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Plopping down onto his disheveled bed Casey sighed, "Shit it's been a long fucking day, man." Sitting against the headboard, still dressed from the day. At least, he thought to himself as he grabbed the plastic shopping bag on his night stand, it was mostly over. He'd just sit down and listen to the cassette he'd picked up at the little music shop in downtown Pawsburg earlier in the day. Pulling it from the sack and digging his nails into the plastic sealing the little tape in.

Easily unwrapping it and stuffing all his trash back into the bag he turned to face his night stand, opening its lone drawer and pulling forth his player with its cheap headphones. Not bothering to rewind the tape already inside he ejects it and shoves the new one in, placing the low quality speakers on his ears and just trying to relax. The digital alarm on the stand reading 6:03PM.

For a good twenty minutes he listens to the music in peace, just zoning out in the slowly darkening room. Shades drawn shut, lights turned off. It's his favorite part of his days off, being left the hell alone. It never lasts long, and tonight is really no different. He can hear his uncles heavy limping steps coming to his door before he gets all the way to it, mumbling to himself while taking the headset off Casey curses under his breath, "Here we fucking go, I guess."

The clearly drunken larger coyote that is his uncle slams the door, jarring its hinges, and Casey's eyes shoot wide open, Old John wasn't usually the type to be friendly when drunk, but this was way worse than normal. The intoxicated canine nearly falling as he steps into his nephews room, "You sorry son of a bitch." the old dog growls, "Spending all day in your room and never doing a god damn thing." His words are beyond slurred, but Casey understands them clearly. This wasn't a new argument.

"John, I literally went out this morning to get us lunch man, what?" Casey tries to reason with the wobbling old man, "Come on, lets get you sat back down, you know you can't walk around with that leg when you're this drunk." Moving to try and help his relative back towards his reclining chair in the living room he gets stopped by a hard shove, Old John had pushed him? Oh no, it's one of those kind of days. Soothingly Casey tries to talk his whiskey soaked relative into calming down.

It's no use, and his uncle's spewing verbal abuse pours forth. Spouting constant hate towards his seemingly useless nephew, never remembering that Casey is the only family he has left. Not caring that this same nephew was the one who went to get his prescriptions, paid his bills for him, or had basically been his son for over a decade. Instead Old John goes on about how 'fucking girly' his haircut was, how he was a waste of the families name. How his mom should have aborted him. How he didn't deserve to raise his own sisters son.

It never mattered when he got like this, maybe he meant it, but so what if he did? They were stuck with each other, until either the old mans liver failed or Casey got hit by a car on the way to work. Like rats on a glue trap. The younger canine had been through this before, a dozen times. It never ended well, no matter how much stronger or older he'd gotten. It didn't stop when he became a manager at his work, no matter how many girls he'd been with, nothing. He was never going to be anything to his uncle but a failure, but they were family.

Moving to help the him back to his seat again Casey muses, "Come on, you have to sit down before you fall down, you drunk ass." He never sees the punch coming, his uncle turning and hooking him in the right eye before he can even react. The blow nearly takes Casey off his own feet, and for the moment before the pain really hits him he thanks his lucky stars for it not knocking him clean out. It had, once.

Anger filling his head as he sees red Casey lashes out in retaliation. He was never as strong as his uncle, the guy had worked at a steel mill for fucks sake, Casey worked retail. The blow was telling though and the half crippled drunk starts to topple, Casey sealing it by following through the motion with a shove while screaming at him, "I aught to kill you, you fat fuck! Get out of my way!"

Like a ton of bricks Old John topples, hitting the floor with a loud yelp. Casey steps over him, kicking him in the guts as he does, "I'm fucking out of here, try not to drown in your own fucking vomit." Almost on cue the old man rolls and loudly deposits his liquid dinner onto the floor, telling Casey how smart he is for 'running away' as he gets his breath back.

With the sound of their rickety screen doors spring in his ears the younger coyote throws on a zip up hoodie and takes the old houses porch steps two at a time. Heading towards the local park a bit away, maybe by midnight the old drunk would have passed out in his chair. Or maybe, he thinks disgustedly, the bastard really will drown in his own vomit this time.

Looking at his watch the time reads 6:48pm. Five hours at the park sounds like torture, but at least it's so late no one will be there. No one to mock him for the swelling black eye he was starting to feel.

