“Hey, where’s this coming from?” He blinks at me, his bottom lip quivering. “Benjamin, you don’t ever have to hide your true self from me. Not ever.”
“You say that now, but…”
“I mean it. Never hide from me. You’re beautiful when you’re Bunnyandwhen you’re Benjamin. Darling, you just gave me the most precious gift of my life. You make me so happy. Happier than I ever thought possible.”
“Are you sure?” he whispers.
“Absolutely. Never been more sure about anything in my life,” I admit, recognising the truth of my words. I never thought life could have this much joy in store for a grumpy arsehole like me.
“I want to believe that so much. I really do. I want to believeyouso much.” He looks truly torn.
“Then believe it.”
“It’s hard when you’ve been told your entire life that you’re wrong.” He slumps his shoulders, and I reach out and tug him against my chest.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Benjamin,” I speak against the crown of his head. “Not a single thing. They, whoever made you believe that, whoever made you feel wrong…they’re the ones who are wrong. Not you, my darling. Not you. Never you. You’re perfect.”
He tilts his head, looking up at me. “You really mean it, don’t you, East?”
“I do.” I smile. “Now, let’s sleep, baby. Let’s sleep.”
Chapter Sixteen
Easter
As soon as I wake, I know that I’ve slept in for the first time in, perhaps, ever. The bright spring sun bursts through the thin linen curtains, adding a warm glow to the room. I can feel it on my face and I chuckle to myself. Even as a child, I would never sleep in, always the first one in the house to rise, leading my own secret life watchingBlue Peterand eatingRiciclesfrom the box before the rest of the house woke. I guess that’s what love does to you. Makes you sated and lazy. Fuck. I’m in love. In love. With Benjamin. With the sweetest, sexiest soul to ever walk this earth. It feels…strange. To have handed my heart over to someone, but still, it also feels like it couldn’t be any other way. That it was always going to end up like this—he and I, in love—from the moment he walked into my shop for the first time.Soulmates. I used to laugh at people when they spoke ofthe one and only. The one that was madejust for them. Now Iamthem. I’m a believer. Benjamin, with his massive heart and vibrant personality, has turned me into a believer.
A sudden feeling of loss invades my chest, and I instinctively turn and reach for him, only to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Fuck, he did leave, after all. Even when he promised he would stay. My elusive little Bunny. I’m going to have to talk to him about that later, but right now, I’m just too goddamn lazy, and I need a dose of bunny. I reach for his pillow, burying my face in it, breathing in the remnants of his sweet, intoxicating scent. The moment I breathe him in, my cock awakens, hungry for him, and I groan pathetically into the fabric. Last night was everything. Being inside him. The sweet whimpers and moans that I pulled from his body. The way he made me feel. I’d never been able to let go like that before, but being inside his warm, tight hole, moving with him, was so liberating I could finally just let go.
I inhale again, rubbing my nose across the pillow, pretending it’s him. Then, little by little, a tangy smell hits me. It’s not sharp, but it tickles my nose. It takes a few seconds for my brain to recognise the smell and match it with a word, but when it does, my heart sinks.Urine. The smell is, without a doubt, the smell of urine.
I sit up, confused, taking in Benjamin’s side of the bed, and at first, I don’t notice it. But as my eyes get used to the white sheets, I see it. In the middle of the indent that his body has left behind, there’s a fairly large spot, slightly darker than the rest, with a yellowish tint to it. I swallow, reaching out my hand and brushing my fingers along the still-damp material. It’s cold and my heart sinks again because it means that he must have left when it was still dark outside. My poor Bunny, sneaking away like a thief in the night. My heart breaks for him. For how he must’ve felt waking up, wet and cold and… oh Christ, the shame. The shame. My eyes sting, a mix of sadness and anger building inside me. Sadness because he felt he had to leave. Anger because he felt he had to leave. Did he think that I… that I would be mad? Upset? Repulsed? Perhaps he did, but Jesus, nothing that beautiful man does will ever repulse me. Nothing.
Within seconds, the anger fades, and all that’s left is only a feeling of all-consuming worry. I have to find him, hold him, reassure him that everything is okay. To tell him nothing has changed between now and last night when I told him I love him. Because I do. I love him with a fierceness that should scare me, but which only makes me feel more complete than I ever have before. If Benjamin thinks that wetting the bed is a deal-breaker, he’s got another thing coming. No fucking way. It’s not even close to being a deal-breaker. Although, to him, my lovely, wonderful darling, it probably feels like the end of the world right now.
My stomach does a weird somersault, and a pitiful yelp leaves my mouth. My body aches for him, protesting his absence, and I know what I need to do. I have to find him and bring him back home. But first I have an errand to make. Because I need toshowhim he’s claimed a place in my life that is irrevocably his. That was always his. And a little pee is not going to come between us. Although I don’t understand why it happened or if it’s happened before, I’m determined that we will overcome it. I just need to show him we can. When I claimed him as mine, I meant all of him; I realise that now. Every single part of him. Just like he accepts every part of me, from my grumpiness to my bossy nature. For my need to dominate. All of it.
