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Cirrus by Kanga Liu

Chapter 3

I heard the door slam as my mother left to go to work for the third day in a row. Curled up in my bed buried beneath layers of blankets, I poked my head out to see what the weather was like outside of my bedroom window. Foggy and dreary, like it had been every morning so far. It matched in complete harmony with how I felt during the past sixty-five hours. Sleeping in and skipping school wasn't difficult when you had a busy mom who assumed I was already sitting in class by now, thus doesn't even bother checking inside of my room. By the time she was in her car driving to the hospital, I would get out of bed feeling--and probably looking--like a hot mess and spend the whole day in front of the TV, watching nothing in particular for entertainment, but just to hear some noise in the place other than my own thoughts. Today wasn't going to be any different.

After I yawned and stretched in my bed, I got up and walked out into the living room. Picking up the remote off from the coffee table, I fell back lifelessly onto the couch and turned on the TV set. The image of two raccoons driving in a car flickered onto the screen. It was a sitcom I was familiar with. Two raccoons were married and went through every episode with complicated problems that were bad for them, but hysterical for the audience. Unlike my problems, however, theirs were usually funny situations that were--eventually, in the end--taken care of.

While the two raccoons argued in the car and nearly crashed into a large semi-truck, I just sat in place, staring blankly at the screen. Ever since my incident with Cirrus--I mean, the next-door neighbor whom I don't recall the name of--my chest has felt like an aching, bottomless, empty pit. It felt like a dark hole, just eating up the energy within me. Every time my thoughts went back to that night in his apartment, fucking him as if everything was fine in my life, I felt cold... almost as if I had been locked up in the trunk of a car left by the side of a highway in the freezing snow, where no one could ever find me or hear me screaming.

To top it all off, I felt dirty.

At this thought, I felt my eyes start to well up. Sniffling, I got up to go to the bathroom and unrolled a handful of tissue by the toilet to blow my nose into. When I finished, I looked at the reflection of a fox in the mirror who had no idea what was worth living for anymore.

"It's only been a year," I said to myself. To the fox staring back at me. "Apparently, that was long enough for you, wasn't it? You ugly... disgusting... despicable..." I couldn't think of any more words to call the slut in the mirror. "You're the worst boyfriend anyone could ask for." With that said, I turned away from the mirror and headed back into the living room where I heard my phone vibrating in my bedroom. I sighed, knowing who it was, before walking back into my room to answer it.

"Hey, Jazz," I said the moment I picked it up.

The first day I didn't show up to class, Jazz had texted me. The second day I was missing, he had called me, but I didn't answer. I didn't want him hearing me cry when I picked up the phone. Right now, I wasn't exactly balling my eyes out, so I decided it was time to finally answer his call.

"Paris!" he said on the other line, the sound of relief evident in his voice as if he had been worried that I died or something. As if I'd be the type to kill myself, right? "Where are you right now? And where have you been for the past two days?"

"At home," was my response as I took a seat on the edge of my bed.

"Doing what? You've been skipping for two days just to get extra sleep at home?"

"Something like that," I said. Curt would be the most accurate word to describe my conversational skills right now.

There was a pause on the other line for a minute. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.

I sighed. "No."

Another long pause. "I'll stop by your house when I get out of class. We'll drive somewhere private so we can talk."

I nodded slowly, even though he couldn't see me. "Okay," was all I said.

He hung up. I listened to the dead tone for what felt like days before I hung up as well. At least I still had Jazz.

He texted me when he finally made it to my apartment. I looked at the clock before I left the apartment and saw that it was about 4:00 in the afternoon. He must have gone home to shower and get ready because he got out of his final class at around 12:30 at the latest every day. Running down the stairs and walking up to his old, beat-up Toyota pickup in the parking lot, I flashed a brief smile and an even briefer wave. He looked at me from his seat. Just looked at me. He didn't look happy to see me, but didn't exactly look disappointed or angry, either. Concerned. That's it. He looked concerned.

