Charlie and James, Chapter 9 - More than Time, Part 1 of 4
#9 of Charlie and James
It's been a long time since James has seen his mate..... A lot of things have happened. Follow James as he tries to explain what has occurred following his separation from Charlie. Follow him as he makes a new friend, finds a new home, and begins to rebuild his life..... This is part one in a four-part series.
Charlie and James By Ken Anderson
Chapter 9: More Than Time, Part 1 of 4
"I'd wait my whole damn life if I had to! I don't want anybody else! I want you, and only you! I've told you that you're my soul... I want you to be my mate!"
I remember that day.
I remember those words, and the happiness they brought me. I remember the feeling of completion and pure, unadulterated joy as Charlie professed his love for me... I remember the sweet sound of his voice; the smell of his fur. I remember his gentle touch; the passion that we shared... I remember it all; so long ago... I remember it every day, and when I think about him, nothing can stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. Nothing can wipe the hopeful smile from my face. Nothing can pull my mind away from those lingering, lustful thoughts...
Especially not on the day of our anniversary.
"Mr. Clayton?"
I'd almost forgotten that today is also Monday. Mary, the sweet-tempered mare who serves as the receptionist at the Sandstone Recovery Center, is calling to me by my surname. I rarely answer to that name. I hate it; it reminds me of my dad...
"James?" The worried voice continues.
I'm pulled back to reality as I feel the soft hand squeeze my shoulder. I swivel around in my desk chair to face her, and I can see that's looking at me with a comforting smile. She nods towards my hands.
"You've been thinking about him, haven't you?" she asks.
Looking down, I see that I've been unconsciously playing with the bright platinum band wrapped around my left ring finger. I give a soft chuckle as I nod my head. "I'm always thinking about him..." I say.
"Well, I keep telling you, you should call him!" Mary exclaims. "It's been a while since you last spoke together; I can see that you're worried about him..."
"I know, I know..." I reply, my attention still focused on the ring. It's been more than a while, if you ask me...
... It's been forever.
"For some reason, I just don't feel ready, Mary... And besides, I'm actually hoping that he'll be the one to call me."
"Well, your first session with Dr. Granger is scheduled to begin in a few minutes," Mary continues, "Maybe you could talk to him about it? I know it's always hard to open up to another counselor, but you've had plenty of clients open up to you..."
I nod my head once more, and tell her to send the doctor in. She leaves the room, and I reach up to switch off the computer monitor in front of me, before trying my best to organize the messy stack of files and paperwork scattered across my small desk. I never thought I'd find myself here... I never imagined that I'd find a career in THIS place... I remember when my parents told me that they'd enrolled me at Sandstone University; that they wanted me to go to school so that I could get a respectable job. I'd only been out of rehab for an hour at the most. I knew better than to listen to that line of perfectly-crafted bullshit...
I knew that they were just trying to keep me away from Charlie.
For some reason, however, I found myself shrugging my shoulders and telling them that I'd go. I guess I'd given up on myself by that point... I'd decided to do whatever it took to get my mind off of a recent tragedy... Jesus, every time I think back to it all, I want to put a gun under my chin and spray the wall with my brains.
It all seems so pathetic.
But we'll get to all that; I'll try my best to explain. It was a time in my life when everything I'd done, every decision I'd made, had eventually led to my inevitable destruction. I was so fucked up; I was so out of it... Goddamn, I had so much fun.
Look at me now; I'm wearing a fucking monkey suit, I've got the fake rolex and the mirrored ray-bans. I've ditched the torn jeans and stained shirts for Armani and Calvin Klein. I've become a robot; a nobody. I've become a fucking drug counselor... Yeah... I can't wait to tell you all a-fucking-bout it. Just shoot me now and get it over with...
For a while, there, I actually told myself that I never wanted to see another junkie for as long as I lived... I guess it's fate. That heartless bitch; destroyer of lives...
The door to my cramped office squeaks loudly as it swings open. I paint a happy smile on my face and raise my eyes to greet the new arrival as he steps inside. Dr. Granger is a well-dressed grizzly bear. His thick brown fur pours out of the sleeves on his suit as he closes the door and checks the file he's holding, before staring down at me.
"Hello James," he greets me, "Can I call you James? Or do you prefer Mr. Clayton?"
"James will be fine," I tell him, waving a hand dismissively at his question. "Even my clients call me James."
"I see..." Dr Granger mumbles, as he takes another look through the thick file in his paws. It's my file. I don't need to read it; I know it by heart. It's my drugged-out, fucked-up life...
"You can have a seat," I say, motioning towards one of the two empty chairs in front of my desk. He nods his head silently, and seats himself. I watch as he begins to relax, closing the file and setting it down on his lap before crossing his thick arms over his chest.
"You don't look very excited," he begins. "For someone who counsels troubled drug abusers on a daily basis, it doesn't seem like you enjoy being at the other end of a psychoanalysis..."
"I don't," I reply flatly, "But it comes with the job. State regs, remember? We all gotta go through this at least once per month. Something about assessing our current state of mind?"
"That's correct," Dr. Granger nods, chuckling softly. I throw my hands up in submission, and fold them comfortably behind my head. I've been through this routine before. It's starting to become boring... "So, where do we start?" I ask him.
"Well..." He sighs, before clearing his throat to continue, "It says in your file that you've been working here for almost a year now... I'd like you to tell me how you ended up where you are today. What happened when you arrived here? What made you decide to get into counseling?"
"Don't you have all that in front of you?" I ask, pointing towards the file. "Isn't it all there?"
"Yes, and I can read it whenever I like." The doctor replies, "But I want to hear it from YOU. I want YOU to tell me how it all worked out..."
I shrug my shoulders, and retrieve a pack of Newports from the drawer on my desk. Luckily, Sandstone hasn't taken the time to implement a smoking ban at its rehabilitation centers. I light up a cigarette and inhale deeply, before leaning back in my chair.
"Fine..." I say, "I'll start with the day I got here. It was almost four years ago..."
I'm jarred awake and almost thrown from my perch atop the toilet seat as the plane hits some turbulence. I hear the captain announce that the 'fasten seatbelt' signs have been turned on. He tells the passengers that we're approaching the Phoenix Sky Harbor International airport. The plane shakes again, harder this time, and I brace myself against the plastic walls of the tiny lavatory to keep from falling. I hear a clattering sound as the nearly-empty bottle of morphine tablets falls from the sink and knocks against the floor, spilling little blue pills all over the place. I heave a sigh and shake my head in frustration.
I must've nodded out...
As the plane begins its descent, I get down on my hands and knees, picking up every pill I see and dropping it back into the orange pill bottle. When I'm done, I twist the cap back on and take a moment to stare at my reflection in the mirror bolted to the wall above the sink. My eyes are bloodshot from crying and have dark circles forming underneath them. My lips are chapped and dry. My hair is messier than usual, hanging down my shoulders in thick, oily tangles. My arms are shaking, my chest feels tight... I look like I used to, not so long ago.
I look like a junkie. A member of the walking dead...
I unscrew the bottle again, and swallow a few more pills. I guess if I'm gonna look the part, I might as well go all the way. I slip the drugs into my pocket and slide open the door. There's a flight attendant standing outside, a raccoon, and he eyes me with suspicion as I stumble towards my seat. "What were you doing in there?" I hear him call out, "You've been in there for hours!"
I ignore him and slump backwards into the overpriced easy chair, feeling around for the seatbelt as I struggle to fasten it. I catch my parents leering at me from across the aisle, my dad scowling when he sees how messed up I am. I snicker, and give him the finger before sinking back into the soft cushions of the well-padded seat. I try my best not to nod out again as I feel the plane's landing gear impact the smooth surface of the tarmac. We've arrived. Already, I can begin to feel the dry, choking heat of the Arizona desert... The sun is streaming in through the small, circular windows, and I groan painfully as the light hits me directly in the eyes. It's too fucking bright; I can feel my retinas burning.
I hear the excited chatter as passengers rise to their feet and start to retrieve their luggage from the overhead compartments. I don't have any luggage... The thought makes me frown, and I pause to consider everything that I've been forced to leave behind: My clothes; my life; my home; my mate.
I feel a dull pain in my shoulder as my dad punches me and tells me to get up. I drag myself to my feet; it's difficult to stand. Let's try walking, shall we?
After disembarking the plane, I manage to convince my parents to stop at a small news stand near the terminal so that I can buy some cigarettes. I'm almost out of cash. After a few minutes of silence and wandering through the airport, with me looking like a homeless drunk, the three of us finally end up outside. I'm holding a hand above my eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight; my breathing has become even more labored. The air in this place is completely devoid of moisture; I feel like I'm sucking in gasps of sand and heat. This is the place that's supposed to be my home for a little while.
What a shithole...
As my dad searches for a taxi, I start feeling around for a lighter to spark up one of the cigarettes. I manage to find one buried in a back pocket, underneath some old receipts and crumpled dollar bills. As I light up the smoke, I notice that one of the scraps of paper has something drawn on it, and I unfurl it to see what it is. The familiar scribble of Charlie's handwriting makes me smile. He's drawn a heart on the back of a liquor store receipt using a permanent marker; our initials are scrawled inside. I love that fucking mutt. He knows just how to cheer me up... I find myself chuckling as I think back to our closest moments together... Our most intimate connections...
