In the middle of the standoff we’re having in the motel lobby, Bunny takes a series of breaths, her face flushing and paling a dozen times over before it settles on a flat, neutral shade. She glances between Susie and me, her inner war apparent on every expression before she nods and whispers a quiet, broken, “Okay.”
Leading both Susie and me into the back office, Bunny waits at the threshold, holding the door wide for us to step through before securely locking it behind us. When she turns back around to face us, after taking a long, deep inhale, I know she's about to divulge everything. The greatest part of me, the one riddled and coated in shame, wants to stop her from exposing our ruin. But the other part, the one that cares more about her than me, understands that this might just be too heavy to handle alone.
As kids, we’re told to rely on our parents, teachers, guidance counselors, and those with authority—those who are older. Bunny and I have learned that we can’t count on a single one of them, but those lessons remain within us. Beneath all the mistrust, we’re desperate for someone to care.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” It’s a wordless response, but the yes is clear in her water-filled eyes. “Okay. It’s okay,” I promise, forcing a smile to come onto my lips. “Go on, Bun.” It takes a little nudging, but she’s almost there. We all need a little push. “Rip’ em to shreds.” And just like that, the color returns to her cheeks, shifting tones from time to time, but Bunny stays strong and upright while revealing the horror unleashed upon us.
She starts at the beginning, the very beginning—our lives at home. Bunny lays out our lives, painting the picture of how one traumatic life turned into another. The early stuff Susie seems to be able to handle, undoubtedly because her life growing up had to have been just as difficult, but it’s the later stuff, the taken stuff, that leaves her speechless. Susie is still, utterly frozen, but speechless.
When Bunny is finished, face covered in dried mucus and tears, she whispers one last thing. “We did what we had to do. It was the only way we could have survived.”
When everything is silent, Susie still does nothing. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t twitch. I wouldn’t be surprised if she weren’t even breathing. Everything is excruciatingly motionless and mute. Though I suppose that isn’t the worst reaction she could have had. The phone is right across from her. She could have called the police and let them bring us in, God knows where. Or maybe she would try to explain the situation to them, potentially sealing our fate. Who knows what’s going on in her flickering, saddened gaze.
We don’t get to ask before she stands and walks silently to the other door in the room. Her back is turned to us longer than is comfortable, but when she emerges, it’s with two trash bags in hand. Dropping them at our feet, Susie explains, “There’s a small metal trash bin in the back.” She’s… not going to turn us in. I can feel my mouth part and Bunny’s beside me. She takes our shock as a sign of confusion and further cements her trust in us. “To burn those. One less trace of the two of you at that officer's house.”
Fuck.
We left traces of us all over that house. The realization hits Bunny at the same time, but her panic compels me to remain upright. I’m here to protect her. So, I do.
Taking both bags in one hand, I grab Bunny with the other, giving her a secure, confident squeeze to show her I’m here. I got you. Meeting Susie’s gaze, I express my thanks, hoping she can decipher how deeply I mean it. “Thank you.”
Susie doesn’t say anything in response, but her eyes hold the same depth, the same protective nature. I see so many emotions in a single stare—apologies, compassion… sympathy.
All at once, those lessons returned to me.
I think we finally found one of those adults they told us to trust.
Back in the room, I sit on the bed in silence. Bunny is hiding in the bathroom, either crying in the shower or mentally gone altogether. Her movements and whimpers stopped a long time ago. Now, the water runs alone. I should go in there to check on her. Instead, I fall back and sink into the mattress, reliving the horrors of the day.
Back underground—that’s how I like to think of my time in captivity—I killed out of survival. Either I took my opponent's life or they’d take mine, or Marone would take it, or, fuck, someone who paid enough would take it. No matter what, my life was always up for grabs. So, as time went on, my guilt for taking wouldn’t fade completely, but I told myself I could live with what I’d done. Now, though, as I lie facing the ceiling, I battle the conscience I thought I silenced long ago. It began flickering the more I thought of Sophie. I haven’t been able to stop it since.
I remind myself repeatedly that I killed Lakens, not in defense, but out of need. Bunny couldn’t go on with this monster lurking in the shadows. I killed for her. I don’t regret it, but conflict begins to fester in my thoughts. It has a way of sneaking up on you.
To keep myself from being swallowed by it, I take the bag of bloodied, soiled clothes and head to the back of the inn, where the fire rages, ready for me. I toss one fragment of clothing, one strip at a time, ensuring they’re nothing but ash before adding another to the pile. When I have nothing left but an empty bag, I throw that in too, losing myself in the melting plastic before heading back into the room.
The shower is still running when the door closes behind me. I harden my spine and soften my features before cracking open the bathroom door. I can’t let her see the effect today had on me. Fuck. I don’t even want to see it myself.
Kill or be killed.
Fucking remember that, Cade.
“It’s done.”
Remaining beneath the spray, Bunny relaxes, stopping my heart with a soft, exhausted smile. “Thank you for taking care of that.”
After shedding the clean clothes I had thrown on, I squeeze into the small shower with her. My thumbs immediately find the slight dip in her hips and rub in small circles until her lids crack open. We share the space beneath the pouring water, looking nowhere but in each other’s eyes. This is one of those few moments, in the midst of all the chaos, where peace is finally allowed to settle over us, so we savor it. Moving slowly, liquid beneath the current, Bunny licks the water from my lips, her fingers exploring me in the same languid manner.
Raking her fingernails up from my spine, she crosses her hands at my neck, pressing her slippery form against mine. “I’ve never felt anyone like you,” she whispers into my chest, tracing the long lines of scars that score my skin. I find them to be a bit more bearable with her touch instead of mine.
When the sensation of her becomes too strong, leaving little electric currents singeing the nerves underneath my skin. “My turn.” I devour her lips with a flick of my tongue, tasting the soap that runs down her face.
“Oh, God,” she breathes, knees buckling. I keep her up with my hands on her hips, falling to my knees instead. Water cascades all around us, blanketing us in a white sheet while I pepper kisses up her thigh. Nails, bitten and broken, scratch against my scalp as she runs her fingers through my curls.Occasionally, Bunny will brush against a barely healing wound or a scab that never heals, eliciting a minor hiss, but I don’t pull away. I welcome the pain she inflicts, regardless of its type.
She focuses on one wound primarily, a long, raised strip running from the back of my skull, diagonally to my left ear. In between kissing the softest parts between her thighs, I think of the moment I received that scar, of the heavy concrete slab that split my skull in half.
“Mr. Harris!”
I wake from a sweaty, uncomfortable sleep, confused as to why I’m being called by my name—my actual name. Hearing it almost tricks me into believing this was just one big, horrible nightmare, just like I always hoped it was. Then, Marone appears out of the shadows, popping my bubble for the millionth time. Fear no longer simmers in my stomach acid when he appears. I only feel rage.
