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It was about three in the morning when I snuck out of the house with 100 dollars from mom's purse. I couldn't sleep. It's been weeks since I last had any cocaine. I can't stop shaking, I feel sick. I need it. That's why I've got a small baggie inside my hoodie right now as I limp down the street. I'm limping pretty bad too, but that's because I didn't take my cane with me. I would have had a hard time going through the window with it. But that doesn't matter to me. The pain will go away shortly. Just have to get back home...

I hear sirens behind me. I run and duck into an ally. My heart races as I see the red and blues flash by, apparently after someone else. That was close. I can't be seen. Not by the cops, not by anyone. They've had my face plastered all over the news since the day I went missing. The whole nation knows my name. I have a feeling some of the big people might want me on their shows. Like Ellen DeGeneres or Opera. Dad really got my name out there when I went missing. The trial for the wolves they caught is supposed to make national TV. Some say it's bigger than the Casey Anthony case.

I snap out of my thought as I near the house. It's slightly secluded in the suburbs just outside of the city. As soon as I get to the point under my window, I start the harrowing climb to the second floor. There's white latticework about half way up, but it stops there. The only other way to get to my window is by a pipe that runs up the length of the wall, a foot away from the window. My limberness helps me climb with relative ease. The support brackets on the pipe are about three feet apart, so they provide a good enough foot hold. It doesn't take long for me to traverse the distance from the pipe to my open window. As I climb through, my foot slips, leaving my hanging on by my paws. I pull myself up so my chest rests on the sill. Then I kick my feet and slip the rest of the way in, landing upside down on the floor. The coke falls out of my hoodie pocket next to me.

"Tony." My heart stops for a moment. My ears instantly fold back. The voice is so stern sounding, but at the same time calm. The lights flash on, almost blinding me with their brightness. My father sits near the door, on my computer chair. Apparently he's been waiting for me to get home... I can see his eyes trail down, from my footpaws, down my exposed stomach where the hoodie fell up my chest, all the way to the bag of white powder. "Care to explain?"

I grab the bag and stuff it in my hoodie as I turn over to sit upright. I can't bring myself to look at dad for more than a half second glance. Instead I divert my gaze to the hard wood floor, thankful that my bed partially separates me from my father. My muzzle opens and closes a few times, but my voice doesn't seem to want to work. I stay silent with my ears still back against my head, partially fearful of what's to come. I'm in trouble. He's going to hurt me. I can't stop the few tears from escaping the confines of my eye lids, and sliding down my cheek. I can't help the slight tremors that shake my frame.

A few seconds later I feel my father's paw on my shoulder. This is it. He's going to strike me across the muzzle for sure. I close my eyes tight, my shaking slightly worsens, but the paw never comes. Instead, an arm loops under my knee's, while the first supports my back as my father lifts me. He sets me on the bed and sits next to me. He hugs me and rubs his muzzle over the top of my head. I still don't stop shaking. Part or me is relieved, and part of me is still scared.

"I'm sorry, Tony..."

My shaking dies down slightly as I open my eyes. Is he apologising to me?

"I've done so many things wrong. I never wanted any of this to happen."

By now my shaking ceases as I become distracted by dad's words. He's actually apologising to me... Nobody apologises to me...

"I love you, Tony. Nothing will change that." He reaches into my hoodie pocket and pulls out the bag. I move to stop him, but it's too late. "Not even this... Did they make you take it?"

I can only slowly nod my head while trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. He puts the bag back in my hoodie.

"We'll work on helping you stop later."

I keep my head down and stay quiet. I can't bear to speak now. All I can do is study the curve and crevices of the blanket under us, while waiting for it to be over. It doesn't end very soon. Dad just stay's there, hugging me. It's comforting, but unwanted at the same time. Before I know it, I'm on the edge of consciousness, where imagination can easily be mistaken for reality. It's so dark, and warm. Behind my eyelids I'm brought back to those sex crazed wolves. They swarm around me. One grabs me from behind. This is where dream and reality clash. I jerk awake, struggling a bit before realizing that I'm still in dad's arms, and not the wolves. Dad rubbed his thumb against my fur, shushing me.