I'm pulled away from my thoughts as my dad yanks the slip of paper from my hands and tosses it onto the concrete in a crumpled ball. "Get your head right, kid." he tells me, "You don't need to be holding on to that animal with where you're going..."
I ignore him, and continue to smoke. I've got nothing to say. I don't know who this bastard is; he's not my father. I stomp the cigarette butt out on the ground as a yellow cab pulls up to the curb in front of us. My mom gets into the back seat first, before my father shoves me in after her. He squeezes his large body in next to mine and shuts the door, before giving the driver the directions to the rehab clinic.
"Sandstone Recovery Center," he says, "And there's something extra in it for you if you make it quick."
I start digging into my pockets for the pill bottle. This is fucking depressing. I manage to find it, and swallow a few more. When my dad sees this, he rips the drugs from my palm, and tosses them out the back window. I turn my head to watch as the bottle skips across the dusty blacktop.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" I scream at him.
"MY PROBLEM IS YOU!" he yells back. "MY PROBLEM IS THAT YOU'RE A FUCKING DRUG ADDICT!"
I don't say anything; I just cry. My body shakes and my chest heaves as the tears roll down my cheeks. My mom averts her eyes; my dad crosses his arms over his chest. They don't care; they don't want to help me. They just want me gone. We ride along in silence, and I start to nod off as the pills kick in.
Thank god for morphine... Thank god for drugs...
I don't have to be awake for this. My head falls between my legs as the feeling of euphoric sedation overwhelms me, and I quickly pass out curled up in the back seat of the stuffy cab. Maybe when I wake up, everything will be OK again... Maybe when I wake up, I'll be back in Charlie's arms...
But no...That's not the way this works out. That would be too good to be true, even for me.
"WAKE UP! Get the hell out of the car!"
My dad's voice echoes through my head as I slowly open my eyes. I feel him grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me a couple of hard shakes. I'm too fucked up to react. My body flails around like a rag doll.
"Mr. Clayton!" A new voice shouts, "You're not doing your son any favors! Quit yelling at him, and let me handle it!"
The voice sounds gentle, even when raised. It sounds almost kind... And so unmistakeably male. The cab shakes as my father raises himself out of the vehicle, and I'm trying to nod off again when I feel someone new settle down next to me. I can smell the musky aroma of sweet cologne, which has been applied generously to cover up the scent of sweaty fur. I think I can almost hear a purr as whoever it is begins to speak.
"James? Are you all right?" The voice asks me. I'm halfway dreaming; I manage to nod my head, but just barely.
"What are you on?" my visitor continues.
"Mrrrrrfin..." I mumble. I hear a confused chuckle, and he repeats his question. "Mor...phine..." I manage to croak out. I hear another laugh, and I open my eyes slightly to see the blurred figure giving me a nod of understanding.
"Come on, man," he tells me. "Let's get you out of here. We'll get you fixed up."
I feel a pair of thick, rough paws wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me out of the taxi. My legs are useless; they slide helplessly along the ground as my unidentifiable savior wraps my hand around his neck and scoops my skinny body up into his strong arms. I feel weightless as he carries my limp form towards a large building. I can't see it clearly; my vision is too blurred. I close my eyes. I hear the cab's door shut behind us before the driver speeds away, and I almost smile when I realize that my parents are gone.
That's one problem taken care of...
I feel a rush of icy-cold air blast my skin as I'm carried through a pair of sliding doors. The change in temperature makes me shiver, and my rescuer holds me closer to his chest when he sees me cringe. The warmth of his fur soothes me, and reminds me of the times when Charlie would hold me this close... I give a deep sigh of contentment as I lower my head onto his large chest. Beneath the thin cotton of the T-shirt he's wearing, I can feel the vibrations rumble throughout his body as he purrs. He must be feline...
I guess I'll know for sure soon...
I give a slight gasp of surprise as he lowers me onto the soft cushions of a well broken-in sofa. I quickly curl myself into the fetal position to fend off the cold; my eyes are still closed. I relax a little as I feel a knitted blanket being draped over my shivering body.
"Go ahead and sleep it off, kid." The gentle voice tells me. "You've got all the time in the world."
I hear footsteps departing as he leaves. I pull myself up to the armrest and lay my head against it. It's not particularly comfortable, but it'll have to do. I hear my rescuer talking to someone new as I start to fade out.
"Hey, Max? I think I've found you a new roommate."
"Yeah? Who'd wanna bunk with me?"
"See that guy over there?"
They must be talking about me...
"Junkie boy? Yeah, I see him. Looks kinda familiar, if you ask me. Wait... Holy shit, I know who that is..."
