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Charlie and James By Ken Anderson

Chapter 8: Separation

I feel the soft breath of my mate cooling my fur as I open my eyes. Turning my head, I can see the rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds on the bedroom window, coming to rest on our covered bodies. I shift my gaze to a small calendar on the wall next to the closet. I'd bought it several days ago. I can make out the six red slashes across the dates of the previous week. Our last week together, before he has to leave...

James has been counting down the days.

I notice that the day of his departure, which is tomorrow, now that I think about it, has a small illustration of a heart being broken in two scribbled inside the box. I know that he feels the same way about our current situation as I do...

I let my eyes rest on his sleeping form. His breathing is slow, deliberate. I can smell the scent of lavender in his hair... He's laying on his right side, facing me. His left arm is on top of the blanket, and I smile as I see the platinum ring shining brightly in the light of the afternoon sun. He looks so peaceful as he sleeps; so undisturbed. I think I can see a smile on his lips, actually. Since it's supposed to be our last full day together, at least for a little while, I've decided to try my best to make it a day that he'll never forget. I want to leave him with the best memories of me as possible; I want him to always remember how much I love him...

I decide to start with a late breakfast... I know it sounds lame, but I've just woken up. The good ideas will probably come to me later on.

I move over and use a claw to brush away the strands of hair covering his eyes. Leaning down, I place a tender kiss on his forehead. I see him shift his position slightly, before falling back into his slumber. I'm smiling.

The two of us... This bed... This moment... It all just feels so perfect.

I try my best to keep from waking him up as I pull myself out of bed. I walk quietly over to the closet, and pull out my clothes for the day. As I slip on the paint-splattered olive-drab t-shirt and torn blue jeans I've decided to go with, I hear what sounds like a chuckle coming from behind me. Turning around, I see that James is staring at me with a sleepy smile on his face.

"Good afternoon," he tells me, "Planning on starting the day without me?"

I zip up and button the jeans, before making my way back to the bed. I tilt my muzzle over his face, and we kiss each other deeply on the lips. "I wouldn't dream of it..." I reply, "I was actually gonna cook us some breakfast."

"Aww, that's so cute," he coos, stroking under my chin with his soft, warm fingers. "And here, I never thought you could be a romantic."

I laugh as I lean closer to kiss him again. When I pull away, I can see his familiar expression of peace and satisfaction.

"I can be whatever you want me to be," I say, "As long as I'm doing it for you..."

I murr as he runs his hands over the fur between my ears, and begins to stroke the back of my neck. "You don't have to impress me, rock star," he informs me, lifting up his left hand and flashing the ring, "You've already made my dreams come true."

With that, he lets me go, and raises his body off the bed to get dressed. My tail wags uncontrollably as I leave the room and head for the kitchen. I grab a couple of thawed steaks from the refrigerator, along with some eggs. I'm humming one of my new songs as I turn on the stovetop and reach for a metal frying pan. I never expected the two of us to come this far; I never expected us to get this close.

I think back over the memories we've had together...

It always surprises me; how so much can happen in such a short span of time...

When I'd first met James at Fender's Pub, I'd pegged him for a junkie, right off the bat. I'd thought he'd be a good guy to talk to as I drank; his stories seemed interesting enough. After that little 'incident' involving the bikers, I remember when he took me back to his place... Our place, and stitched up my wounds. I remember when he'd kissed me for the first time that night. I'd blushed and sat paralyzed on the couch, unable to move or speak. I'd never felt that way about something so simple as a kiss...

As time continued to pass, and the two of us started to grow closer to one another, I'd begun to realize that this was going to be so much more than just a short, passionate fling. I could feel something about him; he could feel it as well. It didn't take too long for me to realize that we were actually in love. I knew it; he knew it; we could both feel it in our hearts... After weeks of careful deliberation, or rather, since we're talking about me here, weeks of chewing pills like they were skittles and trying to think, I'd decided that I should ask him if he wanted to go all the way...

On that day, a few weeks ago, Oz had taken me to his personal jeweller. He was a well-dressed coyote by the name of Ronald, who had immediately asked me what I was looking for. I remember stuttering as I tried to say the words, but eventually he just laughed, and showed me his selection of engagement rings. After a few anxious moments of peering through the thick glass surface of the display case that held his wares, my eyes had finally settled on a pair of perfectly polished platinum bands. I'd told him that I wouldn't take anything else; I wanted those two, specific rings. The craftmanship appeared flawless, as if liquid platinum had been molded by hand into that perfect, rounded shape. When he named his price, however, my ears had drooped as my heart sank. The rings would set me back nearly five thousand bucks. Oz wouldn't have any of that, though. My eyes went wide as he'd produced a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills, and began to lay out the cash on the display case.

I didn't even bother to ask him why he'd been carrying all that cash around; at the time, I didn't care...

Once the jeweller had been satisfied with the amount, he'd slipped the rings into a small, black-velvet lined box, and handed them over to me. I remember my paws trembling as I held the thing; I was so nervous, so scared... Oz had thrown an arm around my shoulders, and assured me that everything would work out fine. He'd handed me two grand in cash, and told me that I should plan everything out; from the second we woke up on my chosen day, to the moment I'd get down on one knee and propose. For guys like me and Oz, you only get one chance in life to do something like this... One shot.... He told me that I should try to make it as romantic and special as possible.

...I should try to make it perfect.

Unfortunately, life has a way of taking your plans, and blowing them all to shit. I'd reserved a table for two at a very nice restaurant in downtown Harbor City, a couple days before our show at Fender's Pub. I'd hoped to surprise James the day after the gig. I was planning a spectacular dinner, just for the two of us, after which I'd literally drop to my knees before dessert, and pour out my heart. Looking back, it all seems kind of corny... But unfortunately, that's not the way things worked out...

When James OD'd, I thought, for a brief moment, that it was all over. I thought I'd lost him; the only person I'd ever felt that special connection to. I thought he was gone. I remember crying nonstop as he underwent surgery at Harbor General. I was pacing madly back and forth on the cold linoleum floor of the empty waiting room, drawing stares from the various doctors and nurses as they passed me by. I'd tuned out his father's ranting and his mother's crying once the doctor finally called them and told them to come in. I was just... shattered.

I thought I would never get to see him or hold him in my arms again... I even contemplated suicide for a short time; I told myself that if the surgeon came out and delivered the kind of news that I didn't want to hear, I would go back to our apartment and swallow the contents of every pill bottle that I had laying around.

...To be honest, it wasn't one of my best moments.