Within seconds, I’m out of bed, pulling on the discarded clothes I wore the day before. I sniff the shirt and deem it acceptable. I’m in a hurry. I’m a man with a plan and I can’t be bothered with meaningless thingslike a wrinkled cotton shirt or… or no briefs. Every second away from Benjamin becomes my sworn enemy. A mountain I must climb. A giant sea monster I must defeat. Because I know he will use every single second we’re apart convincing himself that it’s over. Thatweare over. When we’re not. We’re not near being over. I’m not done with my bunny. I’ll never be fucking done with him.
As I chase down the stairs, nearly stumbling on the second last step, centimetres away from bashing my head against the wall, I’m rewriting the wedding vows in my head.Will you take this Bunny. For better or for worse. Pee or no pee. In sickness and in health.I will. I do. I so do. Urine be damned.
In my office, I tear through the drawers, pulling papers from them and throwing them left and right until I find what I’m looking for.
“Aha!” I exclaim to no one at all, holding Benjamin’s CV victoriously above my head, like the head of a dragon I’ve just slain. As I skim through his neat handwriting, my stomach does another one of those weird somersaults, where it feels like it’s trying to turn me inside out. God, I miss him. I hold the paper to my nose and breathe it in, but there’s no trace of him, my Bunny, just the dull, bland smell of paper.Fuuuck. Is this what withdrawal feels like? I guess it is.
I sigh with relief when I notice an address written at the very bottom, just below his name. It’s not far from here, the street. Checking my watch, I jog to the door, swiping my coat from the hanger on the way. If I hurry to the shop, I can be back here by noon, get the bedroom sorted, and be at Benjamin’s place shortly after. It won’t take me long to put myget-my-bunny-backplan into action. I can have him back in my arms where he belongs before I know it. My chest and arms ache with the phantom feel of him and I hug myself, closingmy eyes, pretending it’s him, my love. Then I suck in a breath, shaking my shoulders and bouncing on my feet—almost like I’m getting ready to take down Rocky himself—before I throw the door open and stalk down the street like a madman.
Chapter Seventeen
Bunny
Iknew I shouldn’t have stayed. I only have myself to blame. I tried to stay awake long after East had fallen asleep, but it was just too hard; my body spent and sated after he’d fucked me. Then, when I woke, I instantly realised my mistake, the sheets cold and clammy beneath me, my wet briefs sticking to my skin as a cruel reminder that I don’t deserve this. That I don’t deserve him. I’ve been crying non-stop, and it must be afternoon by now because the light outside Mr Harvey’s living room window is starting to fade. He found me this morning, a shivering sobbing mess between the neat rows of radishes and spring onion I sowed the weekend before.
‘Come now, Laddy,’his familiar, comforting voice washed over me as he carefully pulled me to my feet.‘You’re getting cold here. Come. Come with me, son.’I don’t recall how we got here, to Mr Harvey’s house, or what happened afterwards, but I think I must’ve had some tea because there’s a bitter taste on my tongue. Or maybe it’s just the shame I can taste. There’s only shame now in my world. And the throbbing pain in my chestover losing him, my master. Shame and loss. The shame is familiar; it was, after all, my silent companion growing up, always feeling misplaced in my family. Like a ghost, almost. The loss I only felt once before, when they took Bunny away from me, and although it was all-consuming and devastating, it was nothing compared to how I’m feeling right now. Because with East I felt seen.Hemade me feel seen and wanted. And not just that, no, it was like he was changing too. Because of me.Imade him happy.Imade him smile. I even made him laugh with abandon at times. And now it’s all ruined. I guess my parents were right. Idoruin everything.
I sniff as treacherous tears try to break free from my eyes. I don’t want to cry again. Not like this morning when it was still dark, and I broke to pieces in Mr Harvey’s garden. I focus on the repetitive tick-tock of Mr Harvey’s old clock.Tick-tock. Tick-tock.After a while, as I linger in a state between awake and asleep, the monotonous sound blends in with something else. There’s a familiarity to it I can’t quite place until my mind zeroes in on a soft murmur coming from the kitchen. Oh. It’s probably Mr Harvey’s favourite radio programme,Memory Lane Radio. He listens to it for hours, humming along to Sinatra and Aretha. I once caught him singing into a spoon, swaying his hips from side to side, crooning along to ‘New York, New York.’
There’s no music though. Only voices. Mr Harvey’s deep raspy voice and then a smooth, velvety one I know better than I know the beat of my own heart. Although low, there’s a stubborn insistence to it, with a pleading undertone.East. It sounds like him, only it can’t be, can it? And yet, there’s no mistake. It’s him. Oh, crappy carrot cake, he’s come to fire me. To let me go. I know it. I just know it. My heart sinks and then breaks, before finally crumbling to the living room carpet.
