The Land of Rabbits (Long Shot Love Duet #1) (17 page)

“Bro, you’ve been saying that since you were twelve. Stop being such a pussy and help me get the old man to bed.”

I watch in silence as Dylan takes his dad’s arms and Quinn takes his ankles, lugging him up the stairs.

“Yo, Trent! Don’t touch that girl down there. I’m not done with her! Give me a minute and I’ll be back down!”

My heart’s about to explode, the beats penetrating high into my throat, making it hard to catch my breath. I drop the board and head outside, feeling dizzy. I hope the fresh air will help slow my racing pulse and calm my trembling hands.

“Fuck.” I bend over, needing to throw up. Twice it happens, making my throat burn and my face feverish. I hate puking when I drink. Hate it. Hate it. Jesus, what just happened?

Quinn’s hand rests on my back. He holds my hair away from my face while I lean over and stare at the ground—no longer sick, yet no longer enthusiastic.

“Why’d he cut you?” I whisper. “Is it because we were in his house?” I rise and wipe my mouth, repulsed by his dad and the fight.

His head lowers, his foot making a half circle in the dirt as his bloodstained hands disappear inside his pockets. “My dad’s out of it tonight. He hasn’t cut me in years.”

“How can you... God, Quinn. Why did he do that?” A lamented sound escapes my throat as I cross my arms, looking up at the distant stars appearing in the early night. I want him to escape. To live in a place where he can be free of such cruelty.

“He’s drunk.”

“No! I’m drunk too and I don’t cut people!”

“It’s different.”

“So all those marks on your leg happened the same way?”

“Yeah. They were punishment whenever I fucked up. Tally marks to keep track of what a bastard I am.”

“You’re not a bastard.”

“I know, but he doesn’t.”

“And he cut you there so no one would see? So he wouldn’t get caught and arrested like he should’ve been?”

He shrugs and checks his jeans, noticing blood soaking through the fabric.

“How could anyone grow up with... how do you live like this?”

I’m horrified by my words, asking him to answer such an ignorant question.
How do you live like this?
Laying the burden on him. Suggesting he’s responsible for being born into poverty and that he enjoys the abuse. As if he’s been given a choice.

“I don’t. I live in
the land of rabbits
.”

His sad tone penetrates my soul, the weight of my question altering his tender expression.
The land of rabbits.
He’s troubled, searching to explain when no explanation’s necessary.

“I’m like Grace in the barn at Afterglow. She made a shelter for herself in a seed box. It’s not much, but it’s a home. She runs free and explores the open field during the day... and she senses when to hide in the woods from the hawks and other predators. That’s her land... her home... that’s her life. She’s made the best of being up in those mountains all alone.” He looks to the evening sky, his expression doubtful that I understand. I move closer, suspecting he needs to be reassured that I’m not walking away from him because of this. As with everything else, it makes me respect him even more. “Like the rabbit, I have my own little burrow, next to all the other small burrows down by the river. There’s an open field where we congregate and watch over each other, and the woods where we hide from the cops and people like my dad.” He looks back at the house, then at me. “The goal each day is to have food and shelter. You do whatever you can to survive.” He sighs, sliding a foot through the dirt, the blood on his jeans making me nauseous again. I offer my hand and he eagerly accepts it, guiding me into a loving hug. “Sorry about that.”

“I want to be there with you.”

“Where, in that land?”

“Yes.”

“There’re better places for a date,” he says. “We’ll meet at the park and find somewhere fun to hang out, not down there.”

“No... I’ll meet you in the land of rabbits... tomorrow.”

Chapter Nine

I’VE FELT THIS once before... a shift in my behavior. At eighteen I was aware I had become a different person from two years earlier. At twenty, I’m starting to feel that way again.

Unfortunately, my family will always treat me like I’m sixteen. I’ve moved from one period of my life to the next, but to them, I’ll be a kid forever. I suffered through it with my mom and now my aunt’s treating me the same way. When I’m thirty, I’ll still be perceived as a teen.

There’re also times when a change occurs overnight.

Today, I’m noticing my surroundings in greater detail. I’m taking deeper breaths, slower strides, and have an enormous smile—flashing it to every person I pass along the Hudson River Trail.

