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Charlie and James By Ken Anderson

Chapter 3: Good friends / James's Special Knock-out drops

My eyes hurt...

My whole body aches...

There's a layer of cold sweat covering my chest and back, seeping through the fabric of my T-shirt and jeans. It's staining the inside of my sleeping bag as I shiver with the sickness that almost overwhelms me. Something smells rotten. Raising an arm over my head, I sniff curiously, and immediately realize that it's me. I try to remember the last time I took a shower and changed my clothes.

The muscles in my legs cramp up as I try to sit up on the floor, and I find myself gritting my teeth with the pain as I struggle to bring my body to its feet. My apartment is pitch-black, but I don't need a window to help me figure out that it's probably dark outside. Feeling around the blackness with my hands for the lighter and my snuffed-out candle, I let out a breath as my knuckles brush up against the familiar feeling of cold, solid glass. The lighter is right next to it, and I spark the flame and direct it onto the red candle's black, carbonized wick.

As the candle flickers slowly to life, I hold it out in front of me and scan the floor to find what I'm looking for.

There's a clean needle nestled the shadows dancing off of my dirty sleeping bag, and I take note of it. I use my foot to brush away the small mess of empty baggies and pieces of discarded tinfoil next to my makeshift bed, praying to whatever God is watching me at the moment that there's an unopened and unused container of heroin somewhere underneath them. No such luck. I groan in despair, and feel around inside my sleeping bag for my cell phone, which I find buried under the thick folds of its suffocating warmth. Before I call my dealer, however, I reach my hands into my pockets and grope around for some cash. There is nothing. I fall to my knees and feel my body tremble as I begin to cry softly, the tears staining my cheeks and falling, slowly, onto the rotten, neglected floor. I feel like dying. I feel like screaming. I feel so empty and dead inside. I know that if I don't get what I need soon, all of these wishes will end up coming true. I'll start screaming. I'll go into convulsions... And then I'll die.

Gathering what small amount of courage I have, I decide to bite the bullet and dial my usual dealer's number. He's a skunk with a good-sized habit himself, so I hope that he might take pity on me in my current hopeless and disgusting state. I silently say a prayer as the line rings, and when he answers, I can hear my voice quivering as I try to speak.

"Hello?" he says, his nasal voice reverberating through my skull and causing the room to shake slightly. God I must really be sick...

"CJ?" I whimper into the reciever, unable to form words as my hands begin to shake uncontrollably and my heart begins to skip beats.

"James? Is that you?" he asks. I can hear the concern in his voice. "Are you alright, man? What's going on?"

"I'm hurting so bad..." I tell him, my voice a painful sob as I breathe in to continue. "I'm all out of cash. Please, CJ, can you help me? I'll do anything you want, just don't leave me like this... PLEASE..."

There's a pause on the other end of the line as I hear his breath catch in his throat. He lets out what sounds like a sigh and I hear things being shifted around before he comes back on.

"Yeah, I'm here for you, man." he says, the concern in his voice now tinged with hints of sympathy. "Come on upstairs, I'll fix you up...You're gonna be alright, James, don't worry. This one's on the house..."

I feel my body warm slightly as he pours those words of comfort into my ear. My pain eases a bit as I tell him that I'm on my way, before ending the call. For a drug dealer, CJ can be a pretty good guy, I decide. Maybe, if I'm well enough afterwards, I'll even do him a few 'favors' to pay him back for this shot...

I stretch my skinny legs and walk over to my closet. Grabbing the small backpack that contains my clean clothes, I slip it over my shoulders and head for the door. When I get to it, I blow out the candle and set it down by the door frame along with my lighter, within easy reach for whenever I end up coming back. Hopefully, it won't be too soon...

I exit my apartment and close the door behind me. I don't bother to lock it or secure it in any way; the door barely even closes as it is, and besides, there's nothing to steal unless the thief is looking for a sleeping bag, a pile of empty baggies, or dirty needles. As I approach the elevator situated in the center of the dimly-lit hallway, I hear thumping and moaning coming from somewhere nearby. I guess someone must be having a good time. I give a light chuckle. The thought somehow cracks me up; people actually getting laid in THIS shithole.... I once heard a fellow junkie remark that there was no way he'd be able to get it up in here; he was afraid that the floor itself could give someone AIDS.

I press the button marked 'UP', and hear a 'ding' sound as the elevator reaches my floor. The doors slide open with a small puff of dust and I step inside, pressing the button for the tenth floor and settling myself against the dirty, graffiti-coated wall. The elevators in this place are dingy, unreliable, and unsafe. They have some sort of cheap faux-wood paneling covering their interior, which hundreds, if not thousands, of residents and visitors have chosen to take markers or pocket knives to on their trips coming up or going down. I read a few lines of "elevator poetry" as the small, stuffy metal box continues to carry me towards my final destination. "She's going up; she's going down. I made her mine, but she fucked around." I read aloud. Who the hell comes up with this shit? It's laughable, if you ask me.....

