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BOOK TWO

Oliver looked himself up and down in the mirror. His hair was smooth, combed, fur groomed to perfection. His teeth were white, brushed, breath fresh and clean. He'd tried eye drops but they were still red. So be it.

"Are you ready?"

He brought one black paw up to his neck, cinching the tie. Then he fidgeted with his cuff links.

"Yeah. I think so."

"Everything okay? I mean, are you all right?"

He clenched his fists. Tears welled up in his eyes, rolling down in fat, heavy drops.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Let's go."

"Are you sure?"

He gripped the sides of the mirror and leaned forward, suppressing a choking sob.

"Yes. Let's just get this over with."

It's almost embarrassing, now. That I went so long without knowing about Rian and Oliver. Sure, they were friends, I knew that much. Everybody did. But I guess I'm the only one who didn't know just how good of friends they were to each other. I never would have guessed that Oli would... Well, you know.

The day he proposed to me was the happiest day of my life. The day I found out about the two of them was the worst. Probably the worst. I don't care nearly so much now as I did then, but God, back then it hurt.

If only I could have known he'd do something like that. But you never can be prepared, can you? For the shit that life's going to hurl at you. Excuse the language, but it's true, isn't it? Life's full of great moments and wonderful experiences but for every single one of those happy memories life's got a shitty one ready to fire. Sometimes more. I expect that poor old Rian had two or three shitty moments for every good one. I'm surprised to catch myself sympathizing with him as much as I do but he's just as much a victim of Oliver as I was.

That damn fox is intent on taking down everyone that loves him. He can't go out gracefully, but he can go out with a bang. I'll give him that much.

"I'll only be gone for a few days," Oliver said.

Rian stared at him.

"It's only a few days," the fox said, again.

"Right," Rian responded, flat-toned. He said nothing else.

"Please don't be angry at me. It's not for long." Oliver got out of the car, grabbing hold of his luggage. "Come on, don't make me leave like this."

"I'm not making you do anything."

Oliver sighed. He shut the door and walked around to the driver's side window. Rian rolled it down and looked out.

"Fine," said Oliver, "I'll see you soon."

He kissed Rian but Rian did not kiss him back. The skunk sat in the driver's seat and just blinked as Oliver's lips pressed against his. Then he rolled the window down and drove away.

"Damn it," the fox growled to himself, before walking into the airport.

Honestly, it's hard to blame him. I had refused to consider any other options. I could see from where I was now that the road I was on lead to disaster, but I made no move to change it. I was too scared; no matter how tragic the outcome of the road I was on it was nowhere near as bad as the others, because the others were unknown, and this wasn't. I could clearly see what was going to happen if I kept on this way. It was, I expect, the fear of something worse that kept me from ever deviating. I didn't want to risk that. And I guess I didn't really believe things were going to end as badly as they did. I knew what the outcome was going to be but some small part of my mind kept convincing me that it couldn't really happen.

Oliver walked into the airport and made the rounds. Checking any items? No? Carry-ons? Okay. Go on through to security. Take off your belt and any jewelry -- no you can keep the shoes on -- remove any laptops or tablets from your luggage, place them in a separate case, go on through, go on through, could we please check you again quickly? All right, good to go, carry on. Stop for a bite to eat, check the gate, find the gate, sit and wait for flight. On the plane, wait to taxi, lift-off, drinks, seatbelts off, watch that movie you missed in theatres, drinks again, listen to Port Blue (Never a flight without The Airship), seatbelts on, descent, touchdown, taxi, depart. Through the airport (quickly this time), follow the arrows, out out out, standing on the curb, locate Ashleigh, smile, hug, kiss -- this bit lasts longer than expected. You miss her but you don't miss her. If anything you miss that you were once happy together. You miss when things weren't fucked up. When you didn't have to worry about what she would do, how she would react. You miss a time when she didn't love you; because now things are complicated and there's no easy way out.

"Hey, Ashleigh," you say, "I missed you."

After that first night spent together at the beach I knew Rian would come back for me. Or, better yet, I knew I would be back for him. I had wanted him so badly and not even our kiss had satisfied what I had been craving. I needed to go back for more. I was waiting things out, hoping he'd make the first move.

