FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Charlie and James By Ken Anderson

Chapter 15: Preparations

My mind is darting all over the place; I'm flipping out here!

I must've chain-smoked at least half a pack of cigarettes during the last hour... Even though it's been nearly a week since I'd agreed to the wedding, I still can't wrap my head around it all.

...God, I'm so nervous!

Charlie seems so calm right now; so collected. The two of us are walking side-by-side down one of the many crowded, one-way streets which trace their way through the business district in downtown Harbor City. Oz and Cory are trying their best to keep a steady pace at our heels. The lights; the window displays... The garbled chatter of lawyers and corporate office workers, each with cell phones pressed firmly against their ears to drown out the constant noise of the inner-city traffic... It's all so new to me. My heart is pounding in my chest, and a thin layer of sweat is starting to form across my forehead. My knees are shaking so badly, I'm afraid they might buckle and send me tumbling to the ground.

When I turn to see how Charlie's dealing with it, he just cracks a smile and takes my hand as we pass up the numerous department stores and designer-name clothing outlets.

I'm seriously confused. How does he do it? He must be still be stoned... Personally, I've never been to this part of the city before. I feel so out of proportion; like I shouldn't be here. But right now, it's not like I have much of a choice.

"Hey, what about this place, guys?" Cory calls up to us. His words are muffled by the loud rock music blaring ceaselessly into my ears. I needed something to keep me distracted. Luckily, my old iPod still works...

My head swivels around to see where he's pointing. He directs my attention to the small storefront that's coming up on our right. I give a swift tug on the cord connected to my mp3 player, and the ear buds I've been wearing come tumbling out into my palm. I hastily stuff them into my pocket. My eyes move up to gaze at the window display near the entrance of the small tuxedo store. My vision traces slowly over the soft-looking fabric of the well-tailored suits, which are wrapped around the generic white mannequins beneath the glass. My anxiety seems to subside for a moment as I examine the wares.

Not bad...

I put on a smile, and reach out my hand to pull the metal bar which juts out from the surface of one of the clear, glass doors. Let's hope they've got what we're looking for...

The four of us have come out here to do some wedding shopping. Not too long ago, Zack had dropped us off in the Chevelle, before leaving to confirm the arrangements for the catering. Cory had planned it all out; from the drinks to the food.

Once we'd gotten out of the car, we'd immediately sparked up a joint and started wandering around, searching for places where we could purchase the numerous items that Charlie and I were going to need.

Once again, I run through the short list in my head:

We need flowers and decorations. We need a cake. We need wedding rings... And Charlie needs a new suit. That's how we ended up here.

"Come on, babe..." Charlie whines as we step under the harsh flourescent lights of the tiny, well-stocked store. "Can't I just wear one of yours?"

I shake my head in mock despair, and give him a playful punch on the shoulder. "No way in hell. It'd take me months to clean out all the fur you've been shedding lately."

And this is true... Actually, it's been driving me batshit-crazy.

As the summer reaches its peak, Charlie's thick, dusty coat has begun to shed its excess hair... All over the place. For the past couple of weeks, I've had to stock up on lint rollers and newspaper. I've spent countless hours cleaning up the seemingly endless clumps of discarded fur scattered all around our small apartment. I've picked up fur from the couch, the bedsheets, the carpets...

And don't even get me started on the laundry.

Eventually, it got to the point where I'd blatantly refused to clean out the shower drain. When it finally clogged up and Charlie asked me if I could fix it, I'd handed over the bottle of lye and the plumbing snake, before heading out to the living room to watch TV and smoke a joint. I may be his lover, but that doesn't make me his personal maid.

I guess things like this are to be expected, though; after all, I did fall in love with a dog...

As we all walk into the well-lit room, I immediately notice that there's only one staff member present. Other than the four of us, the place is completely devoid of customers. It's almost impossible to hide the look of nervous panic on my face as I grip Charlie's paw even tighter, and lead us deeper into the shop.

The lone employee instantly takes note of our presence and makes his way over to us, smiling widely and extending his paw as he approaches. He's a handsome, well-dressed dingo with light brown fur and grey eyes, whose voice comes out with a thick Australian accent as he speaks.

"G'day, all. I'm Michael; I'm the owner of this store. Might I be of service?"

I clasp his paw in my free hand and give it a single shake, taking a moment to look over the well-tailored tux draped elegantly over his broad shoulders and lithe body. The glint in his eyes tells me that he knows exactly why we're here. I can see his ears perking up and his tail twitching slightly behind him as he gives Charlie the once-over. I find myself smiling inwardly.

My luck must be holding; we got the gay owner. Now, let's hope I don't screw this up...

"Yes, you may," I reply, motioning towards Charlie with a slight flick of my wrist. "My mate and I are getting married soon. However, we do have a bit of a problem; he doesn't have anything nice to wear! Do you think you might have something in stock that would make him appear halfway decent, at least?"