After he was released from the hospital, I'd found myself feeling deeply disturbed. I couldn't say anything at first; the words seemed to catch in my throat every time I tried to speak. When he confronted me at our apartment, though, I finally broke down; I had no choice. I showed him the rings. I expected him to say no, and laugh in my face; I expected him to shy away. When instead, he asked me if I really loved him enough to be his mate, I couldn't stop the words of longing from pouring out of my mouth, like a waterfall of desperation and love. He'd told me to get on the floor right then; to slip on the ring. I don't think I've ever been happier than when I saw that perfectly polished band wrapped snugly around his finger...

Words can't describe the emotions that I felt. Now, as his parents are preparing to take him away from me, I find myself wanting to make the best of what time we have left... But that doesn't stop me from feeling sad...

...Or from having hope.

I hear the sound of meat sizzling in the pan and smell the sharp odor of our food burning as I'm pulled from my thoughts. I'd forgotten to flip the steaks. I do so, and thank whatever deity is watching over me when I see that they're not too badly charred. I throw a skillet onto the electric range next to the frying steaks, and go to work at cracking the eggs. I know James prefers his to be scrambled...

"This is your brain on drugs," He once joked. I chuckle and shake my head as I remember.

"Smells good. What're you cooking?" I hear him call to me as he steps out from the bedroom.

"Steak and eggs." I tell him.

"Sounds amazing." he replies. I feel his soft hands brush over my back as he steps behind me to get to the refrigerator. I watch him pull out a bottle of soda. He twists the cap off before smiling at me. "What're you looking at?" he asks.

"My mate." I reply, removing the finished steaks from the stovetop and sliding them out onto the clean cutting board that's sitting on the counter. He gives me a warm smile as he leans up to kiss me on my cheek, before heading out to the living room and turning on the TV. I hear the sound of pills rattling in a bottle as he snatches up the morphine from the small table that Oz has generously donated to us. Come to think of it; he'd given us the TV as well. I hear the bottle snap shut as he removes his prescribed dose and tosses them back. "You want any?" he calls.

I nod my head happily. "That would be great!"

I hurriedly sprinkle a dash of salt onto the now-scrambled eggs frying in front of me. Switching off the stovetop, I open one of the cabinets above the sink and grab some plates for the food.

"What do you want to do today?" he asks, as I sit next to him on the couch and hand him his plate, along with a fork and knife. I shrug my shoulders as he passes over the pills. I knock them back with some of his soda.

"I don't know. I hear Fender wants to throw us a little engagement party at the bar tonight. I told him we'd think about it. There's also supposed to be a reporter from FMTV coming by."

"FMTV?!" he exclaims, "What do they want with us?"

"Something about an interview," I tell him, "Apparently, the whole fucking world knows that I've proposed to a guy who's about to get on a plane and take off for the other side of the country... Basically, I let Oz talk me into it."

"That's the price of being famous," James remarks with a light chuckle. "Your life immediately becomes someone else's obsession. That's what makes me a little worried about leaving."

I can see the sadness in his eyes as he speaks. I shake my head, and lean over to kiss him. "You don't have to worry about me; I told you I'd wait for you, and I wouldn't give up what we've shared for anything. I'm not a selfish prick, like Tommy was..."

I can see him smile slightly as he continues to eat. We eat our food in silence, as we watch a few music videos and news pieces involving famous musicians. I feel myself tense up when a pair of familiar faces suddenly appear on-screen. It's Henry, and Jase is standing next to him. They're being interviewed by Johnny Echo, a well-built Doberman who has a reputation as being one of the best field reporters from FMTV News. Personally, I think the guy's kind of a dick... James sees the change in my expression, and tells me not to worry.

"Let's see what's happens," he says. I shrug my shoulders and keep eating, my eyes focused intently on the screen as my former bandmates begin to answer the reporter's questions.

"So how has Lost Shepherd been feeling, as a band?" Johnny asks them. "There was a rumor about a month ago; something about your lead guitarist breaking his arm in an accident?"

"Yeah..." Henry tells him, nodding his head. "Tommy was kind of messed up at the time; he'd decided to climb up to the roof of our apartment to do some drugs. At some point during the night, he says he fell off... As for the rest of us, we're just trying to get by. It's been a challenge lately, but we're sure that things will begin to look up soon..."

"Is it true that Tommy's checked himself into rehab?"

"Yeah, that's true," Jason chimes in. "He's been there for a few weeks, now."

"What about Charlie?" Johnny continues, "Have you had any contact with him? Has anything changed since he was dropped from the band?"

I see Jason and Henry shifting uncomfortably as they try to speak. Jason's scratching behind his ears, and Henry has crossed his arms over his chest. He's staring blankly at the ground.

"We haven't had a chance to talk to Charlie," Henry explains, "But from what we've heard, he's doing pretty well. He's been performing with this group called 'Chaos Theory', I think. And before you ask, we've also heard the rumor that he's recently proposed to his current boyfriend..."

"Well, that answers my first question, but you seem to be avoiding the second one. I'll ask it again; has anything changed since Charlie was dropped from the band?"

Henry seems at a loss for words. Jase places a hand on his shoulder, and offers to answer the question himself.

"Yeah, a lot has changed," he begins, "We've gotten a lot of complaints from numerous fans over the fact that we kicked Charlie out of the group... We've recently played a lot of shows in front of little to no people. They just don't seem to think we're the same band without him."

"So, does that mean your upcoming tour is going to be cancelled?" Johnny asks.

"Yeah, it's been shelved for the moment," Henry replies, "I mean, what's the point of a tour if nobody's gonna show up to see us play? Not to mention the fact that we'd have to find a new lead guitarist."

"But you just said that you were sure things were going to get better?"

"I honestly don't know WHY I said that. Some part of me wants to believe it, I guess..."

"Is there anything you'd like to say to Charlie?" Johnny continues, "I'm not supposed to tell you guys this, but we've arranged to do an interview with him and his new mate tonight."

"Yeah..." Henry pauses, before clearing his throat, and staring into the camera. I can see a thin smile forming on his face as he speaks. "Congratulations, man. I hope your engagement works out. We're really sorry for the way things happened. We hope you have a great life with your new mate and your new band; we just want you to know that we feel bad about what happened, and that we'll always be here for you... Even though we're probably the most fucked-up friends that ever existed. We miss you, man."

"Hey, you can't say 'fuck,' this is a live interview. There could be kids watching." Johnny whispers.

"Who gives a shit?!" Henry explodes, "This interview is over. I gotta get something to drink..."

With that, Henry and Jase storm off-camera, and Johnny gives an exasperated sigh before telling the audience that the interview is over. He apologizes to anyone who may have been offended by Henry's outburst, and the camera cuts back to the FMTV studio. James reaches for the remote, and clicks off the TV.