But he hadn't.

In the time that I waited I made good in trying to impress him. The first order of business was simple. Read A Farewell to Arms. I hadn't been much of the reading type -- not in a while, at least. But I took to it quickly enough once I had the book in my possession. I had driven to the Barnes & Noble in the Grossmont center to pick it up; sure I could find it online for free, and I even tried that for a chapter or two. But it wasn't the same. After buying a physical copy, I started at the beginning.

It had been a long time since I'd read anything that had made me feel the way that book did. Have you ever read A Farewell to Arms? I'd hate to spoil it for you, so stop up your ears for a minute or two if you don't want to hear about it. It's really a remarkable story. I'd expected a dramatic romance from Rian's description; the first few chapters hinted at a something like a simple little war story, nothing more than the ins and outs of the mundane (and occasionally horrifying) life of a WWI soldier. Then Catherine walks into the picture, spices the story up, and it goes to hell from there. I mean, it almost seemed silly, the way they were pretending to love each other just to get away from the horrors of war. And before long they were really in love. I realized just how much it was like real life. You take solace in someone to avoid the pains of reality. To get away from the terror of confronting it head on. But then, just like with Henry and Catherine, real life butts its way into your most secret hiding places. Nowhere to run. Rian and I both knew that real life would be knocking on our door before long, but we didn't want to confront that inevitability. Better to hide in each other's arms where nothing could harm us, or so it seemed. But I'm getting ahead of myself now -- we weren't together by then. Not even after the beach. But I'd been waiting for him. Now that it seemed he wouldn't be showing up, it became my prerogative to seek him out first.

I headed up the few flights of stairs to fourth floor Hope Hall, room number 431, where I knew he would be. What time was it? 12:15 AM. Hesitating, I reconsidered knocking, shrugged, rapped thrice upon the wood. I heard a sluggish movement inside as of someone dragging themself off the floor. A few dampened thuds later and the door opened for me.

"Yo," a voice I didn't recognize, a face I didn't know. Looked like some sort of cat, all black, green eyes. A flannel shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, sleeves pushed past the elbow.

"Uh... Hey. I'm Oliver... Is Rian there, by any chance...?"

"Uhhh, yeah-h-h... He's here. Hang on." The cat turned and shouted "Rian!"

It was then that I first noticed the lump underneath the blanket in the corner. On the bed was a bedraggled mess; I never would have expected Rian to be underneath all that. When called to, the lump didn't stir. The cat grumbled and grabbed a pillow, hurling it at the skunk.

"Yo, Rian!"

But the mass remained still.

"You know, he's liquored up pretty good right now," the cat said, "Um. Had a rough couple of nights I think."

"Oh, yeah? He okay?"

"He'll be fine. Who are you, again?"

"Just a friend. I'll, uh, I'll try coming around again later."

"Cool cool cool. See ya 'round dude."

I went back to my room and tried not to wake Jeff. It was no use. He was already up and watching TV on his laptop. He gave me a sidelong glance then seemed to remember something and leapt up, computer tumbling onto his sheets.

"Where've you been?" he asked; he looked eager.

"Just out."

"You sly motherfucker, who was it?"

"It was no one."

"You've been gone for hours, and you come back to the room past midnight, and still you expect me to think there was no one."

"There wasn't anyone."

"You, good sir, are a massive disappointment. Both to yourself and to the reputation of this dorm room."

"The minute you score is the minute this dorm has any reputation."

"Low blow, Oliver. Low fuckin' blow."

"True, though?"

He sank back into his bed without a word, and picked up the laptop, settling it in his lap. He clicked a few times then closed it and turned back to the fox.

"If you weren't with anyone, what were you doing?"

"Looking for a friend."

"A friend? That can't be it. You don't have any friends. Aside from me that is."

"Not even you if you keep that up."

"I'm just fuckin' around dude. Who was it?"

"Name's Rian. You don't know him."

"He cool?"

"He's pretty cool," Oliver said, taking off his shirt.

"That's just swell," Jeff said, then slid under his sheets without moving the computer, "But I've exhausted my capacity for conversation. G'night."

