Charlie and James, Chapter 2 - Meet Charlie
#2 of Charlie and James
Chapter two of Charlie and James. Meet Charlie, a German shepherd with a troubled past and a pill problem. A local rock god during his days, and a dog haunted by his dreams at night, follow him as he takes you through the events which have led to his being the kind of guy he is.... Warning: Graphic scenes of rape, M/M sex and violence.
Charlie and James By Ken Anderson
Chapter 2: Meet Charlie
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Males and Females! Put your hands together for LOST SHEPHERD!"
I can hear the crowd cheering as the announcer introduces us. I hear them chanting my name over and over as if I were God, or some sort of religious figure. 'Charlie, Charlie, Charlie!' they all scream...
I take a moment before going on stage to tune my guitar. My paws are shaking. The fur on my chest and forehead is drenched with sweat. I'm hyperventilating a little bit, and there's a stabbing pain in my chest, but I think I've got something somewhere to calm me down. My bandmates eye me with disdain as they watch me dig around in the pockets of my shredded jungle-camo cargo pants. Where is it? I could've sworn I had it. I breathe a sigh of relief as my hands close around the small, silver object, pulling it from the clutches of my coin pocket. I smile as I trace a claw over its familiar, almost comforting, oval-shaped design. I press a button on its side, and the object springs open, a small LED light illuminating the contents contained within. Pills. Blue pills, yellow pills, pink pills and white pills. Uppers and downers, painkillers and tabs. I pluck two pink pills from the small pillbox, and snap it closed in my palm. Tossing them past my lips, I clamp my muzzle shut and chew them up, grimacing at the bitter taste left on my tongue as I swallow. God, the things I do to make myself look just right for these people. It's enough to drive any dog insane.
I follow my band out onto the stage and the lights penetrate my vision, nearly making me blind. As I get set up in front of the microphone, I wonder just why I do this for a living. Three minutes... That's all it is to me; three minutes... Three minutes where I can pour out my heart and soul, my very being, the entire meaning of my existence, in a flurry of screamed, growled, and slurred words. Even though I'm not the primary songwriter for the band, each song that I sing is my life... Well, three minutes of it, hahaha... And as much as all our songs mean to me, the members of the crowd seem to always assume that I'm belting out their personal soundtrack to life.
Well, at least THEY'RE getting their money's worth; I'm broke as fuck. As I begin to play and scream out the lyrics to our newest hit, "Save me, Nobody," I find myself wondering just WHAT THE FUCK I'm doing here. My mind wanders as the song continues on and the amphetamines start to kick in. How the hell did I become a drugged-up, second-rate rock star? I guess it had something to do with my family. Maybe something twisted happened to me while I was growing up... You know what? Maybe I should just tell you about it and get this pointless shit over with. It's not like it'd be the first time I had to tell anyone about my sad, broken life... You'd be one of many, believe me...
Anyway, here's what I can remember...
It all started a few years ago... I was nineteen, if I remember it right.
I grew up in a trailer park on the outskirts of Harbor City. My Mom died when I was just a pup. Even though I hardly remember her, I miss her every day. Dad's a fuckin' psycho when he drinks, and he drinks early and often. Luckily for me, on this particular day, Dad's not anywhere near our trailer...
"Wow, Charlie, you weren't kidding. This place is a dump."
"I know, right? But that's not why we're here, remember?"
I laugh at my companion's brashness, and drop the cigarette I've been smoking into an empty beer can on my dad's 'drinking table.' My guest, a very feminine male tiger wearing a cut-off top and short shorts, who's been trying to hook up with me for the past few weeks, wraps his arm around mine and pulls himself close. I guess this place is creeping him out. I honestly can't say I blame him. I lead him to the back of the trailer, towards my small room, and open the thin door so he can step inside. He has this look of awe on his face that just seems so precious, and he giggles like a schoolgirl when he sees the heavy-metal band posters plastered all over my walls. