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Charlie and James By Ken Anderson

Author's note: This story contains explicit sex scenes, drug use, and strong language. I hope that none of these will deter you from reading my story. To all of you who choose to venture onward, I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks.

--Ken.

Chapter 1: Meet James

My name is James...

If you asked me, I would tell you that it's a name that nearly everbody knows, and that even more despise. When you're human and you live in a place where you're not a member of the dominant species, everybody seems to know exactly who you are. Some people would love to say that they got so much attention. Some people take pride in knowing that no matter where they go, they'll always have a friend. But not me. I would tell you that I want nothing more than for everyone to forget about me. I would tell you that I don't really have any friends. I'd say that in my line of work, good friends are hard to come by, and with a habit like mine, they're even harder to keep. I like to call myself a thief, but the truth is, I just steal anything that isn't nailed down. Yeah, with the shit I gotta go through, I even sell my ass to support my habit sometimes... Oh well, they say it's weird, how life works out like that. Must be karma, if you ask me...

My name is James... And I'm a heroin addict.

Right now, as it is on most nights, I'm sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor of my closet-sized studio apartment. The only light in this place comes from this small, red candle I've got burning in front of me. Even with this pathetic excuse for illumination, I can clearly tell that if I ever move out of here, my landlord is probably gonna have to clean out my room using the "grease-fighting power" of a handful of matches and a gallon of gasoline. It really is that bad. The paint, which is supposed to be some kind of white, is peeling from every wall, not to mention the ceiling. The wooden floorboards are so rotten that every time I walk barefoot, I have to spend hours picking out splinters. The water runs, but I'd never drink from the tap or take a shower here. I just don't think it's healthy to ingest a liquid that looks like it's being piped in directly from the local sewer line. But I don't really care about any of that. I don't care about my furniture, which I don't have. I don't care about my privacy, also nonexistent, since my door was kicked off its hinges some time ago. I once had a couch and a TV in this place, but they got ripped off by some fellow thief looking to settle a score with me. I could tell you a dozen more things about this lovely shithole, but right now, I really don't care.

What I'm concerned with is my litte red candle, and the bag of nice dope I'm busy cooking up over the flame. Of course, the candle is stolen. The glass candle-holder is still stamped with the name and address of the church I swiped it from earlier. I know, I know, I'm gonna rot in hell for all eternity. So sue me. I needed a candle.

There's something almost meditative in shooting heroin. Almost zen. You empty the dope into a spoon, or in my case, the cap from an empty forty-ounce. You add just a little bit of water, stir it with the tip of the needle, and hold it over the flame. Then you watch. You listen. You smell. The drug itself, once powdery, like brown sugar, dissolves quite easily. As it cooks, you smell this aroma, almost floral, but somehow chemical. Like a field of poppies blooming next to a river flowing with toxic waste; I love it. When it's done, you throw in a piece of cotton, or, if you're broke like me, a piece of a cotton cigarette filter. You suck it all up through the needle, making sure to squirt out a little so there's no air bubbles in it. You tie off whatever body part you're gonna be using that time, and you watch as your veins, powerful, life-giving, and full of blood, rise to the surface. You pick the perfect one, like some people would pick the perfect outfit, and try it on. Insert the needle gently, pull back on the plunger, and watch as the beautiful golden elixir gets mixed with the deep crimson of the fluid which gives you life. You push it all home, and there it is... You're going down, down, down...

If only I could feel the shit nowadays, I might even enjoy it. But I don't feel it. Not anymore. I pull out the spike and toss it into the metal trash bin that sits against the wall next to the bathroom door. Picking up my red candle, I make my way into the bathroom, and look at myself in the mirror. The person who looks back at me looks nothing like he used to. I don't know who the hell he is. My long black hair falls down to my shoulders, and covers my eyes in long, messy bangs. My skin, once vibrant and tan, has become almost pale white. My muscles, a feature of my body that I had once been proud of, have started to eat away at themselves. And then, there are my eyes. So green, like emeralds. Once upon a time, they shone like gems, attracting any male to whom I would give a fleeting glance. Now they look glazed over; so tired. For my twenty-two years of life, I figure I must look all of forty right now.

How did I get here? Why do I do this to myself? What happened to turn me into the kind of person I've become? As I stare at myself in the mirror, all these questions are floating through my mind. Just as quickly, come the answers. For you to understand why I am the way I am, I realize that I'm gonna have to take you back... back to a better time in my life. Well, I hope you made a cup of coffee... Let's begin.

---

It was my senior year of high school. I'd just turned eighteen.

Back then, Harbor Hills High school was like a nightclub for hormone-driven teenagers. You could go to class when you felt like it, party when you didn't, and all around you were hundreds of like-minded individuals who also wanted nothing more than to get drunk on Friday night and find someone so they could get laid. I'll be honest; I fucking loved that place.

I'd recently come out to my friends about the fact that I was gay, and they couldn't have handled it any better. On this day, during lunch period, two of them invited me to hang out at a small convenience store down the street from the school, a place where all the 'cool kids' went; where they could easily obtain cigarettes and alcohol. I was with Damien and Jeff that day; I remember. Damien was a tall, muscular lion with tan fur, whose mane had ended up growing into a mass of thick, long dreadlocks. Back then, he was a total pothead. He loved stoner rock music and the stoner culture in general. He was the kind of guy you'd always catch saying things like "I'm so stoned, man," and "Happy four-twenty!" He was always the guy that most of us looked up to. Jeff couldn't have been more different. He was a skinny, slope-shouldered equine, who always loved the goth look, but hated the music associated with it. He used to grow out his mane so that it'd part perfectly even over his dark brown eyes. His mane was a deep jet black, in stark contrast to the light brown hair covering his body. Jeff liked to think of himself as an artist; he would draw up the most amazing still-life imagery and portraits of people he knew that any of us had ever seen. Sometimes, he even dabbled in drawing pornography, not that he'd let us see any of that work.

On this day, the three of us were walking off-campus, towards our chosen hang-out spot, when they decided to have a little fun with me. Since I'd told them I was gay, they could never seem to get enough of playing with my head. I turned to face Damien as he tapped a paw on my shoulder.

"Hey, James, what do you think of that guy?" he asked in his deep, bass voice, pointing to another student who was walking back to class from the store.

"Not my type, man." I replied, waving it off. "Besides, I don't really have a thing for reptiles." He and Jeff burst out laughing at that. Then it was Jeff's turn to mess with me. "Oh yeah?" he began, "What about that one over there?"

The male he pointed to was obviously gay; it was a tiger who'd dyed his black stripes pink and was wearing a tank top cut off at the navel.

"That's just TOO MUCH, man! Ugh!" I responded. "I like my guys to look like, well, you know... GUYS!" He and Damien burst out in howling laughter once more.

"Yeah, well how about us?" Damien asked. I had to look him in the eye to make sure he was serious. Turning my head to Jeff, I could see that he had the same curiosity in his eyes. I gave a short chuckle, and shrugged my shoulders.

"You know, if all you guys wanted to do was fuck me, you could've just asked."

That made them stop walking. I laughed and kept on towards the convenience store. After a few seconds, they jogged to catch up with me. "You're not serious, are you?" asked Damien. I shrugged my shoulders once more. "So what if I am?" I said, "Besides, it's not like you guys are into ME. Anyway, it doesn't matter; we're here."

We'd arrived at our destination. Hoover's was a small, run-down convenience store located not even a hundred feet from the high school campus. It boasted a brick facade, covered in numerous layers of graffiti, termite-ridden wooden pillars holding up what had once been a roof, and an overally depressing aura that made the place seem, for some reason, strangely appealing. It looked like what you'd get if you purchased a piece of war-torn Afghanistan and had it shipped, brick-by-brick, to the middle of fucking Harbor City. As I leaned back against the fading, chipped gray paint of the exterior wall, I tossed my backpack onto the ground and reached into the pocket of my worn-out jeans to retrieve some cash.

