up, gently stroking my head.

"I need to step out for a few minutes to buy some supplies. Feel free," he said, moving toward the door but stopping for a moment and looking over his shoulder. "If you want to take a bath, the bathroom is right there, with clean towels in the cabinet. I won't be long."

I waited for a few minutes before actually heading to the bathroom, which was enormous and quite classical, with a clawfoot bathtub and all. When I looked at myself in the large floor mirror, I was startled. Bruises were scattered across my body, but what shocked me the most was the handprint on my neck. Now I could feel the pains in specific parts of my body, reminding me of the party.

I had been drugged by Jacob, Mason, and Benjamin. Understanding what they had done made me nauseous. I fell to my knees in front of the toilet and vomited what little I had eaten earlier. I remembered their words when they left me to die in the gutters of New Orleans, and overwhelming anger washed over me. I thought about leaving immediately and going to a police station to report what had happened to me. But, the truth hit me like a brick. A nobody like me could never touch any of them. I would disappear before a police officer truly cared about me and what had happened.

I entered the warm bathwater and cried softly. I cried for everything I had lost, for everything I would never have a chance to achieve. I knew that if I went back, they would find a way to make me disappear. I allowed myself to relax in that bathtub, imagining it was washing away any remnants of those men.

After the bath, I decided to explore the apartment; after all, Fabian had said I could. Unlike his room, the entire house had a mystical and magical atmosphere, with colorful fabrics, and antique-style couches with red upholstery, matching the curtains. Over the large fireplace, there were ancient statues of gods and goddesses, and books were scattered everywhere, most of them about magic. It could be his hobby, but something about that environment made me think Fabian was directly involved in that dark world.

I sat on the sofa and contemplated my options. Where could I go, and what could I do? But nothing came to mind. I had nowhere to go, and I couldn't even go back to college for help because no one would care. I needed a plan; I needed to protect myself.

Fabian returned with several bags of food, went to the kitchen, and soon came back with a plate of gumbo for me and another for him. Even though it was my favorite dish, I could hardly taste the pork or spices. Fabian was enjoying his meal, focused on his plate. When he looked at me, he gave a wide smile.

"Why did you save me?" I asked, wanting to know the truth behind his generosity toward a stranger.

"That's a good question," Fabian said, placing the utensils on the table and resting his chin on his hand, still smiling at me. "Why did I save you?"

The tone of his voice sent shivers down my spine, An instinct to run overcame me, but I was paralyzed, locked onto the honey-colored eyes that watched and assessed me. What did this mysterious man want from me?

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