FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Charlie and James By Ken Anderson

Chapter 6: Relapse / Overdose

The screaming crowd is packed wall-to-wall.

This place is way over its legal capacity...

The dim light in Fender's pub shines softly over their bodies as they fight for room near the front of the small, makeshift stage. The tables and chairs have been removed for tonight's event. The pool table has been pressed up against a wall. I spot James sitting at the bar, through a thick haze of pot and cigarette smoke, raising a glass of beer towards me with a warm smile on his face. My lover... My closest friend... My mate. My heart is pounding as I make my way slowly to the microphone, clearing my throat before I introduce the band.

"How's everybody doing tonight?" I ask. The crowd surges with a wild cheer in response.

I chuckle, and open my muzzle to speak again. "Well, I'm Charlie," I say, "You all probably know me from my Lost Shepherd days... For those of you who haven't seen us, I'd like to introduce you to Chaos Theory, the new band that I'm proud to be a part of. We're gonna play a cover for you guys before we move on to the good stuff; it's some old Green Day; you've probably heard it before. I think it fits us perfectly. Here goes nothing..."

I let my paws flow smoothly over the neck of my guitar as I play the chords. It's a motion that's so familiar to me that it seems to be effortless. I hear Zack's timely drum beats fill the background as I do so. I turn my head to see Oz slapping his bass and Cory backing me up. I smile. This is gonna be great.... As the music swells, I begin to sing:

_ I'm having trouble trying to sleep;_ _ I'm counting sheep, but running out._ _ As time ticks by...._ _ And still I try...._ _ No rest for crosstops in my mind...._ _ On my own, here we go,_

As I belt out the words, I notice James nodding his head in tune with the music. The crowd is moving as well, fists thrusting into the air, heads thrashing, and bodies gyrating as the song continues on. I smile once more, and continue to the next verse,

My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed... _ Dried up and bulging out my skull..._ _ My mouth is dry...._ _ My face is numb...._ _ Fucked up and spun out in my room...._ _ On my own, here we go,_

I let my tongue hang out of my muzzle as I bang my head to the beat. I feel so alive.; It's been so long... My god, I've missed this. And until this moment, I can't believe just how much...

My mind is set on overdrive... _ The clock is laughing in my face....._ _ A crooked spine..._ _ My senses dulled...._ _ Past the point of delirium..._ _ On my own, here we go....._

I get lost in the music as I continue to sing. My eyes close, and I start playing the notes simply by feel. Somehow, I never play out of tune. I find myself pouring out my emotions into the way I sing the lyrics. Craving... Anger... High. As the show goes on, we switch to our own original material. I actually think it sounds better than anything I've ever written with Lost Shepherd. The crowd seems to agree; they're cheering even more loudly, and I notice that Fender has set up a small sign on the bar that simply reads 'OUT OF BEER'... Well... It must be a good night for him, too.

When our performance is over, I find James still sitting at the bar. As I approach him, he gets up from his stool, and throws his arms around me before pressing his lips to my muzzle. We kiss. As he pulls away, he tells me what a great show I'd had.

"You were amazing!" he says, "You're like a totally different person onstage!"

I chuckle, and nod my head in response. "Yeah, I know..." I tell him. "But I'd rather be the same dog you know and love, onstage or not."

He strokes my chin as he smiles. "You'll always be the same to me..." he says. "I wouldn't have you any other way..."

The two of us hold hands as we head behind the bar to the storeroom, which Fender has cleaned up to allow the band a place to catch their breath. As I push open the swinging door, I note with a slight shock that Fender hadn't been kidding. He really was out of beer. All I can see are empty kegs and cases of liquor. Oh well... It's not like I need a drink at the moment. I'm pretty fucked up as it is. I take out my silver pillbox from my pocket, and offer it to James, who takes a few of the solid, yellow tablets before I remove some for myself.

Yeah... I'm popping pills again.

A month or so ago, after our apartment got trashed by Tommy on one of his tweaked-out benders, I'd finally grown so tired of being 'normal,' that I'd literally just thrown up my paws and said 'Fuck it.' I'd also be lying if I said that the pain in my chest didn't have anything to do with my decision. Not to mention the fact that my new band was basically a group of high-functioning drug addicts. Oh well, they really know how to rock out... It's all one big party for us.

James understood; he'd been feeling the same way for a while. He did, however, vow to never shoot heroin again... Along with our bodies, the two of us now shared a common drug habit. If I take uppers; he takes uppers. If I take norcos; he takes norcos. I find it kind of funny, and I feel a bit guilty about it all, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, I think he actually enjoys it. "We're so free, you and me..." He told me on the night we relapsed together, while wrapped up in each other's arms on the soft, moist grass of Harbor City's largest park... "We even share the stars..."