"Hey, Jeff, think you could run in and get me a pack of menthols?" I asked.

"Sure thing, man. Hundreds?" my friend replied.

"Of course."

Damien sits on the ground next to me as Jeff enters the store. I watch as he pulls a small baggie of pot out of his boxers, along with a pack of rolling papers. "So..." he begins, as he breaks down weed for the joint he's about to roll, "Have you told your parents yet?"

"Told them? Told them what?" I ask, eyeing him with suspicion at the nature of his question.

"Well, you know... that you're gay?" he finally finishes.

I shake my head in response.

"No, man, I haven't told them yet... I'm just waiting for the right time, I guess..."

"Well, maybe you should just get it over with. For all you know, they probably won't care."

I turn my head and see that the response has come from Jeff, who has exited the store and is holding out my pack of cigarettes. Taking it from him, I heave a sigh, and tear open the foil covering the filters of my flaming, toxic lunch. I offer smokes to both of them, which they take eagerly and slip between their muzzles. As I place the filtered end of a cigarette between my teeth, Jeff sparks a zippo and sticks it in front of my face. I pull deeply on my smoke, and breathe in the thick, harsh fumes of burning tobacco.

"I don't know, man..." I say, as I exhale a cloud of sickeningly satisfying smoke.

"They're really strict, you know? They have this... I don't know... traditional view on sex, marriage, and things like that. I can't quite tell you what it's like, but I'll just say that every time I think about letting them know, I get this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach..."

My friends seem satisfied with that answer, judging by the slow nods they throw my way. I feel Damien's paw tap against my leg as he reaches up to me with the now-finished joint. "You go ahead and light this, man." he tells me. "You need it more than I do."

Jeff offers me his zippo, which I accept, and use to light the joint. I take a few decent hits and inhale deeply, holding the smoke in my lungs as I hand the burning spliff over to Jeff. As the feeling of calm, sedating euphoria begins to creep over me, I exhale slowly through my nostrils, savoring the sweet, sweet taste of what Damien likes to refer to as the 'tree of life.' I find my thoughts becoming clearer, and I find myself beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, Jeff might be right.

"I think you've got a point, J..." I tell him, "I don't know, but I'll think about it, alright? I mean, even if they're not really cool about it, they're my parents, so there's not too much they can do, right?."

"Exactly!" Damien chimes in. "They're your parents; they're supposed to love you no matter what you are. That's what parents do. Besides, if anything happens, you know we'll always be here for you, man."

I nod my head in affirmation, and smile at my best friend. He stands, and we slap hands and embrace in a friendly hug. "Thanks, man." I say. "I really appreaciate you guys helping me out."

"Dude, we're your friends." Jeff tells me. "That's our fuckin' job. What kind of shitty friends would we be if we didn't?"

I let go of Damien, and hug Jeff as well. As I release him, I can hear the shrill sound of the warning bell coming from the school's PA system. I stiffen, and turn to face the campus. "Oh shit, that's for me." I say. "I gotta get to class. See you guys later?"

"Definitely." Damien responds. Jeff nods his head in agreement. I take a final puff from Damien's joint, handing it off to Jeff as I begin to jog my way back to school. As I near the student parking lot, I finish my cigarette and stub it out on the concrete walkway leading to the school's gymnasium. Throwing open the rusted steel double-doors, I step inside.

Harbor Hills High was a giant lawsuit waiting to happen. The doors were covered in rust, the floors hardly swept, and I could count numerous design flaws and inadequacies that would be more than enough to violate quite a few city building codes. The classrooms were stuffy and the air conditioning broke down regularly. The fire alarms were few and far between. The alarms that were present were unshielded, and within easy reach of anyone who decided that they'd like to take the easy way out and empty the school for a couple hours during finals week. The lockers were large enough to accommodate a skinny teenager, having been stuffed into his locker for annoying one of our oversized, oversexed football-team jocks. The restrooms, located in odd places throughout the school's main building, had no doors, and by extension, no locks.

