The Plot Bunny Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Note from the Publisher

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Scarlet Hyacinth

  Award Winning Titles

  The Plot

  Bunny

  Guardians, Book 1

  Scarlet Hyacinth

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

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  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated and is punishable by imprisonment and a fine."

  Cover Artist: Reese Dante

  Editor: Dawn Sievers

  The Plot Bunny © 2010 Scarlet Hyacinth

  ISBN # 9781920484514

  Attention Readers: This book uses US English. Thank you.

  All rights reserved.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.

  Attention Readers: This book uses US English. Thank you.

  PUBLISHER

  http://www.silverpublishing.info

  Note from the Publisher

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.

  Please remember that the only money authors make from writing comes from the sales of their books. If you like their work, spread the word and tell others about the books, but please refrain from sharing this book in any form. Authors depend on sales and sales only to support their families.

  If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales on pirate sites of this title, you can report the offending entry to [email protected]

  Thank you for not pirating our titles.

  Lodewyk Deysel

  Publisher

  Silver Publishing

  http://www.silverpublishing.info

  Dedication

  For the wonderful friends that always manage to pull me out of writer's block.

  My Puy, Rachel, Alice.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Marlboro: Altira Group / Philip Morris International

  Playboy: Playboy Enterprises, Inc.

  Part One:

  The Writer

  Chapter One

  Luc stared at the document on the laptop screen in dismayed frustration. There was only one word written in the damn thing, one single word mocking him, uselessly occupying 10kb of memory on his hard drive. The title of his next story, Misunderstood.

  Yeah, right. Misunderstood. How cliché could you get? There were so many books about emo teenagers finding love and struggling out of their depression that it wasn't funny. Nothing shocked the world anymore, although Lady Gaga did try her best. Not that Luc wanted something particularly shocking for his next story. He just needed an idea, one single idea that could let the words flow and make that damn document occupy more space.

  With a huff of annoyance, Luc pressed the "X" on top of the document, feeling the sudden urge to break something when the system asked him if he wanted to save his progress. What progress? He hadn't registered any for three months.

  His first novels had sold like hot cakes and Luc's publisher had told him to take advantage of the moment, to use the profitability of his niche while it lasted. The public was fickle and one never knew when its tastes changed. "Vampires are hot today," she'd said, "but people ache for something new, for the next big thing. You can give them that."

  Once, Luc had believed that. He'd truly thought he could become famous through his books, the idol of thousands of people and fanatics. He'd seen himself give conferences and hold speeches, dreamed so much. But life just didn't work that way and Luc's recent writer's block proved that better than anything.

  He couldn't say his slump had any particular reason. He was perfectly happy living off money he'd earned by doing what he loved. He even had a handsome boyfriend with a mouth that could suck golf balls through a hose. But what Luc didn't have was ideas.

  Luc picked up his cigarettes and left the room. He didn't think he could stand looking at the laptop for much longer. His steps led him to the balcony and he opened the French doors. The scent of begonias invaded his nostrils and the chilly autumn wind ruffled his hair. Luc leaned against the banister and lit a cigarette. In the darkness, the lit end of the Marlboro almost looked like a firefly.

  Luc smiled bitterly at his fancies. Why couldn't his mind stay off stupid metaphors and come up with a plot?

  Perhaps he was just trying too hard. Squeezing juice out of a dry fruit was pointless. And there he went with the metaphors again. Besides, he refused to think he didn't have any juice left. He just needed to recharge, take some time to rest and relax.

  Nodding to himself, Luc tossed the untouched cigarette over the banister and went back inside. He scanned through the living room for his cell phone before remembering he'd left it in his study.

  Carefully keeping his eyes off the still open laptop, he retrieved the phone. Two missed calls; one from his youngest brother, Taylor, the other from Simon. Perhaps he should get together with Simon, have a fun night out. He'd been too wrapped up in not working to do that lately.

  Already feeling much better, Luc fast-dialed Simon's number. After a few rings, he started to get concerned. Where could Simon be this time of night? He wasn't the type to go clubbing without Luc.

  Finally, Simon picked up. "Hi babe," Luc greeted enthusiastically. "Whatcha up to?"

  "Ummm… nothing much." Simon sounded hesitant. "Just hanging."

  "Oh. Then you're free to see me tonight?"

  Silence reigned for a few seconds before the other man answered. "Not quite. Did you get my message?"

  Luc blinked in confusion. "Message? What message?"

  The reluctance in Simon's tone turned into annoyance. "The one I left to you on your home phone, and on voice mail. I can't believe this."