"That's exactly why I think he'll be a good match for you. When he wakes up, take him to your room and get him settled in. I'll start him on a regimen of suboxone when he sobers up."
"You're telling me I've got the privelege of watching over the strung-out mate of a fucked-up rock star? Nice..."
"Hey, be gentle with him. The kid's in a fragile state... Oh, and Max?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to fuck with him too much. None of that crap you pulled with the last guy we set you up with."
"Hey, I didn't MAKE the guy hang himself with that bedsheet..."
"Just... Be careful, all right?"
Their conversation ends, and I hear them take off in different directions. I do my best to block out the hushed whispers and the sounds of a TV as I pull the blanket over my head. Once again, that familiar darkness starts to creep over me. I find myself hoping that this isn't going to be as painful as I think it will...
When I open my eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the large windows across from my makeshift bed seems to be brighter than usual. I can make out the blurry features of what appears to be a well-stocked rec room. I see a TV, a pool table, some video game systems, and a familiar circle of folding chairs set up in one corner... This must be where they hold the group sessions. I try to sit up on the sofa, but I'm forced to lay back down when my stomach cramps up and starts to churn painfully. God, I feel like I'm about to throw up. I rub my hands along my abdomen, trying to locate the source of the stabbing pain. I notice that my shirt is soaked through with sweat... Cold sweat.
I feel so sick... And I know this feeling... My body lurches as I begin to retch loudly, dry-heaving towards the floor.
"Hey, hey, hey! Not there, man! Use this!"
The scratchy, masculine voice rattles my vision as I see a small trash bin being shoved in front of me. Whoever he is, he's got perfect timing. I snatch the thing up from the floor and tilt my head over it. I feel the contents of my stomach making their way up my throat as I vomit. I can hear several voices making sounds of disgust as I do so... Who cares? I'm sick. This is supposed to be a rehab center.
"You OK?" The voice asks me. I manage to nod my head. I use a hand to wipe away the tears of strain from my eyes as I sit up on the sofa. I hear the springs under the cushions creak loudly as whoever it is seats himself next to me.
"Thanks..." I tell him. I turn my head to see who the voice belongs to. My eyes trace their way over the lithe form of a red fox. His fur is a deep red-orange, with those blindingly white patches on his elongated muzzle and chest that the members of his species take such pride in keeping clean. His eyes are green, like mine, and I think they even have that same, glassed-over look. I take note of his pointed, black-tipped ears, torn blue jeans, and the black T-shirt he's wearing that has the words "MAD MAX" spray-painted across it. 'He looks pretty hot,' I think to myself. If I wasn't spoken for, I probably would've taken a shot at him. My gaze shifts to the black-furred paw that he's extending towards me. I reach for it with my hand, and give it a few shakes.
"You're James Clayton, right?" he asks me. I laugh dryly as I nod my head.
"Ten points for you, man..." I tell him, "How do you know me?"
"They've been playing that interview with you and your mate nonstop on FMTV for the past two days." he replies.
Two days?!
"What?!" I say, confused. "How long have I been out?"
"About three days, give or take a few hours," My new friend informs me. "You got here around noon on Wednesday..." He checks a clock hung up on the nearby wall. "Right now, it's about seven A.M. on Saturday. Usually, when people stay unconscious for that long, we just call them 'dead'..."
I laugh at his attempt of making a joke. I clear my throat to speak. "Well, you seem to know everything about me, man," I remark, "So tell me about you. What's your name, fox-boy?"
"Max," he replies absentmindedly. "But everyone calls me 'Mad Max.' I made the shirt during one of our 'lovely' art workshops. They thought it was funny as hell." He tugs at the fabric of the black cotton T-shirt.
"How long have you been here?" I question him. If I'm going to be staying here, I need to learn as much as I can about the other patients.
"About a year," he informs me, "My parents got tired of me forging checks and pawning all their shit to get money for my habits... So they stuck me in this place and left me here to rot. It gets kind of boring after a while, but you'll get used to the routine... The food isn't bad, and at the very least, they let you smoke in here. Dark cloud, meet silver lining..."
I watch as he retrieves a pack of Newports and a lighter from his pocket, taking out a cigarette before offering the pack to me. I notice something familiar about the lighter he's sparking up...
"HEY! That's mine!" I exclaim, "You stole my fucking cigarettes?!"
"You didn't look like you were gonna need em' for a while," he retorts with a chuckle. I snatch the pack from his hands and check to see how many are left. He's smoked a good half of the pack. He sticks the cigarette between his teeth and lights it, before tossing the lighter onto my lap. "Besides..." he continues, exhaling a thick plume of smoke into the air, "You didn't move an inch when I lifted em' from you. I figured if you were gonna complain, you'd have done it then."
