Bunny (Bunny, #1)

by Mona Awad

That I can’t believe this woman got paid to come here. That I think she should apologize to trees. Spend a whole day on her knees in the forest, looking up at the trembling aspens and oaks and whatever other trees paper is made of with tears in her languid eyes and say, I’m fucking sorry. I’m sorry that I think I’m so goddamned interesting when it is clear that I am not interesting. Here’s what I am: I’m a boring tree murderess.

never known how to be in this world without most of my soul dreaming up and living in another.

We’ve read Jane Eyre too, you cunt, and we’ve read The Waves, and when we read it, you know, we wept for minutes.”

All of this goop we rubbed into our bodies has run, has slid off our skin because of her slut rain.

“I get that way too. Sometimes I’ll just drive around for hours. I won’t have a destination or anything. I used to go to bookstores but I can’t go in them anymore because I buy too many books.

All the love and hate I have in my heart plus one fucking bunny.