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PARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOID

I’M BEING PARANOID.

But could it be called paranoia– “unjustified suspicion”– when it was indeed justified? Of course not. Of course he’s going to kill me. He said he would. But when would he do it? How would he do it? Would THEY help him? Of course they would. Those fucking bootlickers. Those fucking spineless maniacs. Those goddamned pretentious morons. They think he’s some sort of God. Cursing them under his breath, he stumbled through the air, unusually careless. Yes, he was being careless– even in his semi-drunken state, he knew he was. But goddammit! A man can’t live in fear! There comes a point when he’s so afraid that he doesn’t care anymore– JUSTMAKETHEFEARSTOP.

“Just make it stop….” he grumbled to the listening trees, feeling their eyes follow him silently. Eyes. Eyes in the trees. Steps that lingered in the shadows behind him (always, always there, at home, at the football field….) Eyes in the hallways. Eyes in his dorm. The fucker was everywhere, the fucker was everywhere. Following, watching, seeing— Bunny saw his outline in the haze that fell before dreams. He was in Bunny’s head too— fucker really was everywhere— god, the nightmares….

He’s going to kill me. He’s tiring me out, the bastard. And I am tired. I’m tired of these games. So just….

“Come at me then, motherfucker. You fucking psychopathic….” I’ll sock him. He’ll lunge at me with a knife and I’ll…I’ll sock him. I got pepper spray too. It’s right under my pillow. I’ll burn his eyes if he tries to choke me in my sleep. Or maybe he’d chop me up. Like a real psycho killer. Maybe he’d chop me up…..what would I do then? Oh, what would I do?

Under the thicket of the forest trees, the sky looked darker than it was. He didn’t remember looking up, but the fever of his delirium was marked by swimming flashes of a cold sky, watching him through the tapestry of interweaving branches and leaves above him. His murmurs were swallowed by the breath of the foliage, his touch leaving traces of his essence on the dark bark, with its ancient swirls that had heard and seen and felt so many things….so many sins….No, I can’t think of….He shook his head clear of the mistakes he’d made in freshman year, fondling in the dark with…..Not the goddamn time. He’s going to kill you, and you’re thinking about…

“Lied to you, excluded you, called you all sorts of names….made fun of the very thing….” And you’re thinking about…..

When he looked up, the trees had cleared off the path, trimmed and shaved so they would skirt the path instead of crowd it. It was his usual route, and just the night before he had been thinking of changing it, because otherwise he’d be making it far too easy for him. But he was tired. And he didn’t want to be afraid anymore. And perhaps, deep down, a part of him was sure he wouldn’t do it. Sure, he was a murderer now. He’d killed someone– brutally, and relished in the fact. But hey, Bunny was….his friend. At some point, they’d been the best buds. Genuinely best buds. These very trees could testify for him. If only they could speak the things they’d bore witness to.

He wouldn’t really kill me. I’d look at him, and I’d laugh, and I’d say, ‘Come on, old man. It’s me.’

He thought he was confident in what they’d once had. He thought he knew the man well. But all that confidence went flying out the window the moment he turned the corner and came face to face with him.

It shocked Bunny to find him here of all places— sure, Henry had been openly stalking him, but he didn’t quite expect him to get so brazen about it all of a sudden—- unless he’s here to make a bold move. Bunny froze in his steps, and something horrible, something cold clutched his heart. His stomach sank.

Henry was standing there on the path, hands in his pockets, a strange smile on his lips, the glint in his glasses hiding his eyes.

For all his confidence, Bunny felt afraid.

They were all there. All of them, solemn faced, snake-skinned.

It was like coming face to face with a truth he’d been running from for a very, very long time. And now there was nowhere to go. Nothing to do but– he looked at the path behind Richard’s head, past Camilla, past Charles, away from him. There was a brief exchange of words, repressed as though they were concealed weapons– Bunny was still in his senses, only a little drunk– so for the most part his suspicion was less paranoid and more logical— considering everything. Bunny asked what they were doing. Henry said something about ferns.

“…Why aren’t you coming over here, Bunny?” Henry inquired, putting some concern into his voice and a slight smile on his lips.

“Why should I?” Bunny asked warily.

“No reason, really.” Henry replied, his voice almost sweet sounding, a tone he rarely used. He gave an inviting wave, gesturing for him to come closer. The others stood in a frozen tableau, mannequins with wide eyes and held breaths. They were so still they blended into the background.

A branch cracked under Bunny’s boot. He’d been backing away slowly, towards the trail through the pines, and Henry was following him.

Bunny’s voice trembled, “What are you lot doing here, really?”

Henry’s smile was unnerving.

“I told you, I’m looking for ferns.”