When the elevator finally reaches the tenth floor, I hear the cables creak and groan as they lock into place. I have to grip the metal bar on the wall to steady myself as the elevator shakes and falls a few inches before the doors open. If the lines ever snap and I find myself falling down the shaft in one of these things, I'll be sure to tell Satan to send my landlord a complaint. I walk out of the wood-and-metal deathtrap and make my way to apartment number 1020, the last unit on the left at the end of another long and sparsely-lit hallway. CJ's apartment. My little doctor. My saviour. My own personal Jesus Christ.

I knock twice and he opens the door. I can smell his thick, musky odor as he stands in front of me, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers that match his fur, and looks me over. "Man, you look like stir-fried shit." he says, his muzzle twitching into a slight smile as he steps aside so that I can enter. I nod my head in agreement as I walk in, taking in the familiar sight, smell and feel of his place as I set my backpack down by the door. CJ's apartment is in way better condition than my own. The paint isn't peeling as much and he actually has furniture, not to mention a pretty decent stereo system that's currently playing a cover of Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" by this local band called Lost Shepherd. It sounds pretty good, actually. As I seat myself on his nice, big sofa, I notice that he has his TV turned on, but the sound is muted.

There are a few scented candles burning at odd locations throughout his living room, each one giving off the soothing smells of vanilla and jasmine as they melt onto the small dishes that he has them placed in. I see numerous rock posters covering his walls. Furvana, System of a Hound, and Lost Shepherd. I can tell that CJ has been doing some reading as well; there's a copy of "The Naked Lunch" sitting on the small table in front of the sofa. I see the cap from a used syringe sitting in the center of the book, being used as a makeshift bookmark.

I scoot over a bit as CJ settles himself down next to me, and moves the book to reveal a very nice sized bag of brown powder. He takes out two clean needles from a paper bag on the table, and I watch as he lights a small candle in the center of the table and begins to go to work. As he cooks up our shots, I take a long, slow look over his body. Sure I've seen him plenty of times, but I've never really just stopped to go over every last, tantalizing detail.

His fur is a deep jet black, and it shines in the dim candlelight. I can tell he takes pride in keeping it clean; I smell the faint aroma of some kind of orange-scented soap mixed in with his natural, skunky musk. Unlike most of us junkies, whose bodies end up wasting away over time, CJ has kept his own form intact. I can see the hard muscles on his forearms and chest ripple with shadows as the light from the candles dances over them. The white stripe that starts at his snout and snakes its way over his head and down his back is perfectly straight, even as it continues over his thick, fuzzy tail. I shift my gaze towards his eyes. They're brown, but not just any brown; they're the exact same color as his favorite drug; our favorite poison. Heroin eyes.... So soft, so gentle. So warm, like the feeling of the rush induced by the drug that both of us so desperately crave right now. As I process what I'm seeing, I realize that I've never used the word 'sexy' to describe my drug dealer before... Oh well, there's a first time for everything, right?

His eyes turn towards me, and I suddenly look away, embarassed. I silently hope he hasn't caught me staring at him. "Here you go, man," he says, handing me a very warm, very full, syringe of perfectly cooked dope. "Thanks, CJ..." I reply, taking it from his outstretched paw. I turn over both of my arms, trying to find a suitable vein to inject into. I can't seem to find anything; they must've collapsed again. I give a frustrated groan and fall back against the sofa. I hate it when I have to 'jug' my shots...

CJ sees the look on my face and smiles warmly, placing a paw on my leg. "No worries, friend..." he whispers, reaching out his other paw for the syringe. "We've all been there."

I hand him the shot, and he motions for me to tilt my head to one side. I shiver under his touch as he rubs a soft paw delicately up and down my neck, searching for my jugular vein. When he finds it, he presses down, holding a claw over it to mark its location as he brings the syringe up to his mouth. With his teeth, he removes the plastic safety cap from the needle, spitting it onto the floor. I feel a slight prick of pain as he inserts the needle under my skin, and presses down on the plunger gently. As the drug rushes directly to my brain I give a loud sigh, and sink back onto the sofa. Unlike most of my shots, I can actually FEEL this one. Holy shit, I REALLY feel this one... I decide that he must've given me a very pure dose from his personal stash; not something to be taken lightly. Seeing the smile spreading over my face, he gives a hearty chuckle.

"It's good, right?" he asks.

"Oh my god... It's Soooooo good." I slur in reply. "Is that what you shoot every day?"

He nods his head and uncaps his own syringe. "Only the best for me, man..." he murmurs as he brushes his paws through the fur on his arms, looking for a vein of his own. As I begin to nod in and out, I notice that he's getting the same look on his face that I had only seconds ago. I laugh loudly, and hold out my hand. "No worries, friend..." I say, mimicking his tone of voice, "We've all been there."

He laughs as well, handing over the syringe so that I can return the favor. With some effort, I manage to find his thick jugular vein hidden under the fur on his neck, and I shoot him up. As I remove the needle from his skin, he falls backwards, taking in long, slow breaths as the waves of euphoria wash over him. I toss the used syringe onto the table, and feel around my pants for my cigarette pack. Finding it, I flip it open. It's empty. I frown as I remember that I'd smoked my last cigarette the night before.

CJ sees this, and sits up to dig through the clutter on his crowded table. He locates a pack of Newports and tosses them to me, along with his lighter. I remove two cigarettes from the box and stick them in my mouth, lighting up both of them before passing one over to him.

