Chapter Text
You weren’t the best at self-regulation. When you did something, you either did the bare minimum or went all out, with no in-between. A lazy overachiever if you will. Unfortunately, that little quirk applied to your vices, too. You either paid them no mind or indulged in them until you were a wreck.
Most of your vices were safe. Fanfiction, snacking, sleeping in, etc. All activities you could safely humor without worry. However, two of your harmful vices were your love for parties and alcohol. You were a sucker for a good time, and you were there if free liquor was provided. The strong, fruity drinks were especially mouthwatering, as they had the winning combo of getting you fucked-up fast while tasting like heaven.
In the heat of the moment, guzzling alcohol with your friends was a ball. You danced like no one was watching, chatted with anyone who’d give you the time of day, and flirted with fine strangers with zero reservations. The stresses of day-to-day life, your self-image issues, and the loneliness that often crept in melted away, having too much fun to give a damn about them.
However, once the moment passed, all the alcohol you chugged seemed like a poor decision. Nausea and headaches began to set in, the alcoholic munchies you got leaving you bloated. The next morning, you’d be left with a raging hangover and intense regret over every embarrassing moment you laughed at when liquor was flowing through your veins.
At three in the morning, your most dangerous vice had you staggering home, because your dumbass didn’t want to burden your friends when they offered to walk with you. You lived in the opposite direction, after all, and they were in no state to wander around town in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, you didn’t take your advice.
A yelp left you when a loud, high-pitched shriek sounded in the alley ahead of you. Your body tensed as the cries grew in urgency, your steps halting. You looked around and found the streets deserted, the lack of another soul making your heart rate pick up.
Going through the alley was necessary if you wanted to get home soon, but you didn’t know what horrors awaited you. You’d heard stories before of crooks setting up traps for potential victims. You were a drunk woman by her lonesome, making you a perfect target. Your skintight attire didn’t help matters.
You considered going the alternative route, but that would add twenty minutes to your walk, and you wanted to get home as quickly as possible. So, horror movie alley it was.
Stealing your nerves, you bent down and removed your high heels. They’d be a hindrance if you had to run, and the platforms would serve as a decent weapon. Taking a shaky step forward, you entered the alleyway, praying to whatever deity up above to spare you. You tried your best to stay quiet, not wanting to catch the attention of whatever was in the alley. But a bundle of fur derailed that plan.
Two things quickly caught your attention. One, the source of that godawful screech was an injured rabbit, one bigger than you’d ever seen before. And more concerningly, it was green.
You blinked. Then blinked again, and when the creature remained green, you rubbed your eyes. A laugh bubbled out of you; your sense of survival being replaced by bewilderment. Just how much had you drunk?
“Hey, hey,” you cooed as the poor thing tried to inch backward, another cry leaving it.
Blood was oozing from its back paw, and a broken glass bottle lying feet away quickly revealed what’d caused the injury. Yet, it didn’t explain the uneven patches of matted fur, or the scars marring the exposed skin that the fur didn’t cover up. Your heart sank. While its coloring may be the result of too many margaritas, the scarring was a clear sign of mistreatment.
You slowly approached, dropping your heels as you tried to make yourself appear smaller. You’d probably have to walk home barefoot. But considering those cheap demons had made your feet hurt all night, it was a small price to pay. A trip to your local thrift store would see them replaced.
“It’s okay,” you whispered when it let out a hiss. Briefly, you wondered if it had rabies. If it did, a rabies shot would take care of that, and you’d learn a valuable lesson. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Besides, if it did infect you with some disease, you’d have a fun story to tell, and one more of many examples of poor decisions your brain made when drunk. Because while sober you might’ve exercised caution, drunk you removed your jacket and wrapped it around the rabbit’s body. It resisted, at first. But once you began to scratch behind its exaggerated ears, it calmed down.
Your finger grazed across another scar, and you frowned. “You poor baby.”
Your grandmother would be having fits if she saw the scene before her. Luckily for you, she was dead, so you didn’t have to explain anything to her. She might be rolling over in her grave, though, as she looked up at you. The old woman was an unwavering animal hater, which made sense because she was a miserable hog. Hogs were aggressive creatures, after all, who didn’t like others infringing on their territory.
Gently, you wrapped the sleeve of your jacket around the injured foot to staunch the bleeding. Somehow, you simultaneously managed to pull your phone out of your stupidly small purse. You adored Y2K styles, but you wished that the bags were bigger.
You began to walk back to your place with your head buried in your phone, keeping a tight grip on the rabbit who’d begun to relax in your hold. The thing was at least twenty pounds, and served as a testament that the workout videos you’d been doing were working. Weeks ago, the bunny would’ve been too heavy for you to carry back to your apartment, let alone with one arm. The other was being used to do some investigation. A quick search showed that all 24-hour vets were ridiculously far away, but another showed that you had most of the material needed to take care of the animal’s injuries. Tucking your phone away, you decided to handle it yourself and make a trip to the vet first thing tomorrow. Stupid as it may be to take a random animal home with you after a night of drinking, you couldn’t leave a poor creature to suffer. Besides, the vet would most likely have the resources to rehome it.
“Okay, little guy,” you murmured to the rabbit as you entered your apartment. A thought occurred to you as you carefully set it and your jacket on the floor, making your brows furrow. “Are you a guy?” It tilted its head and blinked at you. You sighed. “I know, you can’t answer me.”
Jesus, you were talking to a green rabbit. You might need to evaluate the amount of alcohol you consume after tonight. Oh well, a problem for another time.