I get dirty looks from Charlie as he overhears our conversation. I can make out the sound of Oz and Cory snickering in the background. I'm trying my best to ignore them all; it takes every bit of strength to maintain my composure. I don't know if anyone notices, but my legs are shaking, and I'm actually starting to sweat even more...

"You've come to the right place!" Michael beams. He turns around and directs us towards a large display rack covered with designer suits, which extends across the back wall of the store. Our group follows behind him as he leads us to the very end of the rack, and starts pointing out several high-priced items.

"Now, would you like something soft and silky, or something sleek and smooth? Local, or imported? We have a few very fine articles, which have just been shipped in from Italy. Tell me, what exactly are you looking for?"

I've been through this whole routine before. While I was in Sandstone, I'd had to go shopping several times to update my wardrobe with new outfits. I may be an amateur when it comes to choosing specific designers and styles, but I'll be damned if I don't know what's gonna look good on Charlie. Still, I've never had the experience of shopping in a place like this... In fact, it takes every last ounce of perseverance to calm my nerves as I part my lips to speak.

"Something local would be nice," I say, putting a slight lisp in my voice. I'm going overboard with the 'gay,' but who knows? Something good might come out of it...

"Nothing too soft; the fabric could soak up his fur. Smooth is a must, though. I want him to look his very best."

I pull Charlie close to my side, and rest my head on his shoulder. The feeling of his body pressed against mine helps to calm me down a little... I know I can handle anything that comes my way, as long as he's here to take it all in stride. He's giving me this weird look, though, like I've suddenly transformed into someone he's never met before.

I don't think he's ever seen me this disturbed... Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen myself like this.

Michael nods his head, and starts rummaging through the numerous completed outfits hanging along the thick, metal pole. When he steps out of earshot, Charlie finally speaks up.

"What the hell was that? Are you trying to pick him up or get me a suit? What's going on?"

"I'm just a little nervous, don't worry..." I reply softly. "I'm trying to get us the best deal I can... Did you see the look on his face when we walked in? He was almost jumping for joy. I doubt he gets many shoppers, especially same-sex, interspecies couples. Just trust me on this one, alright? I'll be fine..."

My mate gives me a slight nod, and puts on his best smile as Michael comes walking back towards us, three different tuxedos folded over one of his arms.

"I think I've managed to narrow it down for you."

He lifts up one of the outfits, and holds it by the hanger so we can inspect it.

"This one is made of an eighty-percent cotton blend. It's comfortable to wear in the summer, soft to the touch, and I thought the color would blend in nicely with his fur. What do you think?"

The tux he's displaying has a soft, brown tint. It's almost an exact match for Charlie's coat, but something tells me that there are better choices available. I give Michael a gentle nod of appreciation, before extending a finger towards the other outfits dangling from his wrist.

"I'll keep that one in mind. What else have you found?"

He hangs the first suit on the rack next to us, and moves on to his second choice. This one is slightly better; it's made of a sturdy-looking, grey fabric. I can barely make out the thin white stripes tracing down the front of the jacket, towards the waist. The same design continues down the shoulders, and onto the sleeves. Looking further, I see that the slacks match the rest of the outfit.

"This one is one-hundred-percent cotton. Now, these suits are a little more delicate, as you must know, but you did say you wanted him to look his best, am I right?"

I smile and nod, before waving off this ensemble as well. I know he's saved the best for last; they always do. These guys are like used car salesmen; they'll always bring out the Hondas before they show you that one BMW that you came to see. Michael's ear-to-ear grin seems to grow even wider as he sets aside the second suit, and raises up his final pick.

This is the one that makes my eyes go wide. My suspicions are immediately confirmed.

"Lastly, we have a simple, yet elegant three-piece set, designed by one of Harbor City's up-and-coming fashion enthusiasts. I must tell you, this particular design has been entered in several shows, and has received nothing but praise and high marks from many of the fashion world's harshest critics. And believe me, they are very judgemental..."

He peels back the protective plastic sheet covering the designer tuxedo, and runs a paw slowly along the collar. He allows his manicured claws to brush delicately over the gentle creases in the thick, heavy-looking fabric. The suit has no particular pattern; it almost looks like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted. The shirt that comes with it has been bleached to a pleasant shade of white. I haven't heard the details yet, but something tells me that this might be the one.

"These items are made entirely of a sixty-forty blend of hemp and cotton. Now, in modern times, the use of hemp fabric in a suit has become a very touchy subject among the fashion gurus. Some say it's too rough, while others praise it for its strength and durability. What most people don't know, however, is that a good spinner can take even the toughest and thickest of the raw material, and weave it into a fabric that is not unlike silk in its softness and flexibility. The bonus of working with such a fiber is that these particular suits can maintain their original condition for many years, if properly cared for. Hemp fabric doesn't degrade as easily as cotton, and doesn't require as much attention as silk."

I take a few steps forward, and trace my hands over the folds of the soft, tan coat. The cloth feels warm beneath my fingertips. It feels alive. Charlie notices my reaction, and moves up to inspect the garment for himself. Neither of us utters a word as we silently contemplate this well-designed work of art. I love it; it's perfect. I just hope that my mate agrees...