"Night," the fox said. Jeff switched off the lamp by his bed and the world was plunged into darkness. Oliver swore faintly as he stepped on his own tail and stumbled onto his mattress. He struggled in the dark until he'd made his way under the comforter, and promptly fell asleep.

In the morning, Oliver woke up exactly as he'd been before. His limbs lay in the same position as they'd been, his comforter unmoved, Jeff asleep with the laptop on him. The only difference was the light. Oliver reached into the jeans he'd slept in and pulled out his cell phone. He'd gotten Rian's number but hadn't texted him yet and thought about texting him now. He typed the message without thinking and looked at it:

Tried to stop by last night. Heard you weren't up to it. Easy on the drinking there, Tenente.

He looked at it and sat staring at the screen for a long while before he finally pressed it with a tightening in his chest and his breath came hard. He didn't feel any better until a minute later when the response came:

Kurt told me you'd stopped by. Been reading Hemingway, I see?

Oliver immediately let out a heavy breath.

You wanna hang out and talk about it??

In his room, Rian chewed four aspirin dry and swallowed the bitter mouthful. His head was pounding as he typed his response:

Sure thing. Can it wait a few hours? My head's pounding like a steel drum.

Rian grimaced. "Steel drum?" he mumbled, "What the hell was that supposed to mean?" Downstairs in his room, Oliver smiled to himself.

Yeah yeah. Text me when you're down to go out.

He put the phone on his bedside table, set an alarm to go off in an hour, and slipped back into a deep, contented sleep.

"We've been over this before. It's been a week, hasn't it?"

Jeff paused the Playstation and put down the controller. He looked exasperated and desperate all at the same time.

"Listen," he said, looking up at the fox standing by the couch, "I didn't think it would be this long..."

"I'm well aware."

"It was only supposed to be a few days --"

"And yet here we are, a week later. Eight days later, in fact."

"I don't have a lot of options."

"This isn't going to work."

"Please."

"I'm leaving," Oliver said, "I'm going to Chicago."

"What for?"

"Ashleigh."

"You motherfucker."

"And you want to stay here while I'm gone, that's it? I don't know that I can let you do that."

"Don't change the topic," he sat up, "You're really digging your own grave on this one. Going to see Ashleigh? Fuuuck, dude."

"Don't exaggerate," Oliver said.

"You're really going."

"She's my fiancée."

"And what's he?" Jeff jerked his thumb in the direction of the skunk, sitting on the other end of the couch. His knees were drawn up and he was reading a book, but the conversation had piqued his interest. He sat listening intently.

"Another variable in the equation," Oliver said drily.

"You were always shit at math," Jeff raised an eyebrow.

"I can't leave you here with him."

"Nonsense," Jeff slid over and put an arm around Rian, who shrunk to half his size under the touch. "We're the very best of friends. We can watch the place together, yeah?"

"You've got to be kidding."

"We'll be tight as ticks while you're gone."

"I don't think that expression means what you think."

"The hell with it. All this to say -- we can keep each other's company. Can't we Rian?" Jeff looked at the skunk, who wilted even more.

"As I thought," Oliver muttered.

"Don't give me that! Give me a chance."

"What sort of a chance do you have?"

"I never would have guessed the two of you would have had a chance. But look at you now! You know, anything could happen while you're gone," Jeff looked at the skunk under his arm with fake longing in his eyes. Oliver knew he was joking -- while Jeff could tolerate gayness in his friend, nothing disgusted him more than the thought of actually being gay. Still, the joke was uncomfortable all around. Even Jeff realized how distasteful it sounded, and frowned, pulling back.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure we'll learn to get along, right?"

Rian looked mortified and stood wordlessly, marched into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. He yanked a bottle from the shelf and took a long pull. The fox sighed, pointed directly at Jeff.

"You leave him alone while I'm gone," he said. "You can stay, but you are not to talk to him. Don't even look at him."

"Thank you Oli, thank you. You won't regret it."

"You bet I won't," he stared hard at Jeff to let the point sink in.

"I get it I get it. I won't bother him."

Oliver excused himself and walked to the fridge.

"What's that?" he asked. Rian was holding a bottle in a shaking hand.