As I hopped inside his truck and laid back in my seat, I looked over at him and saw that he looked really good today. He had, indeed, showered and looked very clean. He usually looked very gruffy when he went to school, with fur around his muzzle sticking out in some places and his body odor often smelling like the musk of an athlete's undershirt. Right now sitting next to me, I saw that his shiny black and gray fur looked neat, and he smelled like an orchard of apples--but still with a hint of his ordinary musk. He wore a fitted black button-up with the sleeves rolled up that showed off his defined forearms, and light-colored skinny jeans with holes ripped at the knees. Seeing him look so... sexy... made it hard for me to take my eyes off of him.

Noticing that I had been staring for a while, Jazz flashed a quick friendly smile before backing up out of the parking space the truck was sitting in. "You look miserable," he said.

"Thanks a bunch," I said sarcastically, smiling a little. "You dick."

That got a small chuckle out of him as he shifted the gear into drive and slowly crept toward the entranceway of the parking lot. As he waited for cars to stop rushing by, I turned my head around to look back at my apartment. I then looked up at the apartment next-door to mine... the one where the angel lived. My gaze then fixed upon the face of a white rabbit staring solemnly back at me through his window. I had about a glimpse of him waving at me before Jazz drove onto the road and sped off to a place where I could tell him about everything that had happened to me.

--

As the two friends in the truck sat in silence, Paris took this time as an opportunity to stretch out his sore, tired body. While the fox leaned back in his seat, raised his arms straight over his head, arched his back and let out a loud yawn, Jazz turned to catch a glimpse of Paris's sweatshirt rise up. Revealing his defined, light orange tummy. Wiggling his hips in place, Paris also showed off his very slim waist, making the air suddenly very hard to breath for Jazz. He wanted to hold Paris's sides in his paws. Caress them, and see if he was ticklish. Jazz shook the thoughts away and returned his attention back to driving.

"Where are we headed, Captain?" Paris asked once he was done stretching. His gaze remained focused on the passing scenery outside of his window, waiting for Jazz to respond.

"Oh, just a park that my parents took me to when I was younger," he said, eyes fixed on the road. He turned right into a nearby intersection and a few minutes later stopped at a four-way. "It's usually empty on the weekdays, so I thought it would be a nice place to just... you know..." He waited a few seconds to look for any oncoming cars. Seeing none, he took a left turn and drove into a deserted parking lot. "... talk about things."

Paris just nodded. Now parked underneath a bright-orange-leafed oak tree, a big shade engulfed the whole vehicle and made the inside of the truck very dim. Paris unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat to fully face the handsome wolf in the driver's seat. Without turning the car off--purposefully, to keep the heater running inside--Jazz unbuckled his seatbelt as well in order to fully face Paris.

For a moment the two just stared at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence first. For some reason, Paris felt comfortable with this silence. As long as he had his friend by his side, he didn't need words. No words could ever explain the amount of love he felt toward his best friend. Unfortunately, it was a different kind of love Jazz was feeling toward Paris at the moment.

Jazz broke the silence first. "I was worried about you."

--

I just sat there, not exactly sure how to respond to that statement.

"I was worried that you were angry at me or something," he went on. "You didn't answer back my texts, or return my calls--"

"Jazz, I know." I said. "I'm sorry, but I just felt like shit. The last thing I wanted was for you to be dragged into my own personal problems."

"I want you to drag me into your personal problems," he said. "Because we're best friends. We have been for years. You know that if you need anyone you can trust, it's me who will be by your side a hundred--no--a million percent. Every step of the way. Every time you need someone to talk to." He paused to watch me carefully, trying to judge my emotions, but I kept on a good poker face. Beats me why I don't gamble, because I think I could be really good at it. "I'd do anything to help you," he finished.

I nodded. "I... do want to include you in my life," I admitted. "But, sometimes, it can get really complicated. I don't want to always bring your mood down."

"You bring my mood down when you keep things away from me." He blinked. I blinked. "You bring my mood down when you bottle things up, and..." At this point, he grabbed my wrist. Before I could even understand what was happening, he lifted my forearm up to his face and pulled back the sleeve of my dark gray hoodie up to my elbow... exposing the numerous scars and cuts etched into the skin like tally marks on the wall of a prison cell. Both the fading old ones and the brightly red-colored new ones showed visibly despite the lack of sunlight in the truck.

