Page 26 of Ink Me Bunny
I reply quietly, “What?”
“You’re hurting my hand.”
I halt immediately and slacken my tenacious grip to check her blood circulation.
Immense contrite is reflected through my expression. “I’m sorry, I just—“
What is wrong with me?
“Fuck,” I mutter.
My chest is feeling heavy, I tip my head back and lace my hands around the back of my head while I gaze at the fluctuating tides.
I do it every time I’m getting closer to someone. My desire to save the people around me from the evil in this world is my battle against those who made me fight this war in the first place. But they don’t always need me to be that man. I didn’t even ask Lenny if she wanted to go, I took matters into my own hands and decided for her.
Pulling my cigarette pack from my back pocket, I tuck one between my lips and light it. The Nicotine sips in, smoke rolls out and my thoughts get lucid.
I don’t smoke much. Occasionally. When I need… something.
Dean
Thepartyisbecominglouder as more people round our lot; drinking gallons of beer, blasting the music aloud, and doing drugs in every corner. Living in a poverty area where lowlifes hang and ruin other’s lives is life’s real danger zone.
Our tiny house—mind-blowingly—hosts her junkie friends while the others celebrate in the open yard circling the shoe box-like house I call home.
The cubical room isn’t much but it’s enough for me. I have Tessa’s old guitar in the corner, a rundown closet that squeaks to every movement, a scuffed wooden desk for my school homework, and a million papers that are my drawings.
An escape that turned into an obsession.
I turn the hourglass on my desk, go to bed, and watch the sand descends from top to bottom. Lying on my single bed, ready to go to sleep although I know I won’t be sleeping tonight.
I never do when it’s wild outside.
Trapped inside these four walls—an alien abduction sounds like a fucking adventure at this point.
“Where the fuck is my money?”
Someone’s shouting from the other side of my bedroom door. When these gatherings happen I make sure to lock the door so no one would roam here accidentally.
The pitter-patter sound of footsteps down the hall jumble simultaneously with the raindrops that start knocking on my small framed window.
He twists the handle sharply, banging roughly on the door a few times and stomping away. “Why the fuck is this door locked?”
I exhale a breath.
“Is someone getting some in there while I’m not getting my money!” he yells. “Tessa, where’s my money? You whore!” an object slams against the wall and shatters. “Search the entire place. Trash it for all I care.” He orders.
Her maniac laugh boils my blood. How could she do this?
The exhaustion is unbearable, my reddening eyes bulge in my eye sockets, and a thousand nails are pressing my skull but I need to focus.
I have to.
No one else would save me from this.
I fasten my grip on my pillow. My shoulders tighten. I’m barely swallowing around the lump in my throat, rubbing the back of my neck, but my eyes are fixated on the door.
I hate her so much I want to scream so fucking loud for this terror I have to walk through every day. I hate feeling helpless. I hate the fact I don’t have a way to change it. I hate bothering other people with my problems.