And now we’re doing this, and they’re paying for what they’ve done, and I’m scared, Bun. I’m scared because I can’t lose you.
Not when I just got you.
I won’t tell you this now. You won’t even get this until we’ve finished.
Not because I don’t want you to know, but because I won’t be the reason you stop. Not when they’ve done so much to you.
I can handle my pain, but yours is one I can’t survive.
You’re sleeping now, and for once, I feel no fear from you. I dream of the nights I can look over and never see that fear again.
I know we’ll have that, Bun.
I know when this is done, I’ll roll over in whatever bed we find and see peace on your lips every night as I hold you close.
I’ll kiss them, just so I can feel it, too.
I love you, Bun.
I don’t know when I’ll find the nerve to say it, but I do.
I love you, Bunny.
Until the end.
I read my words back, conflicted about whether I had said too much or too little. How do you cram every thought—every feeling—you’ve ever had onto a single paper? There’s so much left to share, but every time I put the tip of the pen back to the page, my reflections shatter and fall apart.
Giving up with a huff, I fold the letter neatly, making sure each edge lines up, before safely securing it beneath the pile of my belongings. I leave the pen on the scratched bedside table, directly in sight, so I don’t forget to return it in the morning.
I think I’ve gotten away with my late-night confessions, but as soon as I’m back in bed, Bunny rolls over, sleep still heavy in her voice.
“Are you okay?”
Kissing her on the cold tip of her nose, I wrap my arm around her, bringing her directly into my chest. She thinks it’s for warmth, snuggling into me, but I really do it for me. Holding her is the closest I will ever come to heaven.
“I’m okay,” I respond, quiet as the night. “I just had to use the restroom.”
Bunny doesn’t question me. She takes my word and folds in deeper, inhaling my scent before uttering, “I was dreaming of you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, kissing the crown of her head. “What about me?”
Uncurling, Bunny lies flat, digging her spine into the mattress with a deep stretch. Eyes slowly opening, Bunny blinks away the sleep clinging to her, shaking off the excess before turning back to me. “We were on a farm. We had chickens and goats and horses and pigs, but I found you with the cows.”
“Yeah?” The thought is overwhelming, emotions strangling, but Bunny doesn’t notice. Her eyes are above, daydreaming like she can see it in the ceiling.
“Yeah. The sun was coming in from the rear side, shining across your golden curls like a crown. You didn’t see me at first, too busy brushing her hide. But when you did, you stopped… your smile was warmer than the heat from the sun.”
Bunny paints the picture so vividly, I can feel the rays dancing across my skin. The moonlight chill completely burns away. Unable to swallow the knot in my throat, I give her a slight nudge, prompting—begging—her to continue.
There’s a smile and a single tear. “All you did was look at me, Cade, but it said so much.Yousaid so much without doinganything at all. There was peace and hope and a bright future…” She pauses, taking a single gulp, “There was love in your stare.”
Turning to me, Bunny doesn’t hide her watery eyes. There’s not a mask in her smile. There’s nothing but pure admiration.
“You loved me. I loved you… We lived long enough to do that.”
I almost said it then, that a hundred years could pass, but I loved her the second I saw her in that ring. I don’t know what keeps me silent, if it’s fear or uncertainty, but I drag her back to me, holding onto her until her breath comes out in a puff, and pray that, for now, my touch is enough of a confirmation.
She breathes me in, smiles, and sleeps. Bunny doesn’t move the rest of the night, and I know.