After a few moments of deafening silence, Michael speaks up, eager to break the tension.

"Well? What do you think?"

I turn to face Charlie, and tilt my head towards the suit. 'It's your choice.'

He stares into my eyes for what seems like an eternity. Finally, the corners of his muzzle turn up as he breaks into a wide grin, and nods his head in approval. He shifts his gaze towards Michael and announces his decision.

"We'll take it. Does it come in black?"

The dingo's ears perk up once more as he nods his head feverishly. He tells me to wait with Oz and Cory in the lobby of the store, as Charlie follows him into a back room to get his measurements taken.

"Well, that was interesting." Oz murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest as his thick tail swishes slowly behind him.

"Yeah..." I reply, still staring blankly towards the closed door of the room my mate has vanished into.

"It was a good choice, though, right?"

Oz and Cory both voice their agreements. Suddenly, I'm not so sure...

Even though we've managed to find what we came for, I still feel kind of stressed out about the entire ordeal. Plus, I keep getting this feeling like I don't belong here; like I've walked into a world that's completely beyond my comprehension. I'm contemplating heading outside for yet another cigarette, when Cory steps up from behind me and taps me on the shoulder, drawing my attention away from the door and the racks of expensive clothing.

"You look a little shaky," he informs me, "Why don't I take you out to get some lunch? We'll let the boys do their own shopping for a while... "

I quickly nod my head in agreement. "That's the best suggestion I've heard all day."

I look towards Oz, my eyes asking his permission. He smiles and gives me a single nod, before motioning towards the front door. "Go ahead man, you look like you could use some air. Charlie and I can handle this; we'll give you a call once we've finished up around here."

Cory wraps a skinny arm around my trembling shoulders, and directs me towards the front entrance. As we step out into the midday sun, I hear myself let out a pent-up sigh of relief.

He's right... They're both right. I just need to get away from it all for a while; it's all too much.

The unusually cheerful cheetah leads me quietly along the clean sidewalks, past the department stores, the fancy restaurants, and the myriad of other places where Harbor City's wealthy residents like to spend their time and money. It's so overwhelming, this place. I don't know how these people handle it. But that's the least of my worries right now. I need to keep moving; keep walking...

... I really don't know how much longer I can keep it all together.

---

After several minutes of fast-paced walking, Cory and I have managed to escape the towering skyscrapers and stainless-steel behemoths of the business district. We've stepped into an entirely different world. There are no towers here; no traffic or pedestrians. There are no lawyers or office workers, no rich citizens checking their rolexes for the time as they talk endlessly into their cell phones...

We've made our way to the 'other side,' as it were. The two of us have worked our way down to the seedy underbelly of Harbor City...

Some people call it the slums. I used to call it home.

Located not even five blocks away from the business district's glossy floors and polished showrooms, Harbor Heights is one of the most desolate, impoverished areas of the city. During the worst of my junkie days, I could usually be found around there, hustling random people for food, or for cash to purchase my next fix. Actually, we've just passed up one of the dive bars where I used to pick up my 'clients'... I can already feel the hazy memories beginning to creep through my mind.

I'm standing under a flickering street lamp, so I can see what I'm doing. The dope goes into the cooker. The lighter goes underneath. The sweet, golden-brown liquid is slowly pulled into the syringe, and it all gets banged smoothly into my arm...

...Count the heartbeats. One... two... three...

...Stoned.

I shake my head to clear away these troubling thoughts. After years of relative sobriety, not to mention plenty of time away from this place, I guess I should be feeling pretty anxious about where I am right now. For some unknown reason, however, I'm not...

In fact, I haven't felt more at ease since I woke up this morning.

I've slowly come to realize that Cory must have sensed my discomfort with all the trappings of the money-gouging, fast-paced lifestyle of the inner city. He may have grown used to it from being with Oz for so long, but I can tell that he definitely understands how it can all be so... different.

From our sessions together, I know that Cory and I have more in common than anyone cares to admit. During his worst days, he'd had his own reputation on these streets; the same streets that I once found myself hustling on. He'd had his own problems with his family while growing up, which seemed to parallel or even surpass my own at times. They'd thrown him out of the house at a very young age.

I could go on and on about their arguments and their constant fighting. I could tell you about the verbal abuse, the beatings and the psychological torment that he'd suffered while living under their roof. I could tell you that their reaction to his coming out was even more severe than that of my own parents. I could tell you all of these things and none of these things; I could tell you his whole life story, but I won't.

Doctor-patient confidentiality; you understand...

Although, I guess that's why he seems so relaxed, strolling silently among the ruins of this dirty, neglected wasteland. He and I share the same expression of passive calmness as we step with practiced ease over the smashed beer bottles and the discarded syringes which litter the ground. There's something about this dark, depressing place that makes me feel better, somehow. Something I can't describe. Most of the storefronts on either side of this desolate street are either boarded up, or have their windows broken. The street lamps we pass up have all been smashed. Shards of thick, opaque glass from their heavy sodium bulbs are scattered about the filth-ridden ground, mingling freely with the large rocks or chunks of concrete used to shatter them during some unknown delinquent's recent bout of drug or alcohol-fueled insanity.