And what Richard wouldn’t write in his shitty little book of lies was this: ferns. Ferns. Ferns. Between the two of them, between him and this bastard that Bunny couldn’t recognize anymore, that word held a different meaning. Something that had come to life in these very woods, whispered to the trees with their sturdy, witnessing shafts, spilling, spilling, spilling…..

Bunny gasped sharply as Henry’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. He was twisting it.

“Yes, ferns. Help me look for them, won’t you?”

“Don’t touch me, goddammit! Get your hands off-”

“Come on, Bunny, dear,” (and he murmured the last part so nobody heard it) Henry said, sweet and almost even loving. “It’s just me.” A moment later, “You know, I’ve been thinking….”

“Get your goddamn hands off me you bastard!” Bunny’s voice cut through the air but Henry’s quiet murmurs continued, undisturbed.

“I’ve been thinking, you’re privy to things— things about each of us, all of us in fact– that we’d rather you didn’t know. It’s quite unfair, isn’t it? You shroud yourself in paradoxes so nobody sees you for who you are. It’s unfair, isn’t it?” Henry leaned in, his sweet voice turning bitter, he twisted Bunny’s wrist with a snap. Bunny cried out in pain, but the silent witnesses said and did nothing– in fact, they looked on, some might say with shock, some might say with eager curiosity.

“Why don’t we open up one of your precious secrets? Right here, right now.” Henry said darkly, he kept his gaze trained on Bunny’s nervous, jittery one. Bunny’s breath was quickening— he looked back at the others. And then he glared up at Henry.

“No secret I have could be any worse than yours!” He yelled at the top of his lungs (or, well, he tried to), then he looked madly at the evildoers behind Henry, “I haven’t killed an innocent man, I don’t have loose morals, I don’t fuck my own sibling!”

“Really? Aren't I a brother to you?”

Now this. This would come as a shock to everyone– what Bunny would never know but had wondered was this: did their worlds spin and did their minds reel with the sheer force that his world had rocked with? He felt himself grow pale– no, the trees would never throw such sacred a sin out into the open, no matter how many times they’d observed it. The trees were benevolent. Henry had been benevolent. Once.

“Shut up,” His voice tried to rise up, but it failed and sank in his chest like a deflated balloon.

“You,” Henry hissed back, all the fake pleasantry gone from his voice. “Shouldn’t have ever touched my things, you bastard.” And then he grabbed Bunny’s collar and shook him violently. Bunny let out a strangled sound, his free hand flying up to Henry’s wrist, trying to free himself. His brain couldn’t keep up with the rapid onslaught of violence. He’d expected Henry to be angry, of course he’d expected that. But not this. Not his once-dear friend shaking him like a dog, like he meant to pull him apart. Henry leaned in and bared his teeth and snarled his words and YOU’REHURTINGMEYOUR’REHURTINGMEYOU’REHURTINGMEYOUR’REHURTINGMEYOU’REHURTINGMEYOUR’REHURTINGME (again).

“Didn’t you want them to know? You wanted the world to know, so let them know! Let them see, Bunny. You damn liar, you damn hypocrite, show them what you are.”

Bunny’s eyes were full of tears.

“Get away from me, bastard—!”

There was a struggle. To the witnesses outside the skirmish, it appeared— shockingly— very one-sided. Bunny’s hands were preoccupied with putting distance between himself and his attacker, Henry’s hands aimed to bruise. He forced Bunny’s head to snap towards him multiple times, his large hand locked on Bunny’s jaw with such a force that his bones sounded like the creaking branches beneath their boots.

Bunny was overwhelmed, he was drunk, he was humiliated and devastated— and he had the wind knocked out of him when Henry crushed their mouths together. It was not like anything they’d shared before, in this very clearing, it was brutal, like it had been ever since….

HE’S DEVOURING ME

And what Bunny didn’t realize was this: the world was not spinning in his head. It was spinning literally. He did not realize that his comrades watched in complicit silence as he was walked backwards, whilst being devoured, whilst being romanced…..he was being walked with his back towards the ravine. And he only knew it when he felt the abyss behind him. When he missed a step. When his shoe stepped on nothing.

He clutched Henry desperately, eyes wide.

He gasped, “Henry—“

“Yes, Bunny?” He whispered, still kissing him with a strange sense of longing. Gentler now.

Bunny’s tearful eyes looked at his friends, standing silent; ghosts, observing a scene. And then it hit him. This had been planned. Oh, I’m such a fool. I’m such a fool. I should have…

His tears rushed.

“Henry, please–”

The smile on Henry’s face was nothing like a smile at all, his eyes were narrowed. “You deserve this.” and then, quietly, “I love you.”

And then he pushed.

And then he fell.