22
On a Sunday morning, weeks after we had played at weaponry in the woods, Isabel’s sharp cry pierced the homestead, urgency making my heels skid through the dry dirt. I ran to her, fear pulsing behind my breast, to where she stood with glistening eyes cast to the weedy ground.
“What’s wrong?” I asked breathlessly, my heart still racing.
“It’s- it’s…”
“Oh,” I breathed as I narrowed my eyes to the ground.
Hidden amongst the dandelions and crab grass rested a small brown rabbit, her body lifeless as the earth sucked blood from her wounds.
“Is it…” Isabel asked, her voice hitching.
“It’s dead, Isa,” I confirmed solemnly, crouching to inspect the silent creature.
“Another rabbit? Why, what is it doing here?”
She was panicking – her words rushed and staggered, her fingers twisting in her skirts as her lashes blinked rapidly.
Tears had already begun to well across her waterline as she choked back quiet sobs.
You could see the fraying of her psyche as colour drained from her face. She was scared – terrified.
“I don’t know, maybe a fox dragged it into the yard,” I suggested, equally as confused as she seemed.
“They’re following me, Heather. They’re mad at me.”
Panic consumed her as she began to pace across the dirt, stones kicking behind her every time she turned on her heel. The forest stilled around us as I brushed a finger against the small rabbit’s ear, offering a moment of acknowledgment.
“Isa, I really don’t think a rabbit came and committed suicide in our yard to taunt you.”
I gripped her shoulders, holding her still. But her eyes still moved, darting back and forth between the rabbit and me as she swallowed with difficulty.
“I’m serious. I dream of that rabbit constantly,” she sobbed, breathing grief and innocence. “That poor little rabbit.”
“Isabel,” I said firmly, still gripping her, holding her in place to regulate her nervous energy. “Calm down. It’s going to be okay. Go and check the chickens. Make sure the fox didn’t get into the coop.”
When she returned, she held a muslin cloth in her wavering hands, an unlit candle tucked into the folds.
We wrapped the blood wicked rabbit in the cloth, carefully placing her into a hole we had dug in the earth.
The flame wavered atop the candle as we each said a silent prayer, tears skimming our lips as we swallowed our sorrow and said goodbye.
And when it was over, our hands crusted in dirt, our eyes emptied of tears, Isabel walked away silently, mouth downcast, returning to her duties as though nothing had happened at all.
Upon the makeshift bench, where Francesca and I would draw sketches of our future, hope and optimism bleeding through the ink, she sat.
Though not alone.
She was aglow with streaks of high moonlight, her lashes pressed shut, the tendons in her throat visible as she clenched her jaw.
I had watched from the shadows that evening, as the Rabbit thrust his body against hers, his chest laced in sweat, his palm pressed to her breast, the edge of her tattoo peeking out beneath his skin.
Her mouth twisted into an expression I’d never seen before, her cheeks flaming red as her legs shuddered beneath the man’s convulsing body – yet the image of it drew a rapid flutter in my stomach. Something sinfully familiar, as I watched the pleasure glisten in her eyes.
I inched closer to the broken window, longing to see their union. I knew it was wrong, it was a sin to voyeur others, to allow the sick curiosity to take hold.
And yet I couldn’t stop myself as my feet pressed into the earth, and my fingers gripped the crumbling wood of the window frame. Within moments, it was over, their bodies slumped together, Francesca’s fingers winding through the dark hair tucked beneath the ties of the rabbit
mask, as he drew heady breaths.
He pulled it from his face with glistening fingers, my mask, my persona now sullied as his eyes prowled across Francesca’s bare chest. Cole’s eyes, dark and ravenous as he slipped himself from her, licking his lips.
The age of him had begun to show in his skin – the way his neck wrinkled and eyes creased. His hair showing flecks of shimmering silver in the low light. Much too old for Raven, yet jealousy had begun to fester as I watched the way
his fingers still remained on her bare skin, the way his eyes
watched with such hunger it made my own stomach hurt. Why were his hands so gentle upon her, yet so severe against my own body?
“The winter feast is coming,” Cole said, as though Francesca should understand the weight of its meaning.
“So it is,” she responded as she slipped her top over her head, a sly smirk across her mouth.
“And what are your plans?” he questioned, his finger gently brushing hair from her face. My stomach rolled as I watched, anger and sadness splitting me in half.
“That is none of your concern,” she said with a dry laugh.
“Come now, Raven. I thought you loved me.”
“Firstly, that name is not for your lips. Secondly, love is not something I feel for you. Lust, certainly. Disgust, undoubtedly.
But love has no space between
you and I.”
He blanches momentarily, stepping away, his hand dropping to his side.
“Right. So, what is this?” he asks, lip twisting into a defensive snarl.
“Oh, don’t pretend you’re offended. You knew this for what it was. A frivolous affair of the flesh. A secret. And now it is done.”
“Done?” he questioned, stepping closer to her with sharpened eyes.
“Yes Cole, done. Finished. No more midnight meetings. No more fingers beneath skirts behind the church pews. My flesh is no longer yours,” she says with finality, turning away to leave the hideout.
I ducked as she neared the window, my hair catching on a loose nail, tearing it from my scalp. I breathed through the smarting pain, listening with intent.
“Let go of me!” Francesca said sternly, though her voice wavered in a way I had never bore witness. Frightened.
“You’re mine, Francesca. You shall always be mine. You won’t be rid of me as easily as that.”
“Oh, but I will. Because my body belongs to another now. It wouldn’t be right to offer myself to you any longer.”
Another? If not Cole, then who? Who else is there for her to offer herself to?
The thought of that lit a hopeful fire inside me, the twisting emotions muddying my thoughts with daydreams of my own flesh against hers.
My lips tasting her mouth, my fingers exploring her hair as she breathes into my throat.
An ache bloomed in my pelvis as I considered it, hoped for it, yearned for it.
“I don’t give a single fuck about who is or isn’t welcome to you. You think I’ve held my body only for you? No. I had myself pressed into your little friend only weeks ago, her moans echoing through these very trees as you sat at home waiting for me to be ready for you.
While you waited for your turn like a good little girl.”
My heart dropped to my stomach as he said it, a ghastly sickening beginning to course my nerves as I awaited her response. She stayed motionless for a breath, her eyes flickering in thought before she rested her hands on her hips and bent her head.
“Who?” she asked, as if I weren’t the first person who came to her mind.
“That innocent one who wears those long dresses and dirty shoes. Fuck, you should have seen the faces she pulled, the pleasure I brought her, the innocence I tore away bit by bit. She loved it rough, like you. Hands on her throat, nails scraping at her flesh. She couldn’t get enough.
You know what they say about Rabbits and how much they like to fuck.”