"Wow..." he says, "That was intense. How do you feel about all that?"

"I honestly don't know." I tell him, "But I should give Henry a call; make sure he's all right."

My mate nods, and takes the empty plate from my paws before heading back into the kitchen. I hear the water running in the sink as he scrubs them both clean. "Your cell's plugged in next to the bed," I hear him call out. I get to my feet and walk towards our room. I see my phone sitting on the nightstand, the green light on it's surface announcing that the battery has been fully charged. I pause for a moment before picking it up, and dialing Henry's number. The line rings a few times, and he answers.

"Hello?" he greets me. His speech sounds a little slurred; he must be drinking. "Who's this?"

"It's Charlie, man." I reply, "How're you feeling? I just saw that interview on FMTV."

"You saw that? Shit..." I hear a soft thud at the other end. He's probably dropped his head onto the bar. "I just spent the last ten minutes getting my ass chewed out by that reporter. Apparently, he could lose his job because I said 'fuck' and 'shit' on TV..."

"Hey, don't work yourself up about it," I tell him. "And thanks for the support. James and I appreciate it."

I hear him chuckle as he clears his throat. "Hey, you deserve it. I'll admit that I was being kind of a dick the day we kicked you out..."

"Oh, that's putting it mildly," I say, "I can think of things a lot worse to call you, but that's not why I picked up the phone. Have you guys got any plans for tonight?"

I hear him sigh at the other end. "No, man, we've got nothing. Why, what's up?"

"There's an engagement party being held for me and my mate at a local bar tonight. He's gonna be leaving town for a little while... You and Jase should come by."

"Why?" Henry asks me, "What're we gonna do?"

"How do you feel about partying with me and the guys?"

I hear the sound of a barstool clattering noisily to the floor as Henry leaps from his seat. "Are you serious?!" he exclaims. "I mean, the last time we all saw each other, it didn't end so well..."

"Yeah," I say, "I'll clear it with the band. Who knows, it might get you guys some more attention. Besides, it's the least I can do. No matter how fucked up things got in the end, you guys are always gonna be cool with me."

I hear Henry's excited babbling as he tells Jason everything I've said. I can almost hear the bull shouting for joy as Henry comes back on the line. "Yeah! We'll be there! What time is it, and what's the name of the place?"

"It's called Fender's Pub," I explain, "The party starts at eight. Try to be there by eight-thirty and get ready for a second interview sometime tonight. We'll see you guys there."

With that, I terminate the call, and begin to dial Oz's number. When he picks up, I tell him what I've done. I expect him to lash out at me for wanting to make things up with my old band, but instead, he agrees with every word I say. "That sounds awesome, bro," he tells me, "Me and the guys are cool with it; you've got our full support. I'm actually kind of proud of you man, for wanting to fix things. Just don't forget, you're with us now."

"No, man, we're cool," I reply, "You guys are like family to me; you helped me when I was down and out, and I'd never forget that. I just want Henry and Jase to be happy; I feel I at least owe them that much."

"Then we're all for it, dude. We'll meet you and James at the bar around eight or so."

He hangs up, and the phone grows silent. I pull it away from my ear, and slip it into my pocket with a smile on my face. Turning towards the bedroom door, I see James leaning against the frame, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "That was amazing," he begins, "And here I thought you were just another... What did you call it the other day? Burned-out rock star?"

I feel my chest warming with happiness as I walk towards him, throwing my arms around his waist and lifting him off his feet. He wraps his legs around me and I press his back against the wall as we lock lips in a passionate kiss.

"I don't know..." I say, when we finally separate. "I guess you're changing me."

He flicks me on the nose as I lower him onto the floor. He grabs a pack of cigarettes from the drawer on the nightstand, and lights up two of them before handing one over to me. "I guess we're going to Fender's after all," he chuckles.

I watch as he heads for the bathroom. "Wanna take a shower before we go?"

I nod my head furiously as I follow him through the door, and lock it behind us. Somehow, I know that taking a shower is not what he has planned. He switches off the showerhead, and allows warm water to start filling up the tub. Stripping off his clothes, he lays down against the cool ceramic. He crooks a finger towards me as he gives me his most seductive smile.

"Well come on, baby..." he says, "We haven't got all day, and I don't think we've ever done it in the tub."

I almost rip my shirt off as I struggle to peel it from my fur. The jeans soon follow, and before I know it, I'm on top of him in the water. He kisses me hard and wraps his legs around my waist. I feel him stroking my sheath softly. This is going to be interesting...

---

We didn't leave the bathroom for a long time.

Once we'd finally depleted all of our sexual energy, we'd spent the better part of another hour helping each other clean up. We both knew that this would be one of the last times we'd get to share our bodies with one another; we wanted to make it last as long as possible. If we didn't have to get over to Fender's, we probably never would've left the tub...

I can see the pain of loss already beginning to show in James' eyes as he dries his hair in front of the steamy mirror. We're still together, at least for now, but it already seems like he misses me. It already seems like his heart is broken. He's staring blankly at his own reflection; I hear him sigh heavily as I rest my chin on his shoulder and place a kiss on his cheek.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I just can't believe it..." his voice is soft, like a whisper. "...All this time we've spent together, and tomorrow I'll be gone... For god knows how long."

"Hey, don't worry so much," I try to reassure him, "We'll find each other. That ring is my promise to you... When this is all over, we'll never be split up again. Besides, how long can it be? Three months? Six? What's the longest stay in rehab ever recorded?"

He laughs as I try to cheer him up. It's not much, but it's a start.

After getting dressed, we exit the bathroom and prepare to leave. Checking the small clock hanging above the refrigerator in the kitchen, I see that it's almost eight o'clock. Wow... That means we spent a little over five hours messing around in the tub. I find myself smiling as I consider how long we could've gone before collapsing. James' voice calling out from the front door pulls me back to reality.

"Hey, can you grab the pill bottle from the table?" he asks me, "We might as well take it with us."

I nod my head, scooping the bottle into my pocket before I exit the apartment. I make sure to lock the door while James holds the elevator.

As we approach Fender's pub, I can see that the place is packed full of people. There are cars parked along both sides of the street, not to mention the small parking lot located in the rear of the bar. I let my gaze linger over the long line stretching from the front door; it looks like Fender has hired a doorman for tonight's party. There's a well-built coyote with dirt-brown fur checking ID's and patting people down before allowing them to go inside. I can see the crowd mingling amidst a haze of cigarette smoke through the bar's dirt-smudged windows. Wow. It's all so incredible. I wonder how many people are actually here to wish us good luck. I wonder how many more are just here to see the two of us together...

James curses under his breath as he circles the block, looking for a parking spot as he nears the front of the bar once more. "Is there any fucking parking left?" he mutters.