The plumbing was constantly having problems, coupled with the fact that the toilets were usually filthy and never flushed. Not to mention the fact that every time I would step into one of those shitty stalls, I could almost always ready myself to hear the loud sounds of insufflation as someone in the stall next to me did their third or fourth line of coke. Oh well, at least I kept my grades in check. Just a few more months, and I'd get away from this sorry place and never look back. I honestly couldn't wait.

As I slowed my pace to a walk before reaching the entrance to the gym, I stepped past the restroom near the boy's locker room; the only one on the entire campus with a working door. Behind me, I heard the hinges squeak as the door opened, and before I could react, a pair of powerful hands wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me in. I grunt in slight pain as I get shoved up against the back of the door, and freeze as a furry body is pushed up against my own before a muzzle is pressed firmly onto my lips. Noting the familiar smell and feel of my boyfriend, I give into his kiss, and allow our tongues to intertwine for a single, fleeting moment. As he breaks the kiss, he releases his hold on me, and I can see him smile. "Hey there, lover..." he growls in his sultriest voice. I chuckle and blush slightly, taking in the sight of him with his shirt removed, wearing nothing but boxers and a pair of loose-fitting gym shorts. His tail sways slowly behind him, as it always did whenever I was close by.

Tommy Carson was an albino wolf. His fur was a brilliant shade of white, which seemed to shine even more brightly in the harsh light of the empty restroom. His nose was a soft pink, in contrast with that of other members of his species. I gazed with longing into his eyes, blue like the clear sky on a sunny day. Every time I saw those eyes, no matter what my current emotions and state of mind might be, they always made me smile and blush. Yeah, we were young and in love. Nothing could possibly be better. In my mind at the time, nothing could ever go wrong. God, I was so naive.

"Hey, yourself." I reply, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him close once more. "Getting ready for basketball?"

"Yeah." he responds, motioning to the shorts he's wearing. "We're playing shirts and furs today for a little practice before our game tomorrow. Care to guess which one I am?"

I laugh, and we kiss once more. I slowly run my hand through the fur at the back of his neck, stroking it lovingly as our lips and tongues come together for another round of intimate attention. We stay this way for a few moments, allowing this temporary union to linger for a while longer than our last. When we finally separate, I tell him of the decision that I've reached with the help of Damien and Jeff. He smiles lightly and nods as he understands what it is I have to do.

"That's great news, baby..." he whispers to me. "Once you've come clean to your parents, there won't be anything left to stop us from being together... I won't have to spend my nights figuring out a way to sneak in once they've fallen asleep."

I laugh at his implication, and touch his cheek softly as I stare into those big, blue eyes. "That's what I'm hoping for." I say. "But I'm nervous... I don't think I can go through with it without you there."

He nods reassuringly, and strokes my chin with a soft paw as he speaks. "We'll do it together, then. I'll meet up with you after school lets out, and we can have a talk with your parents."

I can feel my heart warm with joy as he speaks those words. With a final, quick kiss, I move out of the way so that he can exit the restroom. "I love you..." I whisper to him as he opens the door to step out. He smiles, and I can hear a soft growl emanating from his chest as he walks away. I watch as he enters the gym, and stare until his tail passes through the door before it closes behind him.

Shaking off the paralysis which has suddenly gripped my legs, I head into a stall and begin to strip down to my own gym clothes, which I'd worn under my school uniform. I throw my discarded uniform over my shoulder as I jog into the locker room to store it for later. As I head for the gym, all I can think about are the possible outcomes of the forthcoming conversation with my parents. I find myself silently praying that everything works out the way I hope it will...

At four P.M. on the dot, the dismissal bell rings. I head to the locker room, glistening with sweat from the physical exertion of the two-mile run we had all been forced to do. When I reach my locker, I pull out a towel, and use it to wipe my face and arms clean. I lay out my uniform on the small wooden bench behind me, and slide my sweat-stained gym shirt over my head to get it off. Throwing it into my locker, I pause as I feel a cooling sensation on the back of my neck. I slowly turn my head to find Tommy standing there, smiling seductively at me. I smirk, and throw on my school shirt over my chest without bothering to wipe down the perspiration. "Don't get any ideas."