"Thanks for all of this, man..." I say, as I exhale a thick plume of smoke into the sweet-smelling air. CJ shakes his head slowly, and smiles at me. "Not a problem," he replies, "You're more than just a customer, James... I like to think of you as a friend."

His words make me smile as I take another drag from the cigarette. I'd never really thought about it that way. I'd never had any real friends since the last time I'd hung out with Damien and Jeff, and that was years ago... It's nice to have someone say that they feel that way about me. I place my hand on his lap, and begin to rub the fur on his leg, making him groan as I near his boxers. I can see his cock starting to poke its way out of his sheath as I get closer. Before I can go on, however, he lowers a paw onto my hand and stops me. "You don't have to do that..." he whispers. "I don't expect anything in return for this...and I'm not the kind of guy who'd force you to do something you didn't want to."

I withdraw my hand with a thin smile, and nod my head in reply. He sees the slight hint of sadness in my eyes as I pull away, and gives me a warm look of reassurance. "If you feel like you need to be close to someone, though, you're more than welcome to come over here."

With those words of encouragement, I slide next to him and cuddle against his side. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me close as I bury my head into the soft, warm fur on his chest. I can hear a low growl, almost a purr, escape his lips as I snuggle up to him, enjoying the feeling of being held in someone's arms, at least for tonight. We nod out on the sofa together, our breathing slow and deliberate, the heroin coursing through our veins acting as the thickest blanket the two of us could possibly share. As I continue to listen to the cover of "Comfortably Numb" playing softly on his stereo, I begin to fade into unconsciousness. My last thought before I fall asleep is that I've never felt this close to somebody in so long. I'd almost forgotten how sweet, how safe, it feels...

When I wake up, CJ is no longer next to me on the sofa. I look around, and I notice that he's draped a soft blanket over my body and propped a pillow under my head. I find myself wondering where he's gone, when the smell of something cooking fills my nostrils and causes me to smile. I pull off the blanket and sit up on the couch, rubbing my eyes to clear away the flakes.

"Good morning, James," his voice greets me, as I turn my head towards the kitchen. "Hey, CJ..." I slur, stretching out my arms and letting loose a loud yawn. "What's cookin'?"

"I'm making some eggs, sausage, and toast." he tells me. "There's plenty for both of us if you're hungry."

The offer of food appeals to me, and I can hear my stomach growling, begging me for nourishment. I don't feel as sick as I usually do, so I get up from the sofa, and tell him that breakfast sounds perfect. "Thanks, man," I say. "Can I use your shower? I feel like I should clean up a bit before I eat."

"Of course," he motions to a small door next to his bedroom. "Go right ahead. There's a wake-up shot for you on the table if you want it."

I let my vision drop to the table, and find the syringe filled up with heroin sitting right next to the small cooking candle. Picking it up, I slip it into my pocket. 'This might be the last shot I get in a while,' I tell myself. 'I should probably save it for later.'

With that, I grab my backpack off the floor near the front door, and head into the bathroom to take a shower. As I close and lock the bathroom door, I notice that the tile on the wall and the ceramic on his tub is virtually spotless. I turn the knob for hot water, and I'm greeted with a nice, warm, crystal-clear liquid, nothing like the sludge which gets piped into my apartment several floors below. I chuckle as I let it run through my fingers, warming them up. This is great. Unzipping my backpack, I take out a fresh pair of boxers, a cream colored T-shirt and a pair of matching jeans, setting them on the counter near the sink. I remove the syringe from the pocket of my dirty pair and place them on top.

With haste, I strip off my clothes and step into the steaming hot water. I test out some of the exotic soaps, shampoos, and body washes that CJ has, settling on a body wash that smells faintly of lavender and a shampoo that gives off the pungent aroma of a field of strawberries. I go to work, scrubbing my body and hair down with the sweet-smelling substances, doing my best to rid my skin of all traces of dirt, grease and grime. I note with some certainty that this could quite possibly rank among the top ten showers I've ever taken in my life. I silently thank CJ for his amazing hospitality, and tell myself that from now on, I'd count him among my closest friends.

Finished with my shower, I turn off the water, and reach for one of the deep black towels that are hanging from a rack next to the door. I dry off my body and hair, before slipping on the fresh clothes that I've chosen for the day. The shirt hugs my body tightly, revealing my abs and chest through the fabric, before coming to a stop just past my navel. The matching jeans feel snug around my hips, showing off the curves of my waist and back. I think they show my ass pretty well, too, which isn't a bad notion. Looking over myself in the mirror, I run my fingers through my hair, getting it frizzy and allowing a few thick, wet strands to fall in front of my eyes. There... my look is complete. I smile with satisfaction as I stuff my dirty clothes into the backpack before zipping it shut, placing the syringe of dope into my pocket for later.

I walk back out into CJ's living room, and I notice that he's done cooking. He's seated on the sofa, munching on a piece of toast, and when he sees me, he stops all movement and just stares. "Wow..." he says, mesmerized. "You look really..." He can't seem to find the words to describe it. I guess I've done a good job.

