FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Charlie and James By Ken Anderson

Chapter 5: A Brand-new Day

I open my eyes.

The sun hits them through the blinds covering the window. I squint. I don't feel sick anymore; somehow, I actually feel good. I have a slight pain in my stomach; a noticeable tremble in my body as I rouse myself. It's nothing I can't handle. Blinking away the crusts in my eyes that have formed after a long night's sleep, I reach for the bottle on the bedside table. Suboxone... My medicine; my wake-up; my cure... The start to my brand-new day.

Grasping the orange container with a weak hand, I twist off the cap and dig around for a pill. Finding it, I raise it in front of my face, identifying it before placing it under my tongue. I give a slight smile as I feel the familiar fizzing sensation in my mouth as it melts. It's like alka-seltzer; like soda... Like a panacaea that just makes everything better, and allows you to move on with your life. I take out a second tablet, and turn over in bed to face my new boyfriend.

He gives a slight moan as I run my hands over his dark, black muzzle. I can see him shiver under my touch, but his eyes refuse to open. Chuckling slightly to myself, I realize that I know exactly how to get his attention. With the hand that holds the pill massaging his chin, I reach the other under the blankets, towards his groin. He doesn't move as I reach his boxers, and begin to slip my warm fingers beneath their light, comfortable folds... I find his sheath, and begin to massage it softly. He growls. I smile as he shifts his position, as if encouraging me to continue with my little performance. When his pink cock emerges, I wrap my hands around it, stroking him to his full size as I bring my face closer to his. I press my lips firmly to his muzzle, and he returns my kiss, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and intertwining it with my own. I stare at him intently as he slowly opens his beautiful hazel eyes, allowing them to spread apart and work their way over my body. He breaks the kiss and grins widely.

Charlie is awake...

I lift the hand containing the pill, and wave it around in front of his eyes. He opens his mouth slightly, allowing his tongue to stick out in mock disgust. I'm gonna have to do it THAT way again... I place the pill on my own tongue, before moving towards his face. Grasping the fur on his neck with my hand, I push my tongue deep into his muzzle, and wait for the familiar feeling of his long, thin tongue to brush over mine. Within five seconds, he has retrieved the pill, and I can almost hear the fizzing as I pull away and scratch the fur between his ears. We've got our fix; at least for today. Well, one of them, anyway... The rest is just for fun.

As I slide out from under the covers and leave the bed, I grab the pack of cigarettes and the lighter next to the pill bottle on the nightstand. I light one up and inhale deeply. This has become my new routine. No more cravings. No more shots. No more searching through the collapsed veins on my arms to find a suitable location at which to insert a filthy needle.

No more...

As I stare at Charlie, still curled up on the bed with his eyes half-lidded, I let my mind wander over the events of the past few weeks. It's been almost a month since I met him, and just as long since my last shot of heroin. During that time, I've managed to hold onto my job at Fender's Pub, becoming quite proficient at pouring beer and mixing drinks. Mr. Fender's business is booming; everybody wants to come and see the antler nailed to the ceiling above the bar, not to mention the dried canine blood on the floor, before asking me for details about the fight. I'm more than happy to give them. It does me good to open up. Charlie has yet to find a new band; Tommy, my ex, in his usual fashion, has stepped in and completely usurped his position with Lost Shepherd. I hear they're going on tour pretty soon, but not that many people have been buying tickets. The fans just don't feel the same about the band now that Charlie is no longer in it. I can't say I blame them; I get to watch him play his guitar and hear him sing almost daily. His voice is perfect, with just the right amount of scratchiness and emotion. His technique is impeccable, his paws gliding so smoothly over the neck of his guitar as he bangs out the rhythmic chords and wild solos of his latest musical creations.

I think he's even written a song about the two of us. Yeah, after spending so much time together, I can honestly say that I'm falling for this fucked-up pup. Even though that may be the case, the two of us still haven't made the decision to take our love to it's highest, most physical level. Yeah, we haven't fucked... It's not that I don't want to... God help me, whenever I turn him down, I get to see him beg and whimper like an actual dog. Even though I find it mildly entertaining, it still seems kind of sad. It's not because he doesn't want to... The two of us have just decided to take it slow, and watch where things go as our short relationship develops. Sure, we tease each other. Sure, I'll give him a few treats every now and again; oral, and shit like that. It's not like I mind; I just don't feel totally ready to let it go any further than that at the moment. Maybe one day soon... Really soon.

Charlie sits up in bed as I knock the ash off of my cigarette into a tray on the bedside table. CJ never used to keep anything there. Charlie and I keep EVERYTHING on that table. I fall back onto the matress, offering the burning cancer stick to Charlie, who takes it from my fingers with a soft paw before kissing me on the cheek.

"Love you..." he coos, sticking the filter into his muzzle. I give him a gentle squeeze around the shoulders and return his kiss.

"I love you too."

"So what are your plans for the day?" he asks, taking another puff before handing it back to me. I shrug my shoulders and reply,

"No idea, man. I'm off work today, so I don't have any plans. What's on your agenda?"

He's got a slight smile on his face as he reaches under the bed and starts feeling around for something. A second later, he pulls out this stack of fliers, printed on dark yellow paper with black ink. They look like advertisements. Peeling one away and studying it, I can see that that is exactly what they are. Charlie has exhausted every connection he has in the music world while trying to find himself a new group; he's decided to do it the old-school, punk rock way. It all seems so grungy. The fliers he's made have a black-and-white photograph of him on the cover, holding a guitar. The caption reads "FORMER LOST SHEPHERD LEAD GUITARIST LOOKING FOR A NEW BAND." There are perforated strips of paper with our address and his phone number printed on them underneath the words. I can't help but laugh my ass off as I look over it again, not believeing my eyes.

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!" I cry out.

"Hey, don't laugh!" Charlie says, shooting me a glare. "It's all I can think of at the moment."

I stop laughing, and turn to face him. He's got a frown on his face and I can see the hurt in his eyes. I place a hand under his muzzle and bring myself close to kiss him. "Don't worry, baby..." I tell him, "I'll help you put em' up. We'll start by spreading a few of them around the neighborhood." I can see the smile spread across his face as he nods.

"That's what I love about you," he informs me, "You'd do anything for a miserable fuckup like me..."

I shake my head and scratch the fur behind his ears as I retort, "I have to. You're MY miserable fuckup."

With that, the two of us get out of bed, and start getting dressed. The summer heat has been fading quickly over the last few weeks, and Harbor City has become overwhelmed by a deep, body-numbing chill as the season approaches fall. We don't usually get snow here this time of the year, but the weather reporter has said that it's becoming more and more likely. I throw on a pair of sweatpants to keep my legs warm, before covering them up with a pair of Charlie's dusty, black jeans. He notices this, and smiles. "What?" I say, zipping up the slit in the back meant for his tail, "They fit me perfectly." Turning back to the closet, I remove a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a flannel jacket, layering them one on top of the other and feeling myself starting to sweat under the warmth. I try not to care; I'll be glad for it later. Charlie, having thick fur covering his body as it is, just throws on an unzipped hoodie and a pair of jeans, not even bothering with a shirt. 'He looks so sexy like that,' I decide. Though I find myself getting envious of his thick, lovely coat.

As he gathers up the fliers in his paws, he cuts the stack in half, and hands some to me. "So, where to?" he asks. I suggest that we head over to Fender's Pub, after plastering some of them around the neighborhood. Charlie agrees with my suggestion, and after grabbing a couple rolls of scotch tape from the living room, the two of us make our way downstairs towards the lobby. Once we reach it, Charlie tapes a few fliers to the wall near the front entrance. I tell him I doubt there's people around here who play his kind of music, but he replies that it's better to be safe than sorry.

The two of us split up and circle the block, slapping the fliers over every telephone pole, light pole, and bare brick wall. For shits and giggles, I even stick one on the windshield of a cop car parked in front of the diner across the street from the apartments, before hauling my ass out of there when the two officers come running out to chase me. I laugh uncontrollably as they fall behind. 'That'll be the highlight of my morning,' I decide.

I'm laughing like an idiot and totally out of breath when I meet Charlie near the Chevelle. He looks at me with confusion, and I tell him what I've done. "YOU DID WHAT?!" he shouts, "That's a waste of a good fucking flier!"

"It was SO worth it!" I yell back, and we both share a good laugh before settling down. I take the keys out of my pocket, before remembering that the gas tank of the Chevelle is totally empty. "You got a few bucks for gas?" I ask him.

He shakes his head, and digs around in his pockets. "Nope. I spent the last of my cash a few days ago, when we bought that ten-strip and the ounce of pot that you wanted. Still waiting on my royalties from Lost Shepherd's last album.... I've got a joint around here somewhere, though."

A couple weeks into my abstinence from opiates and Charlie's concurrent desire to quit taking pills, the two of us had made a very healthy and intelligent decision to start smoking pot and dropping acid again. If anything, the trips and the sweet, green herb tended to make life seem a lot less boring. After turning out several pockets, he finally comes up with the half-smoked joint. He sticks it between his lips and I light it up for him. "Come here," he instructs me. I watch as he inverts the joint, sticking the burning tip into his muzzle as I step closer to him. He pulls me by my neck into the kiss, and I take a deep breath as he blows the thick, harsh smoke into my mouth. When I can take no more, I break the kiss, and see him smile as he removes the joint and exhales.

"I love it when you do that..." I tell him.

He chuckles and takes another hit before passing it over to me. "So, we're walking?" he asks. I nod my head. The two of us leave the alleyway and start the long, slow trek towards Fender's. It's only several blocks away from where we live, but with the cold wind buffeting our bodies as we walk, it seems to take forever. We continue to pass the joint, enjoying the sweet, happy euphoria as we trudge slowly down the deserted sidewalks. No matter how weird we look as a couple, I actually enjoy myself when we get to go out like this and just BE...

Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at the bar.

It's still early in the afternoon, but I notice that there's a good-sized crowd seated in front of the bar as Fender serves the beer and pours the shots. As Charlie and I step inside, the conversation grows silent. People are staring at us. A few heads turn to look at Charlie, before moving up to the antler nailed on the ceiling. I guess some people are still a little skeptical about the whole 'bar fight' thing.....

Fender's grey fur seems to brighten a little as he cracks a smile, before vaulting over the counter and walking over to greet us. 'For a guy his age, he's still pretty nimble,' I think to myself. I wonder if it's the fact that he's been getting more customers lately, or if it's something else, entirely.

"James! Charlie!" he calls out to us, as he offers Charlie his paw to shake, before doing the same to me. "What brings you guys here?"

"Just running a few errands, Mr. Fender," Charlie replies, holding up the fliers. "I'm posting these all over the neighborhood, hoping that someone will see one and give me a call. I really need to find a new band."

Fender takes one from the stack and looks it over, nodding his head slowly. "Yeah..." he begins, "I heard about that. Your boys were all over FTMV a couple of nights ago, talking about it. I had a huge crowd in here when it came on. A few of the guys even tried to throw beer bottles at the TV screen."

Charlie and I chuckle as Fender recounts the event, with a slight hint of sympathy in his voice. "They're supposed to be putting on a show at the Warehouse in a couple of days before going on tour, but not too many people are planning to show up. Someone came in with one of their concert fliers earlier and set it on fire at the bar. I spent a good hour scrubbing out the stain."

He points to a dark brown spot on the wooden countertop.

Charlie and I make our way to the bar, seating ourselves at a couple of empty stools. Fender hops back behind the counter, and reaches his paw out towards the fliers. "Leave a few of em' with me," he says, "I'll put some up on the walls around here."

Charlie hands them over, before eyeing the bottles of liquor stored on the shelf with longing. I see his gaze, and nudge his shoulder to draw his attention. "Dude, we're broke..." I remind him, "There's no way..."

He's about to open his muzzle to respond, when our thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a couple of shot glasses being set before us. We turn back towards Mr. Fender, and see that he's pouring us two shots of some pretty good vodka. "It's on the house," he says with a smile. We both thank him profusely, before tossing back our drinks at the same time. As Charlie sets his glass down in front of him, he turns to Fender to speak.

"So what have people been saying about me?" he asks. Since being forced out of his band, Charlie has always kept an ear to the ground to listen to the gossip. It's something I can understand. His reputation as a musician is on the line.

Fender clears his throat before he responds. "Not much... Everyone's been talking about how fucked up it was that you got thrown out of the band. They all think you got dealt a shitty hand, especially with the pill problem that you had. There's talk of boycotting their upcoming tour; nobody seems to like the new guitarist who's been chosen to replace you. People keep saying that the music just doesn't sound the same anymore."

I give a slight chuckle as I take my pack of cigarettes from a pocket, and light one up. I hear Charlie let out a loud whimper from the seat next to me, and I retrieve one for him as well.

"I can't say that surprises me," I tell Fender, "After all, Charlie's the one the fans come to see. It's not the band's name that you can hear the crowd chanting before they play; it's his."

Charlie's got a huge grin on his face as he hears my compliment. Before I can say anything else, He slips a paw under my chin, and presses his muzzle against my lips in a kiss. I can hear some applause and cheers coming from the other patrons as we lock lips. "Get some, Charlie!" someone shouts. I laugh as we pull apart.

"Oh, he will!" I shout back. This is also greeted with cheers.

We bid farewell to Mr. Fender as we rise from our seats, and begin to head for the door. Before we can leave the bar, however, there is a slight buzzing noise as Charlie's phone rings. We stop walking, and I watch as he digs around in his pockets to retrieve it. He answers the call, and puts it on the speaker.

"Go for Charlie," he greets the caller.

"Hey, Charlie?" the mystery voice responds, "This is Officer Franklin from the Harbor City police department."

Charlie shoots me an angry growl, and I silently curse myself for my childish actions earlier.

"Yeah? How can I help you, officer?" Charlie asks.

"I was just going over the flier that one of you guys slapped on my squad car earlier," Officer Franklin continues, "And I decided to pass it along to my brother, who's the bass player in a local metal band. It's called Chaos Theory. Maybe you've heard of them?"

I watch Charlie's ears perk up as the name cycles through his mind. After a few seconds, he replies, "Yeah! Yeah, I've heard of them. They had a video on FMTV the other day, right? I think the song was called 'Give me your fears'?"

There's a chuckle on the other end of the line as the officer confirms this. "That's the one." he says, "Anyway, I've talked to the guys, and they all agree that it would be great to have you come in for an audition. Say... later on this evening? Can you make it across town?"

