The melodic sound of the rain early early that morning fell on the trees, the roof, against the window, made Obrey think of the rabbit. The crackling thunder brought the desire for warm strong arms around her body and the smell of the empty merlot glass at the side of her bed made it even more tempting. Unlike the strong arms, the pink rabbit was always there. Always. Whether she was moody or not, shaved her legs and armpits and painted her nails or not, had done fifty sit ups the night before or not. It called from the cherry wood nightstand with three deep drawers and a lock that held her journals, secrets, bills, prayers, sketches, receipts, taxes, taxes! She rolled over and pulled open the top drawer and wondered where her favorite vibrator could be, then remembered that she threw it away with the box of silk and cotton scarves Amad had given her. On birthdays, Christmases, New Years Days, apology days, just because days.
She was angry and he would pay. She couldn't remember what the fight was about that day. Or was it a fight? No. It wasn't a fight. Not a fight at all. It was a message. Clear, straight from the trees. Stop fucking with him. Of course messages from Spirit had never come so crass before and maybe this was not from above after all. Still, she would momentairly obey. Who needed him? Red ones, blue ones, white ones. Not the white ones. The white ones too. They were her favorite of all the scarves he had given her because they reminded her of her mother. But they had to go in the box and even the rabbit. Yes, even the rabbit because this was serious and she needed to teach him a lesson. Obrey needed to show him that she didn't want him. Needed to show herself. But that was then. And on that night when she wasn't angry anymore, but missed him in her bed, wanted him there, wanted to talk, wanted to talk and not talk and make up, the rabbit was gone too.