"You must have a lot of friends..." I mutter under my breath.
"Hey, don't take it the wrong way!" he whines, "I'm a fox! We like to steal shit that's been left unattended. Hell, my ancestors were all famous thieves. My grandpa taught me how to pick pockets when I was just a kit!"
"Sounds like a great guy..." I say. While Max is distracted, I've managed to slip the first two fingers of my right hand into his left pocket. He's not the only one who knows a few tricks...
"Oh, he was. He was the coolest," Max continues, "But yeah, you're right. I don't really have many friends..."
"I know... With a name like Maximillian Schnauzer, you must hear a lot of laughs," I snicker, as I pull the state-issued ID card from the leather wallet that's now spread open in my palms.
"Yeah, I-- HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!" Max snatches the object out of my hands as he gets to his feet and growls. I can't help it; I'm keeling over laughing. "Dude, that was so easy!" I squeal out in between fits of painful laughter. "You didn't even notice it was gone!"
I see a smile spreading across the fox's face as he begins to chuckle as well. He gives a laugh that sounds sort of like a wheeze, and falls back onto the couch next to me. I feel his arm wrap around my shoulders as he gives me a friendly shake. "Aw, man..." he begins, "We're gonna get along just fine, you and me... By the way..." He slips a hand into his other pocket, and comes out with a shiny, silver object, "You want your ring back?"
I snatch the platinum band from his paws and slip it onto my left ring finger, still laughing. At least he had the decency not to sell it or something. This guy is actually pretty cool...
We continue to chatter softly amongst ourselves, smoking and telling each other odd facts about our lives, when we hear the loud sound of someone clearing their throat from behind us. The two of us turn around to come face-to-face with an extremely large lion. His golden-brown mane has been slicked back with gel, before being tied behind his head into a ponytail secured by several long, black bands. He also has a thick, scruffy beard. His fur is tan, almost sand-colored, and I can make out numerous tribal tattoos crisscrossing his arms as they wind their way up past his shoulders. He's wearing a T-shirt that almost matches his fur, and it's so tight that it hugs his huge chest, showing off the muscles on his arms and abdomen. He's wearing a pair of cargo shorts that cut off at his knees, the edges frayed from age. I see the corners of his muzzle twist into a smile as his warm, auburn eyes catch me staring. I find myself trying to look away, blushing slightly.
"I see you're awake," he calls out to me. I recognize that voice as belonging to the mysterious feline who carried me out of the taxi a few days ago. Seeing the guy now, I almost faint with the embarassment. I remember snuggling close to his chest. I hope he wasn't offended by it...
"Y-yeah..." I stutter as I try to speak. "I was just--"
The lion laughs in his deep, bass voice, as he closes the distance to the sofa. He reaches out a paw for me to shake. "You don't have to worry, kid," he tells me, "I get that reaction a lot. My name's BJ. I'm the head counselor here at the Sandstone Recovery Center, and I like to be the one who greets all of the new guests. I have to say, though, I've never had to carry someone through the door before... The way you curled up to me, it was actually a little hard to let you go..."
My cheeks are flushing as I slap my face with my palm. I extend my other hand to shake his paw.
"Yeah, sorry about that..." I say, chuckling embarrasedly as I grip his paw and give it a single shake. "I was a little fucked up; you know how it is..."
"Oh, I know all about it, kid..." he says, turning over his arms so that I can see the thin fur on the back. I notice the innumerable track marks and even a couple of old abscesses lining the skin underneath the fur.
"Jesus, man..." I gasp, "You, too?" I flip over my wrists to show him my own scars from my years of intravenous drug use. He nods his head solemnly.
"Yeah... Twelve years of heroin, and ten more in recovery. And I'm still here."
I shake my head in amazement as he tells me this. Twelve years... And I thought I'd seen it all after three... My god, what had I become?
I watch as BJ digs around in his pocket before coming out with a pill bottle. He shakes it loudly in front of us before twisting off the cap and dumping a couple of the pills into his paw. "Time for your medicine, guys," he says. He drops one of the pills into my palm before handing the other off to Max. Suboxone. Time to get clean, again...
I watch as my new friend places the tablet under his tongue, and I hear the familiar fizzing noise as it starts to dissolve. I do the same, and BJ smiles with smug satisfaction before putting away the bottle. "Now that he's awake, why don't you get him settled in, Max?" BJ suggests to the fox. Max nods his head a few times, and pats me on the shoulder before motioning with his head towards the far side of the large room.
"The dorms are this way," he tells me. I nod and get up to follow him, my legs already feeling better now that I've had the medicine.