We'd each swallowed a handful of pills and dropped five hits of acid that night. Even though it may seem strange now, at the time, those statements carried a sort of profound and surreal meaning for me. I'd completely taken them to heart... I'd even used them in a song. James had been delighted to hear it. Maybe I'll play it at our next show...

As we approach the members of the band, I see that each one of them is seated comfortably on the floor against the back wall of the room, indulging in different drugs to celebrate our successful show. Let me tell you what I've learned about them so far:

Ozzy, or just 'Oz,' for short, the brown-furred, black-eyed otter who plays bass for our band, is a total stickler for anything that wakes you up and makes you play faster. Coke, meth, Adderall, Ritalin; even mephedrone, the stuff in the 'bath salts' that he likes to buy from the local headshops when he's low on cash. If it gets you 'up,' he'll do it... I once saw him break open several Vick's inhalers, which, for some reason, still contain the left-handed isomer of methamphetamine, and chew the pieces of drug-soaked foam contained within as if he were enjoying a box of luxury chocolates. I remember when he snatched up the bag of meth from Tommy's bed that night, some time ago. He had such a wide grin on his face, you'd swear he'd discovered the secret to premature enlightenment... Well, that bag lasted less than a week. That's our Oz. He's also fond of tattoos, and he's recently gotten one on his chest; a large anarchy symbol, which appears to be dripping ink onto his fur. He's a total rocker. In fact, at this very moment, he's wearing a black t-shirt with white letters airbrushed on it that spell out the words "PUNK ROCK OTTER." At least he keeps his fur clean. Most speed freaks just let themselves waste away...

Not Oz.

Zack, the saber-toothed tiger who plays the drums, has spent more than half of his life getting 'up.' Diagnosed with ADD as a child, he grew up on Adderall, Ritalin, and eventually, Gradumet. Consequently, at his current age, he prefers to get 'down.' I never fully understood his reasoning behind this, but somehow, I get it. You can only be on top of the stormy mountain for so long, before you decide to explore the peaceful valley below... He likes booze, xanax, pot, opiates, and female groupies. God, he loves getting laid; he has a 'new one' every night... His fur is tan, with light grey stipes running across it at odd intervals. His eyes are always glazed over; half-lidded with the body-numbing stone of the whatever drug he decides to indulge in each night. That doesn't stop him from being a great drummer, though. He's always on time and in tune; I swear, I have yet to see him mess up. He's also extremely friendly; he gives me and James warm smiles whenever he sees us walk past him. James has hinted that he might actually be bisexual.

Cory, the skinny, loudmouthed cheetah, is our backup guitarist. He's also mated to Oz. The two of them wear the platinum rings that symbolize their monogamy proudly. They've been going strong for a little over three years. Someday, I hope that James and I can share that same connection; that we can be as faithful and loving towards one another in the way that I see the two of them act every day... They're always kissing and messing around; even in public. Cory likes piercings and psychedelics. He's had two metal studs sticking out from under his muzzle for years. He has a unique anti-eyebrow piercing, called a microdermal, which is a small diamond at the corner of his right eye. It looks like a single, shiny teardrop waiting to drip down his face. He's told me that he got it done on the day that he and Oz were officially made a couple. Rumor has it that he also has a piercing on his cock; though he will neither confirm or deny this... One of these days, I'll have to ask Oz about it. His drugs of choice are LSD, mescaline, and mushrooms; he even dabbles in research chemicals like 2C-B and 5-MeO-DMT, when he can get them. The only 'normal' drug he ever really likes to indulge in is pot, but he'll do anything that Oz does without hesitation. He likes to take trips to another world; according to him, this world is just too 'dark and ugly.' I'm surprised he hasn't burned out yet. You can always tell when he's tripping on something by the size of the pupils at the center of his deep, amber eyes... If he's had enough, one will be bigger than the other... Hello, brain damage.

James and I are greeted with cheers and warm welcomes from the three of them as we make our way towards the back of the storage room. Oz offers us the fat joint that he and Cory are sharing, and James takes it from his hand as we find a comfortable spot against the wall. I smile tenderly as my mate takes a few puffs, before offering it to me. I take a few myself, before sticking the lit end into my muzzle, and motioning for him to come closer. It's time for our celebratory 'charge.'

When he breaks the kiss, he coughs loudly, hacking up the thick, blue smoke. "It's good," he says, "It's DAMN good."

I pass the joint on to Zack, who allows his current female companion, a doe with a slender body and huge breasts, to inhale from it before he does. Turning towards Oz, I open my mouth to speak:

"So what're we gonna do tomorrow?"

He shrugs his shoulders as his paws retrieve a thin glass pipe with a thick bulb on one end from his pocket. I watch as he takes out a torch lighter and ignites it underneath the bulb, inhaling sharply before he replies,

"No idea, man... Maybe we'll hit the studio? We've played a few good shows; it's about time we go to work on our first album together..."