I'd like to say that I managed to fall asleep correctly after that, but I didn't. Every ten minutes or so I'd jerk awake, heart pounding, only to be shushed back into a lul by dad. It felt like eternity, but I finally managed to fall into an uneasy sleep that would last the rest of the night and into the wee hours of the morning.

< ~~~*~~~ >

"Tony!" A wolf calls out my name. I'm standing on the street, outside of the courthouse, awaiting the trial of my captor. I turn to see Greg, the Alpha wolf pointing his long bony finger in my direction. We're the only two around. My parents went off somewhere to talk with the lawyer. My ears lay back against my head.

"Guess who got out on bail, kitty?" He smiles. A devious smile that simply stinks of foul intentions. "Before I get locked up for good, kitty, I need my revenge." He runs up to me. Before I get a chance to back away three steps, he pins me to the ground, hard. His crooked smile is mere inches from my own muzzle. I can smell his gnarled breath. It reeks as if he hasn't brushed his teeth in three years. He lowers his muzzle next to my ear. A slight whine escapes me.

"Do me a favor, Tony. Wake up." I look at him with a puzzled expression. "Wake up, Tony." It's my dad's voice...

The dream starts falling apart. The background melts to nothingness. Greg slowly fades, his devious grin the last thing burned into my mind before I wake up. I blink the blurriness out of my eyes. Dad sits on my bedspread. The first thing to catch my attention is the lack of clothes constricting my body. I'm naked underneath the covers. Surely, dad must have undressed me and put me to bed properly after I fell asleep last night. After being exposed so much to older men, the thought doesn't bother me as much as it normally would. The worst part is knowing that he touched my naked body. Even then, that's nothing new to me.

"Good morning sleepy head. Breakfast is ready downstairs. Me and your mother have to talk to you about a few things, then I'll be going to the preliminary trial. They're basically going to set a date for the real trial. It's nothing you have to worry about." I nod my understanding to dad, then he stands up and walks out of my room, closing the door behind him.

Soon after, I get up and toss on some clothes. Before leaving, I notice the baggie of cocaine on my bedside table. "Can't hurt..." I set to work, preparing the coke to be snorted. By the time I'm ready to do it though, I don't feel like it. Instead, I pour the lined up coke back into the baggie and set it in my underwear drawer. "Maybe later..." I leave the room, grabbing my cane on the way out.

I smell the most delectable scent even before I descend the stairs and reach the kitchen. The sweet smell of maple syrup, mixed with the buttery scent of the French toast. I smell bacon, and sausage. They went all out it seems. Probably just mom's way of apologising for the welcome home party yesterday. My stomach growls at me as I reach the bottom of the stairs. It has been a little while since I've eaten, but my appetite has been out of whack since the hospital. Sometimes I won't eat, even if it hurts, and sometimes I'll eat like a pig. It all depends on my mood, and that fluctuates allot. Right now I'm in the mood to eat. Not much, mind you. But enough.

As I round the corner I can see dad wearing a pink apron with a spatula in his paw, while mom sits at the table, reading a newspaper and sipping coffee. They do stuff like this every now and again. Just to prove to each other that gender means nothing when it comes to a relationship. Well, except for in the bedroom. But I prefer not to think about that. I remember once coming home to dad scrubbing the tiles in the bathroom while mom sat on the couch, a beer in one paw, the other paw down her sweat pants, while watching a random sports channel on the TV. They made a little joke out of it. They'd make fun of the gender roles, like in "Married, with Children." I used to laugh at it. Used to.

As I sit down at the table, dad sets a plate of eggs and bacon, placed in such a way that it appeared to be a face, smiling up at me. He sets another plate with French toast beside it the first plate.

