God…Who are you?
Smile fixed and stomach sunk, I push off the chair and sink into the space before her. She sits for me, good and still, allowing me to touch the velvety skin of her jaw. She lets me hold her while I explore the wounds, slowly bringing my lips closer. “What’s your name?” I need her to say it.
I need her to give it to me freely.
She gazes into me, falling closer ever so slightly as if she could feel the pull as strongly as I do.
Give me your name.
I need to hear it from your lips.
“Bunny.”
Perfect.
I count the ticking clock in my head the longer Bunny remains in the bathroom. At first, I think she’s simply enjoying the pleasure of clean water. Fuck knows I did when I got my first proper shower, but it’s been some time, over an hour now. My thoughts have transferred from simple enjoyment to suicide.
What if she fucking killed herself in there?
Would I blame her? No, but I think a part of me would already miss her.
With the thought of finding her cold and lifeless, floating in the tub, I give her another handful of minutes, my breath getting shorter and shorter with each pass.
“Okay,” I bark, slapping my hands on the arms of the chair as I push myself up. “Okay.” My feet fall in heavy patters against the mottled fibers, slapping in a rushed panic toward the illumination under the door. For a brief moment, I considerknocking, but my hand reaches for the handle instead, pushing down before I can think otherwise.
There’s no steam, and it’s as icy in here as I feared. Bunny, still as the dead, lies with her head resting against the tub’s edge, drowning herself beneath the current. I race toward her unmoving form, shutting off the water. Shit, “That was freezing.”
Just as I turn, ready to shake the life back into her, a sharp “Shit” hisses through the air, followed by her rushed movements to cover herself. I can’t help but look as she scurries away from me. Now that I know she’s alive, all I want to do is stare.
Bunny shields all the important parts, but her fingers twitch toward the wounds. Now that she’s clean, they appear much brighter, more prominent against her ivory flesh. Some are fresh, still bleeding down her slender calf. The sight boils my blood, but I don’t want to scare her. So, before I lash out, I walk away, tearing the skin from my palms as I storm out the door.
I punch every wall on my way toward the main room, reopening wounds and adding new bruises until the need to murder something turns into a low boil. With numb hands, I pour myself a drink and then down it so that I can pour another. When I’m fuzzy, I throw myself on the ground, closing my eyes with an exhausted exhale. After some time, I hear her cautious feet approach. In the dark, I listen to her come close, feeling her presence above me before dancing around my form.
I know where she’s headed. I know what she wants to do. “It’s locked.”
The doorknob turns left and right a handful of times, anyway, before Bunny’s aggression kicks in. She pounds on the solid wood, tugging and yanking on the metal handle as if she could rip the door from its hinges. “Fuck!” she screams when she’s unsuccessful, followed by a kick that I know has to have hurt.
Groaning and muttering obscenities beneath her breath, Bunny hobbles somewhere beside me. “So, you’re just going to lie there and not bother to try?”
My eyes spring open then, fixed on her with a serious glint as I rise and steadily creep toward her. “What do you want me to do? Hm?” I ask, bending so I can meet her glare. “Tear it down with my bare hands?”
Without looking away, I can see her trachea working itself up and down. It’s her only sign of nerves because her eyes don’t give it away. They’re bright—full of fire.
“I saw you in that ring,” she breathes, glare roaming all across my face. “It’s not like you can’t.”
My head grows at the compliment, as does my cock. I don’t deny her claim because it’s probably true. If I tried hard enough, I probably could break that door down, but then what?
Clara’s voice pops into my mind then, as does the promise she made me make. I’m thinking about that when Bunny’s face hardens, her head tilting upward in challenge. I can read her almost as clearly as I can myself, all the bullshit she’s calling me on. I don’t know what to do with such bold defiance other than touch her.
I don’t want to stop touching her.
“You don’t want to go out there, Bunny,” I warn, trailing my bruised and chewed fingernail down to the fingerprints lodged deep into her bicep. “They’ll eat you alive.”
Suddenly, touching her isn’t nearly enough. The urge to consume her is overwhelming, but I’m not allowed to do that yet, so I settle on her smell, inhaling her natural musk and sweetness along her jaw until I’m drunk on more than just vodka. My fingers find their way to hers, tracing her petite and fragile bones until I’m sure I can memorize their shape. She jumps beneath my touch, but it doesn’t compare to the shivers racing along her skin when I brush her hip.
It's the first time I’ve felt this fabric or seen this color since my arrival. “You’re not dressed like the others.” I don’t mean for it to, but my statement comes out accusatory, as if it’s her fault Marone dolled her up differently. And itisdifferent. Everything about her seems to be.
I’m tallying up all the ways when she asks, “What’s your name?”
