FSE

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It began as another day of drunk soliloquy. Breakfast time was spent motivating myself out of bed, ignoring the hangover and my desire for another screwdriver.

The view itself happened to be the main reason I bought this apartment years ago. The concealed windows in my living room and the master bed overlooked Midtown and the harbor, so one could imagine looking out and seeing the midnight skyline.

By the time I slumbered into the kitchen, thankfully having all the blinds shut, the only things I could find were old cereal and a quart left of expired milk. Unfortunately for me, I realized it one second too late.

"Ack! Fuck..." I spat it out and checked the expiration date. "Ugh, great, great..."

Let me tell you, if it weren't for internet shopping, I probably would have starved a long time ago. The option of going out to buy my own things never worked out in the long run, especially for a name like myself. Before I...'changed', the idea of putting on some casual clothes and joining my former colleagues on a shopping spree would have sounded very divine. Except, that option died out whenever I stared into a mirror.

Two hours and a couple sips of bourbon later, a knock at the door pulled me from the couch. On cue, I grabbed the nearby blanket off the couch and covered myself in it, the silk fleece fabric smooth to my skin and long enough to engulf my entire form like a long cloak.

Peering through the peephole, I found an impatient Labrador at the door with a bag in each paw. My stomach rumbled, and I carefully unlatched the lock before creaking the door open. He asked me if this was the right address, I nodded and he handed me the bags, then left without another word. The delivery boy then disappeared down the hallway corner towards the elevator, leaving me alone once more.

Setting the bags on the kitchen counter, I poured myself another bowl of fresh cereal and unexpired milk. Any other anthro would be cranky at this point. The moment my spoon went into the bowl though, another knock at the door startled me.

"Ugh," I groaned out loud. Who could it be?

I impatiently bolted for the entrance of the apartment's foyer and stared back out through the peephole. Either one of those Jehovah's Witnesses somehow found their way past security, or this was another delivery I somehow forgot about. Either way, the last thing I wanted was to interact with someone else.

Which was why I didn't expect to see another twenty-something feline on the other side of the door. As opposed to grocery bags, he held a bucket in his right paw, and wore a black apron over his clothes.

He knocked again, making me wince again. I still haven't fully sobered up yet.

"Hello?" the shorter cat spoke. "Does...Does Tristian Hildebrant live here?"

"Who is this?"

His pointed ears fell back slightly at my blunt question.

"My name's Jamal. Jamal Faron," he explained. I could see his thin, spotted tail swish at the hallway carpet. "I was hired by Mr. Janowitz to be your new housekeeper?"

I blinked. "Do you mean Luke Janowitz? Is he a huge Saint Bernard?"

"Uh yeah, your agent. He hired me last week and wanted me to start today. He said he wanted to make it some sort of a surprise."

I groaned through the door. "Sure, sorry. I'll...I'll be right back. Just a sec."

Typical behavior from Janowitz. Storming into my bedroom, I snatched my phone and turned it on to find a voicemail that dated as far back as eight this morning. The dog was most likely up early, given the time zones in California. What did he want from me now? Attempts to lure me back into the public eye? A failed reunion with some cast members? Or perhaps another warning of him coming back to Manhattan and attempt to coax me from my isolation?

"Hey, Tristian. It's Luke..." the voicemail began, "I know you're not going to pick this up, so I better get to the gist of things: I've decided...I've decided to no longer represent you. I've tried being patient with you kid. You've been a great client, gotten some amazing acting gigs and got us both on the map, but ever since you decided to go into this hikikomori phase, the opportunities have been running dry...

"I'm doing this as one last favor for you. Your place is a fucking junkyard, so I hired someone to help clean the place up. He should be there around this afternoon. I've done some background on the serval here, and he's new but has experience. And before you refuse his services, the boy signed a contract with me. While Mr. Faron is aware of your identity, he also has a signed nondisclosure agreement and fifteen reasons an hour not to brag about it. He doesn't know about your...you know, 'condition'. Thank you very much. One less person to see that hideous face, the bett--" The dog coughed on the other end.