I start scanning for somewhere to park the Chevelle, and my eyes catch sight of a familiar figure waving us down from a gravel lot located across the street. "Hey, baby, I think someone's trying to help us out." I point a claw towards the lot. James notices the silhouette waving its arms wildly, and pulls slowly onto the gravel before switching on the high beams.

The figure raises a hand up to shield its face as the harsh light reveals who it is. I can see the familiar brown fur. The paws twitching nervously. The cheetah smoking a cigarette in the background, leaning against a black Econoline van. It's Oz and Cory. Oz is standing in front of an empty parking space that's been blocked off with a pair of orange cones.

James laughs and rolls down the window as he pulls the Chevelle into the spot. "OZ! You sneaky fuck! I thought you were trying to jack us for a minute there!" he yells.

The otter gives a warm chuckle in reply, and comes over to open the door for him as he shuts off the engine. James rolls up the window, exits the car, and throws his arms around Oz in a tight hug. "Thanks for saving a spot!" he exclaims. "So, you guys ready for the big sendoff?"

"Fuck yeah, man!" Oz shouts excitedly. "It's gonna be a hell of a party! We were wondering when you guys were gonna show up; we need to get wasted before the FMTV crew gets here!"

With that, he points to an empty space several feet away, which has been reserved for the news van. James makes his way to my side, and grips one of my paws tightly as he notices the empty slot. "Don't worry, baby," I assure him, lowering my muzzle to kiss him on the forehead, "We'll get through it. It's nothing we can't handle..."

He nods silently as he considers this... Oz knocks a paw on the back of the van, and the side door slides open. Zack steps out, followed by Henry and Jason. I feel the corners of my muzzle tighten into a smile as I seen them.

"Guys! You made it!" I exclaim, as they stride quickly over to where we're standing.

"Yeah!" Henry replies, nodding his head excitedly. "Your band picked us up. For a minute, me and Jase were scared they'd come back for another round. But when they busted out a bag of weed and some bourbon, we knew everything was gonna turn out fine."

Henry clasps his paw in mine and gives it a shake, before doing the same to James. Jase repeats the greeting.

"Congratulations, guys. Don't forget to invite us to the wedding."

James laughs loudly as he loosens his grip on me. "Oh, we won't!" he promises. "You guys will have to be there. The only problem I can see is gonna be convincing my own parents to attend."

James' comment catches me off-guard. I silently begin to wonder what his parents will think of our decision to become engaged. Neither of us has found the courage to tell them; we both know that no matter how gently we break the news to them, it stands no chance of going over well. James notices my slight frown, and strokes the fur on my neck reassuringly. The physical contact causes me to murr, and helps me push out the feelings of worry that had begun to creep into my thoughts.

"Let's go to the party," he suggests. "If this is gonna be our last night together, at least for now, I wanna get shitfaced and see if we can sneak into Fender's walk-in fridge together..."

The thought makes me smile, and I feel a slight arousal downstairs. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull him close as we begin to walk towards the bar. Henry and Jase are at our side, talking about drinking and possibly getting laid. I see Oz and Cory out of the corner of my eye, wrapped up in a passionate kiss as they try in vain to keep up with our steady pace. Zack is lagging behind, polishing off a small bottle of vodka. Yeah, this should be awesome... This should be epic.

As the seven of us march past the line of patrons waiting to gain entrance to the bar, we're greeted with a deafening roar of cheers and applause. We all return the warm welcome with shouts and waves, before stepping past the bouncer, who's holding the door open for us. "Holy shit, Blackwell It's been forever!" James calls out to the coyote as we pass.

"Heeey! What's up, man?" the coyote responds, shaking James' hand as he extends it in greeting.

"Have you heard from CJ?" James asks him.

"Yeah!" Blackwell replies, "He called me yesterday! He said to congratulate you for him! Good luck, guys! Enjoy the party!"

James waves goodbye as we step into the bar. Oz and Cory immediately head for the restroom, squeezing between patrons as they shove open the door. It looks like they're gonna go get fucked up. Zack has managed to sneak in another bottle of liquor; he finds a seat near the dance floor, and begins to talk with a few of his female 'fans' as he sips from it. Henry and Jase follow the two of us as we make our way over to the bar, the crowd in front of it parting to give us room as we step forward. I take a moment to check out our surroundings as we approach the polished wooden counter and seat ourselves on a couple of recently vacated bar stools.

There's loud rock music blaring from several speakers that have been placed against the walls. It's our music. Chaos Theory's new single. Partygoers are dancing wildly, their drinks held high as their bodies gyrate and grind against one another. I notice several patrons raising their drinks towards us, and I give them nods and warm smiles as they continue to dance and socialize. The interior has been cleaned to a spotless state; even the walls have been scrubbed down. The only thing that really hasn't changed is the now-familiar haze of thick cigarette smoke hanging low to the ceiling. Fender doesn't really care much for the recently-implemented smoking ban. I also notice the cracked antler gathering dust on the ceiling.

James gives a cry of wonder as he sees what's happening at the bar. My jaw drops and I do a double take as I notice it as well. Fender's showing off some serious flair as he pours the drinks tonight, as is one of the two additional bartenders he's hired on specifically for this event. Bottles and shakers twirl, fly, and land on the bar as he tosses them expertly over his shoulders, spins them gracefully into his paws, and juggles them back onto the shelf as he works. I watch as he flips three bottles off of the prep area behind the bar, before tossing them into the air at different intervals. He catches one by the neck as it comes down, pours a shot, and slams it on the counter, before catching the second and third bottles simultaneously, spinning them upside-down in his paws as he mixes the drink. A round of cheers and applause comes from the patrons seated at the bar as the old weasel flips the three bottles over his shoulder, not turning his head to check as they land safely in their desired positions on the shelf. He's got some serious skills. I start clapping as well, and James lets out a whoop as his employer turns to face us.

"Goddamn, Mr. Fender!" he cries out. "You never told me you could do that stuff!"

"Hey, you never asked, kid! It's been a while, actually!" Fender replies, sliding the completed drink down the bar to the customer who'd ordered it. "What can I get you guys? It's on the house tonight!"

Henry and Jason let out cheers as Fender nods towards them as well.

"Give me the three wise men! Let's see you do that!" James shouts over the loud rock music. Fender nods his head once, and retrieves the materials from the shelf behind him. I watch as he sets the bottles of Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, and Johnny Walker on the bar. He places a lowball glass on the counter beside them. Gripping two of the bottles in his paws, he tosses the bottle of Jack into the air, letting it land on the crook of one arm as he flips the bottle of Johnny Walker onto the other.