Immediately, I twisted my wrist from his grip and shoved him back. "What the hell?" I yelled. I didn't know what was worse: the fact that my cuts have been finally revealed to my best friend or the look on his face when he saw them. I decided it was the latter. Seeing him sit there, shaking his head and judging me with dark, empty eyes, I wanted to get out of the car and run somewhere far away. My body, however, was too paralyzed to do anything right now. So, I just sat there, holding my wrist up against my chest--protecting it from the guy sitting in front of me.

"I knew it," he whispered.

My eyes began to water uncontrollably. I felt ashamed. And dirty, for keeping such a secret from him. This wasn't how I wanted him to find out. "How?" I managed to choke through my tears. "How did you know about my..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"I noticed a few of them when you were washing your hands in the bathroom one time," he answered, now avoiding eye contact with me. "You were thinking about something else. I could tell. You just unrolled your sleeve and washed you hands, and I saw them... or, at least, what I thought I saw." He cleared his throat, as if feeling very uncomfortable now that he suddenly found out that his best friend was a suicidal psychopath. "I guess it was true." He looked back up at me, but now I couldn't look at him. I turned my face away to let the tears drop onto the carpet of the truck. "How long have you been... cutting yourself? And... were you ever going to tell me?"

"I..." I didn't know. I was hoping for him never to find out about this. "No," I finally answered. Nothing but the truth felt like the best option right now. "And I've been cutting myself for about six months."

"This is because of Shannon, isn't it?" he said. It didn't sound like a question, but more like a statement. A mere fact, because that's how true it was.

"It still hurts me, Jazz." I began to sob so much that my breathing started becoming desperate gasps for air. "It was all my fault. It was all because of me that he died. Why can't you fucking understand that?"

"I have been trying to understand, Paris," he volleyed, his voice rising to combat mine. "For the past year, but you never want to talk to me! It's as if you don't want me to understand!"

I cried. That's all I could do. Just cry, for being a little bitch that hurt everyone around him for being alive. My face burned and my cheeks were stained wet with tears, but I was afraid that if I reached up to wipe my face, Jazz would grab my wrist to see my cuts again. So, I just held my wrist even closer to me.

Jazz let out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead as if he had a bad migraine. "I still don't understand why you've been missing classes these past few days. Is life too hard for you now, Paris? Do you want to hide away from the world, just because you feel guilty about something you had no control over?"

"No, it's not... because... of Shannon," I said, gulping back air. "Not entirely about him, anyway."

He waited for me to finish crying up an entire lake in his truck. About a few minutes later, my breathing returned to a rate that I could talk efficiently enough again. After wiping my eyes and nose with the back of my hand, I told him everything that happened two nights ago. I told him everything about that night--from the trip to the mall to the... sex the rabbit and I ended up having that night. That part was the most uncomfortable, but I needed to tell him why I felt so disgusted in myself lately. I included every detail... except for the fact about Cirrus being an angel, of course. That would have just increased the questions, and I didn't feel like having a court trial at the moment. I just wanted to get this talk over with and go home. Crawl into my warm bed and... maybe even slit my wrists again. The pain would definitely drown away the hurt I felt inside of me right now. Physical pain would have felt better than being in this car right now, being judged. Once my story was over, I waited in silence for a response.

Holding my knees up to my chest and resting my chin on my knees, I turned my gaze toward Jazz for the first time since the beginning of the story and saw that he just stared back at me. Not with judgment or anger or pity, but with understanding. He finally knew everything, and knowing everything made him feel better, I guess.

"Shannon would hate me right now," I said, my voice starting to tremble. My tears may have run out, but the empty spaces inside my chest still ached. "He's probably looking over me right now, sad. Or probably even angry at me. I want him to know that I haven't moved on, yet. That I still love him."

"But, Paris," Jazz said. "He's gone. Nothing is going to bring him back."

"Don't remind me, Jazz."

