CHAPTER THIRTY
BUNNY
Tucking the towel underneath my arms, I sit upright on Razor’s bed, tracking his disorderly, manic movement in the haze settling in his room. He set me down like he was detached from his soul and cupped his hands over his ears… He’s been murmuring and pacing since.
“Raze…”
“Stop… Stop.” He spins around, pressing into his head, his fingers taut in his hair and his eyes squeezed shut. “Stop… Stop, stop, stop.”
Catching how hard his chest is heaving, my heart starts slipping up my throat, climbing higher and higher with each four-letter word.
That same unsettling presence sinks into my wet skin, manifesting a chill across my pores.
I flick over to the umbra oozing from the corner behind the door, keeping Razor’s pacing in my blurry peripheral, and the silhouette veiled in shadows, his milky eyes absorbing the moonlight and locked on me like he was waiting for this moment, surrounds my body with rippling cold chills, a feverish sweat breaking out along the bridge of my nose.
“Stop… Stop… Stop! STOP!”
The hoarse eruption coming from Razor’s chest lurches my heart, jarring me into a tense jump that loosens my towel.
Clutching his comforter on either side of my hips, I hold it tight, so tight it throbs my knuckles, gaping at the way Razor’s falling to his knees in the middle of the room and doubling over, like his head is one tick away from exploding.
Shakes pervade me, every muscle rattling uncontrollably, my stomach twisting. The shock driving my heart rate up puts me on a carousel, warping the shadowed shapes filling the room.
Scared to move. Scared of saying the wrong thing. I freeze.
It feels like I sit here for too long. Realistically, the steps thundering down the hall kicked off into motion the moment Razor yelled. But being helpless in a dire situation, freezing in fear when someone you love needs help—stops time.
The doorknob cranks into a twist and Cash barrels inside, letting in spears of yellow light before the overhead bulb is raining down in fluorescent bullets. “What happened?!”
“I-I-” My tongue sinks into the back of my throat, clogging it. I choke on air, trying to swallow the thick saliva and flailing my hands—unable to look away from Razor. “He j-just-”
“It’s okay,” Cash exhales, dropping to his knees by Razor’s head.
Xene runs in. I only know it’s him because he’s tripping over a snag in the carpet and eating the floor near Cash’s feet, his shaggy hair exploding like a bag of feathers within the blur.
“You fucking idiot!” Ora lunges over him, her outstretched hands forming to my knees, the alcohol on her breath slapping me awake as she squats down. “Are you okay?”
I nod, trying to hear what Cash is whispering to Razor, his gentle hand rubbing a pacifying line up and down his back, just firm enough to shift his shirt.
Duse, Gwen, and Aries are stopping in the door, and Xene is crawling up onto his knees to watch what’s happening. I know it’s not my fault, I didn’t cause a scene, but my chest is sinking over the fact this is becoming a huge spectacle.
I’m aware they’re not viewing for their entertainment. They’re concerned. There’s just… It’s, like, a bomb is fizzing in my sternum, sputtering irrational rage, convincing me I need to shoot up and clear the room.
I don’t. I control it. Inhaling deeply and accepting Ora’s hand in mine.
“He needs to be taking his medication, Bun,” Ora whispers, stroking her thumb along the back of my hand.
So… this is what his medication is for…
I didn’t know that. I didn’t know what he’d be medicated for other than, I don’t know, I guess slight anger issues.
He told me he didn’t need it. But why does everyone else know that he needs it?
Why do they press him to take it? Does it get worse?
“Come on,” Duse whispers, ushering Gwen back to the living room.
Aries gives me a brief unreadable look, tapping a forefinger on the door and slipping out into the hallway.
Razor making slight movement pulls my focus back to him. I tuck my towel tighter, shivering, still trying to swallow properly through the thick pulse in my throat.
“Bunny?” He shoots upright in a panic, his strained and bloodshot eyes seeking me out.
Finding me in the same spot he set me down in, he sighs relievedly, lunging my direction, his hands caging my thighs before Ora has the chance to move.
I feel bad she’s essentially getting shoved out of the way, but him immediately wanting me purges the tears I vaulted in my chest, the ruinous need for him locking my arms around his neck as fear bleeds down my cheeks.
He hugs me back, tucking his head beneath my chin, his hands spreading brutely across my back. “I need this.”