I nod my head in agreement as he smokes the meth. When he exhales, my snout wrinkles at the sharp, chemical tang that enters the air. I can't understand why he'd mess with that stuff... But then again, I don't really care, as long as he doesn't flip out and go psycho.

As he passes it on to Cory, I turn to Zack. "So what do you think?" I ask the tiger, "Are we ready to record a new album?"

Zack nods as he breaks the kiss he'd been sharing with his lover for the night. "We're definitely ready..." He slurs. He reaches out to me with a bottle of vodka that he's pilfered from one of the boxes scattered around the room. I take it and tip it over my muzzle.

"Yeah," Cory agrees, turning to face me as he exhales a plume of meth smoke. "You've been doing great. I'd be cool to put out a record with us."

With that, he reaches into the pocket of his torn jeans, and offers me and James a few pieces of white, perforated paper. I can see that he's managed to find acid before this particular show. One of our fans must've sold it to him.

I shrug my shoulders and tear off four squares, separating them before placing all four of them on my tongue. James looks hurt as he watches this, but I smile seductively, and use a paw to bring his lips up to mine. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, and he uses his own to take away two of the hits. Sitting back against the wall, he smiles as he rubs a hand through the fur on the back of my neck.

"Thanks, puppy..." he says, "I thought you'd forgotten about me for a minute, there...."

"Never," I tell him, "I love you too damn much to forget about you."

The two of us begin to make out, oblivious to the fact that we are drawing stares from the other members of the band. As the trips begin to kick in, and the booze and pills begin to run their course, I find myself slowly fading out in a burst of pure, white light as we kiss...

When I come to, James and I are in our bedroom. The new bed we've recently purchased with money borrowed from the band thumps noisily against the wall as we make love. I can see a hint of light radiating from his skin as I thrust into him, the light growing brighter and brighter as he grips the sheets and moans. There are trails coming from every surface as I fuck him; The bedside table seems to be leaving tracers; the sheets seem to be vibrating. His deep black hair looks like a million thin snakes, swirling and writhing as it gets messed up against the pillow under his head. I silently wonder what he's seeing when he looks at me.

My muzzle is probably contorting through his vision. My fur is probably glowing.

I feel him run a hand down my chest as he groans with pleasure. Looking down for a second, I can see the long, thick after-image it leaves as he rubs my fur, and brings the hand up to feel my muzzle. I can smell the color of his skin; so perfect, it seems to smell like the fresh breeze. I can taste the sounds of his moans, like sweet candy, on my tongue. As I lean forward to kiss him, speeding up my thrusts as I near my orgasm, I can feel the waves of love and lust emanating from his heart, which seems to beat in unison with my own. Goddamn, this must be some great acid. I gotta remember to ask Cory for some more...

As the two of us near our sexual peak, James begins to moan even louder, thrusting his hips down to accommodate my knot as it forms. I can see his skin starting to turn slightly pink; he must be nearing his climax. I begin to pant loudly as I stuff myself into him; He grips the fur on my neck tightly and pulls my head back. With one last, powerful thrust, I give a scream of pure ecstasy as I cum. The feeling is unlike any other orgasm I've ever had. I feel completely at ONE with my mate... His body shakes as he also orgasms, and when I look down at his face, I see a contented smile stretched across it as he begins to stroke my muzzle. His hands leave patches of warm heat in my fur as his fingers brush along it; The heat feels 'red,' for some reason... I can't explain it; I just know that it feels so RIGHT.

The two of us fall asleep cuddled against each other in the bed, my knotted cock still deflating inside of him. I've never been able to bring myself to just force it out. I never want to cause him any pain. He's just so REAL; so PURE... And he's MINE.

I want us to float endlessly on clouds of primal joy, never dipping below the skyline or having to experience the monotony of normalcy. I want us to join souls and become one, and be together for all eternity, locked in our loving embrace... Shit, that must be the acid talking. I close my eyes and slowly fade away into a peaceful, dreamless sleep...

Yeah, I fade away...

My eyes burst open as I hear the loud sound of someone kicking open the bedroom door. Jerking up in bed, I see that James has also been jarred awake. Squinting through the haze of my post-acid recovery, I see Oz standing in the door frame, his paws holding a couple of paper bags as he walks towards us.

"Rise and fuckin' shine!" he greets us. He tosses the two bags onto the bed, and we rifle through them. Oz has picked us up some breakfast from one of the local fast-food joints. I unwrap an egg-and-sausage sandwich and clamp my teeth down on it hungrily.

"What time is it?" I ask Oz, my words muffled by the food in my mouth. He checks the clock on his cell phone. "Around eight in the morning," he tells me.

I nod my head and continue eating.

"You guys should get cleaned up before we head out," Oz continues, "We've booked the studio for a few hours. Our slot comes up around noon."

With that, he leaves the room. I can hear the springs in the living room couch creak and groan with his weight as he flops down onto it. Odd voices and white noise begins to fill my ears as he turns on the TV.