I keep close as he leads me through a set of double-doors to a dimly-lit hallway, its walls painted vomit-green and the linoleum floors stained with scratches and scuff marks. "Jesus..." I whisper, "This place looks like a mental institution."
"It used to be," Max informs me, "Before the state of Arizona decided that rehab was a better option for drug addicts than anti-psychotics and shock therapy."
I chuckle half-heartedly as I notice some old stains on the peeling white paint of the ceiling. They look so much like blood that I'm too afraid to ask... I stop walking as Max steps up to a plain-white door, with the number '6' stencilled on it in black paint. "This is it..." He says.
He turns the knob and the door swings open. He heads inside first, before allowing me to enter the room from behind. I watch as he flips a switch on the wall, and harsh white light illuminates the small room.
The interior walls are painted blue, and splattered with different shades of white. It looks like Jackson Pollock had once stayed here... I note the two freshly-made beds sitting near the wall, the sheets and blanket a generic shade of green. I also see the large window near the back of the room, with metal bars criss-crossing the glass. The place looks like what you would get if you took a jail cell and upgraded it to a two-star hotel... Maybe one-and-a-half...
"The bed on the left is yours," Max informs me. He steps over to a small door next to the window, and throws it open. "We have to share the closet, but I don't think that'll be much of a problem. BJ said you didn't have any luggage. If you need a change of clothes, feel free to borrow anything you like. Laundry day is Sunday, so make sure you wash whatever you take before you hang it back up."
I nod my head as he gives me the lay of the land. I sit down on the soft mattress of my bed as he continues. "The bathrooms are down the hall, to the right of the double-doors. There's two shower stalls in each one; if you want hot water, you should get used to waking up early. This place is a unisex facility, so you'll see plenty of females wandering around, if that's your thing..... But after seeing that interview for like, the hundredth time, I'm pretty sure you've only got one body on your mind..."
"Yeah..." I nod, chuckling softly. My fingers start to play with the engagement ring.
"You really miss your rock star, huh?" Max calls over to me. I nod my head again.
"He's all I've got," I say, "The only guy who's ever really loved me. He's all I care about, and I'd give anything to be with him right now..."
"That's cool, man," Max tells me, "Just don't start jerking off while I'm trying to sleep. Use the bathroom for that."
I snatch up the pillow from my bed, and throw it forcefully into his muzzle. "Real funny, fox-boy." I mutter as it smacks him across the face. He laughs loudly, before picking it up and tossing it back to me.
"Hey, I'm just sayin'..."
"What's there to do for fun around here?" I ask him, eager to change the subject. He shrugs his shoulders as he flops down next to me on my bed. "Not much, really... There's a TV in the rec room, a pool table, some video games... You can buy smokes from the shop in the cafeteria upstairs, but that's about it. Everything else is either off-limits to us, or we have to pay a premium to get it."
"Everything else?" I repeat, "Like what?"
Max gets up from the bed, and heads back to the closet. I watch as he digs around in the back, and raises one of the floorboards. I hear the sound of plastic rustling and glass clinking as he retrieves whatever he's searching for, before turning back to me. My jaw drops as I see what he's holding. He's got a full bottle of 151-proof rum, and what appears to be a good half-ounce of pot.
"How the fuck did you get those in here?" I whisper.
"BJ," Max replies. "He may seem like a real hardass, but he can be cool as shit when he's in a good mood. It was my birthday last week, so he picked me up the rum. I had to pay like a hundred bucks to get the pot, but it's worth it. Us patients don't get out too much, so every little bit helps. I've been trading it off for extra food lately; everybody wants a little smoke. You're welcome to have some yourself, since we're roomies, but don't expect me to let you smoke up my whole stash."
"Jesus," I remark, "And here I thought everybody was trying to get SOBER."
"You fucking WISH, man..." Max replies with a chuckle. He removes a couple of small buds from the bag of weed, and hands them over to me. I watch as he fishes around in the bag for a single rolling paper. "Skin one up, man," he tells me, "We'll get you nice and stoned before lunch."
I smile and nod my head. I start breaking down the weed on my lap as Max returns his stuff to the stash spot in the closet. By the time he's done, I've already rolled up a fat joint, taking care to save a small amount of pot for my personal consumption later on. He doesn't notice as I slip the tiny bud under my pillow and get to my feet.
"Where do we go to smoke this?" I ask him. He chuckles, and points to the window. "We do it right here," he tells me. I watch as he makes his way to the barred window, before gripping the metal rods in his paws. With one swift jerk, he pops the security device off, and sets it down against the wall. I watch, mesmerized, as he twists the lock on the window, and pushes it open. Fresh air rushes in and warms the cool room as he motions for me to join him.
"Holy shit, man!" I exclaim. "You unscrewed the bars? Why are you still here? I'd have taken off a long time ago!"