The rabbit stayed still, and you decided it was safe enough for you to hurry to your bathroom and retrieve your first aid kit. While you traversed the distance between the living area and the bathroom, you opened your phone. Another internet search revealed two ways to determine the gender of a rabbit, one far less invasive than the other. The bunny you rescued lacked a dewlap, indicating it was male. However, unless you pushed on its groin, you couldn’t be sure. You shuddered at the thought. Grabbing your at-home medical kit, you decided that discovering the gender is something the vet could do. You weren’t going to add groping a rabbit to the list of crazy things you’d done that night.
“I’m back,” you announced as you strolled back to where you left the rabbit, smiling at it.
Still talking to a rabbit. It’s okay, though. They’re smart animals, so it can most likely grasp what you’re saying.
You decided to use your living room as the base of operations, so you set everything down on your coffee table. You hustled to your kitchen to fill and bowl with lukewarm water, then hurried back to the coffee table to mix hydrogen peroxide with it. While the rabbit was docile, you wanted to be as quick as possible.
“Okay,” you said as dipped the tip of a washrag into the solution. “This might sting a little.”
Its ears immediately pinned, its noise now twitching furiously. The smell of the peroxide must’ve upset it further because its ears became flatter while its body tensed.
“It’s okay,” you reassured and gently lifted the injured paw.
You pressed the damped cloth to the source of the blood, making the poor thing squeal. It tried to squirm away, but a few calm words later and some head pats, it settled back down. You dreaded the glass removal process.
******
The glass removal process was indeed hellish, but after a lot of swearing and scratches, the rabbit’s foot was finally wrapped. You immediately hopped into the shower to tend to your wounds, and once you were ready for bed, you carried the rabbit to your room. Unlike before, you didn’t cradle it to your chest, having learned just how mighty the thing was. It’s size wasn’t just for show. Based on the nasty looks it was sending your way, you didn’t think it minded a bit of distance.
Having finally reached your room, you turned your jacket and the beat-up lounge chair in the corner into a bunny bed, then settled into your queen-sized human bed.
“Night, you little bastard,” you murmured as you yanked the covers over your body.
It grunted in response, and you resisted the urge to flip it off. You just knew it was saying something smart-mouthed in bunny language.
With a sigh, you closed your eyes so you could float off to dreamland. Based on the deep, even breaths you heard coming from the corner of your room, you guessed that your new furry companion was already there.
A smile made its way onto your face as you drifted off, happy the thing was finally at peace.
Then it screamed and almost scared the literal shit of you. While your bedsheets remained unsoiled, a yell of your own left you, your heart now beating against your ribcage. Throwing the covers off, you rushed to the chair to see what was wrong, only to find the rabbit thrashing and trembling, its eyes closed as an array of noises left it.
The poor little bunny was having a nightmare.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” you tried to soothe, running a hand over its bright fur.
You repeated the words, stroking the rabbit until it began settling down. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, its screams turned into soft whimpers. You breathed a sigh of relief and returned to your bed, silently laughing at yourself. Not only did you stumble upon a green rabbit, but it was heavily traumatized. You prayed the vet would have a solution to this.
******
When you woke up, the rabbit was right where you left it, showing no indications of a troublesome sleep. If you ignored the bandage on its foot and the obvious signs of mistreatment, the bunny looked fine. However, what couldn’t be ignored was its fur. What you thought was a drunken hallucination was now cause for gawking, because why the hell was it still green?
******
Since you were a child, castile soap has been a staple in your beauty routine. Your grandmother had sworn by the stuff. As much as you disdained her, you could admit that she was right to do so. It always left you feeling cleaner than other soaps, without drying your delicate skin out. It was a miracle product, one that you planned to use until you died.
A quick Google search revealed that it was rabbit-friendly, too. All you had to do was add a few drops to some warm water, then get a cloth and scrub away the grime. Or in this case, whatever the hell had turned it green. Easy peasy.
The hard part was combing the little fucker before the cleansing. Just five minutes in, the ordeal had left you scratched, bitten, and with ringing ears from the screeching. No matter how gentle you’d been, the bunny had protested and added to the injuries it left you last night.
Then, you’d remembered that its ears were its weakness; the key to weakening this foe. The moment you pet them, it went still and began to purr. Thus, the rest of the combing had gone by smoothly.
That was a piece of information you stored away in the back of your mind. With how aggressive it could be, you’d likely be abusing that tactic until it gets the hell out of your life.
Twenty minutes later, the bunny that’d once been a matted and shedding mess had a shining coat. Tufts of green fur stuck out from the old comb you’d used, specks of dirt and dried blood sticking to the dead hair.
You looked down at the rabbit nestled in your arm, a frown on your face. The expression on its face wasn’t happy, but it had settled down. Yet, considering the rough life you envisioned it having, you could excuse its violent behavior.
“Okay, baby,” you cooed, setting it down on the floor and reaching over to the coffee table to retrieve the soapy water you’d prepared for it. “Time to get clean.”
Its eyes tracked your every move, but it didn’t hop away. Even as you began to softly scrub its fur, it remained calm, much to your relief.
However, you soon encountered another problem.
While the water began to darken from lingering grime, the bunny’s emerald tint remained. The more you washed, the more vibrant the strangely colored coat became. By the time it was cleaned and towel-dried, you were thoroughly perplexed.
Maybe, you’d taken a fall when drunk, or someone had slipped something into your cocktail that had you tripping balls. Or perhaps, you’d found a radioactive rabbit. More plausible, it might have a skin condition. If that was the case, you prayed it wasn’t contagious, and spreadable to humans.
No matter the case, you needed a goddamn blunt.