"I've been unbelievably patient with you. I've been there for you all these years, but it's time for us to think realistically. I got a family to feed. You have nobody to worry about. I'm sorry...but it's over. Good luck, Tristian. Take care..."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I almost felt tempted to toss my phone out the window or into a solid surface. Forget leaving another hole in the bedroom wall, this bastard was abandoning me! Or...did I abandon him first? Exhaling a deep breath, I set my phone on the nightstand instead. A section of my heart told me to send that housekeeper off until the ringing in my head stopped, or when I finished eating 'breakfast'.

On the other paw, I was surprised to see the serval--Jamal, if I remembered correctly--still standing outside the door when I peeked through the peephole once again. Then I walked back out into the middle of the apartment. I stared back down the foyer and realized how much my cleanliness had deteriorated in the past year or so. Gathering dust, stains and piles of clothes could be found in every room, save for my workout room, also abandoned.

"Faron, right?" I raised my voice, to which the cat twitched his ears attentively. "If you're up for it, I would like to do my own interview with you?"

The serval nodded. "Sure thing."

Before unlocking the door, I quickly placed the bowl of cereal in my bedroom before pulling the door back open, cloak/blanket on me once more. When Jamal stepped inside the apartment, I already fled back into the neighboring kitchen. Away from his sight, but not from mine as I peeked around the corner.

The feline was very handsome and looked fresh from college. Despite his choice in clothes, his sleek, yellow-and-black fur shined alongside his emerald eyes. His toned arms and slender body were impressive for his height, barely standing at no more than half my height. If he discarded the housekeeper apron and undressed for me, the serval would no doubt be eye candy for any acting or modeling agency searching for new talent.

I yanked those thoughts from my mind. Another lifetime ago, I would've relished at the thought of inviting the lad in for small talk and a good time in my bedroom. Feeling his claws run through the fur on my back as I eagerly came inside him (or him in me) seemed divine, except...except it'd all go downhill once he saw my face. Any potential lover or one-night stand would vomit when they realized a monster lived in here.

"So where do you want to have this interview?"

As he came near the kitchen, I quickly went down the adjacent hallway towards the bedroom. The feline followed me until I shut the door closed behind me.

"What the...?" He knocked on my door. "Mr. Hildebrant?"

"This will do!" I growled, then silenced myself. "I'm sorry, I just...I just don't want you to see me..."

"Oh, okay then."

I cleared my throat. "So...My former agent mentioned you were new to housekeeping?"

"Yes," the feline replied a moment later. "I used to work as a housekeeper in the Eldorado and at a few hotels in Queens. Never been to Park Avenue though. Never done any of the super-fancy apartments like this."

"Queens, eh?" I murmured to myself. "Where are you from then?"

"Baycrest Towers, it's an apartment complex in Brooklyn, sir."

"Do you smoke or drink?"

"I never smoke. My mom is on-again and off-again, so I might smell like nicotine on some days, but I promise I don't smoke..."

"Where do you see yourself in a few years?"

"Uh...working for you diligently."

Liar. Nobody liked housekeeping as a hobby.

"Did Janowitz tell you about your duties here?" I asked once more, placing my ear to the wooden frame to listen better. "What were the terms of your contract?"

"Two months in total with three days a week. I'll be here Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, but never the weekend. I got to babysit my sister on those days. Mr. Janowitz also mentioned...ya know," he stalled, "Your eccentricities."

"My eccentricities?"

"Yeah. Though he never mentioned you liked dressing like a dark lord." The feline finished with a laugh. When I didn't reply back, his voice turned tense. "I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to offend you or anything, M-Mr. Hildebrant! I'm sorry if--"

"You're fine," I gripped onto the cloth entwined with my fingers and came to a conclusion. "Your duties are simple enough: wash the countertops, take out the trash, dust everything you see, vacuum the carpets, clean the bathrooms and such...The supplies are in the kitchen right beside the pantry."

"Do you want me to wash the windows too?" Jamal asked. "Sorry if it sounds like a dumb question, but I just--"

"Clean it too." I almost stepped away from the door. "By the way, before you get started, remember that the master bedroom here is off limits. I'll always be in there whenever you're cleaning. If you have any questions, then knock. Go in without permission, and you're fired."