Charlie looks at me, and I shake my head, silently whispering, "We have no gas."

He turns his attention back to the phone in his hand. "I'd love to make it, officer Franklin, but my boyfriend and I are kind of having car troubles at the moment. The tank is empty, and we're basically flat broke."

There's a short pause on the other end, before the cop replies, "Not a problem. I'll tell my brother. He and the guys will swing by to pick you up in their van. It's been great talking to you, man. I've gotta go; my sergeant's staring at me and I'm supposed to be on duty."

With that, the call disconnects.

Charlie is frozen in shock, still holding out the phone in his paw. His jaw is quivering slightly, and I can see his tail swishing back and forth excitedly behind him. I give him a light punch on the shoulder to jar him back to reality. "What's up?" I ask him. "Is everything alright?"

Before I can react; he bursts out in a triumphant howl. I'm paralyzed as he throws his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, swinging me around in circles while screaming for joy. He lowers me to face him, and drives his lips onto mine in a deep, passionate french kiss. I'm staring with bewilderment into his eyes when he breaks the kiss and begins to speak.

"You did it! YOU FUCKING DID IT! I GOT AN AUDITION! OH MY FUCKING GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU!"

I don't do anything to defend myself as he plants kiss after wet kiss on my cheeks, before finally lowering me to the ground. There are wild cheers and clapping coming from the bar as we turn to face the patrons, who'd been enjoying our little display of romance. I can't help it; I'm blushing. I try to turn my head away, when I see Fender coming towards us.

"That's fucking great, guys!" He tells us. "Congratulations!"

He reaches out a paw towards Charlie, trying to return the fliers, but Charlie just throws his arms around the old weasel and give him a suffocating hug. I can hear Fender laughing as he returns the embrace, slapping Charlie on the back before letting him go.

"So what're you guys gonna do? Are you gonna celebrate?" he asks.

"Definitely!" I reply, taking the fliers from Fender before wrapping an arm around Charlie's waist and pulling him back to me. "We HAVE to!"

Charlie nods his head excitedly, before turning to face me. "Dude, we've gotta get back home!" he says, "I have to get a few hours of practice in before they show up!"

As we turn around to exit the bar, I watch as Charlie crumples up the stack of fliers under his arm and tosses them into the garbage can by the door. I do the same. 'That didn't take much time at all,' I think to myself, 'Finally, things are starting to look up.'

With that, we leave the bar, and start walking back towards our apartment. Charlie breaks into a run halfway through the journey, and I struggle to keep up with him as he turns the corner onto our street. When he sees our apartment complex, however, he stops, and I can see his ears fall in panic. When I finally catch up, I see what has caught his attention, and my jaw drops. There are police cars surrounding the front of the building, their lights flashing solidly red and blue, as numerous officers enter and exit the lobby.

I can see the landlord giving his statement, gesticulating wildly with his arms as he describes the events which must have occurred during our absence. Looking up towards the tenth floor, I can see that the window in our living room has been smashed open. Scanning the cracked, dirty street, I can spot pieces of CJ's expensive stereo system, numerous articles of clothing, and even the twisted, shattered remnants of one of Charlie's precious guitars. Someone must have broken into our place. Someone must have done this on purpose. Someone must be laughing at us right now, as they imagine our expressions when we see the damage that they have caused. Who could've done this? Why? I can't think of anybody who might hate Charlie so much; I can't think of anybody that I've managed to piss off recently. So how the hell can we explain this?

Neither of us speaks as we walk slowly towards the entrance. Mr. Marshall, our landlord, an old gray fox with skinny features and this look of pure, hopeless terror in his dark blue eyes, approaches us with a police officer in tow. I step forward to speak with them. Charlie's too shocked to say anything. He keeps shifting his gaze between the shattered window and the objects cluttered on the ground; an expression of pain and sadness is stretched across his face...

"What happened?!" I ask Mr. Marshall, unable to contain the shock in my voice.

"I couldn't stop him!" The fox replies, "He just trashed everything! I followed him upstairs, but by the time I got there, he was already inside your apartment! He was throwing things around the room, growling and foaming at the muzzle like he was insane! When I tried to talk to him, he looked at me like he was going to kill me! I don't know what this guy was messed up on, but I wasn't sticking around to find out! I got the hell out of there and called the cops!"

Charlie looks at me, a familiar snarl of rage forming at the corners of his muzzle as he speaks. "Can we see the damage?" he growls between clenched teeth. The cop who'd been taking Mr. Marshall's statement, a tall lion with his mane clipped short, nods his head solemnly. "We've finished photographing the place for evidence," he tells us, "We're about to take down the crime scene tape now. You guys can head up and see it for yourselves, but I'll warn you; it's not pretty."