The crowd cheers as he extends his arms completely, displaying the bottles standing neatly on his wrists. With a sharp thrust, he sends them flying into the air, catching them both by their necks and spinning them upside-down as he pours the different kinds of whiskey into the glass. He sets the two bottles on the counter, and using his paw, he knocks the bottle of Jim Beam off the bar towards his body. We watch, mesmerized, as he bounces the glass bottle off of his chest, catching the bottom of it with the tips of his claws as its neck points directly down into the glass. The liquor pours smoothly, and he sets the bottle back behind the bar as he pushes the finished drink towards James. My mate offers him some cash for the show, but Fender shakes his head and gently pushes the money away. "Like I said, it's on the house."

He repeats the show for the cocktails that Henry, Jase, and I order as well, before moving on to other customers. James finishes his drink in one gulp, and rests his head against my shoulder with a contented sigh. He looks up into my eyes and I return his gaze, smiling as I lower my muzzle to kiss him on the forehead. "I love you," I whisper.

"I love you, too." he echoes, bringing a hand up to stroke the fur on my chest. He turns his head to face the crowd, and I feel him tug on my wrist as he notices the small stage near the door.

"Hey, check it out. Someone's set up your equipment on-stage."

Peering over the heads of the partygoers, I see that he's absolutely correct. My guitar is resting against an amplifier, along with Oz's bass. I spy Zack's drums set up in the back, and I begin to wonder who has placed these instruments here, and why.

"Yeah, that was me," a voice calls to us. James and I turn our heads to see Oz and Cory walking towards us, spun out of their minds with huge grins across their faces.

"I set em' up before you guys got here," Oz continues.

"Why'd you do that?" I ask him. "Do you want us to play, or something?"

He shakes his head, and nods towards Henry and Jase, who've been listening to our conversation and are staring back at him.

"Nope. I want YOU GUYS to play. I want to hear the old Lost Shepherd tonight."

Henry and Jase have turned to look at me, both of them sharing the same expression of shock and confusion.

"Well, shit..." Henry starts, "Are you up to it, man?"

I look down at my mate. He's nodding his head encouragingly.

"You should do it, Charlie," he tells me, "It would be the perfect way to show everyone that you still care about your friends."

I nod my head slowly as I consider it. With everything that's happened, I'd never really thought about playing with Henry and Jase again. Not even for one last show. I look back towards Oz and Cory; they're shouting words of support and demanding that I take the stage. The crowd, upon hearing them, has begun to cry out words of encouragement as well. I can't help it; I throw up my paws and laugh. They've got me. They've won.

"Fuck it; let's go, then!" I shout, rising from my seat and motioning to my former bandmates. "Let's play! I know the perfect song for this, too, so check it out..."

The crowd begins to cheer wildly as the three of us make our way up to the small stage. The members of my band join them when they see me strapping on my guitar, and Henry tuning Oz's bass to his specifications. A soft, slow chant begins to sweep across the room, growing faster and louder as it becomes coupled with the rhythmic sound of stomping feet and beer mugs slamming against the bar.

"Shepherd! Shepherd! Shepherd! Shepherd!"

I'm smiling as I step up to the microphone, and clear my throat to speak. My heart has begun to pound with the anxiety and nervousness of performing with my old band. My breathing has become slow and steady, and my paws have begun to shake. It all seems so familiar to me, and yet so new. I see James eyeing me from the bar, and my chest swells with pride as the feeling of panic dissipates. With my mate watching me, I'm overcome by a feeling of calm determination. My muzzle twitches into a smile. Everything is gonna be fine... I hope.

"All right, everyone, calm down for a minute! A good friend of mine told me that I should perform one last time with my old band... For a second there, I thought he'd lost his fucking mind. Then I decided, 'Why not?' It'd be the perfect sendoff for my mate, who's leaving town in the morning. It'd also be the coolest way to show my two best friends..." I turn to Henry and Jase, "That no matter what happens between us, I'll always be there for them. Ladies and gents, for your listening pleasure, and for one night only... We are Lost Shepherd!"

The crowd roars with excitement as we begin the intro to one of our last hits together, "Bottom of my Heart." It's a song about love and loss, about pain and pleasure. I'd written it shortly before I'd been kicked out of the band; it was the last song that we'd learned together, and we'd never gotten to play it live. It seems to fit the current situation that James and I find ourselves in. It almost seems as if I'd written it knowing that I would be experiencing the pain of loss not so long afterwards...

I watch as Zack lifts James up by his legs and places him atop his shoulders. My mate is laughing cheerfully, trying his best to steady himself above the large saber-toothed tiger. Oz hands him a beer and he chugs it down, cheering and banging his head as I belt out the lyrics to the tune of the ear-shattering heavy metal sound. Everyone at the bar is cheering me on, and I try my best not to disappoint them as I keep playing.

Halfway through the song, I see the door to the bar swing open. I cringe inwardly as Johnny Echo walks in, followed by a camera crew as he runs a paw through the smooth fur at the top of his head. I guess FMTV is here. Shit... He pauses as he sees us on-stage, before shouting madly at his crew to start rolling the cameras. He wants to record the reunion of Lost Shepherd; I'm sure it'll boost his shitty standing among his peers. I try to ignore him as I continue to sing. It's hopeless, but I manage to keep myself from shouting at him.

I watch as James notices the doberman; his smile quickly turns into a frown. He motions for Zack to lower him to his feet. The tiger does so, and I see Oz and Cory shaking their heads as they order up a round of shots from Fender. Even the old weasel has a look of sour contempt on his face as he eyes the reporter. He wears an expression that would make anyone think that the party has just been shut down by the cops.

When our song finally ends, the crowd breaks out into another frenzy of loud cheering and scattered applause. I don't care. I smile, and wave back, but I don't feel that heartfelt joy that comes with being appreciated. All I feel is a sense of dread; a sense of foreboding towards what I know is going to happen next. This isn't going to be a normal interview; I can tell by the smirk on Echo's face and the pearly-white fangs flashing through his muzzle that he intends to make this as controversial and fucked-up as possible. It doesn't matter. Not much can go wrong tonight. I decide that I'll answer his questions honestly, but vaguely; I might even tell a few outright lies. I decide that I'm gonna say 'fuck' on camera about a thousand times during the next ten minutes. The thought brings a warm smile to my face as I step down from the stage, followed by Henry and Jase. If I have my way, Echo's gonna be seriously pissed off...

As I near the bar, I motion for the others to follow me outside, towards the parking lot. James sprints up to me and wraps his arm around mine, pulling me close for security as we lead the way through the front door. Everyone else follows at our heels, with Johnny Echo and his crew trailing close behind.

