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I like when she’s sensitive.
Let’s her guard down.
Shows us the trust I know she doesn’t give anyone else.
Even if it’s just for a minor moment.
Reaching for the puff ball scrubber she prefers leads to me invading the tiny bit of space Bunny has; however, rather than toss me a snarky comment, she winds her arms around my neck and rests her head on my chest.
Steals an embrace I’m more than happy to give her.
It takes a bit of finagling on my part – like everything in this small as fuck bathroom that I’m just now realizing is too small – to get the lid to the pink and white liquid soap bottle open as well as some on the scrubber. Once it’s there, I take my time washing her back half, admiring the soft moans from the unintentional sexual strokes along with the happy sighs over the purposely affectionate ones. By the time I’m working on her frontside, she’s practically putty in my hands.
Beaming and glowing and gazing at me like I just gave her the whole fucking world.
Unfamiliar warmth rapidly spreads in my chest prompting me to focus more so on the task literally at hand. Curiosity over the words etched from her wrist up towards her elbow slows down my efforts in order to properly read them. Four words in and my stare shifts to hers. “Song lyrics?” Keeping my grip steady is accompanied by me lifting the appendage that holds the question. “You wrote song lyrics last night?”
“Hm?” She hums, eyes struggling to leave their dreamy state.
“These are the lyrics to ‘Is This Love’ by Bob Marley.”
At that, I expect her demeanor to change.
It doesn’t.
“I was singin’ ‘em when I came into the garage last night.”
“Were you?”
The lack of sass in the question furrows my brow.
Is she fucking with me right now, or is her memory really that shitty?
A gradual nod precedes another question. “Is that why you wrote ‘em down? Because I was singin’ ‘em?”
“Maybe.” Her innocent shrug cocks my head. “What I scribble down doesn’t always register to me when or why but…I have noticed…that lately…they’ve been echoes from you and The Kid.”
I lift my eyebrows in a silent request for more information.
“Last week I wrote down the entire life cycle of tires.” Rabbit’s light laughs pull from me my own. “No part of me gives a fuck about that, yet there it was. All over my ankle like a fucking scripture.”
“Because it matters to The Kid.”
“I guess.”
“Like that song matters to me.”
Finally, the mouthiness returns. “I’ll make sure to pass that message along to Skip Marley that you love his grandpa’s very popular, very famous music.”
“Who the fuck is Skip Marley?”
“Ohmygod,” is muttered in tandem with her snatching her arm away. “What are you gonna ask me next, oh ancient one? Who is H.E.R.?”
“Her who?”
“Fuckingreally?!”
“You didn’t say a name!”