With that, he steps aside, allowing Charlie and me to make our way towards the lobby. We enter the elevator, and Charlie brings a fist down onto the button for the tenth floor. I'm standing a good distance away from him; he scares me when he's like this. His entire body is visibly shaking, his fur stands on end, and each breath he takes comes out in a soft growl of anger. His fists are tightly clenched, and I can see that he wants to hurt somebody... Badly. He wants to make somebody pay in blood for the damage. I silently wonder to myself exactly how bad it's going to be, when the elevator doors slide open, and we step out.

As we approach the door to our apartment, I'm hit with the odor of something burning. It smells toxic, almost making me gag. I hold a hand in front of my nose as we step through the door frame, and begin to take in the results of somebody's chaotic, frenzied actions.

The wooden table from the living room has two of its legs snapped off, along with a nice-sized hole punched through it. It sits in a battered heap near one corner of the room, looking pathetic. The flat-screen TV, which had once belonged to CJ, is laying on the carpeted floor in a tangle of plastic, metal, and electrical wiring. It looks as if somebody has brought their foot down hard on the screen, causing it to crack and cave inwards at an unnatural angle. The sofa has been clawed to shreds and its fluffy, white stuffing has been scattered all about the room. There are dark black patches of singed fabric on one of the armrests and a cushion. I catch a whiff of a sour odor coming from them. I guess that explains the burning smell...

Looking past the couch, I see the shelf that had once held the stereo system and a few of the scented candles. It has been brought down hard on the floor, causing everything set upon it to come crashing down in an ugly, scattered pile. I see a small, framed photograph of CJ laying among the rubble, the glass smashed to pieces. I can't help but shake my head. Turning towards the kitchen, I see that the intruder has emptied the contents of the refrigerator onto the floor. All of our food lies in a greasy puddle, with flies already beginning to circle overhead. Charlie notices my expression, and pulls me away from the scene by my shoulders. We head for our bedroom...

It's only when he opens the door that we both realize we hadn't witnessed the full extent of the damage.

Our room is completely totalled.

The clothes from our closet are torn to shreds and scattered about the room. I take note of a busted-up guitar amp in the corner, one of the legs from the living room table sitting on the floor beside it. The other table leg has been impaled through the soft wall, and is sticking out next to the door. Like the sofa outside, our bed has been clawed to pieces, stuffing poking its way out through the numerous cuts and slashes left by some creature with thick, sharp claws. The nightstand is tipped over. Panic begins to well up in me as I see it. Rushing to the overturned object, I stand it upright and rifle through the drawer on its side.

The drugs are gone.

The bottle of Suboxone, which had been sitting on top of it when we'd left that morning, is nowhere to be found. Charlie's stash of pills and the bag of weed we'd spent our last cash on is missing as well. I'm starting to shake. I know that I can't go a day without the subs. I know that I'm gonna need a fix soon. I'm about to inform Charlie of what's missing, when I hear an anguished cry coming from the entrance to the closet. Turning around, I see my boyfriend on his knees, sobbing softly. As I approach him from behind, I can see what's causing his pain. He holds the neck of one of his guitars in his paws, its body hanging limp next to it, attached only by the strings. Looking past him, I can see that there is another broken guitar nestled in the shadows. This was no random break-in. This was deliberate. Somebody wanted us to come back here and see this.

I slowly wrap my arms around his waist, resting my neck on his shoulder as he cries. This seems to calm him down a little, but I can feel his body trembling. With tear-stained eyes, he looks up to me. He chokes as he tries to speak.

"They took one..." He whines, "They took one guitar, and destroyed everything else."

I leave him to cry out his pain as I get to my feet and head for the door. I've got to find something... ANYTHING... There has to be some evidence as to who the hell would do this. Finding it would be the only way to bring either of us peace.

Reminding myself that the cops have already gone over the place with a fine-toothed comb, I try to think of places they may have forgotten to check. I decide to start with the living room.

Kicking the debris from the rage-fuelled mayhem out of my way, I look everywhere. I check the sofa, and note the claw marks crisscrossing its fabric. Nothing. I check the area around the broken table. Moving it aside, I scan every inch of its form. Nothing. Getting frustrated with myself, I search the floor where the metal shelf has fallen. Brushing aside the shards of glass from the photographs and the ceramic from the candle dishes, I check the carpet. NOTHING! Not even a pawprint! I give a yell of anger, and I'm about to give up, when it suddenly catches my eye.

There... hanging from the jagged glass of the broken window to my right.... A small tuft of brilliant white fur. Slowly reaching my hand up to it, I pull it free. It looks so familiar...

Wait...

I know this fur.

I remember the feeling of it pressing against my body. I remember its scent. I know exactly who it belongs to. I can't keep myself from shaking as I realize who the culprit is.

Tommy. Tommy did this.

I must've cursed loudly, because Charlie immediately comes running, a look of concern plainly visible on his face. His muzzle is still stained with wetness from his tears, but whatever I've done seems to have spurred him to action. Unable to speak, I hand the clump of fur over to him. I watch as he studies it intently, before raising it to his nose and taking a deep whiff. His eyes go wide. His muscles tense. I can hear the roar of rage building up before he lets it out, his loud bellow piercing my eardrums like some long-lost ancient war cry. Looking towards his face, I can see the bloodied body of a soon-to-be dead wolf in each of his eyes.