I glanced back into my bedroom and wondered what he would think if he saw the state of it. The first few nights were spent in agony and misery, smashing every photo I had hung upbroken into crooked spiderwebs of glass. A hole in the wall opposite my bed came from the night a private eye I hired couldn't find the bastard who did this to me, like the coyote witch disappeared without a trace. I even smashed my TV when the screen's black mirror refused to show anything other than my repulsive face.

Oh well, I still had my laptop. Grabbing another bottle from my minifridge, I turned it on and proceeded to waste the next two to three hours while Jamal went to work.

***

To say the least, my apartment didn't smell like unwashed shit.

Life relatively stayed the same for a couple weeks. Jamal would ride up the elevator, enter my apartment and clean up whatever mess I left behind. He never complained too much, but I did hear him joking to himself at one point that I thankfully knew how to use a toilet. When I mailed him his first paycheck, the serval came by the next morning in a mood that could only be described as 'blissful enthusiasm'.

I stayed preoccupied in my room during his visits, either drowning in liquor or binging some online series. By now, I'd already seen all of what streaming service had to offer, so I went to the next without rarely moving from my bed. Luckily, I had a private bathroom connected to the room so Jamal wouldn't see me trying to sneak around. Part of me hoped this would continue and the handsome serval wouldn't keep mocking my appearance with his in my home.

Sadly, or maybe fortunately, he would find out.

The third Friday of his service, he knocked on my bedroom door. "Mr. Hildebrant?"

The day before involved mixed drinks and a bottle of 50% vodka, so my hangover felt like a hot needle was sodomizing my earhole. I could barely get up and respond to him.

"Ugh, y-yeah?" I coughed and burped. "What...What is it...y-you...want?"

"Um, you're out of paper towels and dishwasher detergent," he said through the locked door. "I'd get some, but I don't have any cash on me, and it's impossible to find--"

"Fine, fine. Fuck..." I rubbed my forehead. "I-I'll...I'll order some..."

"Okay. Thanks, sir." Jamal paused. "What would you like to do until then?"

"Go watch TV for all I care..." I saw him drooling for my 70-inch in the living room when I once peeked on him. "But don't let it get in the way of your job when they come."

"Don't mind if I do!" the feline chirped on the other end, footsteps receding.

I chuckled before wincing at the hangover, then buried my head into the bedsheets tossed around my mattress. Under the blankets, I tried distracting myself from the pain by scrolling through newsfeeds on my phone. Another scandal for the president. China expanding trade. A bombing somewhere in the Middle East. Another celebrity passing away. Another new movie trailer trending on social media. The usual crap spewed 24/7.

Then I paused at one article...

"Film Actors Elias Blanc and Judy Willmar Announce Engagement!"

My heart skipped several beats in disbelief at the discernible tiger. Elias posed alongside the foxy vixen whose beaming teeth and magenta dress matched her luscious fur. An impressive diamond shone brightly from her ring paw in the photos, but what caught my attention involved her lucky fiancé.

It all began a long time ago. Starting off as my newest co-star for the sequel of my debut hit, Arcadia Ascending, Elias Blanc and I grew attracted to each other mainly due to our looks. That, as well as my fondness for felines.

Between shooting on the set and publicity events, the only real time we spent together was on an expensive hotel bed sometime after midnight. I could still remember the way he mewled into my ear as I thrust between his striped ass cheeks, his haggard breaths when I stroked him to climax and we lay together in a pool of our white seed. Our secret liaisons, though few and far across our time together, ended with the best sex I ever had with someone.

Then in the middle of filming Arcadia Ascending 3, Elias' parents somehow convinced him to settle down and get married. They didn't care whether their grandchildren were related or adopted from somewhere, which was why he surprised me during one of our trysts by asking if I wanted to make our relationship known, maybe even the thought of making our relationship monogamous. I scoffed at the idea, but Elias insisted I consider it when he paused our session.