"Different?" I finish for him as I sit down next to him. I see the plate of food on the table, with a fork next to it, and I lift them both towards me and begin to devour the eggs with relish. "That's one way of putting it..." he replies with a smile as he continues to eat. We finish our breakfast at about the same time, and he takes my plate from me before heading to the kitchen sink to wash them both. "What're your plans for today?" he calls to me from the kitchen. "I don't really know, man." I reply. "It's Friday, so I'll head over to Dub and Trance, probably. I've gotta get some cash together to pay you for my next shot, so I'm hoping I might find some willing 'clients' over there, if you can get that."

I hear a laugh as he shuts off the faucet and comes back from the kitchen. "Really? Whatever happened to breaking into houses and stealing whatever was left around?"

I shrug my shoulders as he reclines next to me. I can see that while I'd been in the shower, he'd changed into a new outfit. He's now wearing a pair of black jeans with tears at the knees, and a black button-up shirt that is open, exposing his chest. I also note the pair of black sunglasses with a silver frame settled above his eyes, giving him the full-on laid-back partygoer look.

"There's nothing good around here, so I guess I'm stuck hustling tonight." I tell him. He raises his eyes and gives a nod of acceptance. "Sounds like a plan, then. I gotta be honest though, I never really figured you for the type."

I laugh and retort, "Well, I never figured you for the type of drug dealer who'd snuggle up to his customers and let them sleep over."

"Aww, now that hurts..." he replies with a mock frown, "But If I remember it correctly, I'd say it was YOU who was snuggling up to ME."

We share a short laugh, and he decides that he'll go with me to D&T after he sets up a few deals. I tell him that that's fine with me, and he leaves the room to make a few phone calls, letting his customers know where he'll be for the day. We spend the next several hours talking over numerous different subjects which seem to come to mind, until the sun begins to settle on the horizon. After CJ sprays on some cologne, he tells me that he's ready to go. I tell him to wait for a minute, and retrieve my backpack. Unzipping the small pocket in the front, I reach in and take out a thick gel capsule filled with white powder. This is something special that I always take with me when I go out hustling. I slip it into my pocket. I meet CJ in the hallway, and he locks the door to his apartment. (It has three locks, now that I notice) The two of us take the elevator downstairs to the entrance, and once we're outside, we walk across the street to get to his car.

I eye the row of cars parked along the curb with fascination, wondering which one belongs to CJ. I consider the small compact that's parked directly in front of the entrance, but I dismiss the thought as he leads me past it. We near a nice-looking sedan with twenty-two inch rims and candy-blue paint, and I tell myself that this HAS to be it, when he leads me past that car as well. We finally end up at an alleyway nearly a block away from our apartment complex, where I see a car hidden between two buildings that has a nondescript canvas tarp covering it. He walks over to the front bumper, and grips the tarp with a paw before turning to me. "This is it..." he says. With one swift jerk of his arm, he throws the tarp off of the mystery vehicle, and my eyes go wide.

I feast my eyes on the monstrously sexy body of an all-black 1970 LS6 Chevrolet Chevelle, with dual white racing stripes running from the hood to the trunk, and four brand-new looking Tiger Paw GTS tires. Jesus, it's the kind of car that would make me jizz in my pants if I ever saw it out on the street... Oh, wait, I think I just did... Shit. I'm standing there, paralyzed, when he opens the passenger-side door from the driver's seat, and calls for me to get in. "Are you just gonna stand there with your tongue hanging out, man?" he yells. "Let's roll!"

I tear ass over to the door, throw myself inside, and shut it quickly before he has the chance to say anything else. I'm looking over all the bells and whistles, marveling at the clean interior and feeling the supple black leather of the seat caress my body as I strap on the seatbelt. I can't help it; I'm giggling like a girl on her first date. This is AWESOME.

"How the hell can you afford this?!" I ask him. I make no attempt to hide the awe in my voice. CJ laughs, and starts the engine. I nearly jump out of my seat at the loud roar of the V8. It's the 454, I can tell immediately. Holy SHIT...

"I'm a drug dealer, remember?!" CJ shouts over the noise. "You think I just give everyone shots for free?!"

With that last comment, he throws the stick shift into second gear, and stomps his foot on the gas. I'm thrown back against my seat as we peel out loudly on the blacktop, the engine screaming powerfully as he propels the car towards the clubs and bars of Harbor City's red-light district. As we dodge through traffic and blast through obvious red lights while heading deeper into the city, I find it hard to resist the urge to roll down my window and give a shout of pure, unadulterated joy... So I do it. And I don't care that CJ has burst out into howling laughter.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at our destination. Happy hour at Dub and Trance is in full swing, and as CJ pulls the car into what appears to be the only empty parking space left, I can begin to feel the pounding beat of the club's signature styles of music shaking the ground beneath us. I raise myself out of the Chevelle, and shut the door carefully behind me as I take in the sights. D&T is one of only a handful of gay clubs in the red-light district.

