Chapter Seventeen
Bunny
I knew 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 chest over 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. He made me feel seen and wanted. And not just that, no, it was like he was changing too. Because of me. I made him happy. I made him smile. I even made him laugh with abandon at times. And now it’s all ruined. I guess my parents were right. I do ruin 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 .
Mr Harvey’s voice increases in volume, soft steps coming down the hallway, followed by louder, more eager ones. Oh no. I can’t. I just can’t. Not yet. I’m not ready. Who am I kidding? I’ll never be ready. Now that I know what real love feels like, I can’t go back to that cold, dull existence that used to be my life. It’s like tasting the darkest, richest chocolate and then being told that you can never have it again. Anger grows inside me. It’s not bloody fair! It’s not. They did this to me; my ‘ family .’ They turned me into this frightened creature. I hate them. I hate them so mu—
“Let me go in first,” Mr Harvey says behind the slightly ajar door. “He might still be asleep, the lad. We don’t want to spook him.”
“Right, right,” East agrees, but the strain in his voice doesn’t elude me. Impatience. He’s impatient to get this over with.
The door creaks open, and Mr Harvey’s worried face appears behind it. He seems to hesitate, but when he notices that I’m awake, he enters.
“Son, there’s someone here to see you.” I swallow and the tears threaten to fall again. Someone . The man I love more than anything. My heart. Mr Harvey tilts his head, taking me in. I must look a right fright. “But if you’re not up to it, I’ll tell him to come back.”
I shake my head, swallowing back the bile starting to rise in my throat. I clench my fists in the woollen duvet that smells of Mr Harvey and everything that’s good and right in this world. Breathing through my nose, I focus on Mr Harvey’s kind face. He still loves me. At the end of the day, Mr Harvey still loves me. That has to be enough. When I feel like I’m not going to puke, scream, or pass out, I nod .
“It’s okay, Mr Harvey. You can let him in. I’m okay.” I’m not. I’ll never be okay again. I’m the most un-okayistest person in the world.
“You sure, lad?” Mr Harvey shifts on his feet, a protectiveness emanating off him that is at least a little comforting. I wonder if East has told him what I’ve done? No, he wouldn’t. I’m sure of that at least.
“Yes. Thank you.” I offer him a weak smile, brushing my fingers through my unruly hair, smoothing the wayward locks somewhat.
“All right then. But you call if you need me, won’t you? I’ll be right down in the kitchen, so you just give me a shout.”
“I will,” I whisper, sniffing the tears away. I love you, Mr Harvey , I want to tell him. I love you so much. He’s the father I always wanted, a good, kind man. The father I should have had in a perfect world. But the world isn’t perfect.
He nods again, then disappears behind the door, and I get just a few seconds to prepare myself before he appears. My East. No, not my East. He’s not my East. Not anymore.
“Benjamin!” he rushes out, his hands held out in front of him like I’m a wild animal that he’s afraid of spooking. “Darling,” he croaks, rushing to my side, his eyes spilling over with worry. It takes my mind a few seconds to wrap itself around the desperate darling , and a few more to notice that he’s shaking like a baby leaf on a cruel April day.
“I was so worried,” he blurts, kneeling on the carpet next to the sofa, carefully reaching for my hands. “So worried,” he repeats, his fingers tangling through mine, his blue eyes dark with concern. My initial thought is that he hasn’t noticed yet. That he hasn’t noticed how I’ve soiled his bed, ruined the very place where we made love for the first—and only—time. My mind goes to all sorts of places; I could run back to the flat and hide the evidence of my shame before he notices or I could run away and join a circus that hires bunnies or I could—“I’m so sorry, Benjamin,” he says, his eyes brimming with… tears . Yes, there’s no mistake. The blue is swimming in watery pools of more blue, that deep frown digging into his skin between his golden brows. “I’m so sorry, my darling,” he says, squeezing my fingers between his, his voice growing in insistence. “I didn’t know.” He gets up from the floor and carefully sits down next to me on the sofa. Releasing my hands, he cradles my cheeks gently, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “I didn’t know, my sweet, sweet Bunny.”