"I'M GONNA KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER!" he screams.

He storms out of the apartment, and throws open the door to the staircase. I follow at his heels, panting loudly as I take the steps two at a time towards the ground floor. By the time we reach the lobby, I have to stop to catch my breath. Charlie, being fuelled by a massive surge of adrenaline, doesn't stop. He marches straight for the door. Forcing my legs to move, I reach him before he makes it and grab him, pinning him to the wall by his shoulders.

"Let me GO!" he growls. "I gotta handle this!"

I give him a hard slap across the face. "SHUT UP!" I scream back. "There's cops all over the place! We're out of gas! How the hell do you expect to walk out of here, let alone make it all the way across town?!"

He appears to consider this. Finally, he slumps to the floor, defeated. I watch as my lovely shep buries his head in his hands, and once again starts to cry.

I sit next to him against the wall, wrap my arms around him, and pull him close. "It's all right..." I tell him. "You'll have your shot at Tommy soon enough... We just have to figure out a way to get to him."

A few hours later, the police have left the scene. I've managed to scrape up enough loose change in the apartment to head down the street to the liquor store and purchase some cheap whiskey. As the two of us sit on the curb in front of the apartment complex, drinking, Charlie continues to shake. I rub his back and press my cheek to his shoulder, urging him to calm down. I just know this is going to work out. I pass him the bottle and he takes a swig from it before handing it back. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my pack of cigarettes. There's only one left. 'He needs it more than I do,' I decide, and I hold it out in front of his quivering muzzle. Leaning his head forward, he takes it between his teeth, and allows me to light it for him. After sucking deeply on it, he seems to settle down. We sit in silence, our only movements being to pass the bottle between one another as the sun sets. As the sky begins to turn dark, I notice a large van creeping slowly around the corner and heading for us.

The black Econoline pulls to a hard stop in front of us, before the large side door slides open. A skinny cheetah with numerous piercings on his muzzle steps out, followed by an otter with dark brown fur and spiked hair, and a well-built saber-toothed tiger, who exits from the driver's-side door. The three of them look down at us with confusion written on their faces. "What's going on, guys?" The otter speaks up. "My brother told me I'd find you here. Aren't we gonna have an audition?"

"We can't..." Charlie tells him softly. I listen as he explains what has happened to the three newcomers, pausing before he tells them about the missing guitar. He finishes up with my discovery of the fur, and our realization of what has occurred. When the story wraps up, I watch as the three bandmates huddle together near the door of the van and whisper among themselves. After a moment of what appears to be careful deliberation, they turn back to face us.

"Get in," The cheetah tells us.

"What? why?" I ask him.

"Just get in the van, guys," The tiger echoes. The otter, not having spoken, simply nods. Charlie and I take a look at each other, before pulling ourselves to our feet. He gets into the backseat of the van first, and I follow behind him. As I duck to climb in, the otter snatches the whiskey bottle from my hand. I give him a sour look.

"Hey, share the wealth, man," he says. "Besides, I'm gonna need it for this."

With that, the cheetah crawls onto the seat in the row behind us, while the otter rides shotgun. The tiger gets behind the wheel, and nobody speaks until he starts the engine.

"First off, I'm Oz, and I play the bass," The otter introduces himself, reaching a paw back to shake our hands. "This guy here..." he pats a paw on the tiger's shoulder, "Is Zack, our drummer... The skinny bastard with the yellow fur and black spots sitting behind you is Cory, our guitarist and my mate."

Cory reaches his paw over my shoulder to flip Oz off as he gets introduced. "Screw you, sea meat," he says.

"We're Chaos Theory." Oz continues, ignoring his lover. "And as for why we told you to get in the van; it's because we don't think you guys deserved to have that shit happen. Unlike some people, we actually have respect for you. Plus, we love Charlie's music. Now where does this fucker live?"

Charlie's ears perk up as Oz asks his question. I smack him on the shoulder with a smile and a nod of my head. I just KNEW this was gonna work out.

"Uptown," Charlie tells him, smiling brightly. "It's a townhouse near the edge of the city. Twelve-fifty-nine Lakeside Drive. Number thirty-two. The whole band lives there."

The otter nods his head, taking the final swig from my whiskey bottle before tossing it out the window and repeating the directions to Zack, the driver. "You guys are gonna fuck that asshole up," he says, turning back to us. "While we hold off the other guys in Charlie's old band. This is between the three of you, and we're gonna make sure nobody else gets involved. After you've gotten your payback and reclaimed your stuff, we'll head over to Zack's place for that audition. Now..."

I watch as he reaches under the passenger seat and pulls out a small mirror. Under the dim light of the streetlamps that we pass, I can make out several thin lines of white powder.

"You guys want to do some blow?" he asks us.