My hair’s soaked from the rain, but the fresh scents of wet fields, leaves, and bark, have given me renewed energy. Life is going to be okay. It doesn’t have to be difficult unless I make it that way. I don’t need my cell, a closet jam-packed with clothes, or a giant house and fancy cars like Brian and Nadine have. I don’t need to look at stupid shit on my iPad, or tweet what I had for breakfast, wasting hours of my day online—lost moments with nothing gained. I don’t want to watch mindless television shows or go shopping at the mall for outfits I won’t wear a year later.

Has that gotten my family anywhere?

They’re miserable. The money and stuff they buy doesn’t change the fact that they’re unhappy with one another. They spend to hide their depression and loneliness. I’m not falling into that trap. It’s a pretend world.

Last night, I got home from hanging out with Quinn and crawled into a queen canopy bed with my uncle’s dog, Baxter, by my side. He was dressed in his usual bedtime T-shirt with the stenciled words,
spoiled prince
on his back. Today, I’m transforming my world, walking away from what my mom expected of me, flipping the bird to my aunt and uncle’s routine.

I’ve thought of Quinn’s old home and now his new one, realizing his decision to take to the streets was necessary; mine isn’t. He’s been pushed here, I’ve been led here, but now we’re both here.

This landscape that surrounds me is another reason I feel differently today. My head’s clearing from the warm rain after weeks of dry summer weather. The river’s movement and the sounds of the raindrops hitting the leaves as they make their way to the ground creates a hypnotizing rhythm—
pitter-patter, pitter-patter, dot-dot-dot—
the drops sounding like Morse code, water running down my nose, my feet wet, body revived... it’s romantic... I’m vanishing into the land while focusing on its tranquility.

The walk’s further than I remember from last weekend. I’m way up on the trail, hidden from the busy downtown area, about twenty minutes north of Riverfront Park.

Before I came down, I took a bus to the sporting goods store and bought a small, cheap tent. It’s supposed to be waterproof and will be perfectly fine just for sleeping. I have basic items packed in a duffle bag my uncle grudgingly let me borrow. It’s damn heavy from the rain and I’m sure the clothing inside is sopping wet. I keep switching the bag from shoulder to shoulder, but it seems twenty pounds heavier than when I started out two hours ago.

Here... finally. I recognize the spot and duck into the woods, walking past shelters positioned between the trees. The crowded poplars block some of the rain, functioning as a roof. It’s quiet. Most people are keeping dry behind zipped tents or under lowered tarps, except for the older man who was washing his clothes last time I was here. He’s still at it, standing in his underwear with his stuff laid out on a boulder. Must be a habit of his. I raise my hand and he waves back, seeming friendly enough.

As suspected, Quinn’s not around. I figured he’d be out getting dinner at about this time. He didn’t agree to me coming down today—we have a time planned to meet tomorrow instead, but I thought I could set up before he gets back. I want to do this on my own. There’s no need to be chaperoned and I can pitch the tent by myself.

I’m ashamed that I spiraled out of control months ago with the drinking and depression, losing my footing in life and all sense of self. I’m ashamed I allowed Nadine and Brian to coddle me in their big house. I’m ashamed I haven’t been
me
, especially when my mom was around. And I’m angry with Nadine and Brian over their judgment about how I do things, how I should think and behave, and what others will say if I don’t follow their standards—meaning I shouldn’t be talking to the homeless.

Fuck ‘em.

“You belong to Quinn?”

“What?” I turn around, holding a rock I had picked up from clearing the ground next to his tent.

It’s Connie. She’s close enough that I can see her sunken face, a missing bottom front tooth, and filthy pants. The serene scents of rain and woods are quickly replaced with the powerful stench of cabbage. Sewage.

“You his?”

“Uhh... we might be together. He’s my boyfriend, maybe. But he doesn’t own me.”

“Whatcha doing here?” She walks closer, tapping my tent with her foot. “Moving in?”

“Is that okay?”

“Suppose so. You have your own food?”

“I do.”

“Don’t take mine, ‘kay?”

“I won’t.”

I unfold the tent, insert the fiberglass poles, and within minutes the olive green shelter pops up. The stakes are next, sliding easily into the wet earth without the use of a rock or my sneaker to pound them in. I put the duffle bag inside so my shit’s out of the rain before stepping back to view the place.