And I break. I break into a thousand tiny pieces. Bunny . I’m still Bunny. It’s not pretty, my breakdown. It’s not like in the movies where silent, sophisticated tears trail down the hero’s cheeks, while he sobs quietly and composed. It’s not stoic and controlled. It’s not. It’s ugly-crying times one hundred. There’s snot and snorts and gulps. There are hiccups, and I even think I throw up in my mouth a little once the stress and anguish have left my body.
“East,” I squeak, tugging at his shirt. I blink, taking him in, and he looks a right mess, just like me. He looks worn and ruffled. He’s even wearing the same shirt as yesterday. He looks wrecked, but he doesn’t look angry, nor repulsed. He doesn’t.
“Come here,” he rasps, pulling me against his chest, swallowing me right up, his familiar scent with an edge of sweat engulfing me, calming my heart. He murmurs something against my left ear while he presses tender kisses against my neck. Nothing . It sounds like nothing .
“East,” I whimper, his kisses doing things to me that are not appropriate for Mr Harvey’s living room. “I…I didn’t mean to do it.” He freezes, his lips lingering against my neck. “I did it a lot as a child, but not so much anymore. Only when…only when I get excited.” My cheeks burn with shame, and my throat is itchy from the words leaving my mouth. “Or when I forget myself,” I admit. “I guess I must’ve forgotten myself last night.” There. That’s it. Now he knows. He knows that I’ve done it before and that it can happen again.
“I forget myself when I’m with you, too,” he says. And I feel the smile against my skin just before he releases himself and his face is right in front of my face. “I forget about everything when I’m with you, Benjamin, and it’s just the best fucking feeling in the world.” His blue eyes are bright, beaming, with nothing but sincerity reflected in the intense cerulean. “Time stops. My mind quiets down. And there’s only you.” He leans in, his lips finding mine in a featherlight kiss, his warm tongue dancing along my bottom lip, nibbling at it, sucking it into his mouth. “Nothing,” he murmurs again, and I giggle.
“What?”
“What what ?” he smiles against my lips, humming contentedly like a little bee on the first day of spring.
“What ‘ nothing ?’” I smile back, my lips buzzing.
“Oh,” he laughs. “I keep getting distracted from what I want to say. What I wanted to tell you.” He lets go of my mouth and gazes at me. He looks drunk, my East. “You’re so bloody distracting,” he drawls. “So bloody distracting.”
“Sorry.” I giggle again. “What did you want to tell me?” His expression turns serious then, the frown back between his brows, and my fingers itch to rub it away. His hands find my shoulders, wrapping around them, holding me in a fierce grip.
“Nothing,” he starts. “Nothing will ever change my mind about you, Benjamin. About us. Nothing in this world can ever change the fact that I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you.” A weird sound leaves my lips because he can’t possibly mean that. I must still be asleep. This is some desperate dream my mind has conjured because reality is just too hard to deal with. This is a denial dream. It has to be.
“Are we awake?” I blurt, blinking my eyes rapidly to see if he disappears. He snorts, his warm breath hitting my chin.
“Darling, are you listening to me?” he says more firmly, shaking my shoulders gently. I nod slowly.
“Yes, East. I’m listening. But…”
“But what?”
“But I’m afraid that I’m dreaming. That you’re not real,” I whisper. He sighs deeply, his grip on my shoulders growing tighter.
“You’re not dreaming, Benjamin. This is real. We are real, you and me. We are as real as they come.” He pauses as he seems to consider something, then nods. “Can I tell you a secret?” he says, a vulnerability to his voice that I’ve never heard before.
“Yes. Anything,” I whisper.
“I only like myself when I’m with you, Benjamin. You make me the kind of person I want to be. Carefree and less uptight. A little reckless even. I wasn’t always a grumpy arsehole. A cynic. I was a happy child. I used to look forward to silly things like Easter or my birthday or the first day of spring. I just…I can’t pinpoint how or exactly when it happened. It just sort of did. The only thing I cared about aside from my mother was chocolate. Because I could mould it the way I wanted it to be. I could make these perfect pieces of chocolate that people would praise. The chocolate didn’t want anything back in return. It didn’t ask anything of me. It didn’t…” he shakes his head wist fully.