I feel as if I've returned. I really can't explain it...

I light a cigarette, and the two of us pass it back and forth as we make our way towards his chosen destination. I'm no longer nervous. Any feelings of panic or anxiety that may have been plaguing me have inexplicably been cast aside by the introduction of the intimately familiar environment that Cory has brought me to. I'm actually smiling, and he slaps a paw gently across my back when he notices.

I feel like I've come home.

Cory leads me down what appears to be a deserted alleyway, surrounded on both sides by the grimy brick walls of a pair of recently vacated buildings. A few years back, when the local economy took a turn for the worse, the small businesses around the Heights area were the first ones to go. Many of the hangouts that I used to frequent have either been torn down or condemned by now, their physical structures having been deemed unsafe by the city's overly strict building codes.

"We're here," he tells me, extending a claw towards a small, wooden door jutting out from the solid brick wall near the end of the closed-off alley. I'm thinking to myself that he must be joking. What kind of place could possibly be located all the way back here? For a few seconds, I actually think that maybe the cat's losing it.

When we reach the door, however, I finally notice the rusted metal sign hanging above the door frame. The paint on its surface is marred with countless stains, and gaping holes from where the rust had eaten away at the metal. The place is called "Benny's."

"What is it?" I ask. "Some kind of bar?"

Cory shakes his head, and begins tugging at the fabric of the plain-yellow T-shirt he's wearing. He slips it over his head, revealing a faded black wife-beater underneath. I can clearly make out the burn scars running along his arms and back as he tosses the shirt over his shoulder. Clamping down on my curiosity, I say nothing. There's plenty of time for that later.

"It's a restaurant. It used to look way better, back in the day. Actually, I'm surprised it's still standing. You might wanna lose that collared shirt, though; you know how people are around here..."

I look down at my chosen outfit for the day. I'm wearing a black polo shirt and a pair of dusty black jeans. He's right. In a place like this, my dumb ass would stick out like a sore thumb. I look like an ignorant, well-placed mark; anybody in their right mind would think I was just another self-centered asshole, my wallet and body ripe for the picking.

Thankfully, I'm wearing another shirt under this one...

I peel off the offending garment, and toss it onto the ground next to a pile of discarded trash. I'm not worried about it; I've got plenty of clothes back at the apartment. The shirt I'm wearing underneath is one of my old, baggy t-shirts, its once-black fabric turning gray with age and speckled with several small holes around the neck and waist. There... Now I look like someone you could find in a place like this.

"How's the food?" I continue. Cory gives me a smile and says nothing. He grips the door's tarnished brass handle in his paw, and pulls it open. I can feel my stomach growling as my nostrils are immediately invaded by the thick odor of some kind of meat being cooked. My hunger begs me to throw caution to the wind, and so I step inside...

The interior of Benny's looks every bit as trashy and unclean as the alleyway outside, but that doesn't matter to me. I feel right at home. The fading green paint on the walls is peeling away. The countertop near the entrance to the kitchen looks like it hasn't been scrubbed in months. The rotting wooden floorboards are saturated with scuff marks and topped with a fine layer of dust. It appears as if numerous patrons have been absentmindedly dragging their claws along its surface. Looking ahead, I spy several poorly-built wooden tables scattered about the small dining area, each one covered in hastily-carved graffiti and cigarette burns. The air in the dining room is tainted with a thick layer of smoke, which floats lazily above my head beneath the illumination of the dim track lights lining the restaurant's low ceiling.

Yeah... This is my kind of place.

I stretch my arms above my head and inhale deeply, taking in the smoky aroma leaking out from the kitchen. God, whatever it is, it just smells amazing...

Cory steps in from behind me, and taps me on the shoulder. His touch brings me back to reality, and I watch as he points me towards one of the tables, resting against the back wall of the room. We make our way over to it, and seat ourselves on a pair of cheap metal folding chairs as we wait for someone to come out and take our orders. It shouldn't be too long; we're the only customers here.

"So..." Cory begins, placing both elbows on the table and resting his head in his paws, "Are you feeling better now?"

I nod my head in response.

"Definitely. I don't know how to explain it, man, but whenever I go to those upper-class, suit-and-tie, condo-and-Lexus kinds of places, I just get this weird, almost nervous feeling. It's like I don't know what I'm doing there. You might find it a little strange, but somehow, when I go to those parts of town, it's like this voice in my head wakes up, and keeps reminding me that I--"

"--Don't belong." Cory finishes for me. I let out a soft chuckle, and nod my head once more.

"You hit the nail right on the head."