Turning to James, I see him smiling happily as he chows down on his food. "It's your big day, baby..." He tells me, in between bites. I growl softly as he takes the time to scratch me behind my ears, before returning to the sandwich. "I know, right?" I reply, "I just hope it goes well; it's been a while..."

We finish our breakfast in relative silence, crumpling up the wax-paper wrappers and tossing them onto the bedside table once we're done. James grips the blanket covering our naked bodies with one hand, and throws it off of us. I watch as he slides onto the carpeted floor, and stretches his legs and arms before giving a loud yawn. I'm smiling; I watch the rays of sunlight play over his back as they shine through the closed blinds on the bedroom window. His skin has begun to tan from all the time we've been spending outside together. He's been slowly regaining his weight; the two of us have started to work out together in the mornings, going for a jog on most days, or stopping by Zack's place to use his weight bench. That tiger is a total musclehead...

Not that we're complaining.

He turns around and catches me staring. I watch a smug grin play across his face as he puts both hands on his hips and speaks, "You know, normally, I'd be offended if someone stared at me like that..."

I laugh, and drag my own furry form out of bed. I make my way over to him and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling his body against mine as I thrust my muzzle against his lips. He strokes my arms as we kiss, and I can feel myself getting slightly aroused as he allows a hand to drop towards my sheath.

"You're gonna have to wait 'til tonight to get that taken care of," he tells me as he breaks the kiss. "I wouldn't want your playing to suffer because you can hardly walk."

My ears drop and I let a whimper escape my muzzle as he pulls away. He chuckles as he grabs some clean clothes from our closet, and tosses an outfit to me. I see a black CHAOS THEORY shirt, the letters A and O in the word 'chaos' actually Anarchy and Peace symbols. I catch a pair of urban-camo cargo pants deftly with a paw as they come flying towards me. "There..." James says, "That's a perfect look for you."

I hold the clothes in my paws, before turning back to him. "You sure?" I ask him, "These clothes?"

"No..." he whispers with a chuckle as he grabs his own clothing before walking up to me. "I'm talking about the way you are right now..."

My tail wags excitedly as he exits the room, and opens the door to our small bathroom. I can hear the squeak of knobs turning, followed by the crashing sound of running water as it pours from the showerhead onto the cold surface of the ceramic bathtub. I'm still standing frozen on the floor of our shared bedroom, the outfit clutched in my paws, when I hear him call out, "Are you coming in? The water's getting cold!"

I jog into the bathroom, and close and lock the door behind me. I can hear Oz laughing from the living room as I step into the shower, and my mate and I begin to help each other wash away the results of our most recent session of frenzied, tripped-out sex. I growl seductively as James lets the soft sponge rub slowly over the fur on my crotch. Once again, I feel the throbbing heat of arousal as my cock begins to poke its way out. James sees the look on my face, and laughs. "Well... Maybe just a quick one." he says, as he gets down on his knees in the tub. I moan as he begins to stroke me, teasing me with his hands as I continue to grow larger. When I am fully erect, he lowers his mouth down onto me, and begins to suck. My knees almost buckle with the pleasurable sensations of his tongue caressing the underside of my shaft.

I subconsciously place a paw on the back of his head, encouraging him to take in more. He obeys without question, and I almost explode as he swallows me completely. I feel my muscles tense as he brings me closer to my orgasm, his warm fingers stroking my knot as it begins to form. I can't take it; I cry out as I climax, spilling warm seed into his mouth. He swallows every drop like a pro, before releasing me as he gets to his feet. "Now," he begins, "We need to actually TAKE A SHOWER."

Once we're finished, and after drying each other off with towels, I watch as James grabs a black eyeliner pencil from the counter near the sink. I wrap my arms around his chest and bury my muzzle in his sweet-smelling hair as he applies it. "Going for the goth look today?" I ask him. He smiles, and shakes his head. "Nope... This color matches the circles around your eyes."

When we've gotten dressed in our clean clothes, we exit the bathroom and step out into the living room. Oz is seated on the patched-up couch, holding a small, brown package in his paws as he looks up to see us. "The mailman dropped this off while you guys were in the shower," he informs us, "I haven't opened it."

James marches excitedly up to him, and takes the package away. "It's something I ordered online," he explains, turning to face me. "I thought they would look great on you."

With that, he tears away the brown paper covering the small cardboard shipping box, before opening it and digging around. I watch as he removes a few items, and comes over to help me put them on. He takes my guitar-playing wrist in his hands, and I sense the feeling of warm leather caressing my fur as he snaps the objects onto it. Looking down, I see that he's applied two thick, leather bands, their exterior studded with sharp, pointed metal spikes. I chuckle as he holds up the final object. It's a collar. A spiked collar. I tilt my head back and allow him to put it on. It fits snugly, but allows me plenty of room to breathe. Standing back, he admires his handiwork. "That's perfect..." he tells me. Oz gets up from the couch, nodding his head slowly as he takes it all in. "Dude, that's SO punk rock..." he says.