"Nah..." he replies with a shake of his head, "Where the hell would I go? My parents don't want me around; all my stuff's in storage. Even my car is locked up in there. Nah, I go out every now and then, but I always make it a point to be back before the morning head count."
"What time is that?" I ask.
"Usually between eight and ten." he explains, pointing to a small clock hung on the wall between our two beds. "I try to make it back by seven, to be safe. If they ever caught me busting out, I'd never get out of this place. And besides, why would I want to? They've got everything I need here."
He motions for me to hand him the joint, and I do. He takes a match from his pocket and strikes it against the metal window frame. I hear the familiar sizzling as it ignites, and smell the burning odor of sulfur as he touches the flame to the tip of the joint. He flicks the match outside, and inhales deeply on the joint before passing it to me. "Enjoy, man," he tells me, "That's some damn good stuff."
I smile and nod once more, before taking a few deep hits myself. He's not kidding; this is some GREAT pot. I can taste hints of citrus and even blueberry as I slowly exhale the sweet-smelling smoke through my nostrils.
"Mmmm..." I groan appreciatively, before exhaling the rest of the smoke out the window and passing the joint back. "Blueberry Widow?" I ask him.
"You know your pot, man! Nice call." He replies with a nod. "Yeah, I smoked this kinda shit every day back in high school, " I explain, "I had a great friend who would always show up with a different strain. He taught me the ins and outs."
"Nice, man. Sounds like you had fun," Max says, taking a couple of huge hits before handing it to me. I smile as I pluck the joint from his claws. The familiar feeling of warm, happy euphoria is starting to sweep over me. My eyes are half-lidded and my lips are twisted up into a permanent grin. I can't remember the last time I got this stoned... I'd forgotten that it felt so nice... As I take a few more puffs, I begin to think that maybe my stay in rehab won't be so bad... With someone like Max for a roommate, things can only go smoothly. For a thieving bastard, this fox is a pretty decent guy. I couldn't have asked for anybody better to share a room with. I pass the roach back to Max, and he stubs it out against the window frame. I can see that he's got the same endless grin plastered across his face as he pops the remnants of our smoking session into his muzzle and swallows. That's pretty convenient, if you ask me...
"And now..." he begins, as he shuts the window and replaces the metal bars. "It's time for lunch!"
Max holds the elevator doors open for me as we arrive on the second floor. He walks ahead, and directs me to a large cafeteria. I can smell meat cooking as he flings open the doors and leads me inside. I take in the sights and smells. The dining room has several long tables set up in the center, with built-in chairs jutting out on metal poles every couple of feet. I see numerous patients chattering amongst themselves as they stuff their muzzles with delicious food: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, sweet corn, freshly-baked cornbread, and chocolate pudding. It's smells like the food they used to dish out back at Harbor Hills High; it all looks so amazing. Max taps me on the shoulder and points a claw towards a line of people holding empty trays. "That's the chow line," he informs me. "Grab us a couple of trays from the table near the wall. I've gotta take care of some business before we eat. Save me a spot in line, will ya?"
I nod my head as he leaves my side and makes his way over to one of the crowded tables. I watch as he seats himself next to a skinny wolf with a long, blonde ponytail, and the two of them begin to talk. I step over to the table which houses the trays and eating utensils, and begin to collect our stuff. The forks and knives are made of white plastic, and the trays are made of styrofoam. I guess it's all meant to keep us from killing ourselves. I shrug off the thought and take my place at the back of the line, behind a large crocodile with a grimace across his muzzle and numerous scars lining the scales on his arms. He sniffs the air as I approach, and turns around to confront me. I see that he's wearing a denim vest, with no shirt underneath. His faded jeans are torn at the knees and frayed at the edges. His black eyes are burning holes through my skull as he stares me down.
"You the new guy?" he asks me, his voice gruff and damaged from smoking.
"Yeah, that's me," I reply. "The name's James."
"Oh, everybody knows who you are," The croc informs me. "We've all seen that little scuffle you had with that reporter on FMTV... We don't take kindly to faggots like you here."
I feel my jaw drop and my blood run cold as he says this. The guy's huge; there's no way I could take him if a fight went down. "What are ya, scared?" he continues. "Missin' that cute puppy of yours? You can shut yer mouth now; I'll find you a better use for it if you don't..."
I wish Charlie was here to help me handle this...
"HEY!" An angry voice yells from behind me. I'm pushed aside as Max stomps up to the croc, and shoves him back against the wall.
"You keep away from my fucking roomie! I don't care if you think you're the big shit, Mike; I will beat your scaly ass to the ground!"