The exterior looks shabby and run-down, with its crumbling brick walls and rusting metal pipes running along the side of the building. There's a short chain-link fence surrounding an outdoor patio, where people have gathered to smoke and talk away from the loud sounds of the music. If it weren't for the music and the long, long line of people standing by the door waiting to get inside, the only way you'd be able to tell that the place was a club and not some sort of warehouse would be the giant, fading mural that says "D&T" splattered in white paint across the front of the building. Along with that mural there is a giant circle of numerous kinds of paw prints, also in white paint, surrounding the letters. I spy my own handprints under the curve of the ampersand, and smile. Jeff was the one who designed the mural, years ago. I haven't been here in a while and I can't believe that it's still there.

I take my place at the back of the line, and I wonder aloud how long it's going to take us to get inside. As if sensing my impatience, CJ taps me on the shoulder and motions for me to follow him as he heads for the front. Confused at what he thinks he can do about it, I follow at his heels. When we reach the entrance, he steps up to the bouncer, a large coyote with dusty brown fur, and smacks him on the arm. "Yo, Blackwell!" he shouts over the music.

"Holy shit, CJ!" the coyote responds excitedly, wrapping his arms around the skunk and lifting him off his feet in a giant bear hug. I watch with surprise as the bouncer puts CJ back on the ground, and they slap paws and exchange pleasantries. CJ leans close to Blackwell's ear, and whispers something unintelligible as he slips some object that I can't see into the coyote's paw. I watch the bouncer nod his head madly, before unhooking the rope that blocks off the door, and motioning for us to go ahead. "You guys go on in!" he shouts to us, before resuming his job of checking ID's and patting down patrons for weapons. As we step into the club, the music becomes loud enough to rattle my vision. I point to the bar, and CJ nods, following me as I make my way to the buff tiger who's pouring the drinks tonight. "Give me a beer! Whatever's on tap!" I shout to him. He nods his head and reaches for a pint glass. I turn back to CJ. "Dude, how'd you know the bouncer?" I ask him, having to shout to be heard over the throbbing, pulsing beat of the loud dubstep music.

"He's one of my customers!" CJ shouts back, taking a couple of bills out of his pocket to hand off to the tiger as he returns with my drink. "I slipped him a gram to get us in!"

I am amazed. "Where have you been all my life?!" I ask him, chugging half of the pint in one go as my heart speeds up with the beat. "Upstairs!" he replies, "You just never asked me to hang out!"

I laugh, and hand him the beer, which he finishes in one large gulp. "I've gotta go meet some people!" he tells me, "You do your thing, man! Make some money! If I'm not here when you're done, see if you can catch a ride back!" With that, he hands me a ten-dollar bill for drinks, and heads up to the VIP section of the club. I place the money on the bar and order up a triple-shot of whiskey, before letting my eyes scan the bar for tonight's mark. I see several lonely males seated at the bar, but none of them seem to be paying any attention to me. When my drink comes, I make a show of tossing it all back in one large gulp, and licking my lips clean. That turns a few heads.

One of them belongs to a huge brown bear, his muzzle already turning gray with age. He smiles down at me as I hop off my bar stool and slowly walk past him. 'Nah, too old.' I tell myself. 'Those guys take forever to finish, if they can even get it up in the first place.' I tease him by rubbing a hand along his back, anyway, as I move on to the next male who's caught my eye. This one's a bit better. He's a jackal with those big ears and that small, fox-like muzzle, the fur around his whiskers naturally white in contrast to his tan fur. I'm about to stop and introduce myself, when I notice that his eyes are darting all over the place, and the paw he's holding his beer with is visibly shaking. 'TWEAKER!' my mind screams. 'NO WAY! I'm already a junkie, I don't need a meth-head bringing his cock anywhere near me tonight. Moving on.' I leave the jackal, not touching him at all, and keep walking. I come to a stop near end of the bar, feasting my eyes on the male seated at the last stool. Perfect... I slap on my sexiest smile as I walk up to him, putting a small shake in my hips as I get close.

"Hey there," I say, leaning onto the bar and staring into his eyes. "Buy me a drink?"

He smiles warmly, and calls the bartender over. I ask for more whiskey, and while the tiger's fixing my drink, I take the time to look over the guy I've chosen. He's a buck, his large, bony antlers making him seem taller than he really is. I take in his tan and white-speckled hide, the black leather vest he's wearing, along with his scuffed leather pants and the tattoos on his forearms. He looks like the biker type; those guys can go long and hard for hours, and there's no telling when they're really finished with you. I'm gonna have to jack the price up on this one, to be sure. I just know I'll need a shot or two once he's finally done.

"What's your name?" I ask him, as the bartender returns with my drink and sets it down in front of me.

"How much?" he replies, ignoring my previous question in favor of getting right down to business.

"Four bills." I tell him.

He seems to ponder over the price for a moment, sipping on the beer in his hand, before he turns back to me. "Three-fifty." he counters. I shrug my shoulders and smile. "Sure thing, pretty boy."

I take a seat on the stool next to him, and toss back my shot. He asks me if I'd like another one and I tell him that would be great. The bartender comes over with the bottle and refills my glass. The buck tells him to leave the bottle, and gives him a few twenties to cover it. "Drink as much as you like." he tells me. I give him a smug grin, and using my thumb, I pop off the pourer on the whiskey bottle, and tip it over my mouth. I can see his jaw drop slightly, along with the other males at the bar, not to mention the bartender, as I suck down the entire contents of the liter-sized bottle, before setting it down on the bar. Everyone stares at me, expecting me to immediately puke it all up, but that doesn't happen. If I can handle a little dope sickness every morning, I can hold my liquor, thank you very much.