He chuckles heartily and comes closer to me, placing his paws on my waist as he presses his naked chest against my back. "I always had an 'idea' of the things we could do in here." He whispers. I feel a slow rumble building up in his chest as I reach for my jeans. I place my free hand on his paw to halt his movement, and whisper back, "If everything goes well tonight, you can have as many ideas as you want." I notice his tail twitching expectantly as he backs away so I can dress. I slide my jeans on over my gym shorts, grab my backpack from my locker, and wait for Tommy to put on his clothes as well.

Soon, the two of us are walking towards my house, holding hands and sharing our thoughts on what could happen when we tell my parents that we are in love. We're both focused on a positive outcome; every scenario we've drawn out having the two of us together in each others' arms at the end of it. When we finally reach the neat, two-story brick house where my family lives, I can honestly say that I am ready to do this.

My family's house was situated at the end of a cul-de-sac in an upper-middle class suburb of Harbor City. Surrounded by wooden-plank fences, a well-manicured lawn, and a beautiful garden display in the front, it was a symbol of my family's wealth and pride. My father worked for a well-known insurance firm, selling house, car, and flood insurance to anybody who had enough cash to afford his policies. He made a killing after the hurricane threat a few years back, and the house we lived in was purchased with the cash that he had received from his numerous dealings with his clients and company.

My mother, due to my father's wealth, didn't have to work at all. She spent her time planting fresh flowers and fruit trees in her garden during the spring and summer, and volunteering as a nurse at a local cancer research center during the winter and fall. The house itself was luxurious, built completely from brick, with oak doors, picture windows, and an ornate stone arch stretching over the main entrance. On this day, mom's garden was vibrant and colorful, with lillies, tulips, and daisies spread along the front of the house. She'd even managed to find the time to line the walkway leading to the front door with budding rosebushes on either side. As Tommy and I made our way between them, he remarked at how my parents must be in a particularly joyful mood.

I slipped my key into the locks on the front door, and opened it so that we could step inside. As I closed the door behind us, I called out for my parents.

"Mom? Dad? Where are you guys? I'm home!"

"We're in the den, honey!" Came my mother's sugary-sweet voice.

Feeling my nerves starting to go haywire once more, I took another look at Tommy, who stroked my chin softly with his paw, planted a kiss on my forehead, and nodded for me to lead the way. Gripping his hand in mine for a feeling of security, I led him through the dining room, towards the large living room, or 'den', as my mother liked to call it. We entered the spacious room to find my mother reading one of her romance novels, while my father smoked a cigarette as he read the day's stock quotes in the newspaper.

"How was your day, kid?" Dad asked me, not taking his eyes off of his paper.

"It was great." I replied. Gripping Tommy's hand even harder, I began to speak. "Guys, I, uh... We've... Got something to tell you."

Mom lowered her book. Dad folded up his newspaper and set it aside. All eyes are on the two of us.

I decided that there was no way to sugarcoat it. So I just came right out and said it.

"I'm gay. This is Tommy Carson, one of our school's best basketball players. He's my boyfriend. I figured it was about time we all had a conversation about this, but I wasn't really sure what I would say."

The room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop in fucking China.

"...Honey?" my mom spoke, almost in a hushed whisper. "What are you trying to tell us?"

All of a sudden, my father leapt up from his easy chair, his face beet-red as he screamed, "HE'S TRYING TO TELL US HE'S A FUCKING FAGGOT!"

I could only watch as my mother burst into tears, saying nothing as my father continued to rant and rave. Listening to my father yell, I could feel my whole body trembling. Tommy stilled me by wrapping his arms around my chest from behind me, and holding me close.

"THAT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING!" My father screamed. "NOT ONLY ARE YOU GAY, BUT YOUR BOYFRIEND'S A FUCKING ANIMAL!"

