Bunny's Tale

[IsabellaRose]

Chapter One - The Easter Surprise
Part 1

 

The apartment smelled like vanilla frosting and fresh lilies, with a hint of nervous sweat and cheap body spray. Bernadette LeClair, Bunny to friends, adjusted the ears on her head for the third time, trying to get the angle just right. Playful, but not crooked. Seductive, hopefully not cartoonish.

The white satin choker at her throat itched slightly, but she didn’t touch it. She’d already smoothed the pink satin bows on the tops of her thigh-high stockings, fluffed the fuzzy cotton tail nestled just above her garter strap, and double-checked the clasp on the matching bra three times. Everything was coordinated, white lingerie, delicate lace, and more pink bows than a box of Valentine's chocolates. Even the tiny gloves she wore were trimmed in pink ribbon. Her nails were painted bubblegum blush. She’d gone all in.

She had pushed the couch back and moved the coffee table aside to make room on the faux fur rug, lit  candles, filled baskets with little foil-wrapped chocolate eggs, and staged a smiling stuffed bunny that held a card that said 'I’m all yours!' in loopy marker script on the edge of the couch. On the kitchen counter, a cake box sat slightly askew, the lid open to reveal the icing that read 'Hop Into Me' in fondant-piped whimsy. It was sweet. It was sexy. It was so not her… but wasn’t that the point?

Bunny sat on the plush rug, knees folded under her, and tried to slow her breathing. Her phone was charging nearby, screen dark. She’d left the TV and music off. She wanted him to walk through the door and see her, not hear her, not smell dinner burning, not get distracted by a sitcom laugh track. Just… her, in bows and lace and everything he always joked he wanted her to be.

“He’s going to walk in,” she whispered to herself, tucking a loose lock of hair behind one ear, “and say, ‘Oh my God, Bunny. You look amazing.’”

She smiled, imagining his face, his eyes wide, his mouth open with stunned gratitude. She could practically hear his voice in her head, the teasing approval, the proud little smirk when he told her she was full of surprises. Tonight, she wouldn’t be the boring one, the background one, the predictable one. Tonight she would be the fantasy.

She stretched out on her stomach across the faux-fur throw, arching her back just enough to make sure the bunny tail popped right where it was supposed to, the curve from her waist to her hip highlighted. She giggled. It was unlike her, giggling, and it felt silly, but it had come out all by itself. Maybe she was inhabiting the role a little too much.

“Eat your heart out, Jessica Rabbit,” she said to herself.

The room was silent. She checked her phone. Nothing. Then, just as she reached for the wine she’d been pretending not to notice, her phone made a “ding” sound, the notification of a new text message. She swiped it up.

Brandon: Running late. Don’t wait up. Drinks with the guys

There it was… a dismissive single sentence. No 'sorry.' No 'rain check.' No 'can’t wait to see you.' Just beer and bros and not her. Bunny blinked once. She blinked again. The bunny ears on her head drooped slightly as if they reflected her mood. Her breath caught in her throat, then came out in a soft laugh, bright but brittle.

“Right. Of course.”

She opened the wine, pouring herself a full glass without ceremony. She didn’t even bother moving from the floor, she just spun around and sat up, curling her legs back under her as she sipped and stared up at the ceiling, her white-gloved fingers idly twirling the pink bow at her hip.

“Guess I’ll just seduce myself, then.”

She took another sip. The room flickered in candlelight, cozy and stupid and romantic. She could almost pretend it didn’t sting. Almost. She took another sip, then a gulp, and then downed the rest of the glass. The wine warmed her throat, a pleasant little burn beneath the sweetness.

Bunny didn’t cry. She didn’t even frown. She refilled her glass and sat there in her bows and lace, surrounded by pastel cheer and soft candlelight. She drank wine, trying not to think too hard about how many times this had happened before.

There was the time he forgot their anniversary, told her afterward he didn’t forget, he just didn’t think “month-aversaries” counted. She drank more wine. The time he showed up late to her promotion party and spent the night talking to her boss’s assistant instead. More wine. The Valentine’s dinner where he asked if they could “just chill” because he was stressed from work. Even more wine.

He never yelled, never hit, never called her names. He wasn’t abusive, not like her ex had been. He just… wasn’t there. And every time, she made excuses for him. Every time, she told herself he’s just not great at romance or guys don’t always know how to express things or I can’t expect him to read my mind. Every time, because he wasn't the absolute worst, she took the blame and bent herself into something softer. 

Tonight had been her idea. She told him, “Come home. I have a surprise for you.” He sent a thumbs-up emoji.

Her glass was empty again, so she refilled it and reached for the remote. Maybe she’d just play some background music, something gentle, something to fill the space. Her finger hovered over the power button, then she set the remote down. No. If he came home, she wanted it to be quiet. Wanted him to hear the hush of her breath, the flutter of her heart. She wanted the moment to mean something. Because… because maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he just needed to see her like this, to be reminded of her, of why he’d ever proposed to her in the first place. Maybe she could still be the woman who turned his world inside out. Maybe…

She felt stupid thinking about it, but when she stood up, the wine hit her all at once, heavy in her limbs, making her head feel full and fuzzy. The room swam for a moment and she sat back down, steadying herself. Thank God she hadn’t put on those ridiculously high heels he liked, the ones that made her look like a stripper. She forgot the couch wasn’t there and leaned back, almost falling backwards. She caught herself and laughed, feeling silly. She just needed to rest for a moment. It must be the dim candlelight that made her eyelids droop. She curled up sideways on the rug, one arm under her head, the other resting lightly on her bare stomach. She moved her stockinged toe through the soft, fuzzy fur of the rug. She closed her eyes, and in her half-dreaming haze, she pictured him finally stepping through the door with a gasp, a grin, a whispered, “Holy shit, Bunny…”

He would gather her up and kiss her slow, tell her he was sorry, that he was wrong, that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was… And she’d believe it. Just for a little while. The room blurred around the edges.

He loves me, she thought. He just forgets sometimes. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. She let the thought rock her gently into sleep, curled in bows and hope, dreaming of a man who loved her like she loved him.