We make our way towards Zack's van, and begin to quietly discuss 'who' is going to be saying 'what' when the camera comes on. Cory and Zack decide immediately that they want no part of Echo's interrogation. They climb into the van and close the door behind them. I think I can smell some pot burning. God, I wish I had some. Henry, Jase, and Oz offer to stick by me and James, if only to back us up on our answers and to respond to any questions that may be directed at them, specifically. Not that that's likely; I know that Johnny is only here to talk about me and James. My paws have started to shake again. My tail has begun to twitch. I can see the worried expression in my mate's eyes as he tightens his grip on my arm. I feel emotionless; almost apathetic. I wonder if it's the drugs and booze, or if it's just my natural reaction to being filmed.

I wonder if I can make it through this with my sanity intact...

Our conversation grows quiet as the FMTV crew stops a few feet away and begins to set up the equipment. The cameraman, a golden retriever wearing a set of headphones and carrying the tools of his trade on his shoulders, places a tripod on the gravel and mounts the camera to it in a series of swift, well-practiced movements. Another crew member, a white tiger carrying a large microphone mounted to a pole, the sound technician, by the looks of him, begins to perform a sound-check. I stare past them to see Johnny Echo, dressed in his trademark black suit with a crimson shirt underneath, running a paw over the fur on his chin as he approaches us with a devious smile.

I can feel a hand digging around in the pocket of my jeans. I look down to see that James has retrieved the pill bottle, and is getting ready to ingest another dose of morphine to calm his nerves. He tosses the blue pill into his mouth and swallows it dry, before offering one to me. I take it from his shaking fingers and chew it up before swallowing; I'm gonna need to be the calmest dog in the world not to drive my fist into that smug bastard Echo's muzzle. I know that he wants nothing more than to demonize us. I have a serious problem with reporters; I just don't like them. The only reason I'd agreed to this interview in the first place is because Oz and the guys had pressured me into it; they felt that it was only proper to have my engagement to James documented and broadcast on TV. According to them, people would find out eventually. They figured it was better if we just went on camera and announced it to the world... Just the same, they seem to be as irritated by these guys as I am... I hear loud coughing coming from the inside of the van as smoke begins to trickle out from one of the windows. Johnny waves a paw in front of his muzzle to brush away the odor as he steps in front of us.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters under his breath, "Fuckin' rock stars, I tell ya..."

I have to do my best to suppress the growl rising in my throat. James seems to sense it as well, and I calm down as I feel his hand stroking the fur on my back through the olive-drab T-shirt.

The cameraman gives Johnny the thumbs-up, and the doberman clears his throat and checks his suit before he begins.

"How's your night going, everybody?" He smiles into the camera, "This is Johnny Echo from FMTV News. We have a VERY special interview planned for you guys tonight."

He steps up next to me and James as he continues, "We're standing in a gravel parking lot across the street from Fender's Pub, a local watering hole located deep in downtown Harbor City, where a party is in full swing to celebrate the engagement of Harbor City's favorite rock star to the love of his life. Charlie, who chooses not to use his surname, is the former lead singer of the band Lost Shepherd, which seems to have fallen on hard times. When we interviewed them this morning, however, they had nothing but great things to say about their former front dog. His new group, Chaos Theory, has reportedly been extremely supportive in his pursuit of romance. Charlie, would you like to introduce your new mate to the audience?"

Johnny stretches a paw towards James, who has become paralyzed with fright. I'm about to speak for him, when he suddenly snaps out of it and offers his hand to Johnny with a wide smile on his face. I'm kind of shocked at his transformation. Underneath the grin and the cheerful facade, however, I can see that this is all an act. He's scared shitless, but he knows how to make himself appear normal. That's my mate. That's the James I know and love...

"No need for that, Johnny," he says, clasping the doberman's paw in his hand and giving it a firm shake. "My name is James Clayton. I'm the lucky guy."

My ears perk up as I hear his last name. "Your last name's Clayton?" I whisper. He punches me playfully on the shoulder, and I shut my mouth. "Tell anyone, and I'll kill you myself," he whispers back.

"Clayton?" Johnny repeats, "Any relationship to Michael Clayton, the insurance salesman at Clayton and Harris?"

James stiffens visibly. "Yeah, that's my dad." he replies.

"Wow... You know, your father's responsible for some of the most well-documented insurance scams in the history of this city. He made a mint after the hurricane a few years ago. Did you know that?"

"No, I did not know that..." James lies, "But then again, he and I haven't been on speaking terms recently. I mean, I rarely talk to the guy, we don't really have much in common..."

"REALLY?" Johnny continues, chuckling slightly before he speaks. I can see the devilish grin reappear on his face as he keeps going.

"You didn't know that your father is currently under investigation by the IRS for tax evasion? In fact, the rumors that have been going around have him trying to leave the state to get away from them! Isn't it true that your parents are making you get on a plane with them TOMORROW MORNING, and that you're all taking off for... let's see here... Arizona?"

James has to hold me back to keep me from pouncing on Echo and beating him to the ground.

"Yeah, we're going to Arizona." he says, "I recently suffered a drug overdose a few weeks ago. My parents have told me that they've located a great rehab center in Sandstone. They're planning on checking me in as soon as we arrive."

"Yeah, I heard about that!" Johnny exclaims, "Cocaine! Wow, that's some heavy stuff, man! I've gotta hand it to you Charlie, you sure know how to pick em'. You getting married to one of Harbor City's most troubled drug addicts!"

It's Oz's turn to grip me by the shoulders as my temper finally boils over.

"FUCK YOU!" I scream at Johnny, who's backed off a couple feet. I'm roaring with rage, trying to get ahold of the bastard's suit so that I can tear it to shreds. Oz tells me to calm down, and that I'm making a scene. Although he's trying his best to keep me under control, I can see the hate burning like a fire in his eyes. He wants to let me go. He wants to help me kick the shit out of this fucking mutt.

"Whoa, whoa!" Johnny shouts, laughing as he places his paws in front of him in mock defense. "Calm down, rock star! I'm only stating the facts!"

I give him a warning growl as I regain my composure. The doberman simply shrugs it off, and changes the subject.

"So, Charlie, I saw you perform on stage with your old band tonight! How does it feel? What prompted you to do such a thing?"

"It felt great," I tell him, my body still trembling with anger as I speak through clenched teeth, "I did it because I wanted to show them that even though I'm no longer part of the band, they'll always be my best friends. I wanted to show them support."

"Well, that's great!" Johnny exclaims happily. He turns to Jase and Henry, who are leaning against the van with their arms folded across their chests. "What do you guys have to say about that?"

"I'd say it was a great idea," Henry replies, "We only got to play one song together, but it was well worth it. The fans need to know that we still care about Charlie, even though things didn't work out too well in the end."

