Page 57 of Claiming His Bunny
Footsteps.
Kayla’s bare feet plop on the hardwood floor, reminding me I didn’t give her socks. She must be cold. Her feet are always cold. That’s why she wears those ugly as hell, pink fluffy socks to bed.
Then her hands touch my arms. I don’t move. I’m not sure if it’s real, and I don’t want to break the illusion.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispers so close I feel her breath on my skin. “Not your fault, Ethan.”
I pull my hands away from my face to look at her. She doesn’t vanish into thin air. She’s still here, kneeling in front of me, holding me.
She’s still here.
The damned sleeping bonnet I put on her last night slipped to the side a little, freeing a bunch of her curls. I tied like five knots to that thing and it still slipped. When she puts it on herself, it never slips.
I touch a strand of her hair, letting it wrap around my finger. “I don’t deserve you. You’re so perfect and I’m…not. That girl—”
Her petite hands squeeze my upper arms, and she gives me a little shake. “No, Ethan. Whatever that monster did to that girl was not your fault. You saved her life. I know how you feel.”
She must have heard my scoff because her voice turns angry. “You think I don’t? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve seen kids grow up in terrible conditions, and I had to walk away because no matter how bad the situation was, it didn’t warrant removing the child from their family? And, let’s face it, foster families are often just as bad. I feel responsible for every single case, every single child I meet, and it breaks my heart when I can’t help them. But I know I can’t let it crush me, because if I do, I’ll never help anyone.”
Her words are true. I know that. But knowing it and truly believing it are two very different things. And besides, even if I could forgive myself for what happened to Cynthia, there are other things I’ve done. “I raped you.” I tried to pretend I didn’t regret it, and I don’t, but I also do, and it’s killing me inside.
“You did.” She tilts her head, her expression pensive. “On the same day you killed that bastard and saved the girl. That’s not a coincidence, is it?”
Did I mention how brilliant she is?
“No,” I admit. “The thought of you was the only thing keeping me sane. The only thing stopping me from running my car into oncoming traffic. I focused…” I shake my head, grasping for thoughts, but they keep slipping away. “I thought…one step at a time. Kill Oberman. Forensic countermeasures. I normally get rid of the bodies, but I wanted him to be found. I wanted everyone to know. The parents of those kids…”
“I’m sure they’re grateful for the closure,” Kayla says, sitting down next to me.
She’s still here. Why is she still here?
She tries to put her arm around my shoulders, but our height difference makes it uncomfortable for her. I expect her to pull away, but she tugs on my T-shirt instead, urging me to lean into her. To rest my head on her lap.
I’m too weak to resist.
She smells like cherries. I curl up on the cold, hard floor and place my head on her lap, careful not to put too much of my weight on her. Kayla’s far from dainty, but I’m bigger, and I don’t want to hurt her.
Her fingers are in my hair, and she caresses me as if I’m a wild animal she’s trying to soothe. “What was the next step?” she asks. “After that forensic thing? Is that like making sure you didn’t leave hair in the crime scene?”
“Among other things, yes.” I don’t know why she wants to hear all this or why she’s even talking to me at all, but if it makes her stay a little longer, I’ll explain every procedure to her in detail.
“And then?” she prompts.
I stiffen up, but her fingernails gently scratching at my scalp soothe me again. “The girl. Cynthia. I drugged her too, you know?” I scoff, disgusted by myself. “I didn’t want her to be awake and afraid. I wanted her to wake up somewhere safe.”
“Hmm, you probably did the right thing. I mean, it’s not okay to drug kids when they’re just being annoying,” she forces out a strained chuckle at the terrible joke, “but it’s better she slept through everything. Won’t she recognize you, though?”
I shrug. “It was dark and she’s just six years old. I doubt she’d give the police a detailed enough description for a composite sketch. It doesn’t matter, though. Even if she saw me clearly, even if she knew my fucking name, I still would have returned her to her parents.” Without even realizing, I raise my voice, desperate for Kayla to believe me. “I would never hurt her. Ever.” She already thinks I’m a terrible person, but if she thought I’d be willing to hurt a child to protect myself… I couldn’t take that.
“I know. I know that, Ethan.” She shifts a little, lowering her head to kiss my temple. It must be uncomfortable for her sitting on the cold floor, but when I try to lift my head off her lap, she holds me down. “Keep talking. I want to hear it. All of it.”
I don’t want to recall it all, but if my bunny wants to hear it, I’ll tell her. “After I made sure Cynthia was safe, I drove back home. I…I’m not sure I stopped on the way. Maybe once? For gas? I don’t remember. I wasn’t thinking straight. I kept thinking about Cynthia there with Oberman and how it was all my fault and why was I even coming back?”
“Because you had me,” Kayla says softly, her fingers never stopping their endless weave through my hair.
“Because I had you,” I echo. “I came straight to you, like I did every night. To your bed.”
“You slept there before. That’s why I was always so warm.”