I head back into the bathroom, and check myself out in the mirror. They're both right; I look like a total rock star. I make my way back to the living room and throw my arms around James, lifting him off his feet and wrapping his legs around my waist. I kiss him deeply, before pulling away and staring into his deep, green eyes. "I love them," I say softly, "And I love you."

"I love you too, you sexy fucking mutt," James responds. I lower him back onto his feet.

I grab my guitar case from the bedroom, and slip it over my shoulders as the three of us make our way towards the front door. Oz tells us that he'd walked over to our apartment; James agrees to drive the Chevelle. He asks Oz for gas money, and the otter grumbles as he forks over twenty bucks. I guess that was supposed to be his speed money for the day. I had no idea what we were about to find out...

"Where's Zack?" I ask Oz as we step into the elevator. "And Cory?"

"Cory's at our place; he was waking up when I left," Oz informs me. "We stayed up late last night, fucking... We're gonna have to pick him up. Zack said he'd meet us at the studio."

I can't help shaking my head as the elevator doors close, and we begin our descent. I hope Cory won't be too tired to play.

We arrive at Oz and Cory's place thirty minutes or so later. When I see the neighborhood that he leads us to, not to mention the house that we pull up to, my jaw drops. Oz and Cory have a mansion. A fucking MANSION!

As James parks the Chevelle in the spacious driveway of the luxury home, he and I exit the vehicle in a state of shock. Oz climbs out form the back seat, and pauses to shake his head as he sees our expressions.

The driveway is curved, and there is a fountain depicting jumping dolphins on the lush grass of the small area contained within. There are grand maple trees lining the front of the home, each one spaced evenly apart and still dropping their multicolored leaves on the perfectly manicured lawn as the winter quickly approaches. The mansion itself is three stories tall, the exterior made of sculpted and carved brick that has been carefully placed in alternating shades of red and pink. The roof is covered in polished copper plates, gleaming golden in the warm sun of the morning as its harsh light shines onto them. The windows are huge, the outsides latticed with the pattern of a neverending maze made of cast iron and steel... I find myself staring with wonder at the pattern, along with everything else around the outside of the house. The place is awe-inspiring, to say the least...

"DUDE!" I almost scream at Oz, "We've been jamming together for nearly a month, and you never told us you had a place like this! We thought you lived at Zack's apartment; we just never saw you there!"

"Yeah!" James agrees, "You're fucking LOADED, aren't you?!"

Oz grumbles curses under his breath as he leads us to a grand set of double-doors with stained-glass windows. He inserts a key into the lock, and twists it deftly with a paw.

"...It belonged to my parents." Is all he says as he throws open the doors and leads us inside.

The interior of the house is even more spacious than the exterior, and is filled with priceless antiquities and luxury items. From our position at the front door, James and I can make out a vast den area, with a gilted fireplace, and antique chairs covered with purple velvet cusions. There's a family portrait hanging above the mantle, and I can see a younger, happier Oz dressed in a tuxuedo smiling back at me, surrounded on either side by three proud, smiling otters. His parents, and his brother. Looking towards the ceiling, I gasp as I note the ornate crystal chandelier,with long, smooth teardrops of crystals dangling at different lengths and intervals from the rods of tarnished gold extending above it, which end in electric lightbulbs. It's so damn beautiful...

Finally, looking towards the corner of the den near the side of the fireplace, I spot what appears to be a china cabinet. I can't help myself; I abandon James and Oz and march quickly over to it, my tongue hanging out in excitement as I let my gaze run over the items contained inside. It's not a china cabinet; it's a humidor. A HUGE FUCKING humidor. I note the different brands of expensive cigars, some cuban, some honduran, and some dominican. I'm snapped out of my stupor as Oz walks up behind me and taps me on my shoulder.

"That was my dad's birthday present for me when I turned eighteen," he explains. "I keep it in working order, and the cigars are always fresh, but I never really find the time to indulge myself."

I watch as he twists a small knob in the center of the shelf, and pulls open the large door. He reaches out a paw, and removes a thick, perfectly rolled cigar from one of the boxes, and holds it to his snout.

"Mmm," he remarks appreciatively, with what almost sounds like a purr, "Hints of oak, vanilla, and cherry, along with the smooth scent of the spanish cedar that lines the box..."

He holds the cigar out towards me.

"Want one?"

My paws are shaking as I reach up to take the sweet-smelling smoke from him. He laughs heartily at the look of awe on my face. Turning back to the humidor, he takes out another cigar for James, before closing the cabinet, and locking it shut with a twist of the knob.