* * *

Gravel crackling under his feet as the lone coyote stalks across the empty playgrounds rocks, wishing he had brought his music with him to pass the time, the last traces of orange in the sunset's glow painting the whole park in a melancholic hue. As he approaches the chain swing with its sun baked rubber seat, chipped paint, and rusted hinges Casey begins to mentally prepare himself for how long he's going to be just sitting in this park. Maybe he'll take a walk into town, he has his wallet at least.

Grasping the rubber seat in one hand he tosses it hard. The motion causes the chains to make a racket as it circles over the top of the swing. Once more he repeats the action. Finally deciding that the chains are short enough for his legs to just dangle in the seat he's going to rest in. The small lake that was attached to the park seemed like it was going to be his only company for hours. Not for the first time he sat in this swing and considered how many rocks it would take to keep him at the bottom of the pond.

This swing and him were old friends, coming here for this reason was not a new idea. It was a safe place, near enough to the town square that no one ever worried about getting mugged, but unpopular enough most afternoons to be really alone. Kicking his shoes off into the rocks as he swung in small arcs he knew the chances of anyone bothering him were pretty low. At least the feeling of the gravel on his toes was some kind of comfort on this cooler summer day.

He begins to lose himself in the motion of the swinging, remembering the first time he came here as a child with his mom. Before Uncle John had hurt himself at work, playing with the other kids there and just generally being happy. This place, to him, should have been somewhere fun. Instead of a place to run to when he needed to be alone.

* * *

Jogging on the parks path Kayla had gotten here later than she normally would have. It was nearly 7:40pm by her time, and it was slowly starting to get actually dark. She'd pack up soon and walk home. As she rounds the last turn of the paved walkway and begins to slow something glints in what little remaining light there is and she turns to see what caused the reflection.

It was her new boss, she thought. Sitting on the swings like a big kid with his shoes off. His jet black hair had been what caught the sun as he'd been going backwards through the playground equipment's curving motion. She'd only worked with him a few times, but he'd done her interview and been the one to hire her. Even if she thought it was just because she had caught his eye.

The lone fox pauses, just watching him sway. Seeming to lose energy after a moment and letting his body pendulum back and forth without following through. He was cute, she admitted to herself, in a sort of scruffy way. Very quietly she questions aloud, "I wonder why he's here? I don't think he has any kids."

Deciding on a whim to go talk to him she soundlessly approaches to the edge of the contained gravel, stepping a covered paw up onto the wood that encloses the rocks before she speaks loudly, "Casey? Is that you?"

He almost falls out of the swing, twisting about to see the source of the sudden noise as she closes the distance. "Kayla?" he asks, "What are you doing out here?" He doesn't look right at her though, swiftly turning to face back out towards the lake. "Jogging," she responds, his face looked odd. Without pausing to stop behind him she moves out ahead, forcing him to stop his swaying or hit her.

"Hey, watch out!" he growls at her, turning his head more to keep the right side out of her view. Without bothering to answer she moves around, trying to get a look at him. It was clear something had hit him, and he was trying to hide the bruised, nearly shut eye. "Oh my god, Casey, are you okay?"

He just stops cold turkey, looking at her through his one good eye. His one good, reddened, brown eye. He had been crying, and hard. She stands there gazing dumbstruck at him as he stares cold defiance back. "Take a picture, yeah?" he challenges her, "It'll be funnier tomorrow."

"Shut up you jackass," she berates him back, reaching out to take his head in her orange furred paws, he resists for a few moments but stops when once she starts to really look the injury over. "You need an ice pack," she admits, "Probably a pain killer too. What are you doing out here? Who did this to you?"

His snarky smugness practically melts with his head in her hands, quietly he explains the situation. He sounds so lost, so defeated, the pathos of it hits a heart string in the soft vixen. She doesn't debate her words, "Come on, lets go back to my place. I've got an ice pack, you can rest your head for tonight. You shouldn't go back to a place like that right now."

He hee's and haw's for a bit, but ultimately her gentle words and kind attitude win him over. Something for his head would go great right now. Checking his watch as he gets up again, it's 7:57pm. Having someone to talk to would make the time go by much faster, her being beautiful helped a lot too. Though, for once in his life, he hated to admit it.