When it became clear the tiger was super-serious about this marriage thing, I left the hotel room. I no longer returned his phone calls and stayed professional in the final days of filming. Elias didn't say anything, but I knew I broke his heart.

And now...he's getting married, I exited out of the article to a dark screen. Again, all I could see was the reflection of my face. What a fucking joke...

Sitting back up, I snatched the half-empty bottle of tequila I left by the nightstand and swallowed almost every drop. My vision blurred in the closed-off room as everything turned hazier than ever. He looked so...happy...so content. Does...he even think about me?

No. Probably not. After the first month of my isolated life up here, I rarely got phone calls from colleagues or my 'friends' anymore. They moved on. They abandoned me.

A muffled knocking came outside my door. "I'll go get it!"

I continued spiraling into madness on my bed. The wallpaper turned shades of color I didn't recognize. My shattered TV turned into a clown's crooked grin convincing me it'd soon devour me for dinner. The soft silk of my bed felt rough and irritating one minute and then so soft that it could swallow me into the mattress. Both cases, my head pounded when a cautious knock erupted through the room.

"Mr. Hildebrant?" Jamal raised his voice like a jackhammer. "Mr. Hildebrant, I got the order, but the delivery guy needs your signature."

"Then sign it for me!" I growled in annoyance.

"It can only be your signature, Mr. Hildebr--"

"Just sign it for me, will ya?!"

"He said it can only be your signature," he repeated. "Otherwise, he won't--"

"Ugh, fine!" I barked, staggering upwards and seizing the cloak left haphazardly on the floor. "Jus-Just gimme a sec! Ow..."

The lucid throbbing in my skull refused to leave, but I found the strength. I managed I place some black gloves on my scarred paws Then, tightly draping myself in that long black blanket, I tried to refocus and opened my bedroom door.

The creaking as it opened increased the throbbing beneath my forehead, to the point I rushed out the door and barely noticed Jamal getting out of my way in time.

"Woah!" he stepped aside. "Sorry there."

Gripping the cloth around me, I rushed into the foyer and paused at the opened front door. Keeping my head down, I snatched the clipboard from the confused delivery dog and hastily signed it, daring not to look up. Could he see my ugliness? My monstrous appearance? It felt impossible to know from my hunched stance.

"H...Here!" I handed it back to him. "G-Good-bye!"

"Have a nice day--"

I slammed the door shut, only to immediately regret it the next second.

"Ahhhh!" The pain felt unbearable as it pierced my cranium. "Ow, ow, ow..."

"Mr. Hildebrant!" I could barely register the footsteps beside me. "Are you hurt?"

"Go away..." I mumbled between the tears flooding my sight. "P-Please jus--"

A pair of smaller paws wrapped around my torso. "Don't be silly, you need to lie down!"

Despite my taller height and the idea of telling him he was fired, I couldn't do anything to prevent Jamal from helping me up.

The serval sniffed. "Oh! Good fuck, when was the last time you showered, sir?!"

"Ugh..." I tried staying conscious between limps. "I dunno...may...maybe a day? Three? I dunno..."

"Never mind..."

Jamal stopped us in place between the foyer and the living room. Time seemed to stand still until he asked, "Uh, Mr. Hildebrant? Why...Why don't I see a tail on you?"

The dull throb distracted me from the serious question. "Why...does it matter?"

"Y-You're a wolf," he argued, "but I didn't feel it when my paw went around your back...And..." Jamal glimpsed confused and worriedly down to the ground.

"Wait, don't...!" Too late.

Despite pulling it back under the protective covering, it was too late. He saw how misshapen and furless and flat my toes were. They weren't like any anthro's.

"Your footpaw..." he asked in alarm, "What happened to it?"

"Get out," I tried saying seriously, "N-Now!"

"No!" Jamal frowned at me for the first time, then grabbed the cloth. "Now why the hell are you wearing this? What do you have to be ashamed of?"

Before I could prevent it in my drunken stupor, the serval yanked the blanket from my head, and the feline saw it. He saw everything. He saw my hideous appearance. And whether it be the alcohol in my system, or the wide-eyed shock and disbelieving horror etched into Jamal's expression, I collapsed from consciousness.