"Yeah!" Charlie and I shout, almost in unison. Oz produces a piece of a drinking straw from the center console, and inserts it into a nostril before snorting up one of the lines. I watch as he holds the mirror for Zack, and the tiger does the same.

Turning in his seat, he hands the mirror to me. Using the straw, I make one of the lines a bit thicker, and rail it up. As I feel the rush of endorphins coursing through my brain, I hand it off to Charlie, who repeats the process. I see him shake his head to clear away the drip as he growls softly. He sniffs deeply, trying to empty his sinuses, before turning around to hand the mirror and straw off to Cory.

"Why are you doing all this?" I ask Oz. "Isn't your brother a cop? Shouldn't we call him?"

He gives a slight chuckle and snorts loudly before responding, "Yeah... But if there's anything you guys are gonna learn about me, the first of them will be the fact that I am NOT my brother... I have my own way of doing things..." He turns to Charlie, "...and we are NOT your old band. We go all the way or we don't fucking go. We're all pretty messed up most of the time; you won't have to worry about us talking shit about your habit. Just make sure to guard your stash like it was full of diamonds. That being said, you guys say this prick cleaned out your drugs, too?"

The two of us nod our heads in confirmation, before Oz continues. "We want half," he tells us. "Half the pills, half the weed. That's our price for helping you out with this. You can hold onto the rest. Anything we find in that townhouse that's not yours, belongs to us. I don't care if we see an ounce of fucking smack sitting around; we're snatching it up. You guys cool with that?"

Again, we nod our heads. "That sounds pretty fair to me." Charlie tells him, before reaching out a paw to seal the deal. Taking Charlie's paw in his own and giving it a hard shake, Oz replies, "You're damn right it is." He turns to Zack.

"Put your foot down, kitty cat; you drive like an old lady! We're trying to get there before all the drugs are gone!"

The van rockets forward as we begin to speed up.

We manage to reach Charlie's old townhouse complex without incident. As we drive through the security gate and creep slowly past the sparsely-lit units, Charlie keeps an eye out for the one that used to belong to him. When he finds it, he extends a claw and tells Zack to stop. The tiger pulls quickly into an empty spot, oblivious to the fact that it is reserved for another vehicle. The five of us exit the van, hearts pounding and breathing raggedly as we approach the door to the place. Inside, we can hear music blaring from what sounds like the TV.

Charlie is about to knock on the door, when Zack snatches his arm from the air, and lowers it to his side. "We'll handle this part..." he tells us. With that, he rears back, raises a leg, and slams his foot into the door. The thick oak door flies inwards, crashing noisily against the wall as a small shower of splinters rains from the broken frame. The Chaos Theory crew marches in first, pushing Charlie and me aside as they step in and approach the living room.

Following behind them, the two of us can only watch as the drama unfolds. I see Henry, the cougar who plays bass, rising up from the sofa as Oz heads straight for him. Before he can do anything, however, Oz drives a fist into his muzzle, knocking him back onto the couch. Zack approaches Jason, the bull who serves as the band's drummer, and knocks him to the ground as he tries to defend himself. Cory, the cheetah, busies himself with collecting the bottle of vodka, the bag of weed, and the pack of rolling papers that are sitting on the table in front of the TV. "WHERE IS HE?!" Oz bellows at Henry. "WHERE'S THAT LILY-WHITE MOTHERFUCKER?!"

I find myself shocked and amazed at the tenacity these guys are showing. Charlie may be a violent, fucked-up rock star, but these guys are the REAL DEAL; they're HARDCORE. It's almost gangster-esque, the way they're handling this. Charlie also has a look of impressed awe upon his face as he watches.

His paw shaking, Henry points towards Charlie's old room. Oz looks back to us and gives a slight nod. He's done his part; now it's time for us to do ours.

I look to Charlie, whose expression has contorted itself into a scowl of grim determination. I follow him as he marches to the door and throws it open. Stepping into the room, I catch sight of Tommy for the first time in years.

He looks like shit. His white fur is stained with dirt, and I can see his eyes darting to and fro as he spots Charlie and myself. He used to be very well-built, but seeing him now, I can tell that he's lost quite a lot of weight. He's sitting cross-legged on the bed, drooling slightly from the muzzle as he fumbles with something in his paws. Looking closer, I see that he's trying to fill up a syringe. The small water-bottle cap he is holding, full of clear liquid, shakes in his paw as he tries to use the needle to suck up its contents. He appears to be shivering at first, but when I get closer, I can see that he's actually sweating under his fur. Looking next to him on the bed, I spy the thick baggie full of crystal meth. 'HAH!' I think to myself, 'It looks like my old lover has some issues of his own!' Looking past the drugs, I can make out the curves and shape of a guitar resting behind him on the matress. I recognize the design. This guitar belongs to Charlie.

