For a long, tense moment, neither of us moved. Our eyes were locked, and mine were dry, even though I had expected I’d cry. But there was nothing to cry about. I could own my truth like a motherfucker.
Bunny didn’t blink, didn’t even move when he started speaking in a quiet, lulling voice.
“One day, I came into your world on Easter Sunday. I heard rumors that Earth was changing fast, and wanted to see what it was all about. Because you see, I don’t usually visit. Only sometimes. For Easter to happen, I don’t have to be here, just exist.”
I swallowed thickly, balling my hands into fists so tight, my nails dug painfully into muscles he had massaged only minutes before. Here I was, having just bared my soul to him, and he was telling me a story about himself.
So fucking typical.
Easter Bunny or not, he was just a male. And they were all the same.
“I hopped around a few gardens, delivered some chocolate eggs, and was about to turn back, because it was all rather boring, when I heard a voice. There was something about it that drew me close. A powerful emotion that I couldn’t name but that filled me with longing. So I followed that voice and arrived into a garden.”
He stopped speaking for a moment, glanced down at my white-knuckled hands, and sighed. He didn’t reach for them, though. Good, because I could have slapped him. I was too overwhelmed to act calm.
“There was a woman sitting in a garden chair. She was pregnant, and she was stroking her big belly and singing. It was a lullaby for her unborn child, and her voice, and the love and hope filling it were so powerful, all my senses prickled. It was magic, I knew at once. A kind of magic I didn’t know. Very powerful.”
I frowned, getting invested in his story despite my turmoil. My breathing calmed down, and I relaxed a bit, curious what he would say next. Because—magic? A pregnant woman singing was magic?
“I was spellbound,” he continued, his eyes glimmering bright, still painfully focused on mine. “I sat there for the entire song, absorbing her voice, the way she touched her stomach. And then, I saw how it moved under her touch. She smiled, pressing her finger lightly into the protruding shape, and kept singing, and I…”
He broke off, glanced, and took a deep breath.
“And I realized I had never experienced anything as beautiful and numinous as that. It made me ache inside. I wanted to see and hear this powerful magic every day. I stayed there, in her backyard, looking through windows into her house and watching her until night came. At midnight, I went back to my reality, and spent the following year in suffering and anguish, waiting for another Easter, so I could see her again.”
“Wait,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse, because something tugged at my thoughts. It was like a mental itch, a thought just on the tip of my tongue, but… No. It was preposterous.
“I came the following Easter,” he continued in the same measured voice. “Her baby was already born, but she was sad that day. So tired. I remember the dark shadows under her eyes. Her husband was home, lying on the couch all day, while she did everything around their son, cooked dinner, did the chores.
“She shouted at him once, threatening she would leave him if he didn’t help her, and he called her ugly names. She cried for a short while after that, but her son needed her, so she wiped away her tears, put a smile on her face, and played with him on the floor, away from the husband. Her hands only shook a little.
“And her magic was so thick in that room, the air vibrated with it. She was so strong and beautiful, and I ached for her, and wanted to comfort her, but above all, I admired her strength.”
“No. No, it can’t be,” I whispered.
I shook my head, loose tendrils of hair flying in my face. The way he said it… But it couldn’t be. It was too ridiculous.
“The next year,” Bunny said, “the husband wasn’t there, and she was happy, but subdued. Brittle, and yet, so, so strong. The magic trailed after her when she chased her toddler in the garden, helping him look for his presents. She was still tired. Still did all the work. But she didn’t cry once that day. And yet, I couldn’t help but want to be there with her, inside the house, helping her cook, load the dishwasher, or just massaging her tired shoulders.”
I shook my head, still not fully convinced, but the timeline fit too well. Richard moved out shortly before Derek turned two, and I remembered that first Easter as a single mom, mentally preparing myself for the divorce.
It had been a strange time, a sort of limbo, when I didn’t think about the past or the future, but instead focused on small tasks. Just the next small step. And another.
Survive this minute. This hour. This day.
“And then, there was that one moment when her son was already asleep, and she came out into the garden dressed in a warm sweater, a glass of wine in her hand. She stood there, the light of the waxing moon falling on her face, and suddenly…”
He stopped and looked away, his face reddening. He swallowed thickly, cleared his throat, and looked at me shyly from under his lashes.
“I wasn’t a sexual creature,” he said, his voice hushed. “It wasn’t in my nature. But that night it… I… I looked at her, and saw how soft her skin looked in the moonlight. How the light fell on her hair, silvery and bewitching. I saw the way she sighed, relaxing after a sip of wine. The way she bared her throat, throwing her head back with a deep moan of relief, and for the first time…”
He broke off again, and I held my breath, because the vision he painted, of a woman basking in the moonlight, unaware that she was being watched and yet seductive and alluring, made my heart stutter. Was it truly me? Had he seen me… and thought those things he just said?
So poetic?
“I felt a rush in my body,” he said, his voice growing in confidence after the brief pause. “A strong pull to touch her, to be close, to smell her. And things stirred inside me. There was a deep, beating pulse. Right here.”
He trailed his hand down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans, watching me with eyes so open, so guileless, they had to be honest.
“It startled me at first. I fled, because I thought I was ill. That something was wrong. It took some time until I understood. But when I did… Well, it was too late. She had awoken this powerful urge inside me, and I’ve been living with it ever since. It grew stronger every year. More insistent. I learned from books to understand it better, and I did what I could to alleviate it on my own. But nothing helped. Because it wants her.”
He finally took my hands, enveloping my palms in his, and leaned closer so our noses almost touched. I looked into his eyes, spellbound and all tingly, because it was the most romantic, the most erotic thing I had ever heard. And he meant me. I knew he did.
“My body wants you,” he said, his voice lowering. “I want you. Nothing else will do. No one else. So this is why I’m asking you, Alice.”
I didn’t answer. All inside me, butterflies were taking off, a multi-colored cloud of electrifying delight, and I couldn’t speak, so filled with the intoxicating emotion.
Instead of answering, I leaned in and kissed him.