"Paris, I'm serious. Are you going to live the rest of your life like this? Don't you think Shannon would want you to be happy? That he wants you to move on?"

I considered this, but only for about a second. "I... just feel that I betrayed him. I barely even knew the rabbit and I end up hooking up with him after the first date. I'm just that easy, I guess." I buried my face into my knees. "I don't deserve love."

Jazz didn't say a word. Instead, he just put the gear onto "reverse" and backed out of the parking lot. I looked up at him to see his expressionless face. Looking into his eyes however, I saw the faint hint of tears. Did I... somehow hurt him? Just because he found out that I had been cutting myself because I still loved Shannon? I'd understand if he felt ashamed of me or even angry at me, but how could my problems have hurt him?

He drove me back home in complete silence. Rain sprinkled over Seattle during our drive, and when I stepped out of the car, I shut the door and watched Jazz through the passenger seat window. He stared back at me, with the same blank face he had on throughout the entire ride back. Before I could say "bye," however, he sped off onto the intersection and disappeared down the road. For a minute, I just stood there, confused and lonely. Jazz was my best friend, and I knew that it was wrong for me to keep secrets away from him. But, was he going to be angry at me forever? Just because I didn't feel comfortable telling him what has been wrong with me ever since Shannon was stabbed to death?

There might have been more to it than that, but at the moment, I didn't want to think about it. Today was an exhausting day, and all I needed was some sleep. I looked around the parking lot and saw that my mom hadn't returned from work, yet. If I hurried, I might be able to get that one cut before she got back. Walking up the stairs to my floor, I decided that would be how the rest of the day should go. By the time I reached my door, though, I noticed something odd. I stopped in my tracks, terrified, in front of the door that was unlocked and slightly ajar. Someone was in my house, and it wasn't my mom. It couldn't be, because her car wasn't here. Plus, why would she leave the door open like this?

Budging it open with my finger, I cautiously stepped inside.

"H-h-hello?" I called, my voice shaking with fear. I looked around the dim, unlit living room, but saw no one. Just then, I heard a sound.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak... ruffle ruffle ruffle...

It was the sound of someone climbing into a bed, and the sound came from my room! Slowly meandering toward my half-opened door, I saw that a light was flickering from my room as well--like the flame of a candle. Who the hell was in my room?

Once I reached my bedroom door, I stood right in front of it, hesitant to go inside. From the aroma I smelled seeping out into the living room, I could tell it was a cinnamon-scented candle that was burning in my room. My paws grew even sweatier now, and the fur on my back stood on their very ends as if my whole body had been electrocuted. With a final, silent deep breath, I walked through the door and into my bedroom... to see a naked rabbit on my bed, lying on his side.

"C-Cirrus?" I breathed.

It wasn't. As I stepped closer, it was more obvious now.

This rabbit had black fur--charcoal black--all over his body, from his ears all the way down to his slender legs and big feet. The only area that wasn't black was a small patch of fur in an upside-down triangular shape around his groin area, where his sheath was exposed without even the slightest amount of embarrassment. That area was a neon-purple color. Also, unlike Cirrus' cute and round, bright green eyes, this rabbit stared back at me seductively through narrow, translucent gray eyes--like the color of smog or the haze that hovered over busy city streets. His body frame was different from Cirrus', too. This bunny had a very slender, effeminate frame, and possibly stood taller than Cirrus by about a good five inches.

"Paris," he hissed, almost serpentine. I noticed that he had a pretty long tongue. "I was wondering when you'd be home." He flapped his small, feathery wings excitedly... like the ones Cirrus had. Observing them more closely, however, I saw that they were just as black as the rabbit's fur.

"Um, hi." I stepped forward warily, keeping a careful eye on this complete stranger lying on my bed. "Who are you?"

"Lunsooguur, darling, but you could just call me Sugar," he said, giving me a naughty wink. "You're even cuter than I thought you would be. This is gonna make my job a little harder." He, then, flashed a devilish smile. "Just a little bit."

I didn't know who this bunny was, but I knew trouble had somehow found its way back into my life once again. As a matter of fact, it found its way right into my very own bedroom.