His words stung like blows to my psyche. I could do nothing, say nothing. I was paralyzed with fear and my lips refused to move. I could only listen as he continued.

"I'VE NOT HAVING THIS GAY SHIT IN MY HOUSE! GET YOUR ASS UPSTAIRS AND PACK UP YOUR SHIT! I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU ON MY PROPERTY AGAIN! STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY FAMILY!"

Tommy whispered to me that we didn't have to stand here for this; that we should just do as he says and go up to my room. Before we could exit the den, however, my father turned on him:

"AND YOU! YOU FUCKING MUTT! I WONDER WHAT THE HELL YOUR FOLKS THINK ABOUT ALL OF THIS?! I WONDER IF THEY KNOW WHAT THE HELL THEIR PRECIOUS LITTLE ATHLETE HAS BEEN DOING?! I'M GONNA CALL THEM RIGHT NOW, SO WE CAN GET TO THE FUCKING BOTTOM OF THIS!"

I had to hold Tommy back from lashing out at him as I led him upstairs to my room. Once we were safely through my door, I grabbed a duffel bag and a couple of empty backpacks, and he began to help me pack.

"That didn't turn out the way we thought it would..." I said, my voice soft as I hastily folded up clothing and stuffed it into the duffel bag.

"No, it didn't..." Tommy replied, as he emptied out my sock and underwear drawers into one of the two backpacks. Downstairs, I could hear my father screaming loudly at someone over the phone. He didn't seem to be letting up; if anything, his voice had gotten even louder. "I think he's on the phone with your parents," I told Tommy, who merely nodded and continued packing. "What did they say when you told them?"

Tommy didn't reply immediately, and that was when it hit me. "You didn't tell them?"

"No..." he said, zipping up the backpack and placing it on my bed. I was speechless. I didn't know whether to be angry or sad, or whether this was a good or a bad thing. I stopped packing and sat down on my bed, once again paralyzed with fear and unable to move. Tommy sighed, and sat down behind me. He wrapped his arms around my chest, locking his paws at my stomach. I could feel his warm breath as he nuzzled the back of my neck. "Don't worry, baby...." he whispered in my ear. "We're gonna get through this. You'll see..." He kissed me softly on the shoulder, and buried his muzzle in my hair. Even though he was reassuring me, I couldn't help feeling that he was wrong. This could only get worse. Looking back and seeing the pain in those beautiful blue eyes, I knew that he felt it, too. I pulled his muzzle to my face and gave him a kiss on the lips. Gently removing his arms from their hold on me, I continued to pack my things. I grabbed my cigarettes, my cash, a small photo album with pictures of the two of us together. As I filled the last bag with the memories that we had shared together, I couldn't shake the feeling that these would be our last. When the packing was done, I snatched my old sleeping bag from the shelf in my closet, collected my three bags, and we made our way downstairs. My father yelled at us to stop because he 'wasn't done yet,' but we left anyway. I made sure to slam the door on the way out.

Using Tommy's cell phone, I called Damien and Jeff. Damien offered me his couch for the night, and I accepted. Before we went our separate ways, Tommy and I shared a long, passionate kiss. When it was over, I ran my hand over the fur on his arms and hugged him to me tightly. The tears that had been welling up in my eyes could no longer be contained. They flowed freely over his perfect white fur, marring it with their salty essence. I cried loudly into his shoulder, my body heaving with each nerve-wracking sob. Throughout the ordeal he only held me tighter, determined to be there to help me get through it all. Once I had no more tears to shed, we each took one last look at the other, before whispering our goodbyes.

"I love you..." I told him.

"And I love you." He replied.

With those words on our minds, we separated. I went to Damien's house to stay the night, and Tommy went home to confront his parents. Even with everything that had just occurred, somewhere inside my heart I still felt that there was a chance to salvage this. That there was a way we could make it work. But that's not the way things came to pass. Oh well... They say it's weird... How life works out like that.

The next day, Tommy was gone.

