Page 5 of Inked in Bloom
The woman settles on her knees, and I move closer, eager for more scratches. Instead, she lifts me enough to nuzzle her cold human nose against mine.
“Get some good sleep, little guy.” She sets me back within the pen and sits on her heels, emerald irises sparkling from behind tortoise shell spectacles.
I puff up my chest.If she only knew.
The truth would terrify her. It’s why we work in secret and don’t live among the mortals. Their fragile minds can’t handle the knowledge that the natural beauty in their worldcomes from harbingers. Each season and its majesty is made possible by us.
And what sort of gratitude do we get for our work? Trash that’s spread over the lawns we spend hours tending and manicuring. Chemicals pumped into our masterpieces or sprayed to kill the insects that assist in their thriving. Clipped flowers that end up shriveled in vases, like the ones wilting atop the woman’s kitchen table.
Season after season, I watch our work get torn asunder. If not by the mortals, then by the aggressive antics of the Storms.
I should be focused on getting back home. This place—Earth—it’s never been mine. I’ve never been drawn to linger here, to watch the humans I surround with spring. There’s nothing for me in the mortal world beyond work, and my work is done. I have Blooms waiting for me, four sweet sprouts who rely on me.
Thankfully, I’m almost fully healed, though suffering from seasonal sickness is prolonging the process. Our earthside forms aren’t meant to be utilized for long periods, and I’ve never been in mine for this long. Usually we are quick healers as immortals, but I’d already pushed past spring’s timeline ensuring a few straggling Bloom students got back at the end of the season with no issues.
Each day that passes, I weaken. Of course, the mortal healer didn’t know the signs when the woman brought me to him. He attributed my constant shaking to anxiety. When he couldn’t find my heartbeat, he pretended as though he could, trying to impressDoctor Tanner.
Such an unusual name.
A buzzing echoes through the small apartment. My ears prick up, following the vibration until it lands on thebedroom. Its double doors are open, and I barely make out the shifting mountainous comforter.
Not again.
My unhappy penmate nestles into her corner, tucking her furry white chin into her chest and shutting her eyes. Like anyone could sleep through this. Jessica can, though, because she’s starting to snore.
I already had to listen to the fictional characters going at it earlier, now this? It’s worse than making it through an open mic night at Novel Nibbles. At least then I could leave anytime I want. Go find some privacy or another frisky Bloom and scamper wherever we please. I’m far from angelic, but this… It’s just too much for one trapped bunny to bear.
The woman’s whimpers and heavy breaths sift out from the bedroom as the comforter quakes. Though I can’t see her, I imagine those long tan legs, her pouty pink lips, the furrow of her brows, her blonde waves fanned across her pillow. I huff with indignation. This could be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed, despite most of it being in my imagination, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Every time she does this—not that it’s often, but it’s often enough to mess with my composure—I try blocking it out. Every time, it becomes more futile. While I know it’s wrong, I can’t stop myself. I blame this tiny apartment and the fact that I haven’t spoken to another soul in weeks.
That’s the only explanation I can come up with for why I wonder where she is when she’s away, and when the door unlocks with aclick, I spring up to see her. It’s idiotic.
I’m probably suffering from that Stockholm Syndrome I’ve read about.
I doubt she’d be doing this if she understood what I truly was. She doesn’t know I’m not a regular ol’ bunny, butshe’s nibbling away at my sanity. Her moans carry over the buzzing, and those sounds—thosesounds— I’ll be thinking about them once I’m home and hard and fucking my fist.
The first opportunity I get.
This train of thought can’t be healthy. No wonder we’re not meant to stay among the mortals. It screws with our psyche.
I need to get out of here. Pronto.
I curl up, close my eyes, and try to ignore when she goes for round two, and three, cursing myself for the images she conjures.
Pocketing them, nonetheless.
The next morning,the woman is in a chipper mood.
I wonder why.
She practically hops around the apartment, moving between her coffee maker and her counter. When she opens the pen, Jessica shuffles past me, eagerly roaming the living room. I stare up at the mug clutched in the woman’s hands, the scent of fresh-roast filling my nostrils.
“Does somebunny like the smell of coffee as much as I do?” She kneels down and holds the cup out. “Come on, Sir Thumps-A-Lot.” Inside, I’m groaning, but I really do miss my morning latte, so I take greedy sniffs. My chest warms as she giggles, commenting how adorable I am.
Fuck this form.
It’s utilitarian for my work but way too cute and cuddly for these mortals, though the chin and ear scratches are pretty nice. My foot thumps uncontrollably against the floor.