"Yeah," Jason agrees. "We also support Charlie's decision to propose to James wholeheartedly. If he can look past his mate's supposed shortcomings, everybody else should have to, as well. I mean, who cares that he's a drug addict? They both love each other. Why would you even say something like that, Johnny?"

"Hey, it's my job to get the truth, "Johnny replies, "That reminds me. Did you guys know that your lead guitarist, Tommy Carson, committed suicide a few days ago at the rehab facility where he was being treated for methamphetamine addiction? I looked it up after our interview this morning; I'm surprised you didn't mention it."

"Tommy's dead?" James blurts out. Henry and Jase are looking at each other with sad expressions across their faces. It doesn't appear that they had any knowledge of this event.

"According to the press release, he overdosed on some prescription drugs that he'd been stockpiling for a while," Johnny explains, "I'm genuinely shocked that none of you knew about it. You didn't bother to check up on him? I mean, I can understand YOU not wanting to see him, James, given the history you two had together, but his own band? That's kind of sad..."

Now I have to restrain my mate as he lashes out at the reporter with his fists. This is going exactly as I thought it would. Johnny doesn't really care about our situation; he wants to bring out the worst in us. He wants to make us look like a bunch of drug-addled losers. He's probably doing it because he thinks it'll make for good TV.

The sad part, however, is that he's probably right about us.

"How the hell did you find out about our history?!" James yells. "Who the fuck have you been talking to?!"

"HEY! Watch your language; we're on LIVE TV," Johnny snaps back. "And since it bears on this conversation, I'm gonna break the rules and reveal my source to you, right now. I got that information from your father, when I called him to ask about your past for this piece."

"YOU TALKED TO MY FUCKING DAD?!" James explodes. I can hear Johnny growling as my mate curses on camera for the second time. He's definitely going to get reprimanded for this. The thought makes me smirk. The bastard deserves it.

"Yes, I did!" Johnny replies, his smile returning as he keeps going, "In fact, I was wondering, James, what did your parents think about your decision to get engaged to Charlie?"

James goes quiet. He interlaces his hand through one of my paws and grips me tightly. I see his gaze shift to the gravel near his feet. I can't say anything either; I'm scratching the fur on my neck and staring at Johnny with death in my eyes. The doberman's ears perk up as he realizes what's going on.

"You didn't tell them?!" he babbles excitedly, "That's amazing! Well, I guess I can understand it, given your father's reaction when I asked him what he thought of your new mate. We'll just have to ask them ourselves when they get here!"

James lets out an audible gasp. I can see his face turning red and his body shaking as he hyperventilates. "You told my parents... Where we are?" he chokes out, his hands slapping his pockets nervously as he searches for something. "I need a fucking smoke right now..." he mumbles. Oz sees his reaction, and reaches over his shoulder with a fresh cigarette. James takes it and sticks it between his teeth. I fumble for the lighter in the pocket of my jeans, and manage to find it before sparking it to life. James sucks deeply on the smoke as he tries his best to calm himself. He offers it to me, and I take a few puffs as well.

This isn't going to end well...

This isn't going to be good.

"Yeah, they should be here pretty soon!" Johnny says, craning his neck to check out the passing cars on the street.

"Get me out of here..." James whispers to me. "Please, baby, get me out of here. Don't let this happen. Not like this..."

I watch as he removes the bottle of pills from his pocket, and dumps a few of them into his palm. The camera is still rolling as he tosses them down his throat and swallows, but he doesn't seem to care. I'm trying to think of a way to break this interview off, but nothing good comes to mind. I'm fuming. I'm angry. I'm high... I want to beat the living hell out of this reporter, but at the same time, I want to get my mate away from it all. I want to take the two of us back to our apartment, so we can try to salvage what's left of this fucked-up night. I just want us to have peace... I decide to just end it, like Henry did this morning. There's nothing else we can do; the damage has already been done.

"You know what?" I say, "Fuck this shit. We're outta here." I snatch the cigarette from James' mouth, and flick it directly at Johnny Echo's face. The burning cancer stick explodes against his muzzle in a shower of embers, causing him to recoil with a pained scream as several small pieces of flaming tobacco fly into his eyes. James spits in the dog's face as we turn on our heels and begin to head towards the Chevelle. "You guys call us later!" I cry out to Henry, Jase, and Oz. "Dude, that was so badass!" I hear Oz shout as we walk away. James and I share a light chuckle as we approach the car.

"What do we do now?" James asks me, as he slams the passenger-side door shut and slips on his seatbelt. He hands me the keys and I start the engine. "I don't know, baby, I don't know..." I reply. I'm as clueless as he is. He hands me a few of the morphine pills, which I swallow without thinking. I need to get good and fucked up right now. I need to get my head straight. I don't care if I OD. I don't care if I die. I feel abused; emotionally shaken. That bastard Echo has done a good number on my psyche with his so-called 'interview'. I notice James burying his head in his hands as I turn to see how he's holding up. I rub a paw on his back, and give a soft, comforting murr.

"Hey, don't worry. It's gonna be all right..."

In all honesty, though, everything is NOT 'all right'. It's as far as you can fucking get from it. I don't know what to say; I don't know what to do. My mind is blank and my nerves are shot. All I can feel is sadness and rage. I don't care about the interview. I don't care that millions of people are gonna see the two of us making total asses of ourselves when they air our hysteria repeatedly on FMTV. I don't care that people will gossip; that they'll call us druggies and losers and faggots and punks. I don't care about it all, anymore.

I just want them to leave us alone; I just want us to be happy.

I just want some peace...

I throw the car into reverse, and stomp on the gas pedal. The cameraman has tried to follow us to our car, and he dives out of our path as I almost run him over. I throw the stick into second gear, and I'm about to peel off and leave them all in the dust, when an old grey cadillac swerves into the lot and blocks off my exit. Great. What the fuck is going on now?

I throw open the door, and I'm about to confront the newcomer, when I see the gun barrel shine in the dim light of a streetlamp as the driver exits the vehicle. It's James' father, Michael Clayton, and he looks pissed. He trains the pistol at my chest as he marches up to the Chevelle and slams his fist down on the hood.

"JAMES! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THE CAR!"

James steps out, and raises his voice in complaint. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he yells back, "We don't have to leave until the morning! Can't you give me one night to do whatever the hell I want?!"

"WE GOT AN EARLY FLIGHT!" his father roars. "GET IN THE BACK! NOW!"