"Jesus, Rian, is that the cooking wine? That's stuff's not meant to be drunk."

"Why'd you have to say it like that?"

"Well you're not supposed to drink it."

"No. Jesus. Why you gotta say that name like that?"

"Because -- it's a figure of speech."

"I don't like it."

"Now's not the time for religion, Ri."

"When?"

"Give me the bottle."

"Don't say it."

"Give it to me," Oliver took the wine and stuck it back in the fridge. "Stuff's full of salt and preservatives and what-have-you. Not meant to be drunk. You're not supposed to be drinking anything at all, as a matter of fact."

"What am I supposed to do about him?"

"Ignore him. He'll ignore you."

"You're leaving me for a whole week, and with that scoundrel."

"It's my only choice."

"You know it's not."

"Close the fridge, you can't drink that."

"A whole week."

"It's only a few days, Rian."

"When you get back she better be gone."

"I don't even understand this attitude -- I thought you liked Ashleigh!"

"She's a lovely lady Oliver, but it's me or it's her. There's no two ways about it. Don't be so fucking coy."

"She'll be gone, I swear."

"Thank you," the skunk rolled up his sleeves and rubbed his wrists subconsciously. "I'm sorry."

"No," Oliver mumbled, "I am."

There was beer on his breath when he kissed me and I realized that we were about to have sex together for the very first time. In the same moment it occurred to me that no, I had never slept with a man before, but neither had I slept with a woman. This would be my first time -- ever. And I wasn't even sure what was going on.

Up until I had met Rian I had assumed I was straight. I mean, I'd wondered before. But I had never felt any desires for any guys and I left it at that. Even today I've never met another guy that I liked; he was the first, the only, and the last, as far as I'm concerned. But back then I knew little; I wasn't really sure how gay sex was supposed to work and I was somewhat terrified.

He kept kissing me and I let him. I don't think he was committed to the idea of the two of us together -- not then, that is -- but he liked me to say the least. And what's more, he was drunk. When I had told him Jeff wouldn't be in the dorm for the weekend he had insisted on coming over, even in his current state. I guess it's more my fault that I said yes than it is his fault that he wanted to.

He was dressed in only his briefs, which pulled tight against him. The skunk gripped me and kissed my neck and repeatedly humped my jeans in the crotch. Finally he broke the kiss and leaned back, his nose on mine, and he stared into my eyes.

Without his glasses his eyes seemed very bright. I was busy studying them intently, barely noticed as his hand forced its way into my pants, then bucked once and moaned as I felt his hand close unexpectedly around me. We began to kiss again in earnest.

In truth I was more excited and more frightened than I had been in a good long time. I would have enjoyed it if we had actually made love then. But that was expecting too much. He grew antsy in his drunken stupor and humped me faster and faster, hand growing uncomfortably tight. I began to whimper and tried to push away from him but his grip tightened again -- too much this time. I yelped and pulled away, but that only made things worse. At that moment Rian let out a soft, high-pitched moan and spasmed against me, hand crushing me, making me yell, his briefs growing wet against the side of my leg. When he'd pitched his last, he fell on top of me, asleep or near it enough. His hand relaxed.

I lay there with him on top of me and smelling of sweat and beer and sex. I had been expecting more of him but that was my folly. Never trust a man who drinks.

It occurred to me that I couldn't let him wake up like this (and it certainly wasn't a comfortable position for me), so I rolled him off and on to the mattress beside me. I yanked the briefs off him, the musky smell filling the room in full. I'll admit, I admired him briefly -- though it's hard to really admire a passed out lover, penis half-erect and messy, alcohol reeking from his lolled open jaw. I didn't want him to remember any of this; it would destroy his small self-confidence. I took his briefs into the bathroom and washed them out as best I could in the sink, then hung them to dry. I took a wet cloth to him and stooped over to clean the mess he'd made on himself. Before he woke, I'd have to get the still-damp briefs and put them on him, hope they'd dry enough, and wait. Still, I had plenty of time.

He was a mess all on his own, and he barely contained himself around me. But I would clean him up. I would make him well. I'd fix him and any problems he had.

So I slipped into bed next to his naked body and kissed his cheek and wrapped myself around him. And I waited.