The crocodile, Mike, lowers his head and nods. "Yeah, yeah, Max... No problem. I didn't know he was yours..." he mumbles.
"Don't fucking forget it!" Max screams, his muzzle inches away from the crocodile's. The crowd gasps audibly as he thrusts a fist through the thin wall next to Mike's head; the crocodile ducking and covering his face with his hands to avoid the blow.
"That's Mad Max..." I hear someone remark.
I'm shaking with fear at seeing my roommate's explosion of rage. He turns to me and sees me trembling, my eyes wide with fright as he approaches. I calm down a little as he smiles and give me a hearty chuckle, before reaching a paw out for his tray.
"Violence perceived is violence acheived," he tells me, as I hand the tray and utensils over to him. "The people here know better than to fuck with me. You beat down a bull who's twice your size with your bare paws, and suddenly everyone's afraid of you."
"So that's why they call you Mad Max?" I ask him. He nods his head, and the two of us hold out our trays to recieve our food as we near the front of the line. "Yeah, that's how that happened..." He tells me. "Not that I care, though; I'm actually pretty mellow. I just don't like people messing with my friends..."
"So we're friends now?" I say. He nods again. "I'd like to think so," he replies. "I can't be bunking with a roommate who doesn't like to hang around me."
I laugh, and hold out my hand. He grasps it in his paw, and gives it a firm shake. "Thanks for backing me up," I say with a smile, "I guess you were right. We're gonna get along just fine..."
He nods his agreement as his tray gets loaded down with meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I notice that the cooks are giving him extra portions, and they do the same for me, as well... I guess hanging around Max is gonna have its perks. If there's anyone in this place I had to make friends with, I'm actually glad it's him. It never hurts to have someone in your corner who's willing to throw a few punches...
"So that's how you met Dr. Schnauzer?" Dr. Granger asks me. I nod my head as I stub out my fifth cigarette in the past hour.
"Yeah... Max was always a real hardass back then." I say. "He was pretty cool, though. I guess that's how we ended up working here together."
"That's very interesting, James..." Dr Granger remarks. He checks the clock hanging above my desk, and clears his throat before getting to his feet.
"Well, it appears that our time is up," he tells me. "If you're free on Wednesday, I'd like to continue our discussion. I've got a slot open for noon; is that all right with you?"
"Yeah, that's fine." I reply, flipping through the schedule log on my desk to confirm my suspicions. "Wednesday at noon sounds good."
The grizzly nods, and turns to exit my office. He swings open the door, and I hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway as he departs. I'm lighting up another cigarette when I hear a soft knock at my door.
"New guy, huh?" a familiar voice calls out to me. I nod my head, and motion for Max to come in. He seats himself in one of my chairs, and leans back, placing his feet up on my desk. "How'd it go?"
"Pretty good." I say, "I was telling him about the day we met. When you almost got into a fight with Mike, that huge croc who was trying to talk shit to me."
Max laughs loudly as he retrieves a flask from the inside pocket of his dusty, gray suit. He twists the cap open, and takes a long drink, before offering it to me. "Yeah, I remember that!" he exclaims. "You had to find out why they called me 'Mad Max'. Hahahaha! Those were good times, man, real good times."
I nod my head as I take the flask from him, and suck down a healthy portion of the spicy rum contained within. "Now I'm waiting on Charlie..." I say.
"How do you know he's gonna call?" Max asks me. "Maybe he's forgotten your new number--"
The loud ringing of the phone on my desk drowns out his speech. I smile and hand him back his bottle of booze.
"Charlie never forgets to call," I inform him, "We still love each other, regardless of what other people might think."
I pick up the reciever, and place it against my ear. I can hear the soft breathing of my mate on the other end of the line as he begins to speak.
"Hey, baby..." his voice greets me. "Happy anniversary."
"Hey, Charlie," I reply. "You too. How're things back in Harbor City?"
"Ehh, not too bad. We've got a tour coming up for our newest album. It's been certified multi-platinum. We all miss you down here... I miss you."
"I miss you too, Charlie..." I whisper. "Every day without you is like another blow to my heart..."
"I love you..." he says.
"I love you, too." I reply.
"When are you coming home?" he asks me. "It's been so long since we held each other..."
"Soon, baby..." I tell him, honestly unsure. "Real soon... I promise."
That was Chapter 9! It's the first in a four-part series, which details the time which has elapsed since Charlie and James were separated. Don't worry, it's gonna get better. Dry your eyes and don't ask 'why,' it's just something I felt like I had to do.... I hope you'll all bear with me as the story continues to evolve and change. At the very least, I can tell you that eventually, there will be a happy ending. I appreciate any and all comments and reviews! I wanna know what you all think! I'll see you all at the end of the tunnel.
--Ken