"Goddamn, kid..." Says my lover for the night, "You've got some serious spunk in ya."

"Not yet." I reply, drawing a finger under his chin with a smile, "But I will soon."

"Let's get out of here." he tells me, placing a few more bills on the bar to cover his tab as he gets up from his seat. I stand up as well, and he takes ahold of my hand, leading me towards the back exit of the club. I think back to CJ for a moment, but I remember that he's told me not to wait up for him. Shrugging it off, I follow the buck into the alleyway behind the building. I pause when I see the motorcycle he's walking up to. So I was right. He IS a biker. As he settles himself down on the bike and inserts his key into the ignition, he motions for me to have a seat on the smaller pad behind him. I position myself at his back and wrap my arms around his waist as the bike's engine roars to life. I don't see any helmets anywhere near the thing, but I guess that's because he couldn't find any that would fit over his antlers... Or maybe he just doesn't care.

I let the wind whip through my hair and watch as everything around me passes in a blur as he speeds through the city. I don't think he ever stopped as we muscled on, the seat of the bike getting warm with the heat from the engine as it roared loudly and pushed us forward. Eventually we slowed down, as we came to a nice neighborhood in the suburbs outside of the city. The buck maneuvers his motorcycle down a dark cul-de-sac, and pulls it into a vacant driveway in front of a very nice house. I check out the garden in the front yard, which is filled with lillies, tulips, and daises, along with the tall, thick rosebushes lining the walkway which leads to the front door. There's something vaguely familiar about stone archway above the entrance, but I'm so drunk that I ignore it. I step off the bike and he follows, taking my hand in his and leading me towards the front door. When we reach it, he pushes it open, not even bothering to twist the knob. I notice some wood chips and splinters on the floor nearby, but I ignore them as well. Maybe he's broken into this place and decided to bring me back? I don't care, really. Besides, it just means I can steal a few things before I take off in the morning. That's an extra bonus for me, any day.

"Seriously, what's your name?" I slur as he leads me up the stairs, towards a room at the end of the hall. He opens the door, and we step inside. "No names." he tells me. "It always works better that way." 'What?' I hear in my mind. 'What does he mean about 'always'?' It's not until I see the three figures sitting on the bed in the darkness that I realize what's really about to happen here. The buck chuckles as he flips a switch, and light illuminates the dark room, revealing his companions. One of them is a lion, with scars across his face and chest, who's licking his muzzle hungrily as he eyes me. The one leaning against the headboard is black labrador, and he flashes his teeth at me when I look him over. Finally, the one sitting at the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette and spitting on the floor, has the sharp and scaly features of a crocodile. I begin to shake and hyperventilate as a feeling of panic overtakes me. I'm going to be raped. These guys are gonna seriously fuck me up! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

I know I can't run from them. They would undoubtedly catch me before I reach the door, and drag me back to the bed kicking and screaming. And I know there's no way they'd at least let me take them all one at a time; no, I know those patches on their vests. This particular gang likes to do crazy shit to whoever they get in their bed; shit that not even professional porn stars would be comfortable with having done to their bodies.

I find myself frozen in place where I stand. I want to run. I want to scream. But I can't. Just then, the door to the room slams shut as the buck who brought me here approaches me with this glazed-over look in his eyes. I can't do anything to stop him as he grips both of my arms and tosses me backwards onto the bed. The lion and labrador are all over me, tearing off my shirt and trying to get my pants undone. Suddenly, I remember the capsule. That one special thing that I always carried in case of a situation like this. Before they can pull my jeans off, I jam my hand into the back pocket, snatch it up, and whip it to my face, swallowing it before any of them has a chance to see what's happened. The lion roars as he clamps a hand around my throat. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" he screams. "WHAT DID YOU JUST TAKE?!"

"FUCK YOU!" I scream back, as his companion finally manages to pull off my jeans and boxers, tossing them aside. The lion slaps me hard across the face, causing me to grunt with the pain. "TELL ME!" he shouts in my ear. "NO FUCKING WAY!" I shout back, clamping my mouth closed as he attempts to force a claw through it to make me regurgitate. The lion looks towards the buck and the crocodile, pleading with his eyes for advice. The buck shakes his head. "It's too late to stop him now, prospect." he says. "Get on with it. You guys get first go. It's your party."

I give a whimper of pain as I am flipped on my side, and my arms are pulled tightly behind my back. I can hear the sticky sound of duct tape unstretching, and my eyes go wide as I feel several layers of it wrapping around my wrists, binding them together. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" I scream at the lion, who delivers a straight punch to my nose as a response. I can hear a sickening 'snap' as it breaks, and I feel blood begin to trickle down past my lips. "GET HIS FUCKING MOUTH! SHUT HIM UP!" the lion screams to the labrador, who hands him a strip of tape with which to muffle my screams. I yell against the the tape as it gets placed over my mouth, the blood running from my nose making it hard for me to breathe. I can do nothing as I am pushed onto my stomach, and I hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone.