He strides over to my mate and hands the cigar to him, drawing a look of wonder from James as he explains the cigar's flavor and scent. I make my way back over to them, my movements almost zombie-like from the shock of everything I've seen.

Oz scoffs, and shakes his head once more as he starts to ascend a tall staircase near the front door. His hand rests on the expertly carved bannister as he turns and looks down at us. "You guys just gonna stand there?!" he calls down to us. "Get moving! We've gotta get ready to hit the studio in a few hours!"

James and I break ourselves free from the paralysis which has gripped our legs, and jog up the staircase after him as he rounds a corner into a large hallway. We follow Oz past a seemingly infinite number of closed doors on either side of us, until we reach a door that has been painted black, with his name, OZ, spray-painted across it in obscene white letters. It almost looks insulting to the rest of the house. That must've been his intention when he did it.

He opens the door, and the three of us are greeted with the loud sounds of punk-rock music as we step into the dimly-lit room. The room is illuminated by black lights, which seem to make the white fur around Oz's muzzle and chest glow brightly. I notice that my pants, along with parts of the fur on my arms, are lit up as well. James clutches my paw tightly with a shaking hand; he's either scared or he's overwhelmed. Oz leads us further into the room, and we see a large, four-poster bed with thick, soft pillows near its headboard, its heavy comforter strewn haphazardly about the mattress. Across from the bed is a large HDTV; I think it's even bigger than the one I used to have in the living room of my old townhouse. Against the wall in the back of the room is a large, wooden desk with a mirrored top, and I spot Cory's skinny body sitting in a large chair, hunched over it as he maneuvers a paw around on the surface.

"I'm HOME!" Oz shouts as he approaches his mate. Cory, seeing his lover step behind him, leaps up from the chair and throws his arms around him before pressing his muzzle firmly to Oz's in a kiss. The two of them make out feverishly for a moment, while James and I stand watching silently. Oz leans over to his feline lover's ear, and whispers something. Cory turns to face us. "Hey, guys!" he shouts. "I didn't know you were here! It's great to see you!"

After giving James and me a couple of quick hugs, he makes his way over to the loud stereo system placed on the bedside table, and shuts off the music. He then returns to us. "You ready to record the new album?" he asks me. I slowly nod my head, still a bit overwhelmed. He chuckles warmly, and motions to the desk. "Need a little wake-up?"

James and I make our way over to the large piece of furniture, and we see what he's been working on. There is a pile of cocaine in one corner of the desk, next to what appears to be a sliced-open brick of the stuff wrapped in plastic and packing tape. A bunch of it has been lined up near Cory's chair. Peering closer, I can see that he has formed the words CHAOS THEORY in large letters, made entirely out of cocaine. My jaw drops.

"Jesus fucking Christ, guys!" I exclaim, "How the hell can you afford all this?!"

Cory bursts out in howling laughter, gripping Oz for balance as he threatens to fall over. Oz just frowns. "You should come by during the week!" Cory tells me, "The butlers have the weekend off!"

With that, he retrieves what looks like a solid tube of gold from a drawer on the desk, and lowers his snout down to the cocaine. James and I watch as he snorts up the entire letter 'C', before handing it over to Oz. Oz leans over, and works his way through the letters 'H' and 'A', stopping before he reaches the 'O'. He turns to us with the tube. "You guys gonna help us do this?" he asks.

Before I can speak, James reaches over and snatches the tube from his paw, leaning over the desk to snort up the letter 'O', before tilting his head back and sniffing deeply to clear his sinuses.

"Ohmyfuckinggodthatsgood..." he blurts out rapidly, before turning back to me with a huge smile on his face, the tube extended towards me in his hand. "It's pure as fresh snow, babe," he tells me, "I've NEVER had shit like this. You've gotta try it."

As I reach my paw towards him to retrieve the tube, Oz motions for me to hand him my cigar. I do so, and he takes James' as well, before reaching into the drawer that Cory had recently opened. I watch as he removes a silver cigar cutter, snipping the rounded ends off of both cigars before handing them back to us. "Enjoy it all while you can," he tells me, with a thin smile on his face, reaching towards me with a flaming match that he suddenly has in his paw. James and I use it to light our smokes. "I rarely invite people back to this place."

I hold the burning cigar between the first two claws in my free paw as I bend over the desk and snort up the letter 'S'.

"Why not?" I ask Oz as I hand over the tube. "This place is badass!"

He takes a moment before replying... " 'Cause I HATE it!" he yells. "I hate the butlers, I hate the house, I hate the cigars, I hate the paint on the walls, and I hate the fucking MONEY!"

James and I are taken aback by his almost violent outburst. My mate wraps his arms around me and pulls himself close. Oz sees this, and falls into the chair in front of the desk, burying his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry guys..." he whimpers, "I didn't mean to freak you out like that. It's just... All I ever wanted was to leave my own mark on this world; to make my own way. Ever since my parents died and left me everything, it just seems like I can't even be MYSELF anymore. Like, I've got everything I could ever want, but it all just feels so pointless. I mean, I've thought about trying to sell the house and getting rid of it all, but for some reason, I just can't bring myself to do it."