"FUCK YOU!" James screams defiantly. His father stomps directly up to him, and brings the butt of the pistol across his son's temple with a yell. I slam my door shut, and tear ass over there, lowering my shoulder to knock the large man to the ground. The elder Clayton gives a loud grunt as he falls onto his back on the gravel, but his grip on the pistol remains firm. I hear the safety release as he points it up towards me.

"NO!" I hear James scream. I feel his arms wrap around me as he tackles me to the ground, and I go deaf for a moment as the loud report of a gunshot fills the parking lot, and elicits screams and shouts of alarm from the bar. I push my mate off of me, and check myself for a wound. I haven't been hit, and James looks like he's okay. We rise to our feet, to find that his father is standing across from us with his pistol raised once more. I take a quick glance behind me, and see that my bandmates have taken cover behind Zack's van. The cameraman from FMTV is filming the chaos, and I notice Johnny Echo crouched behind a car with his head ducked.

"GET... IN... THE CAR... NOW." James' father repeats, his hand shaking as he tries to hold the pistol steady.

"FINE! I'LL FUCKING GO!" James relents, before turning to me. I stare into his eyes as he grabs my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. We lock lips and our tongues intertwine, neither of us wanting to break the connection. I feel his soft hands stroking the fur on my cheeks as he kisses me even more deeply. It's his father who finally makes us separate.

"That's enough of that shit!" he yells, "We're gonna miss our flight!"

James grumbles as he breaks the kiss softly. He stares into my eyes for a few more seconds, tears beginning to cloud his vision, before he speaks in a soft whisper,

"I love you."

"I love you, too..." I whisper back, running my paws through his long hair as I begin to cry. I give a loud whine as the tears sting my cheeks and stain my fur. We embrace each other tightly as we cry. He buries his head into my chest and I feel the wetness of his tears soaking through my shirt.

"I'll always love you," I tell him, "And one day, I'll get to show you just how much--"

He places a finger to my lips before I can finish.

"Hold that thought for me," he says, "When I come back, I'm gonna need it."

With that, he pulls away, his hand slipping silently out of my paw as he walks solemnly to his father's car. I watch as he opens the door, and takes one last, long look at me before he gets inside. I hear him cry louder as he sits down, and the door closes with a loud slam. Michael Clayton lowers his pistol, and walks up to me.

"He's never coming back," he snarls, his words stinging like acid as they enter my brain. "And I'll die before I give him away to you."

His job done, the man turns on his heels and gets into the driver's seat of the cadillac. I can see James' mother sitting in the passenger seat, her face expressionless as they drive away. When they're finally out of sight, I drop to my knees on the rough gravel. My body is wracked by my heavy sobs, and my arms hang limply at my side as I shake with each intake of breath. I can hear footsteps approaching me from behind. It's probably my friends... I don't care. I don't want to see anybody right now. I open my mouth and let out a scream of pure pain and anguish as I feel my heart being torn from my chest. The crowd from the bar is making its way across the street, but I say nothing. I just let myself fall to the ground, and curl up into a ball as I continue to cry. He's gone..... My mate is gone....

---

I shove away my father's hands as he leads me towards the gate. "Get the fuck off me!" I yell at him.

"It's for your own good, James!" he responds, gripping my shoulder even tighter as we approach the check-in counter. My mother stands a few feet behind us, a look of sorrow written across her face. My father says nothing as he hands over our tickets, and we begin to board the plane.

He finds our seats, and I choose the one that is across from my parents. I don't want to be anywhere near them; they disgust me. I don't want to be here at all. I think of Charlie, crying in the parking lot across from Fender's pub, and my eyes begin to tear up once more. I don't care. I let the tears fall. I cry softly as I sink back into my seat. If only there was something I could do.... Just then, I remember the pill bottle full of morphine in my pocket. I excuse myself to go to the plane's small bathroom...

---

As I enter the apartment that James and I have shared, my sadness has been replaced by rage. Why didn't I do something? Why couldn't I stop it?! WHAT THE HELL AM I GOOD FOR?! I slam the door shut and give a roar of anger. I want to destroy something. I want to destroy some_one_. My claws find the couch in the living room and begin to tear it to shreds, the stuffing flying all over the apartment as I continue to scream. I flip over the small coffee table, and thrust my fist into the nearby wall, punching a hole clean through the cheap, chinese drywall. I don't feel the pain. I do it again. And again. I storm into the bedroom and throw open the drawer on the bedside table. Numerous pill bottles clatter to the floor. I snatch up two of them, not bothering to check the contents, and tear off the caps with my claws. Tilting them both over my muzzle, I chew up the drugs, ignoring the lump that forms in my throat when I try to swallow them. I don't care if I die. I don't care if I OD... I just can't take the pain anymore. I think of James as I quickly begin to fade out. I think of the love we shared for one another...

Suddenly, I realize that this isn't right. I realize that this isn't what I should do; it's not what he would want. Somehow, I manage to drag myself to my feet. My body crashes violently against the walls as I stumble over to the bathroom.

My eyes close and my stomach churns as I lean over the toilet and vomit...

---

I slide the door to the lavatory shut, and lock it. The bottle of morhpine rattles noisily in the palm of my hand as I lower the toilet seat and sit down. Should I kill myself? Should I just end it? I don't know anymore. I uncap the bottle and dump several pills into my palm. Can I even die from this stuff? My tolerance to opiates is so high, that it's most likely hit-or-miss.

No... I don't want to die; not yet...

I want to go back to Charlie. If not today, then someday. I can't do that if I pass out on the floor and my skin starts turning blue. I can't do that if I choke on my own puke. I sob loudly as I stare at the pills. I could take the easy way out. I could just get it over with... But at the same time, I can't.

No... I don't want to die... I want to get fucked up.

I drop the pills on the counter next to the small sink, and use the cap from the pill bottle to crush them all up. The blue time-release coating falls away in layers as the morphine is reduced to a thick, off-white powder. I use a finger to scoop it all into an uneven, messy pile. God, I wish I had a needle right now... I wish I could bang it all up into my veins, and just float away...

Well, under the circumstances, I guess I'll have to settle for second-best.

I close off one of my nostrils, and lower the other into the small mountain of legal dope. I snort it all up in one go, and gag slightly as the bitter drip gets released into my throat. It burns so bad that I sneeze.

But I feel it... There it is...

That sweet and empty happiness...

---

That was chapter 8, everyone! Sorry it took so long, I was trying to make it as dramatic and emotional as possible. I hope you're not disappointed. The next few chapters will hold some new surprises for all of you, and I hope you enjoy the turn that the story takes. I'll be working on a one-shot story that I had a dream about for the next couple days; it should tide you over while I figure out where to go from here. Be patient with me; I'll make it worth your while. As always, all comments and reviews are appreciated, folks. I'll see you on the other side.

--Ken.