Bunny

Unlike my street, which smells of sad man piss, hers smells of autumn leaves

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

(Is it me drowning you, Samantha, or did you wade in here of your own free will, your pockets full of black stones?)

Well. Because I love you, Bunny. Actually. You’re actually my favorite.

You’re my favorite too, I lied. But in that moment, I meant it. I meant it so much I cried.

“The real world, lady. It’s out there. Do you even know that? You’re going to have to get back to it sometime.”

Why can’t you be happy? Why do you always assume the worst about every situation?

None of the other Bunnies can afford to live here, though the street is called Friendship. That’s because this is a street full of assholes, Ava would say whenever we passed the sign.

“So what are your plans for the holidays?”

Think of a lie, think of a lie. Lie lie lie.

“I—”

But she’s looking at me as if she already knows. Can see me twirling ramen with a warped fork in front of illegally downloaded television that keeps freezing due to a bad connection. Watering a sad rosemary bush I’ve strung with Christmas lights.

“I hope you’re not planning on spending it alone? Are you?”

I wander through the aisles for I don’t know how long. Maybe hours. Staring longingly at everything. Expensive cocoa. Fancy pasta sauce. A package of dried chanterelles. Pomegranate seeds. Not putting anything in my basket. Getting lost. Where is just fucking bread anyway? I have to get out of here. I have to buy something first.

Shhh, she says. She puts her cold hand on my freezing- burning forehead and though her hand is terribly cold, it feels wonderful. It is exactly the hand I have dreamed of, the hand I have longed for.

“I thought you were leaving,” I tell her.

Then she’s air.

She becomes air and I scream.

I wake up drenched in sweat. Nothing here but the stale empty air, the weak white light coming into my bedroom, the maniacal laughter of the perverted giant in the next room