I can hear him sobbing softly as Cory wraps his arms around him and gives him a comforting hug.

"Don't worry about it." he tells his mate. "You can be whoever you want to be. Just because you have all of this stuff doesn't make you any different... You're still my Ozzy. I'd love you if we lived under a fucking bridge."

I can see a soft smile forming across Oz's muzzle as he brings himself up to kiss Cory on the cheek. He pulls the cheetah onto his lap, and wrap his arms securely around his waist. I can hear Cory purring softly.

"Have you thought about donating stuff to charity?" James suggests.

Oz nods his head.

"I do it all the time," he says, "A few antiques every now and then; a couple hundred thousand bucks here, a couple there... Rehab clinics, homeless shelters, cancer research... I've tried to give it all away, but somehow, there always seems to be plenty of cash left."

"What about your brother?" James asks him, "Isn't some of this his? What does he have to say about all of this?"

"Frank?" Oz says, smirking, "He doesn't say shit. He took his portion of the money as soon as our parents died, and blew it all on his house, his cars, and his wife. He basically spent everything he got within three years, and ended up living off the salary he gets as a cop... I would've done the same thing, except I ended up getting nearly four times as much as my parents left him. Even though I was the number-one fuckup in the family, for some reason, they always seemed to like me more. Frank was always jealous of that; when he found out I'd been left the lion's share, as it were, he tried to take me to court for more money. Nowadays, he only calls me when he needs something. I'm lucky he even called me that day when he found that flier you guys slapped on his cruiser. He must've been having a good morning..."

James nods his head solemnly as he takes in this information. I'm at a loss for words; I really don't know what to say. Instead, I decide to break the tension, and ask if there's anything else laying around for us to 'do.'

"Got any weed?" I say.

Oz smiles, and lifts Cory off his lap before heading over to the door to what appears to be an extremely large closet. He slides it open, and fumbles around on the wall for a light switch. When the lights come on, I almost have a heart attack.

He has a grow room.

I count two rows containing nearly a dozen fully mature cannabis plants, each one giving off an entirely different sweet aroma as he leads me and James past them.

"Take your pick," he tells us, "If there's ONE thing I'm proud of, it's these beautiful specimens."

"Holy mother of GANJA!" James exclaims excitedly, giggling happily as he looks over the thick, cone-shaped buds hanging from every branch of each plant.

"Have you got a garbage bag?" he asks Oz. "I'm gonna be VERY busy for the next two hours!"

We all share a collective laugh, which ends only when Oz produces a thick, burlap sack from one corner of the growroom.

"Go ahead." he tells James. Even though we politely refuse to harvest as much of the fresh, sticky buds as we can, we can tell by the smile on his face that he's not joking.

Three hours later, we are all incredibly stoned. It's almost time for us to head over to the studio, but James insists on lighting up what could possibly be our sixth or seventh fat blunt. "Come on, guys!" he whines, standing up from Oz's bed with the blunt between his fingers. "This stuff's amazing! How can you NOT want to smoke any more?"

"We've gotta start recording pretty soon, dude!" Oz tells him. Cory and I nod our heads in agreement. James simply shrugs his shoulders, and collapses on the bed before retrieving his lighter from a pocket. "More for me then!"

Oz and Cory go back to work on the cocaine on the desk, finishing the rest of it as James smokes the blunt silently to himself. I can't stand to see him sulk, so I lay on my back next to him on the bed, and help him finish it. He smiles warmly, crawls on top of me and snuggles up to my chest. I can't help smiling as he gives a contented sigh before passing me the blunt. If only we could live like this forever...

If I had any idea what was going to happen next, though, this would've been the last thought on my mind.

Half an hour later, we're all at the recording studio, located in downtown Harbor City. James sits in the control room with the engineer and producer, as the four of us set up our musical equipment in the booth. I catch him grinning widely at me as I slip the headphones over my ears and test out my guitar, giving a thumbs-up to the producer to let him know that everything checks out. I smile back, my tail wagging excitedly, as I turn my head to check on the other members of the band. Oz nods his head towards me; he's ready. Cory gives me the thumbs-up as well. Zack, after testing out the cymbals, snare drums, and toms, gives me a single nod. We're all ready...

Let's rock.

The producer holds up his thumb to let us know that the recording session has begun, and the band starts playing. I strum my guitar forcefully and close my eyes as I begin to sing. The song is new; we've never played it at a show. I'd written it only a week or so prior; the band had only just finished learning it.