  A low chuckle sounded through the connection, distinctly masculine, but unfamiliar. Luc's insides froze. "Si
mon? Who's there with you?"

  "No one," Simon replied coolly. "Just a guy. It doesn't matter."

  Luc opened his mouth to answer, but Simon stopped him before he could say anything. "Luc, I'm sorry, but this isn't working out. You're always so absorbed in your books and you never have time for anything else. Even when we do meet, you never talk about anything else but characters, plot, editing, and so on and so forth."

  Luc blanched. "But I thought you loved that about me."

  "I do. I did," Simon replied. "But Luc, I need a real person in my life, not a writing encyclopedia."

  Feeling dazed, Luc just nodded. "It's okay. I understand."

  Luc had always considered Simon one of the few people who understood. His lover shared a similar passion, only his obsession was sculpture, not writing. They'd been good together, simply because they could not accuse each other of neglect. Or so Luc had thought.

  It occurred to him that perhaps not all was lost. Simon would still take him back if Luc promised to change. But in the end, could he make good on such a promise? Probably not. It wasn't fair to Simon to keep up a relationship that had no future. After all, with Luc lost in his writing and Simon in his sculptures, they'd end up fuck buddies at best.

  "I'm sorry too, that I couldn't give you what you wanted," he told Simon.

  Simon sighed. "I wish… no, never mind. See you around, I guess."

  "Yeah," Luc automatically replied. "See you."

  Simon disconnected the call and Luc stared at his cell phone, trying to process what had just happened. He'd been dumped by his boyfriend, a disastrous ending for a fourteen-month relationship. Luc didn't kid himself. He'd postponed their dates over and over. Simon had every right to end things, but it still hurt like a bitch.

  Luc put his phone back on the table, dumbfounded. As he turned, the laptop's blank screen mocked him. "Yeah, fuck you too," Luc muttered.

  Taking off his shirt, he retreated to his bedroom, his sanctuary, where he proceeded to cast away all his frustration with his best friend, his hand.

  * * * *

  Two months later

  "This is shit," Dana Johnson said as she dumped the manuscript on the table. "I expected more from you. I can't believe this is written by the same person who gave me those brilliant works of art."

  "Well, the dungeons and dragons style just isn't working out for me anymore," Luc replied calmly. Inside, he felt anything but calm. He knew Misfortune—formerly known as Misunderstood—was a bunch of crap. He'd basically spouted random stuff on paper, his frustration turning his every word into a big, fat cliché. His previous works, two fantasy novels set in an alternative universe, dealt with a theme quite common in literature, but somehow, he'd managed to give it a twist, change the old orc-and-elf into something different. That spark had vanished now and it didn't surprise him that Dana noticed.

  His publisher was a slender red head who reminded Luc of the figure skater Marina Anissina. She could have been a model, but she'd chosen publishing instead and was great at it. Unfortunately, that also meant she was very critical of the works under her care. Luc felt both thankful and annoyed for that. He knew his novels couldn't have become so popular without her assistance, but he'd really hoped she could give him some real input, not just "this is shit".

  "I'd say it isn't working," Dana snarled. She tossed the manuscript at him, offering him a disdainful look as he ducked. "You take this, and wipe your ass with it. It's useless for me. I want real writing, not this crap."

  Mentally cursing, Luc gathered the scattered papers and gave a short bow. "Will do, my lady."

  She obviously wanted to say something else, maybe end their meeting on better terms, but he didn't give her the chance. Opening the door, he made his escape. He held onto his manuscript like a shield as he passed people on the corridors, ignoring the curious looks he received. He knew he looked like hell. His once glossy black locks looked limp, having long ago adopted the cow-lick greasy style. Deep circles shadowed his eyes and spots appeared on his skin due to poor nourishment. By some miracle, he hadn't put on weight, but he still didn't make for a very appealing sight. He wished he'd put more effort into looking presentable for his meeting with Dana. As it was, he was starting to get desperate, and it showed.

  As he exited the publishing house, Luc thought that perhaps he should quit writing altogether. He didn't seem to be very good at it lately, and his funds were definitely waning. At this rate, he'd have to turn to his parents just to live. How humiliating would that be?

  He missed Simon. He missed the way the other man would laugh and cheer him up when things looked bad. When they kissed and made love, Luc felt he really was in one of the fantasy worlds he'd imagined for his characters. A part of him wanted to beg for Simon to take him back, but at this point, his knew his ex-boyfriend deserved better than a washed out, has-been writer.