"I've been there, man..." He continues. "Hell, it took months of getting used to it all before I could let Oz convince me to go shopping with him at one of those giant department stores. You've got nothing to be ashamed about. That's why I brought you here; I wanted to take you somewhere I knew you'd be comfortable."

I smile and take out my pack of cigarettes, sticking one between my teeth. Cory asks for one as well, and I light them both up before passing the second cigarette over to him. My eyes close for a moment as I inhale deeply and let out a thick cloud of toxic, blue-gray smoke. When I open them, I can see the cigarette smoke fading into the soft, grey haze as it slowly rises towards the low ceiling.

"Thanks... I've just had a lot on my mind ever since Charlie asked me if I wanted to get married. I knew it was gonna stress me out, but I didn't think it would get this bad..."

Cory shakes his head, and leans back in his chair. I watch as he crosses his arms over his chest, before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

"Getting married is no cakewalk," he says, exhaling loudly into the room. "The only reason I even suggested it to Charlie in the first place was because I thought the two of you might be ready for it. And you are ready for it, believe me."

I heave a sigh, and shrug my shoulders. A thin smile creeps across my face as I stare at him.

"And here, I thought I was supposed to be the counselor..."

"We all have our bad days... Like I said, it's nothing to worry about. Just go with it man, live in the moment. Have some food and enjoy yourself; it's on me and Oz."

The sound of heavy footsteps causes us to turn towards the kitchen as a hulking figure steps out from behind the swinging door, his chest covered by a grease-stained white apron. 'This must be the chef,' I think to myself.

The chef is a large, well-built bison. His hooves clatter noisily against the floor as he steps up to the counter and bends over to retrieve something from behind it. He doesn't seem to notice us at all. I hear Cory clearing his throat as he tries to get the guy's attention.

"Yo! Benny!"

There's a loud 'thump' as the bison knocks one of his large horns against the underside of the countertop. A half-full bottle of ketchup clatters noisily to the floor as he grunts in pain. I try my best to stifle my laughter. Benny comes up slowly, rubbing the base of the injured appendage with a hand as he turns to face us. Cory waves a paw in greeting, and chef lets out a burst of deep, wheezing laughter as he recognizes the cheetah seated comfortably at his table. His voice comes out in a harsh, gruff-sounding rumble as he greets us.

"If it isn't the alley cat! I haven't seen you 'round here in years!"

My gaze slowly shifts back to Cory as I hear this. "Alley cat?" I repeat. He gives me a chuckle and runs a claw across his throat to silence me, before turning back to face Benny.

"I'm surprised you remember me, big guy! Bring us out the special; I could smell it coming in. What is it today, pot roast?"

Benny shakes his head slightly. "It's Saturday, remember? It's smoked ribs and baked spuds. You should know this, cat; you used to cook em'!"

He lets out another burst of wheezing laughter, before heading back into the kitchen. Once he's out of sight, I give Cory a blank stare.

"You used to work here?"

He nods, and stubs his cigarette out on the table. "Yeah, I smoked the meat and worked the grill for a while... This place used to be packed to capacity around this time of the day; everyone in the Heights wanted a taste of Benny's cooking... Well... My cooking."

"Wow."

I shake my head, and stomp my own butt out on the floor. I guess there's a lot about Cory that I haven't learned yet. He runs a claw over some faded graffiti carved into the table, motioning for me to check it out. Peering down at it, I can make out a pair of initials: C.A. and O.M. I recognize the hasty, fevered scratches of Oz's style of handwriting. I now realize why Cory has insisted on bringing me here. It wasn't just for my own comfort. No; this place holds a lot of history for him.

"That was about a month after I first met Oz," He tells me. "He stumbled in here one night while I was working the grill, drunk off his ass and out of his mind on speed. We kinda hit it off immediately, you know? A few weeks after he scratched that in, I quit my job, and we ended up moving in together at his parents' mansion. It all happened so fast; I completely fell for him. You know the rest, doc..."

I'm amazed by how relaxed he seems to be while telling his story. It's almost identical to what happened between Charlie and myself... It was all so quick; as if a tidal wave of lustful desire and longing had washed over our hearts, and brought the two of us together. Cory had never mentioned any of this in our sessions, though...

"So how'd it go for you guys?" I inquire. "You know... Getting married?"

Cory shrugs his shoulders, and clears his throat. "It was pretty cool, actually, as far as small weddings go. There wasn't much of a ceremony. Not too many people got invited, and most of those who were invited either didn't show, or opted out. In the end, it was pretty much just the two of us on a yacht, idling under the sunset out in the bay, with a priest to read the scripture and witness our vows..."

"That's kinda sad, man. How come you never told me about any of this?"

"I don't know; I mean, when we have our sessions, I always tend to focus on the issues at hand. I guess I haven't really been thinking about the past, lately..."

I shake my head, and light up another cigarette. "The past is important," I tell him. "Every problem that anyone has in the present can usually be traced back to something that happened in their past."

I nod towards his burns. "Speaking of the past, how's the healing coming along?"