Raking my fingers into his hair, I hold him tight, cracking my watery eyes open to everyone else silently leaving the room.
Ora turns the light off, grabbing the door and looking back at me over her shoulder.
She doesn’t have to say anything. The severity sobering her face is enough for me to hear the warning.
Once the door’s shut, I hug him just a little harder, the decline of his heartbeat drumming against my stomach.
Still holding on to me, he shifts upward, leaning his weight to the side and pulling me over with him.
I feel my towel drift, the dog ear underneath my arm slipping out, but laying on my side next to him and cradling his head against my chest is too sweet to sour with anxiety.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head against me, his face rubbing along my skin. “No… Talking about it keeps it alive.”
I sigh, combing my fingers through his hair. “Letting it decay inside you isn’t healthy.”
Moving slightly, he kisses my neck, kickstarting a flutter that ruptures in my stomach, his palm drifting down my bare back. “Then I guess we’ll both be rotten.”
Light breaks through my eyes, wedging my lids open to cream paint. The absence of a damp, hot body against mine spikes my pulse, my eyes flashing wide and focusing on the sticky note thumbtacked to the wall in front of my face.
I prop myself up, leaning onto one arm to tear the note from the thumbtack.
I cannot gauge whether it’s a threat, or a warning, or a promise.
And I don’t know where he would have gone.
It can’t be later than ten a.m. What would he be doing so early?
I’m the one that used to be up and out of the house before everyone.
Moving his sheets off my legs, I slip off his bed with the note he left, taking a moment to adjust the shirt he gave me to sleep in before leaving the room.
Grease is popping in a pan in the kitchen, the thick scent of bacon weaving through fresh coffee and floating throughout the living room and hallway.
Immediately, I’m making up an image of Razor in the kitchen.
He has his abs out and his sweatpants are slung low, and he’s too invested in flipping pancakes to see me coming, so I’m able to sneak up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.
So… you can imagine the slight disappointment needling into my stomach as I turn into the living room and see Duse and Gwen cooking while Aries smokes a cigarette on the counter.
“Morning, baby bunny,” Aries exhales, a light stream of smoke puffing from her lips.
Still in the world of cooking, Duse and Gwen give me a grin, both greeting me like I’m the one that had a psychotic episode last night.
“Good morning… When did we get groceries?” I lazily gesture Razor’s note to the busy stove, stopping next to the table to take a seat on top of it.
“This morning,” Duse answers, taking a quick sip from her mug and rushing to get back to scrambling eggs.
Leaning over the sink, Aries ashes her cigarette out the hole in the window screen. “The guys went out early. They were loud as fuck. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up.”
“Sounded like they were haulin’ a body,” Gwen drawls, scratching at one of her rollers. “So loud.”
What the frick?
Razor always tells me when he’s going to the store. He always asks if there’s anything certain I want and accepts the cash I give him.
Confused, I leave the note on the table while getting down. “Let me go get my money so I can pitch in.”
Taking a drag, Aries shakes her head, trying to stop me with a wave of her hand, but I’m already on a mission to my room. I would rather starve than eat someone else’s food they worked hard for. I have to contribute what I can or I’ll get sick.
Ora’s still asleep, so I quietly sneak in through the door and get down on my knees next to my bed, reaching under and pulling out the old shoe box I store my money in.
Razor got me those chunky sneakers for my “birthday” last year, and the box became my favorite place to store things personal to me.
Flipping open the loose lid, my weight sinks my butt through the gap of my bent legs, my vision narrowing. Not seeing my folded money on top, where I know I left it, my bugging heart operates my arm, violently rifling through birthday cards, Coca-Cola tabs, and dead flower petals.
But all my money is gone.
It’s all gone.
Don’t panic, don’t panic. Don’t lash out. It’s okay. Just breathe.
Sucking in air until my lungs fully expand, I slowly let it out through my lips, closing my eyes and calming the extra heat ripping open my skin.
After Razor and I had sex in my bed, he counted the cash in front of me and handed me my cut.
I remember folding it neatly and placing it in my box with a stupid smile while he gave everyone else their envelopes.
And then I tucked it back underneath my bed and talked to him until I fell asleep.
That was all I had, the grand I made from performing in the Globe plus the two hundred bucks I was trying to save up.
So, where the hell is it?