"Eat up. You need to get your strength back." Say's dad. I my mind I say, 'Yes, mom.' My sarcasm kicking in, but I don't say it out loud. Rarely to I speak my mind anymore. Slowly I start eating the food. It tastes good. The syrup perfectly complementing the almost too buttery French toast. I barely touch the bacon. It's too much flavor for in the morning. I only eat one of the eggs. I can't stomach any more than that. As I start finishing up eating, dad starts talking.

"Now, Tony. About that cocaine. Your mother and I both agree that you'll need to stop using it. We'll get you the best help money can buy." I remain silent, looking anywhere but my parents eyes.

"We love you, Tony. We don't want anything else to happen to you." My mom says. I know they're trying to help, but deep inside me I'm resentful for it. I don't like the idea of them spending all kinds of money on a psychiatrist or whatever. I don't need one. It's things like this that parents fail on. They believe that if they throw enough money at the problem, they'll make it go away. I can't tell them that you can't fix me with money. You can't buy happiness back. You can't hand a twenty to my fears and hope they go away. I can't tell them that I don't need a psychiatrist. I need something from them. No. I need everything from them. I can't tell them that I need them to lay down the law for me to quit using. I can't tell them that I need them to dump all that cocaine into the toilet. I can't. Not anymore.

"Tony?" Dad snaps me out of my thoughts. I catch a tear running down my cheek. I wipe it away with my sleeve. "We've got a few more things to talk about. First off. You start up school again on Monday." It's Saturday now right now. I nod my understanding. I don't want to go to school, but for an entirely different reason than any other teen wouldn't want to go to school. My reasons make sense.

"Second, and last thing. You know that your story has been all over the news right? And that furs all around the world know what happened, right?" I nod my head. It's a scary thought actually. Everyone knows about all the dirty things those wolves have done to me. I couldn't hide it. It'll be had to bury this behind me, and block it all out in my mind when I have constant reminders.

"Well, there are a few TV hosts that want you to go on their shows. I've accepted only one. Next month we're flying to Hollywood, and we're going to meet Ellen DeGeneres." My ears droop. I don't like the idea of being on national television. It's one thing for people to know my story. It's another for them to see me. Actually, I don't mind them seeing me. It's the fact that they can see into me. All my fears and emotions, set on display for the world to see. It makes me feel vulnerable just thinking about it.

"Don't worry, Tony. We want you to do this so the judges will put away those bad wolves for a very very very long time. When the nation screams for them to be executed, the Judges will give them more than just twenty years in prison. When you're on air, your mother and I will be right there with you."

"Boy, if they get anything less than a double life sentence, I'll rip their balls off with a broomstick." Both me and dad look over to mom. She lowers her paper. "Nobody messes with my baby."

I can't help but crack a smile, despite the feeling in me conflicting with the momentary humor. I hate it when people do that. Especially parents. You're all sad, or mad, or depressed, and then they make you smile. But you don't want to smile. You don't want to be happy. You just want to be miserable. You know what I'm talking about, and don't pretend like it's never happened to you.

Dad chuckles to himself. "That's all we wanted to talk about. You can go over to Luke's if you want. I'm sure he'd like to see you." I nod my head slightly. It's about time I see him again.

"Okay. You go take a shower, brush your fangs, and comb your fur. Then I'll take you over." Dad hangs up his pink apron on a hook in the kitchen.

I do as he says and head off to the upstairs bathroom. Every other step magnified by a thud from my cane and the metallic linkage from my leg. Once in there, I take off my leg while sitting on the toilet. Then I pull off my clothes. I hop over to the shower and pull back the curtain. Sitting inside the tub is a plastic seat, like what an old person would use. I shrug to myself and hop in, turning the nobs to the perfect temperature. With the hot water pouring over me I close my eyes, trying to visualize my stress washing down my body with the water.