_ A million faces passing by,_

_ All so dead, but so alive,_

_ All in a rush to get in line..._

_ A million faces, and they smile and say 'goodbye'..._

_ They live and die inside their hives..._

_ You were stuck in the shadows day and night,_

_ with no release in sight,_

_ Just another night, and you've survived..._

_ From nine to five, you kept your master satisfied,_

_ like white-powder slaves with no real lives..._

_ But I've seen the sadness in your eyes!_

_ The truth behind the lies!_

_ And we can laugh, and we can cry!_

_ 'Cause we're so free, we share the stars that trace the sky/!_

_ We're watching their world through heroin eyes!_

_ Watching their world through heroin eyes..._

_ Watching their world through heroin eyes..._

As I continue my song, I notice James wobbling slightly in his chair on the other side of the thick glass. He must be excited to hear me play it. It's OUR song. I blush slightly as I continue, crying out the lyrics to the song I'd written especially for him. I hope he's enjoying it.

As the song ends, I notice that something is wrong. James is no longer wobbling in his seat; he's visibly shaking. I'm about to continue on to the next recording, when I see his eyes roll back into his skull before he falls heavily to the floor. No..... NO!

I throw the guitar from my shoulder and drop it to the ground as I run towards the door to the control room. Tearing it open with my paws, I run inside to see the producer and engineer standing over James as he convulses on the floor. There is foam pushing its way past his lips. His skin is turning gray. His chest heaves and he lets out panicked gasps as he thrashes around, unable to control his movements or bodily functions. I fall to the floor and throw my arm under his head to keep it from banging against the hard wood. My free paw clamps onto the underside of his wrist as I feel for a pulse. His heart is pounding.

His pulse is so fast I can hardly feel it.

I don't know how; but I can tell that my mate is slipping into an overdose. Just then, I spy the pile of cocaine next to the sound boards. Shit! Cory, Oz, and Zack come running into the room, and upon seeing James, they recoil in terror. Feeling around in James' pocket for the keys to the Chevelle, I turn to face them. "GET THE FUCKING CAR!" I scream. Oz is the first to move, and he snatches the keys from my paw before dashing out of the studio. Cradling James' head in one arm, I slip the other underneath his legs and lift him up, ignoring the burning sensation in my muscles as I carry his skinny body towards the front entrance.

Tires screech and rubber burns as Oz pulls up in front of me. He throws open the passenger door, raises the seat, and screams, "GET IN! WE GOTTA MOVE, NOW!"

I lower James onto the backseat and hop in next to him, resting his head on my lap as Cory jumps up front. "I'll meet you guys at the hospital!" Zack yells, before heading towards his van. Oz doesn't reply; he shifts the car into gear, and floors the gas as we head towards Harbor General.

"GO FUCKING FASTER!" I scream at Oz as he gets on the freeway. "THIS CAR CAN HIT TWO HUNDRED!"

"I'VE GOT IT FLOORED!" he screams in reply. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM, ANYWAY?!"

"HE'S OVERDOSING ON YOUR FUCKING COKE!" I cry angrily. "THERE WAS A FUCKING MOUNTAIN OF IT ON THE TABLE!"

Oz shuts up then. I can hear him whimper slightly as he weaves through traffic. I know that he blames himself. I don't care about that right now. All I care about is making sure that James, my James, lives to see another day. I hold his head and cry softly as his seizure continues. I feel his hand grip my arm with incredible strength as I do so. I can almost see tears forming in his eyes as his grip goes slack, and the convulsions stop. Oz pulls off of the freeway and runs a red light as we approach the hospital. James doesn't appear to be breathing. I frantically attempt to perform CPR within the cramped confines of the car, going into chest compressions as Oz pulls to a stop in front of the entrance to the ER.

"WE NEED SOME FUCKING HELP OUT HERE!" he screams at the top of his lungs.

I'm sobbing wildly now, alternating betweeen breathing into James' lungs and doing the compressions on his chest. I'm praying, PRAYING, that he'll be okay. I've never even gone to church...

"You'll be all right!" I whimper, as I continue to perform CPR. I don't stop until the doctors arrive with a stretcher and Cory gets out of the car.

"You'll be alright! You'll be all right..." I whimper.

As they roll him into the ER and the doors close behind him, I fall to my knees on the concrete on the driveway. My body shakes as I cry; my tears flow freely onto the cold, hard ground. I shake off Oz's paw as he tries to comfort me. All I can think about is James.

"Please..." I almost whisper into the air.

"Please don't leave me all alone."

"...Please..."

---

The lyrics to Brain Stew / Jaded are copyright 1995 by Green Day. All rights reserved.

That was Chapter six! I hope you guys don't mind the cliffhanger! It took quite a while to finish; a lot has been going on IRL. It's been pretty hard to focus. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my friends who've passed or gone to prison. Our life was a game. A deadly game. I hope that somewhere, out there, they've respawned, and never stopped playing.... Our game never ends; only our lives.... Our short and beautiful lives..... I miss them all.

--Ken