Cory rubs a paw gently along the pink scar tissue which traces its way down his forearm and shoulder. He goes quiet for a moment, before responding. "Pretty good, actually... I've managed to taper off my dosage of the painkillers. Charlie left me some weed the other day, so I've just been using that to take the edge off. As you can see, I've ditched the wheelchair, too."

I let out a burst of soft laughter, and give him an approving smile. "Yeah, those things are a real bitch... You look a lot better, though. Your physical condition, not to mention your mental state, seems greatly improved."

He nods, and returns my smile. "Yeah, ever since Charlie told me I could help with the wedding, I've just been happy. Happy for you guys, happy to be walking around. I'm happy to be of use to somebody..."

The words of my reply have already formed on my lips before I've had the time to process them. I guess my professional side has taken over.

"You needed this," I say. "You needed something to prove to yourself that you weren't just a burden on everyone's shoulders. You needed to carry your own weight, right?"

Cory nods again. I pass him my cigarette, and he takes a few puffs before handing it back. I hear the impatient buzzing of a cell phone, and watch as he immediately digs one out of his pocket to check the text messages.

"They've finished getting that tux fitted," He informs me. "Charlie says I'm not supposed to tell you this, but they're out shopping for wedding rings now... I guess he wanted to surprise you."

I shrug my shoulders, and finish the smoke. "Consider me surprised. I'll put on my happy face."

We share a moment of quiet laughter at this. For all of his shyness, Cory is actually a pretty decent guy. Like Charlie, he seems to say exactly what I need to hear.

The sound of heavy footsteps fills our ears as Benny comes out from the kitchen. He's carrying two very large, very full plates of smoked, dry-rubbed ribs and sliced red potatoes. Forks are resting neatly at the edges of the smooth, white ceramic; knives have been impaled through tender, juicy portions of meat. My mouth has already begun to water as he approaches our table. He sets the plates of delicious-looking food down in front of us, along with a small stack of napkins, and gives us both a smile as he slowly moves away.

"Today's special; ribs and spuds. Enjoy, guys."

He turns around to head back to work. Before he gets out of earshot, however, Cory calls out to him, "Hey, Benny? Got any beer back there?"

The bison nods his head, and pushes open the swinging door. "Yo, kid!" he shouts, "Get a couple brews up here! Break out the good stuff, these guys are friends!"

Cory seems as shocked as I am to hear Benny's yell. There's someone else working here?

Imagine my surprise when a very familiar face exits the kitchen, carrying the two glass bottles by their necks in his small, shaking paws.

"Jake?!" I exlcaim, unsure of what to make of this scene. The young coyote gives me a curt nod, before using his thumb claws to expertly pop off the bottle caps. The metal tops clatter noisily onto the floor as he approaches us. He sets both beers on the table, and crosses his arms over his skinny chest. The grayish-white fur on his neck seems to stand on end as he recognizes me. Something seems off; he keeps turning his head to the right.

"What's up, doc?" he mumbles. "Didn't expect to see you here..."

Cory gives me a confused stare, and taps me on the arm with his fork. "You know this kid?"

I give him a nod. "Yeah; he's one of my clients. Jake, what are you doing here? Do your parents know where you are?"

The coyote shakes his head slightly. He still won't turn to face me. I can hear his foot tapping anxiously against the dirty floor as he tries to come up with a response. In the end, he simply shrugs his shoulders in dismissal. "What's it look like I'm doing?" he says. "I'm makin' a buck. The Fullers are both in court; they're almost never home, anyway... I figured I might as well get some cash together. Benny pays me alright..."

I find myself shaking my head in disappointment. Not at Jake; at his so-called parents. What kind of pricks would let their kid wander around a place like the fucking Heights?! Do they have any idea what goes on down here? Do they even care?! And why does he seem so nervous?

"What's wrong?" I ask him. "Why won't you look at me?"

His ears droop as a short whimper escapes his muzzle. I can see his eyes starting to glass over; he's getting ready to cry. Just then, it hits me... Somewhere in the back of my head, something clicks. I lean forward in my chair and give him a warm smile of reassurance as I lower my voice to a calming, gentle tone.

"Hey, Jake, it's me... You know I'm not gonna hurt you. Don't be scared, just let me see..."

He relents, slowly turning his head towards us. My jaw drops, and Cory's fork falls to the table as we see what Jake's been hiding. His right eye is completely swollen shut. The flesh surrounding it has turned a dark, ugly shade of purple. I can see tears beginning to form in the pup's eyes as he watches me survey the damage. He sniffles loudly and hangs his head in shame. A high-pitched whine fills the room as he starts to cry. I can't take it; I get up from my seat and wrap my arms around his shoulders, gently pulling him into a hug.

"Hey, it's all right. Everything's gonna be fine... Just let it all out. I'm gonna get you a chair, okay? I want you to sit down, and tell us what happened."

Jake nods his head quietly, and I walk across the room to retrieve another folding chair, which leans against the back wall. After carrying it back to our table, I open it up and set it down directly behind Jake. Taking my own seat, I motion for him to sit down, and he silently obeys. I hand him one of the napkins, which he uses to dry his tears.