The final few months of my last year at Harbor Hills passed in a daze. My grades slipped. I drifted back and forth between friends' couches and the homeless shelter downtown. I felt as if a part of my heart had been torn, still beating, from my chest, and as if I had been made to watch while some unseen demon had devoured it with a smile. I couldn't do anything about it. I felt totally and utterly destroyed.

Tommy's parents had been just as furious as mine had. In a frantic phone call before he departed from my life, he had told me what had happened. His parents, believeing that what their 'pup' had been going through was simply a phase that he would grow out of in time, had arranged for him to be shipped off to a boarding school in Europe, some tens of thousands of miles away. As I listened to his voice with tears streaming down my eyes, I took in the information he was trying to give me. He wouldn't be able to contact me at all; he wouldn't be able to call, write letters, or have access to a computer. We would be completely cut off from one another, separated by more than distance, more than our families, more than time. As the call wound up, he told me that he had to hand over his cell phone before he boarded the plane that would take him to his new home. Before he broke the connection, he told me that no matter where he was, he would always love me. I would always be in his heart. "A wolf mates for life," he once told me. "And I'll never have another like you."

It would be a long time before I heard from Tommy again.

A month later, I found myself at a house party. As I drifted listlessly through the crowd of partygoers, creatures of all shapes and sizes chugging beer, making out, and passing around joints, I realized that I'd never felt so alone in my life. Not knowing anybody who had come to the party, or having even been invited for that matter, I found myself searching upstairs for a room where I could just be alone...

I found that most of the doors in the messy house were locked, save for one. When I opened it, a strange scene greeted my eyes. There was a candle burning in the middle of a small card table, with a male cheetah sitting on a couch in front of it. He was holding a metal spoon in his hand, its handle bent at an unnatural angle. As I watched, he used a syringe to stir a small puddle of liquid on the spoon's surface while it cooked over the flame. Seeing me enter, he motioned with his head for me to have a seat next to him. 'What the hell?' I thought. 'Maybe this guy wants to get laid, or show me something new... I could use something... ANYTHING... to get my mind off Tommy, and all the shit that's been going on.'

As I sat down next to him, he introduced himself. His name was Kelly. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" he asked me, holding up the spoon so that I could see it. I shook my head in response. I watched, mesmerized, as he sucked up the hot liquid into the syringe, inverted the needle, and squirted some back out. "Want to try it?" he continued.

I was a bit hesitant at first, but then I shrugged my shoulders, rolled up the sleeve of the flannel jacket I'd been wearing, and offered him my arm. Chuckling in his sexy feline voice, Kelly held my arm out gently with a paw. I winced as he inserted the needle into a vein in the crook of my arm, and injected a small amount of the drug he'd been cooking. Taking the syringe from my arm, he removed the needle, replaced it with a fresh one, and proceeded to inject what remained into his left leg. At first I didn't feel anything. I thought he may not have given me enough of it, whatever it was. I was about to open my mouth to voice my complaint, when, like a freight train, it hit me.

I felt a warming sensation creeping up through my body. It started at my feet, worked its way through my legs, passed through my chest and arms, and finally reached my head. I felt all of my pain simply slide away, like someone had taken a soapy sponge and cleaned it off me with some nice, warm water. I felt as if my legs had been filled with hot lead and I couldn't move. All I could do was sink back into the couch, and slowly turn to face my new friend. Kelly gave a soft purr of ecstasy as he nuzzled my neck and pulled me close to him. I laid my head down on his lap, and stroked the soft fur of his chest through his shirt with my hand. "What is this stuff?" I asked him. "Feels so goooood..."

"That's heroin, baby."

I felt another purr rumbling through his chest, sending vibrations through my body and the very core of my being. As he stroked my hair, I realized exactly what the hell I had done. I forced myself to stand up, and slowly stumbled towards the door of the room. From the floor below us, I could hear a familiar song begin to play over the radio. As the lyrics swam through my mind amidst the haze of the drug-induced high, I began to walk aimlessly through the house. I began to think of Tommy.

