Page 5 of The Rabbit's Foot
Maker, this was surely heaven after having been in hell for years. He drained what was in his dish, and before he could plead for more, Mal was there, refilling the bowl.
Between the hay and the water, Alp’s stomach, which had been empty far too long, was filling. He drew back, fearful that if he gorged himself, he’d be sick, and since rabbits couldn’t throw up and he wasn’t able to shift, it wasn’t a bright idea. He would wait until he had his strength back, andthenhe’d eat his fill. Maker, his stomach rumbled at the thought of his mom’s pasta primavera. She always loaded it with red onion, carrot, broccoli, bell pepper, yellow squash, zucchini, tomatoes, and garlic, and a thick sauce, poured over shell pasta so every bite was laden with taste.
At the thought of his mother, Alp sagged. He missed her so bad, it hurt.
“Hey, you okay?” When Alp turned, Mal’s eyes widened. “Shh, it’s all right. We’ll get you to shift, I promise.”
Needing closeness, Alp stood. He nearly keeled over as weakness swamped him, but he steadied his wobbly legs and semihopped toward Mal, who reached out and stroked a hand over his ears, bending them until they were flat on his head. It was an affectionate thing everyone in his family did. They all loved being touched and held. At night, they’d shift into rabbit form and huddle in the living room to sleep.
Alp’s eyes burned. Why had he wanted to get away from that? He’d give anything to be sprawled in the living room, mashed between his siblings Sylvia and Andrew, even if Andrew did have a tendency to fart on occasion. It was always the sly giggle afterward, like no one knew who did it, that made Alp laugh.
Maker, he couldn’t believe he missed Andrew’s farts.
Strong arms lifted Alp from the cold cave floor and pulled him in, clutching him against Mal’s powerful body.
“I wish you could tell me what was wrong,” he said. “I’d help if I knew.”
And the way he was holding Alp, cradling him, he believed Mal—with his gruff voice, his enormous body, and his rough hands—would help him. He closed his eyes again, willing himself to become human, but there wasn’t anything there for him to grab. The necessary energy stayed agonizingly out of reach.
“I have to clean your leg,” Mal said, reaching over and pulling a bag closer. “This might burn, and I’m sorry, but…. You know.”
Yeah, Alp knew. But he doubted anything Mal would do could be worse than what Hyde had. He lay quietly as Mal worked. There was discomfort, but also warmth as Mal held Alp to his chest. When he hit something painful, Alp jolted and tried to push away.
“Shh, I’m sorry. I’m trying to be as gentle as I can. You gotta remember, I’m a wolf, so we’re a little ham-handed. I’ll try to do better.”
Then Mal tightened his grip a little and started humming. He had a good voice. Strong, certain, like Mal knew his place in the world.
“I sing for the bunny, I know it sounds funny, but the bunny can’t sing for himself.”
“I’m holding a bunny, because the weather is… um… runny, and I’m sure he feels all alone.”
He hummed a little more, then continued the impromptu song.
“Holding the rabbit, it could become habit, because he’s all soft and fuzzy and warm.”
“But I need him to tell me, if… uh… what happened to him, so I can make it right again.”
Now Alp couldn’t keep from whimpering. It had been far too long since anyone cared about what happened to him, and here it was a wolf, an animal that should have gobbled him up as soon as they met, but instead was comforting him. He snuggled deeper into the embrace, while Mal continued humming and cleaning.
Mal held Alp up, staring him in the face. “Sorry, I ran out of rhymes.”
It didn’t matter to Alp. The words were what was important. After years of screaming, now he could simply be quiet.
“We should both get some sleep,” Mal said, standing and taking Alp back to where he’d put him in the first place. “I bought you a sleeping bag. Let me go and—”
Alp didn’t want that. He needed the closeness to remind himself he was alive. He grabbed Mal’s hand gently in his teeth.
“Hey, what are you—oh. You don’t want me to leave again? Don’t worry, even I’m not dumb enough to ride a motorcycle in this weather. I’m not going anywhere.”
But that wasn’t all Alp wanted. He’d give anything if Mal would continue to hold him. He wanted—needed—closeness. Fuck, it had been far too long since he’d been able to let go of his fear, and he worried that if Mal put him down again, it would all come right back to him.
“No, that’s not what’s worrying you.” He squeezed gently. “You want me to stay nearby.”
Yes, Maker please! Don’t go.
“How about this? I’ll unpack the sleeping bag, and if it’s not too wet, we can stretch it out and I’ll lay next to you.”
That would be great. Only…. Again, need surged through Alp. It wasn’t logical, but he needed touch, comfort. A reminder that he’d beaten Hyde and survived, and that he was tethered to the world where so many others had gone to the Maker. And while it was unkind, Alp had many times thought they were the lucky ones, because they were free of the constant pain, the terror, and the soul-crushing uncertainty.