"Who did this to you?" I ask him.

His skinny body trembles slightly as he tries to find the courage to speak. Something seems to be holding him back. I reach out to place a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches away immediately as my skin comes into contact with his fur. That's not good... This kid is thoroughly shaken. Whoever is responsible for this has instilled a deep sense of fear inside of him.

Cory watches the two of us and says nothing, his food now totally forgotten. He seems as concerned as I am for the young coyote; his jaw is clamped shut, and I can tell that he's trying his best to hold back the snarl that wants to push its way out.

I'm running dangerously low on options here; Jake is totally clamming up. Being a counselor, I know that when somebody goes quiet or demonstrates the symptoms of agitation, anger, or fear, you've probably reached the point of no return. This is where getting the patient to talk becomes increasingly troublesome; you've stumbled upon the source of the problem, or even identified the problem itself, but there's always conflicting emotions in the patient's mind which keep them from opening up. In most cases involving violence, particularly violence in the home, this emotion is fear. The fear of betraying someone close to you. The fear of retaliation. Fear is one of the hardest emotions to overcome, and I can personally assert this as fact. We all live in fear; I don't care who you are. Unfortunately, this is what sometimes makes therapy so difficult. Fear, hatred, anger, resentment... In order to begin the healing process, you have to be willing to let it all go.

And Jake needs to heal; he needs to talk. Cory and I can both see it. I heave a sigh of defeat, and reach for my cigarette pack, which now rests next to my plate on the table. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and this one trick always seems to work with most of my older clients...

I light up a cigarette, take a few drags to get it burning, and place it at the edge of the table. This one's not for me. Jake's eyes lock onto the burning stick of tobacco, and I pretend not to notice as he snatches it up and inhales deeply. I look away as he smokes. Every shred of moral fiber in my body screams at me to take it away from him; after all, he's just a kid... But I don't. Instead, I look away, and tell myself that I have plenty of time to regret my decision later. Right now, Jake needs my support, and I can't think of any other way to calm him down.

"Are you ready to talk?" I ask him.

He takes another pull from the cigarette, and exhales fully before giving me a single nod. He reaches towards me with the cigarette, and I take it from his outstretched claws before stubbing it out against the table. I watch as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"It was my dad..." he whispers.

It takes all the strength I have to keep from screaming. That doesn't stop Cory, though.

"Are you fucking serious?!" he exclaims, leaping to his feet. "Your dad did that to you? I don't care if he is in court; tell me where I can find him!"

I clamp my hand securely around Cory's wrist, and shake my head. He seems to get the message, and settles back into his chair. I take a moment to think over what I know about Jake's parents before saying anything.

I consider Mr. Fuller's reaction when I'd informed him that his son's drug abuse couldn't be cured overnight. He's a lawyer, for christ's sake; he should KNOW these things! And seeing Jake here, the way he looks now... My fist seriously wants to make friends with this asshole's face. They don't deserve this kid. But I'm not gonna flip out; I can't. At least, not yet. There's a time and a place for everything...

"How did it happen?" I ask. "What made your dad hit you?"

Once again, Jake seems withdrawn. I can hear the soft clicking sound as the claws on his feet tap steadily against the wooden floor. His tail is wagging nervously behind him.

"I was getting high, alright?" he finally admits. "It wasn't even tweak, or anything like that. About a week ago, I snuck out of the house around midnight to smoke a joint on the back porch. My parents were a little drunk; they'd had a few bottles of wine with dinner that night. I thought they might've been passed out or something, so I went outside... I guess my dad wasn't asleep yet; he came downstairs to go to the kitchen, and he saw me standing in the grass, with a joint in my mouth. He didn't even say anything; he just threw open the sliding door and knocked me to the ground. I was still laying there when I woke up in the morning..."

His story saddens me, and I bury my face in my hands. It's not the first time I've heard of something like this happening. Parents often overreact when their children become involved with drugs. Often, their reactions can become violent. It's a story I've heard many times during my career as a drug counselor, but even so, it never gets any easier...

"Did you tell your mom?"

Jake shakes his head. "She said she didn't want to hear it! She told me that if she'd caught me getting high in her house, she'd have done it herself! She threatened to call CPS to take me back to the orphanage so I--"

He cuts himself off before he can finish. I already know what he's about to say, but it's not my place to speak for him. I try my best to encourage him to continue.

"What happened, Jake? What did you do?" I say. "I won't tell anybody; you have my word on that. I wouldn't do that to you."

"... I ran away," he mutters, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"Is that how you ended up here?" Cory asks him. Jake gives him a solemn nod in reply.

"I kinda wandered around for a few days, trying to find a place to stay. When I got here, Benny offered to give me a job and let me sleep on the cot he keeps in the back of the storage room. It was the best deal I could find, so I jumped at it. He pays me in cash at the end of each day, and he always lets me eat for free, so I'm not starving or anything... I guess I've been here almost a week, now."

