11. 1994

BUNNY

The drive was hell.

I wasn't allowed on the seat. Instead, Marone dragged me over by my hair, setting me underneath his feet to be used as a footstool. Hours went by with me in that same position. With every complaint, he dug his steel heels into my spine, carving notches to forever rest in my bones.

By the time the car comes to a stop, my muscles are shaking from fatigue, and my eye throbs enough to leave me blind. Knife-like tingles run up and down my body as I stretch from my position on the floor. I'm given no time to regain my sensations before I'm tugged out of the vehicle.

Hauled to my feet, two sets of hands wrench me into motion. "It really didn't have to be this way, my Bunny. You are much too pretty to face this world." Marone's haunting statement comes somewhere from behind me, meaning he isn't one of the hands on my body.

"I'm sorry! I promise I won't do it again! Please!"

"Now," he laughs, his voice suddenly in my ear, "you're going to want to save that begging. Maybe you'll get a monster to listen."

Kicking and screaming, I fight for my life, thrashing in my captor"s hold. "You're a monster! You're a fucking evil bastard!"

"No, sweetheart. I'll show you a monster."

The longer I'm forced to walk, the more desperate my struggle becomes. I lose any strategy to use as my defense and allow my body to move in panic. Though they don't have much give, my hands flail to connect with anything. My legs are what shows them a hard time. Throwing them in every direction, they occasionally lose their grip on me. They dropped me once, and I took off running, but without my sight, I didn't get far.

As punishment for pushing them past their patience, I'm sent flying forward. My face collides with a steel surface, busting my nose beneath the cloth hood. I drown in the metallic flavor while my body slides against the wall.

"Now, where did that get you?" It got my hands bound behind my back. My face is left against the solid ground of what I assume is an elevator while they shackle me with stiff zip-ties. My sensitive nerves and bruised bones press uncomfortably to the side, struggling to breathe through the congealed blood in my nostrils.

"All she had to do was behave." I hear Marone joke about me from above, his laughter intertwining with the mute guards who dragged me in here. I can't tell if it's genuine or if they're a big bunch of fucking kiss-asses. Either way, their chortling grates on my nerves.

I'm relieved when it ends, but that comfort is fleeting. As soon as I hear the doors ding open, they go back to business, back to being mute and grabbing me with more brutality than necessary. It's not like I can do much. My teeth are covered. My hands are tied. Are they worried I'll somehow squirm my way free? No, the bruises they leave on my skin are entirely for their own enjoyment.

I don't have the privilege of walking this time around. Instead, I'm entrapped on both ends. All I can do is buck and flail, hoping one of them drops me again.

"Enough!" Marone scolds, echoing in the noiseless chamber before slamming a fist into the center of my stomach. It knocks the breath out of me, but it gets me to stop. So, I guess he fucking wins.

It's always been strange to me, how exhausted I become once the fight drains from my system. Everything in me says sleep. The pain and this nightmare will be gone the second I close my eyes. That's never been the case, but I find that I really, really want it to be in this moment.

Fighting the need to shut my lids, I listen to every sound. There's nothing much to hear at first, the clicking of their heels, the occasional grunt as they adjust me in their arms. Every now and then, a beep will ring out, followed by the pushing of a door and Marone's sporadic comment.

The soundlessness slowly morphs into something else, something darker—something that should only live in the empty caverns of the devil"s soul.

The screams thundering as the last door opens shoot straight to my spine and lock around every vertebra. I feel my muscles shrinking under the weight of their agony, sense my ears bleeding as their pleas become hoarse, strangling sobs.

"What is this?" I ask, knowing there's no way anyone could hear me over the guttural cries. Everyone seems to ignore them as I'm carried farther into the room. Eventually, their deafening roar lessens, making it easier for my heart to expand in my stiffening chest.

"Behave," Marone rumbles in my ear, taking my arm in an unrelenting grip before ordering the guards to set me on my feet. To my surprise, they do so gently, ensuring I'm stable before releasing me to his hold.

The jingle of keys sends shivers from my scalp to my toes. Something about their light, jaunty clinking doesn't fit in a place like this, where the screams and wails are as loud as my own heartbeat.

"Remember," Marone whispers, fidgeting with the restraint around my neck, "You have no one to blame but yourself." The hood is snatched from around my head, disorienting me long enough for him to shove me forward.

I crash to my hands and knees on a stony, wet floor, crying out as my skin splits open. The slamming of a gate reverberates behind me. I spin to follow it, fighting for my vision to be restored before it locks.

"No. No. No. No! Stop! Please! Please don't do this! Please!" I test the bar"s strength, shaking and struggling with the solid metal until my joints pop. "Please!" The blurry figure in the center becomes more apparent as it approaches.

Déjà vu punches me in the throat as Marone's smile stretches across his face. I remember so vividly the first time I saw it, how it twisted my insides and left me mesmerized. I could feel the power wafting off him the second I was in proximity. I believed that he would change my life.

And I guess he did.

"Why are you doing this to me?" It"s all I can ask as he kneels on the ground. Our hands are side by side on the bars, but miles apart in freedom. "Why?" I ask again, tears rolling down my swollen, throbbing cheeks. They burn when they touch my lips, but I endure the sting while Marone leans in.

He takes his time answering me, drawing out my strangled breath with a finger through my tears. "Why am I doing this to you, my dear? Why, it's so simple."

Closing the gap between us, he presses his lips to my wet skin. "Because you made it easy."

* * *

EMMA | 2022

"And I guess I did. Didn't I?"

Twirling the pen around my fingers, I fight for the right words to say, but nothing comes easy when I spot the film of sadness in her gaze.

I find that whatever doubt I came into this interview with diminishes the longer we talk. Her story could be just that—a story. A fabrication to garner some sympathy before the execution team comes for her. I hate to admit that the pessimist in me was looking for lies, but everything about Bunny Walker, from the rigidness of her posture to the hollow shadows that blanket under her eyes, speaks nothing but the truth.

I find that the longer I sit here, hidden in a steel room, with a solo guard and violent murderess, that I'm less a journalist and more concerned with letting her feel heard.

Something tells me she hasn't been before.

"Then what? What happened next?"