Making my way around the bed to get to it, I snatch it up in my hands. Tommy gives a roar of anger and attempts to take it back, dropping the syringe and bottle cap as he lunges forward with his claws extended and his fangs beared. I jump back, scared that he's about to pounce on me, when I see Charlie jump forward and grab his arms, using his momentum to throw him onto the floor. He motions for me to back away as he stands over my ex, with a look of rage in his eyes.

"DESTROY OUR FUCKING HOUSE?!" he screams, "BREAK MY GUITARS?! YOU'RE OUTTA YOUR FUCKING MIND!"

With that he drives his foot deep into Tommy's gut, causing the wolf to curl up into a ball, gasping for breath. But Charlie's not done yet. He picks Tommy up by the scruff of his neck, punching him a few times in the face before slamming his muzzle against the wall. I grimace as I see the blood squirt from Tommy's snout before splattering onto the cool, white paint. That's gotta hurt. Tommy attempts to fight back, trying to claw at Charlie's face half-heartedly, but Charlie doesn't care.

He ignores the scratches and wraps a paw firmly around Tommy's throat, before shoving him back against the wall. Using his free hand, he delivers a series of painful punches to Tommy's body, before releasing him and allowing him to fall to the floor. Tommy retches loudly, and I watch as red blood comes pouring from his muzzle. Charlie has seriously fucked him up. I'm about to move in to intervene, when I feel a firm paw on my shoulder, stopping me. Turning around, I see Oz. "Don't," he tells me calmly, all traces of his previous hostility gone from his voice, "Your boyfriend needs this. Just let him do what he has to."

I nod my head, and turn back to face the violence. Charlie has Tommy pinned on his stomach with a knee against the small of his back, and is pulling his right arm backwards. I feel myself tense for what I'm thinking is about to happen. It does. With a loud yell, Charlie wrenches my ex-boyfriend's arm to the side; there is a loud 'SNAP' as the bones crack near his elbow. So much for the upcoming tour. I hear an agonized howl of pain as Tommy claws the ground in front of him with his free paw, unable to turn around and face his attacker. The damage done, Charlie drops Tommy's limp arm to the ground, before getting to his feet and walking towards me. He reaches out a paw for his guitar, and I hand it over. I watch a smile begin to form across his scratched muzzle as he straps it around his shoulder, before turning to me. Slipping a paw under my chin, he lifts my face up to meet his own, before pressing his lips to mine in a long, passionate kiss. When he pulls away, I realize that I am blushing. He doesn't care; he smiles.

"I love you," he tells me.

"...Love you, too." I reply. He takes my hand in his, and Oz backs out of the door frame to let us through. I turn to the otter before we exit the room, and tell him, "There's a good teener of meth on the bed, if you want it." He nods his head feverishly, and goes over to grab it. As Charlie and I exit the townhouse, I can hear Tommy sobbing softly on the floor of his room. I try not to think about it.

Oz and his bandmates manage to find the rest of mine and Charlies' drug stash hidden around the apartment, and after leaving Henry and Jason with a dire warning not to call the police, they meet up with us at the van. Everybody seems ready to leave, but they have no idea what's in store for them...

Cory opens the back door, and cries out in surprise when he sees us. Charlie and I are laying on the floor in the rearmost area of the van. Our clothes are strewn about us as we explore each others' naked bodies. Charlie's guitar sits on the seat in front of us. Oz peeks his head in through the door, and I see him give a slight smile as Charlie crushes his furry body against mine, and locks me in a kiss.

"I guess we can have that audition in the morning." he murmurs.

"CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!" Charlie and I both shout at the same time. Oz retracts his head and the door slams shut. We can hear the three of them chattering outside as we continue.

I run my hands through the thick brown fur on Charlie's chest, and work my way down between his legs. I don't need to tease him; he is fully erect. I feel him run a soft paw down the small of my back, and I shiver as he reaches the curves of my ass. His other paw runs through the hair on my shoulders, caressing my neck as he kisses me. "You're sure you want to do this?" he whispers softly, breaking the kiss for an instant. "Charlie..." I begin, bringing up a hand to scratch the fur behind his ears. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life. Now fuck me, rock star. We've don't have much time."

Charlie laughs as he kisses me once more, his tongue intertwining with mine and exploring my mouth as he uses a paw to spread my legs. I groan softly as I feel him slip inside, and grip his fur tightly as he pushes himself slowly in. I give a quick nod as I feel myself grow comfortable with his length, and he begins to thrust. We both moan softly with pleasure as we make love, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he begins to go faster. The van eventually starts to shake, and I can hear some laughter coming from the guys outside as they notice. I don't care. I'm lost in it. I kiss Charlie madly, sucking the breath from his lungs with each kiss as he continues to fuck me. For the first time in my life, I feel whole. For the first time in my life, I feel complete. For the first time in my life, I feel loved...

---

That was Chapter 5, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the short, steamy ending! I'll be working on Chapter 6 for the next couple of days, and I hope you all enjoy it! Remember, your reviews and comments keep me writing this stuff, so be sure to let me know what you think!

--Ken