The lion thrusts himself into me first; I can tell by the sharp pain that the barbs on his cock deliver to my insides as they dig into me. Not even trying to ease his way in, he immediately starts pumping into me as hard and fast as he can, making me scream out in pain. The labrador holds me down, threatening to tear the tape off my mouth and stuff his cock down my throat if I don't shut the hell up. I grit my teeth and feel the tears welling up in my eyes as the assault continues, the lion slamming himself into me with reckless abandon and panting loudly in my ear as he fucks me. I can't take much more of this pain. I'm hoping the drug will kick in before he finishes off; I don't want to be awake to feel the labrador knot inside of me when he cums. As I grunt and moan under the tape, I feel the lion speeding up; his sac making wet slapping sounds against my skin as he pushes in to the hilt over and over again.

I can't help it; I'm crying out in pain.

As he nears orgasm, I hear him growling, and I silently pray over and over that that'll be it. I find myself starting to get groggy and my vision starts to blur as he thrusts even faster. I stop screaming; no sound comes out of my mouth. The last thing I hear before total darkness creeps in is a loud roar as he blows his load, but I don't feel it. I'm already down for the count.

---

What the fuck? Where am I? What the hell's going on here?

I open my eyes, blinking to clear away the blurry trails in my vision. I shake my head to try and get rid of the fog that seems to have taken it over, but instead I only end up making it worse. I'm on a bed; I can tell that much. Let's start from there. I'm also naked. Wow; I must've had an interesting night. I feel some dried blood on my face, and as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a sharp pain in my ass. A REALLY interesting night, I tell myself. I sigh, lean back, and prop my body up on my hands, not ready to get out of bed just yet. I immediately jerk them back when they come into contact with something sticky and wet. I raise them in front of my face to see what it is.

My jaw drops. Blood. Turning back to where I was laying on the bed, I can see that the sheets are covered with blood. There are traces of semen mingled in with the crimson fluid, and I can see a few discarded strips of duct tape tossed on top of a pillow. What the FUCK happened to me last night?! I scan my memories as best as I can, trying to search for an answer. The last thing I definitely remember was talking with CJ, and deciding to go to D&T for happy hour that night. What did I end up doing? My breath catches as I remember a certain powder-filled gel cap that I'd taken from my backpack before we'd left the apartment. Spying my pants laying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, I snatch them up and rifle through the pockets. I find a syringe of heroin, which I set next to me. My cell phone is in there as well, and I set that next to it. In my other pocket is a small wad of bills, four hundred dollars, I notice, as I count it. But where's the capsule? I specifically remember putting it in my---

I must've taken it. That's why it's gone. And the only reason I even carry that thing with me is because of my insane, irrational fear that one night when I'm hustling, I could get raped. Turning back to face the small puddle of blood on the bed sheets, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what happened. Shit... I guess it's better that I don't remember it, if anything. I slip on my boxers, which I find on the bed, not too far away from where I woke up. I pull my pants on, groaning with pain as the tight jeans slide over my aching hips. My shirt is on the floor, and I limp over to discover that it's been shredded into fucking rags. Well, doesn't that beat all... I slip it on anyway. Looking around this room, I can tell there's something eerily familiar about this place. I feel like I've seen it before, but where? My eyes scan the bedroom, looking for anything that can tell me why this place is giving me a feeling of fucking deja vu. They fall on a small, framed photograph of a man and a woman, holding a teenage boy by the shoulders and smiling for the camera. Intrigued, I pick it up, and have a closer look.

He looks handsome, smartly-dressed in a tuxedo, with his beard cleanly shaved. She looks beautiful, in a bright white sun dress, her hair long to her shoulders and her smile accentuated by her red lipstick. And the teenager... He has long black hair, emerald green eyes, and no hint of a smile whatsoever. I start panicking and my hands start shaking as I realize exactly where I am. This is my house. My PARENTS' house! Whoever they were, they brought my back to my fucking PARENTS' house! THIS IS THEIR FUCKING ROOM! THEIR FUCKING BED! WHAT THE FUCK?!

Screaming, I drop the photograph onto the floor and start looking for a way out. I grab the syringe and phone off the matress and stuff them into my pocket, heading for the door to the room so that I can get as far away from this place as possible. Before I can reach for the knob, however, I hear voices downstairs that make my heart skip.

"Honey, someone's broken into our house!" a woman shouts. "I think I just heard something upstairs!

"Stay downstairs!" A man's voice replies. "I'm going to go get my gun from the den!"

I swear silently, and start looking for an alternate escape route. There's a window, but we're on the second floor... FUCK IT! I unlatch the window and throw it open, a gust of air blowing my hair all over my face as I start to climb out. When I'm on the small ledge overlooking the grassy front lawn below, I don't hesitate. I jump, taking care to tuck and roll as soon as I hit the ground. I push myself to my feet, ignoring the throbbing aches in nearly every part of my body, and I run. I run, run, and run, not stopping, even for a second.