  The solemn sound of a bell tolling drew him out of his musings. Luc didn't know why, but it moved him, attracted him. Perhaps it was cheesy, but didn't priests always say God brought His children peace? Maybe it would work. Luc was definitely willing to try.

  Abandoning his quest for a cab, Luc followed the sound of the bell until he reached a large, beautiful building. As he stared at the wooden door, he hesitated. He hadn't been to Church for ten years, more specifically since he'd come out. Thankfully, his family had never been religious people, and they'd taken the news as well as could be expected. Slight awkwardness, disappointment, maybe even a touch of fear. Things were better now, and he'd actually considered introducing Simon to them.

  Shaking himself, Luc opened the door. The hinges creaked in an obscenely loud way, or so it sounded to Luc. The silence inside the church astounded him. It seemed like a whole different world, and Luc thought that in moments such as these, when people didn't flock together to Mass, crowding the beautiful building, he really could appreciate the peacefulness of it all.

  Yeah, he was antisocial. So what?

  As he looked around, a priest in a dark cassock emerged from somewhere in the back. "Can I help you, son?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Luc replied. "Can you?"

  The priest gestured him to the confession booth, but Luc shook his head. He didn't have any sins to confess—well, probably he did, but nothing that weighed on his soul. He just wanted advice, support from someone who wouldn't say "I told you so" or "Get a real job".

  They sat down together on a bench. The priest introduced himself as Father Michael and Luc found himself pouring everything out, his problems with the book, his fears and insecurities, even his homosexuality and Simon. He couldn't help but ask, "What if the others got it right? What if this is some sort of punishment for being gay?"

  "God doesn't punish like that," the priest replied. "He is our Father and he loves us all."

  Luc arched a brow. "You don't think I'm a deviant for liking other men?"

  The priest paused. "I can't say I understand it, and my Church definitely doesn't condone it. But I simply can't believe the Lord would punish someone to eternal damnation just because of their sexual orientation."

  Luc nodded. He felt better simply at getting all this weight off his chest. "Thanks for listening."

  "No problem," Father Michael replied. "You can come here any time and stay as long as you like. I'll leave you to gather your thoughts now."

  With that, the priest departed. Luc sighed and leaned against the bench. "Gather my thoughts, huh?"

  He stared at the quiet church, taking in the beauty of it all. Religious ornaments glittered around the altar and saints smiled benevolently at him from paintings and engravings. Filtered through the stainless glass of the windows, the light seemed to shine in a thousand colors. Beautiful. Why couldn't he come up with something like that? Why were his stories dead?

  "I need a muse," Luc said out loud. He'd heard and read all sorts of stories about artists, from sculptors to authors, receiving supernatural help from the gods. Perhaps that was what he needed, some help from above to
kick start his stuck imagination. "Come on, old guy," he pleaded. "Help me out here."

  "I'm not sure He'll appreciate being called an old guy," a male voice suddenly said behind him.

  Luc let out a gasp of surprise and turned. Here he was trying to find peace and some idiot interrupted him with random remarks.

  "What the hell?" he began. His words died in his throat at the sight of the intruder. A young man sat on the bench behind Luc's, his green eyes analyzing Luc with mischievous amusement. Luc couldn't see much of his body, since the light didn't suffice for an adequate examination, but those eyes burned through the darkness. He wore a funky black cap inscribed with the logo of the Playboy bunny. A tight T-shirt hugged his slender torso, flirtingly asking, Won't you be my seme? It made Luc want to look around for a candid camera.

  The young man made a shushing motion. "We're in a church. You shouldn't speak like that."

  The words snapped Luc out of his trance. Right, the kid had been eavesdropping on him. "How am I supposed to react then, when I'm being spied on?"

  The young man had the gall to look surprised. "Spied? You called for me, didn't you?"

  Luc gaped. "I did what?" Had he accidentally dialed the number of one of his former fuck buddies? Nah, he would remember those beautiful eyes, those full lips. Don't stare, Luc, don't stare. You're in a holy place.

  "You wanted a muse," the young man replied, unfazed. "Well, here I am."

  This time, Luc couldn't even find an answer. What could one say when faced with something like that?

  "You look surprised," his little tormentor said. "Come on, let's go outside." He got up, and when Luc followed his example, he took Luc's hand and started pulling him toward the exit. Luc tripped against the bench, making the massive piece of furniture tilt alarmingly and threaten to fall. The young man gave him a reproachful look. "Be careful."