“That’s good,” she says. “It looks fine in the trees. Tiny. Good and tiny. That’s the way you need to come down here, not with some dandy two-room fortress.”

It does look good, but scanning the area, seeing all the blue and green tarps, the different colored tents, and the clothes hanging from the trees, I realize these people will be cleared out when fall arrives. The camp will undoubtedly be discovered once the leaves fall and all the foliage disappears.

“Where do you stay in the winter?” I ask.

“I have my spots. Not telling you so you don’t take ‘em, though. Where’d Quinn go?”

“I think he’s getting food.”

She offers a cold hand, her fingers bony with dirt packed under her nails. “Connie.”

“Adlyn.”

She looks around the camp before taking off her hood, tilting her head back with her eyes closed and tongue out to catch the rain.

“How long have you been homeless?” I ask.

“I don’t know... long time... since my daughter died.” One eye reopens, then the other, peering at me as dirt spots that resemble freckles drip down her cheeks. “We couldn’t pay her medical bills. I lost our apartment after she died. Ninety-seven, I think it was.”

“That’s almost twenty years ago.”

“That long?” She grins, showing her rotten teeth. I flash a friendly smile in return, about to offer her some food, when Quinn comes into view. He’s carrying two bags and hands her one as she passes by, headed back to her site.

“What the fuck?” He reaches the tent.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing? I thought we were meeting up tomorrow? And what’s this about? I bought one. I don’t need another tent. Don’t buy me stuff.”

He’s drenched, like me, and the thought that the tent’s a gift renders me speechless. I gesture toward my bag inside and look down at my outfit, clearly not dressed for a date.

“Shit,” he whispers, dropping his bag.

“I can’t be in that house when you’re out here in the rain. I spent the entire night thinking about all the extravagant things around me—the plush furniture and high-priced gadgets, lavish fixtures and elegant bedding, luxury handbags and pricey clothing—”

“Don’t punish yourself because of me.”

“Gold watches and fancy cars.”

“This isn’t camping.”

“Weekend getaways and eating at trendy restaurants.”

“And I’m not some social experiment. Don’t try to save me.”

“I’m
not
punishing myself, I know it’s
not
camping, and I’m
not
trying to save you!”

“Then what are you doing?”

I hesitate, taking a step closer before answering. “I’m trying to figure out how much longer I can be asleep.” He’s struck by the edginess in my voice. I lift my head and stand tall. “I miss myself.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s what I intend to find out. My life went to shit so fast and I’ve been rubbing my eyes far too long—it stops
now
. My aunt and uncle’s cushy world isn’t where I need to be right now.”

“Hiding here isn’t either.”

“Hiding? I’m not hiding. I’m living.”

He sighs, turning away with his hands on his hips, gazing at the Hudson. “I can’t stop you from doing whatever the fuck you want, can I?”

“Nope.”

“And your family knows you’re here?”

“Yeah, and they’re livid. They asked me if I had fallen on my head.”

“Did you?” he asks, putting his thumbs in his belt loop as he glances over his shoulder—his hard-lined lips holding back a playful smile.

I look up through my wet lashes, tugging the back of his wet shirt until he’s by my side. “We came to an agreement that I’d meet one of them every morning at the amphitheater at Riverfront Park. If I’m not there, they’re calling the cops.”

“I bet they’re furious with me.”

“No, you’re not being blamed for any of this. I told them what I’m doing isn’t some bullshit song-and-dance routine about a nice girl falling for a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks... I’m the bad one, not you.”

He laughs, removing his T-shirt and wiping the water from the top of his head and face. “Alright then.” He wrings it out and sets it over his shoulder, his chest firm and silky wet. “I don’t think I’d get far trying to carry you home kicking and screaming. Right?” His hand pats his chest, waiting for an answer.

Damn, he’s handsome. I lean forward, placing my hand on his heart—the pattering against my palm in sync with the rain drumming our bodies.

We stand together at the edge of the woods, overlooking the grey skies and a distant fog on the opposite side of the river. The warm rain runs down our faces, triggering his tongue to catch the water on his lips. I pull him in for a peaceful kiss, my hands sliding to his neck as our breathing and movements remain hushed.