Restless tonight _ 'Cause I wasted the light_ _ Between both these times_ _ I drew a really thin line_

All of a sudden, I felt apathetic. I felt sad, but not sad just the same. I thought of Kelly, how I'd rested my head on his lap and stroked his fur. I thought of Tommy, how I'd done the same to him many times as we kissed and explored each other...

_ It's nothing I planned_ _ And not that I can_ _ But you should be mine_ _ Across that line_

I found myself in the kitchen with the kegs, grabbing a plastic party cup and filling it to the brim with beer. I found myself on the living room floor, watching couples dance to the sad song as if it were their anthem. I felt disgusted and alone... So alone.

_ If I traded it all_ _ If I gave it all away_ _ For one thing, Just for one thing,_ _ If I sorted it out, If I knew all about_ _ this one thing_ _ Wouldn't that be something? _

I float away from the crowd, to the house's back patio, and manage to find a cigarette that someone has left burning in an ashtray. I pick it up and smoke it, the song still playing as I try to collect my thoughts.

_ I promise I might_ _ Not walk on by_ _ Maybe next time_ _ but not this time._

_ Even though I know_ _ I don't want to know_ _ Yeah, I guess I know_ _ I just hate how it sounds_

I've started crying. I sob loudly, endlessly, but the people at the party ignore me. They don't know what's going on. they don't know what I'm feeling. they don't know how fucked up everything just IS for me right now... I nod out there on the patio, crying softly, the cigarette smoldering between my fingers. Why did this have to happen? Why did it have to happen to ME? to US? Why, why, why? I just wanted someone to hold me close. I just wanted someone to love me...

After graduating by the skin of my ass with a 'C' average, I realized that I had no money with which to start my life alone. I found myself clueless, helpess, and utterly hopeless as I struggled to simply survive on the rough, unforgiving streets of inner Harbor City. I ended up losing contact with my best friends; Damien and Jeff both told me after a while that they could no longer help me. I found myself breaking into houses and stealing everything I could to support myself and my growing heroin habit, sometimes even turning to prostitution just so I could have enough food to get me through a day. It was hell... It was MY hell... It was a world that I never thought I would find myself involved in... It's the world in which I find myself now.

---

As I sit against the wall of my shitty apartment, smoking my last cigarette, I continue to ponder over my memories of Tommy, and that last beautiful year of my fucked up life. I never heard from him after he was sent away. Even when he came back to Harbor City, he refused to see me or to speak to me. He came back with a girlfriend, a female wolf whom he'd met during his stay at boarding school. I remember when I finally got up the courage to go and see him, and he introduced her to me. I remember shaking her hand, with a smile on my face, and congratulating Tommy on his new life. I was so out of it on heroin, I felt no emotion whatsoever as he told me point-blank that what we had shared had been a high-school tryst and nothing more. I said nothing when he told me that that part of his life was over, and that he was trying to move on to bigger and better things. As I walked away from him, I said nothing to him as I looked into his beautiful blue eyes one last time, where I saw for myself that he truly believed every word that he was saying. I just retreated back to my little apartment, cooked up another shot, and found myself not worrying about it all anymore.

As that final memory fades, I stomp out my cigarette on the floor, and rise to my feet. I feel a painful sickness growing in my stomach. Running to the bathroom, I lean over the toilet and vomit. After washing my face, I retrieve my cell phone from the backpack sitting inside my empty closet; the very one that Tommy had once helped me pack. It's time to call up the candyman, I suppose...

It's time to make it through another day.

---

The lyrics to "One thing" are copyrighted 2003 by Finger Eleven.

That was Chapter one, everyone. Sorry if you were offended by any of this; it's just my style of writing. And don't be too sad; it gets better, I promise you. The next chapter will introduce Charlie, the second main character of my story. From here on out, each chapter will alternate between Charlie and James as they go through their lives and eventually meet.There will also be accounts of violence and some explicit sex scenes. I hope you all enjoy my little combination of Noir and Romance. Don't forget to write me a review.

--Ken