Cory lets out a slight chuckle, and smiles. "Good ol' Benny," he remarks. "He did the same thing for me, back in the day. I ended up sleeping on that cot for almost two years."

Jakes ears perk up at this. "Really?" he says. "So you're the guy everybody tells me I remind them of when they see me around here? I asked Benny about it once; he said you musta died or something!"

Cory bursts out in laughter, and extends his paw so that Jake can shake it.

"No such luck, kid. I'm Cory. The guys around here used to call me the 'alley cat.' I used to sleep next to the trash out front, before Benny took me in."

Jake seems to brighten up as he reaches out to shake Cory's paw. I can see the corners of his muzzle twisting up into a soft smile as he introduces himself. "I'm Jake. I haven't really been around long enough to get a name for myself, but I guess you can call me a stray..."

Cory releases his grip, and Jake retracts his arm to his side. Suddenly, his ears twitch as he looks back and forth between Cory and myself. "Hey, wait..." he begins, pointing a finger towards Cory. "You're one of the guys in Charlie's band, right? I knew you sounded familiar, I just couldn't put my finger on it!"

Cory shrugs his shoulders in reply. "Yeah, I play the guitar. I do backup rhythm and vocals, usually, so if you think you've heard me, that's probably where."

Jake seems happy about this, and pleased with the quick change of the subject. He turns towards me. I suddenly remember my food, and start working on the potatoes with the fork. Cory takes this as a cue to start eating as well, and begins to gnaw noisily on the rack of ribs.

"So where's Charlie?" Jake asks me. "Aren't you guys, like, a couple or something?"

I nod my head as I chew my food. The potatoes have been boiled in some sort of spice mixture, making them burn a path down my throat as I swallow. Still, it feels as if my taste buds are having multiple orgasms... Damn. I gotta get Cory to take me out for lunch more often.

"We're about to get married," I say, in between bites. "In fact, Charlie's out shopping for some rings, right now. I didn't feel too comfortable walking along the high-rises and shit, so Cory and I decided to take a tour through the Heights. That's how we ended up coming here."

"Actually, they're done shopping," Cory chimes in. I see that he has his phone in his paw once again. "They should be here soon."

Jake gives us a short nod, before shifting his gaze to my untouched rack of ribs. I can tell that he's hungry, and there's no way I'm gonna let that go unchecked. Using the steak knife that Benny has provided, I cleanly slice the rack in half, before sliding some across the plate towards him. He beams with delight as he snatches the meat off my plate, and clamps his jaws down on it. I can hear the sound of the bones crunching as he eats, but he doesn't seem to mind. He devours the entire portion that I've given him, meat, bones, and all.

"Damn, kid, you must be hungry," Cory inquires.

Jake says nothing; he just licks his paws clean, before shrugging his shoulders in response. "I only woke up about an hour ago," he informs us. "I guess I haven't had a chance to eat yet."

I tell him that he can have the rest of the meat. He needs it more than I do. I'm about to finish up the potatoes, when I hear the loud squeak of rusty hinges as the front door swings open. Oz and Charlie step into the dim light of the dining room, and immediately spot the three of us sitting at our table. Cory rises from his seat to greet Oz properly, as my mate makes his way over to me.

"Hey, babe..." he murrs, bending over to plant a wet kiss on my cheek. "How's the food?"

"It's good, actually." I reply. I wave a hand towards Jake. "Remember this guy?"

A warm smile crosses Charlie's face as he recognizes him. He drops the heavy shopping bag he's holding to the floor and reaches out his freed paw, which Jake clasps firmly in his own. "How's it going, kid?" he says. "I guess you were right; you said we'd meet again."

Charlie's smile disappears just as quickly when he spots Jake's very swollen black eye.

"What the hell happened to you?!" he asks.

Oz brings over some chairs as Jake begins to repeat his story. He seems calm as he explains his situation, from the beginning. Nobody interrupts him; we all just sit and listen as the kid gives us the details. I watch Charlie's muscles tense up when Jake explains that he'd received the black eye from his father. He looks as if he's about to explode with rage. I reach my hand behind his head, and stroke the fur on the back of his neck lovingly. This helps to calm him down, as Jake continues.

At the end of it all, Charlie snatches my cigarettes from the table, and lights one up. I watch his claws shake slightly as he takes a deep pull to calm his nerves. Oz has remained silent throughout the entire ordeal; he's sitting next to Cory, as the cheetah lays a comforting paw across his knee. The nervous silence continues for almost a minute before Charlie finally decides to speak up.

"Well, I guess that settles it." he says.

"Settles what?" I ask him, a little confused.

"...The kid's coming home with us."

---

Well, that took me forever! With school having started, it's getting kinda hard for me to find the time to write. No worries, though; I'll still be updating! Sorry if it seems a little rushed; I've got some stuff to do that's been taking up my time, and I really wanted to get this chapter up. Just be patient with me, and you won't be disappointed.

--Ken