BunnyBoy

OnE

It is the feeling that awakens him.

The same feeling that he has had since the tender age of seven. It itches at first, yes, a gentle burning sensation in the center of his abdomen. It is like a pull, a lull, a yearning, but then the sensation becomes cold and it cuts through him. The relief he feels is all too familiar as the piss escapes his bladder and the warmth soothes him. He secretly enjoys the feeling--how the urine caresses his skin for a brief fleeting moment. He is rarely touched so personally and tenderly as this, so yes, for the first few moments he refuses to try and keep it inside.

The warmth excites him.

But the urine stops flowing, stops caressing his inner thighs, and the warmth fades fast. His high has worn off and he begins to panic. He jumps out of his bed, slips off his sheets and his pajama bottoms. He is balling up his soiled items, looking for a place to stash them, but he decides that he couldn't hide them in his hamper. Eventually, the smell would become too much for he to bear. Besides, his mother would discover the garments faster in the event she gave a fuck about doing the laundry—which was rare. Whenever she did do laundry, though, she always found a way to tear him down. He doesn't want to risk hearing her booming, slurred voice in the morning.

"Ethan!! You little good for nothing, brat!! All you do is eat, piss and then piss in your sleep! The water bill is high thanks to you. This machine is always whirring because of you and I think that is so disgusting! You're so disgusting, you know that...you're a worthless child. Man up!!"

How he hates that woman. Ever since she lost her first gig, the cunt's indulgence in alcohol has only increased. She hasn't been able to hold down a job because she insists on drinking herself to oblivion. All the restaurant managers in their town have given her a chance, but not even the meager waitressing opportunities are enough to keep her from the liquor store. Because of this, his father had to give up his sales job, attend college and get a degree in something that guaranteed to help them break even. Now, as a nurse, his father is the sole breadwinner in the house, but the downside is that he works night shifts at the local hospital.

Ethan shakes his head, and turns his focus back to his present situation. He is still standing in the darkness of his room. Ethan figures he looks vulnerable, and shoves the sheets under his bed. He switches on the light and sleepily pulls out a pair of clean boxers. Ethan puts them on slowly, ignoring the stickiness of the urine against himself. The dry underwear scratches against his skin, and Ethan shifts uncomfortably on the edge of his bed.

"I'll just sleep on the couch," He says to himself.

He gets up, the floor boards creaking ever so slightly underneath his weight, and goes straight for the door. It creaks sharply, and Ethan pokes his head out, looking. Silence. No one heard anything. Ethan sighs in relief; he couldn't fathom waking up his precious little sister Christy-Anne (she's such a light sleeper). He looks back into his room at his clock. In the darkness, he makes out that it reads 2:30 AM. He has time to get in a few hours of shut eye—he reminds himself that he can't get caught sleeping on the couch. He groggily decides that he will hand wash his soiled garments...after school.

Christy-Anne is the pretty child.

She sits at the table, looming over a text book. Ethan eyes her curiously.

It is morning. A Monday. Their mother sits with them at the table, red-eyed and undone. There's no breakfast. Their mother hasn't made breakfast since their father finished his nursing degree. Ethan didn't necessarily miss her cooking as she is the worst cook he has ever encountered. However, he would much rather her sit anywhere but near him as she often gives him sour looks. Either way, she sits with them at the table because it looks good on her part. Their father is absent; he is sleeping the day away in the master bedroom. They rarely see him—often, when the two children arrive home from school, he has left for work.

"Chrissy," their mother chirps. Her voice is gruff, the smell of alcohol coming from her in waves. Ethan looks away. He can't stand it. Can't stand her. "How was your night?"

It is disturbing how much Christy-Anne and their mother look alike. Both women have white-blonde hair (their mother's is dingy, lost its sheen) and icy blue eyes, a round face, and a small nose. Ethan is handsome, or so he thinks. He has that white blonde hair, but he has his father's squared jaw, big lips and nose—which is a little long—and dark brown eyes. It is his eyes that he believes are his best feature. They are dark and brooding and they allow him to go against the mold of the stereotypical blonde-haired, blue eyed protagonist. Other than his face, Ethan is tall and a little scrawny. His body is lean and isn't designed for sports—which his mother is quick to complain and grovel about. All it does is cause Ethan to shrivel within himself more.

"It was fine, Mom." Christy-Anne says sweetly. She proceeds to read the textbook.

"Have a test coming up?" Ethan asks.

Christy-Anne doesn't look up, but shakes her head and says, "No. Just doing some reading."

"Chrissy," their mother chirps again. "Your birthday is coming up. What do you want to do?"

Ethan glances at his mother and her eyes are locked on him. She is wearing an ugly sneer—she's got big teeth, another similarity that both siblings share. Ethan tears his gaze. Maybe she knows he wet himself again.

Christy-Anne's birthday is coming up...in one month. Ethan smiles to himself. It is getting hard to remember Christine Anne as a prepubescent. When her name is mentioned, Ethan immediately thinks of a fat little baby girl struggling to keep up with her much faster older brother. In one month, he sighs, she'll be turning fourteen. Soon, she is to start high school and she will be a fully developed woman.

"Maybe a little party, here in the backyard." Christy-Anne looks up at Ethan. She is beaming. "I think it'd be nice for my friends to see the bunnies, Ethan. My friend, Angie, wants one and so does Joyce."

"Sure," their mother shrugs. Ethan seethes; Christy-Anne wasn't talking to her. "Your friends can have a rabbit or two. I am getting quite tired of them and their bloody guts all over the place."

"I'll see what I can do," Ethan says quietly. "Lisa is expecting and the kits should be ripe for the picking by the time your birthday comes around."

Christy-Anne smiles.

Their mother rolls hereyes. "It's really crazy how you know their pregnant before they even show. Youspend too much time with those damned rabbits."