When I finally reach the run-down street where my apartment complex is located, my feet are on fire and my lungs are burning. I slow my run to a jog, snatching my cell phone out of my pocket to call CJ. I dial his number, but as I press the receiver to my ear, I hear my call go directly to his voice mail. I try a few more times, with the same result. Sighing with utter defeat, I trudge my way up the stairs in the lobby to get to my room, not bothering with the shitty elevator. As I push open my door, I bend down to retrieve the candle and lighter, lighting the wick so that I can have some light in my now-familiar shithole of a dwelling.

Still panting loudly, I go to my bathroom, where, in the mirror, I get a closer look at the damage to my face. My nose is broken; the bridge is oddly out of place. Taking a few deep breaths, I grit my teeth as hard as I can, press both of my hands to the sides of my nose, and endure the sickening 'crunch' as it snaps back into place. The pain is unbearable. I scream. After a few more seconds standing over the sink, I finally manage to drag myself over to my sleeping bag and fall to the ground on top of it. The syringe comes out of my pocket. The cap goes flying. The needle finds a vein. The drug enters my bloodstream. The pain in my face dies down to a dull throb as I pull the needle from my arm and toss the syringe into the trash bin.

Where the fuck is CJ? I'm gonna need some more soon.

As if to answer my question, my phone rings. I answer it without checking the number, mumbling 'hello' as I put it to my ear. A monotone, computerized voice echoes through my brain:

"This is a collect call from the Harbor County Jail system. You have received a collect call from...'CJ'. This call may be recorded... Press '1' if you will accept the charges. Press '2' if--"

I don't give the voice any time to continue. I press '1'.

"Hello?" The familiar voice on the other end greets me. "CJ?" I say, astounded. "What the fuck happened? Why are you calling me from jail?"

I hear a sigh on the other line as my skunk friend prepares to recount his story.

"I got busted, man..." he tells me. "The guys I met up with last night at the D&T turned out to be undercover narcs. They said they wanted a couple ounces, so I had them meet me back at my apartment a little while later so I could break em' off. Everything seemed real chill, and all, until my door gets kicked in by a bunch of guys in SWAT suits screaming for me to get down and waving their guns in my face. The two guys I'd brought with me turned out to be agents with the Harbor Hills division of the DEA. They screwed me over, man. I'm facing ten years at the very least."

I'm shaking as I try to process this information. Who the fuck am I gonna score from now? Up until this point, I'd never really dealt with anybody besides CJ; he'd always been the guy I turned to.

"What the fuck do I do, man?" I ask him, hints of panic creeping into my voice. "Who do I turn to now?"

"I don't know, dude, you'll figure something out," he reassures me. "But don't think I'm leaving you high and dry. There's a little present for you in the glove compartment of my car; they never searched it before they brought me in. I don't even think they saw where I parked it. I keep a spare key under the front bumper. I've gotta go, there's some other guys who need to use this phone, and they're bitching at me to get off. You take care of yourself, man, I'll see you when I get out... And try not to wreck my Chevelle, will ya?"

With that, he hangs up, and the call is terminated. I'm still in shock. Did all of this really just happen? There's only one way to find out, I guess. I stuff my lighter into my pocket, pull myself up off the floor, take the elevator downstairs, and head outside, marching towards the alley where CJ likes to park his car.

I reach the canvas-covered Chevelle without incident and tear off the tarp, before feeling under the front bumper for the spare key. My hand brushes over a magnetic container and I pull it off. Sliding open the small plastic box, I remove the key and use it to open the driver's side door, sitting down in the seat and closing it behind me. I stare out the windshield and sigh. I guess this is where I'm supposed to end up, when everything is said and done.

Karma's being a bitch again, but there's not much I can do about it now.

I reach over to the glove box and use the key to unlock it so that I can pull it open. Feeling around inside, I pause as my hand brushes against a large ziploc bag. Removing it from its hiding place, I raise it to my face so that I can study the contents. There is about a half-ounce of heroin contained in a smaller bag inside, along with a few syringes and bundles of what appear to be hundred and fifty dollar bills. As I hold these things in my hand, I can feel the corners of my mouth begin to pull back into a smile. I can't help it; I laugh. I laugh long and hard, clutching the bag and car key to my chest. I laugh so hard my eyes well up with tears, and I ignore them as they begin to flow down my cheeks, stinging as the salt in them comes into contact with the dried blood on my broken nose. I laugh because I feel that I have to laugh; because if I don't laugh, I may start to cry, and cry endlessly.

As I sit in the driver's seat of CJ's Chevelle, I fix myself up a shot. No water is needed for this one; the heroin is very pure. As I search for a vein on my arms, I find myself wishing that CJ was here so that I could thank him properly. I could honestly kiss that skunky bastard right now. I find a usable vein and insert the needle, and as I press down on the plunger, I feel myself beginning to nod out once again. God, I FEEL this one...

I REALLY feel this one.

As I pass out on the driver's seat, I find myself getting this feeling that somehow, just somehow, everything's gonna be OK...

---

So much for taking a break, right? I can't help it! That was chapter three, and tomorrow, I'm going straight to work on chapter four! To the people who've read and reviewed my previous chapters, thanks for all the advice and the kind words. You guys really encourage me and keep me going. I don't know if I could keep this up if I didn't think that anybody would take the time to read my stories. You guys are great, and the more I check this place out, the more I find myself falling in love with it. Til' next time.

--Ken