Bunny (Bunny, #1)

by Mona Awad

I saw him earlier out of the corner of my eye, more maned and tattooed than ever, pouring himself a glass of red wine at the open bar. Though he didn’t look up, I felt him see me. And then I felt him see me see him see me and keep pouring. I haven’t seen him since then so much as sensed him in my nape hair. When we first arrived, Ava felt he must be nearby because look, the sky just darkened out of nowhere.

A pinch wouldn’t wake me up from this. And if it did, I’d be back in Fairbanks, living in my dad’s basement. Where would you be if I punched you, Samantha? Staring at the brick wall of my life from behind a cash register in the intermountain West, I thought. Writing myself elsewhere in the evenings. Mordor, I told Jonah. We better not punch each other then, I guess, he said, grinning at me.

I am quiet as rainbows. I am still as trees. I watch them close their so pretty eyes. I close mine too but somehow I can still see. The room is creepy-serious, quieter than even my rainbow quiet.

Looking at him is like looking into a black mirror, is like being inside my own dreammare.

“Being with you,” he says to Ava, “is like being in literature. I have no idea where you’ll lead me next. But I’m excited. My life could change. And I’m not alone anymore.” I die inside when he says this. Recall the words, which I wrote down in another, older notebook.

A pause so pregnant it delivers, consumes its own spawn, then grows big with child again.

How I left that night. Wondering what the hell just happened. Knowing nothing happened, knowing too that everything had changed. How empty and emptied I felt walking away with all my words still on his floor. Wanting so badly to pick them back up. Take it all back. Wipe away the night, my dumb tears, my endless tumbling out of words. I never meant to give this to you.

She gives me the full hate bouquet of her smile. Every fuck you flower.

I look at all of my dreams and nightmares distilled into one man-shaped shape. All the love and hate I have in my heart plus one fucking bunny. His horned shadow swallowing her front lawn now, as the sun begins to rise behind him. Do bunnies have horned shadows?

“Congratulations,” they actually say to me, quietly, very quietly. Like they didn’t murder my soul mate. Like I didn’t summon a demonic animal man to destroy their souls. Like we’re actually just five young women graduating from an arts program. Warren’s first all-female cohort. Such trailblazers we are, yes?