“What?” I breathe because, wow, East has never been this open and honest with me before.
“It didn’t challenge me,” he says. “Not like you do.”
“I challenge you?” I ask, stunned out of my mind.
“You do,” he smiles.
“How? How do I challenge you?” He squirms, then groans slightly, releasing his grip on my shoulders and tugging at his hair instead.
“You make me remember what it’s like to have fun .” He says the word fun like one would say turd or puke , while he wrinkles his nose. I can’t help snorting and he throws me a glare. “Don’t play with me, Bunny,” he says, an unspoken challenge in his voice. “Fun is dangerous for grumps like me, don’t you know?” I shake my head. I don’t. “It makes us believe life can be fun and that we can have it, a happy life with laughter and joy and…”
“And?” I hold my breath.
“And love,” he says, looking crestfallen.
“And you don’t want that?” I reach out and brush my hand along his scruffy chin, the familiar scratchiness making my thighs shiver.
“I do,” he says, leaning into my touch. “I do want it. I want it so badly, Benjamin. With you.”
“But?” My hand slides to the back of his neck, sweeping through his smooth gilded strands that are like liquid gold. He’s golden, my East.
“I’m afraid,” he admits. “I’m afraid that…” He catches himself, then deflates. “When my dad died, it’s like my mum ceased to exist. At least, it felt like that for a long time. There was nothing…I couldn’t do anything. It was almost as if I’d lost her, too. She didn’t say it, but it wasn’t hard for me to see it.” His chin dips and I reach for him, circling my arms around his neck.
“See what?” I ask when he stays silent, carding my fingers through his silken strands. He licks his lips .
“That she wanted to go where he was. That she was done with this world.” He winces. “Done with me .” He looks like a boy now, or at least a reflection of the boy who lost everything all at once.
“How old were you?” I swallow.
“Twelve. I was twelve.”
“Oh, East.”
“It’s okay,” he shakes himself. “She came back eventually.” He smiles half-heartedly.
“But the fear that you could lose her again stayed,” I finish for him. He nods, looking straight at me.
“When I woke up this morning, and you were gone…” A tear breaks free from his lashes and starts the lonely journey down his stubbled cheek. “It was like my heart stopped. Like truly, literally stopped. Like it no longer had any purpose.” I nod, because I know what he means. I’ve felt the same way all day; every second, minute, hour spent away from him pure torture.
“You’re my purpose, Benjamin. You are my Bunny. My heart. And it’s scary as hell, but I can’t—I don’t —want to be without it. Without you .” More tears break free from his eyes, and he looks so young and vulnerable and just altogether lovely.
“I don’t want to be without you either,” I croak. “You’re my purpose, too. I was meant to be your Bunny, just like you were meant to be my Master.”
“Does that mean you’re coming home?” He lights up, gold now morphing into diamonds before my very eyes. He’s glowing, my beautiful, beautiful master. He’s glowing with the same hope that’s taking over my heart. A raw, needy kind of hope.
“If you want me to.” I nod.
“I do. I want you to,” he rushes out.
“But it might happen again,” I whisper .
“I know,” he says solemnly. “I know, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. Pee or no pee, you’re it for me, Benjamin.”
“Pee or no pee?” I snort, a thousand giggles dancing in my chest.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. It sounded better in my head,” he grunts. “It sounded romantic. ” Again, he pronounces the word like one would say haemorrhoid or infected toenail .
“Romantic?” I tease. “Yes, God forbid, East. That would be dreadful.” I laugh.
“Don’t play with me, Bunny,” he non-warns me again, raising a brow at me.
“Or what?” I blink innocently, and he just groans, and growls, and scowls like the wonderful man he is, Master. My man.
“You’ll see,” he smirks and my heart sings ‘ Yes, yes. Show me. Show me everything. ’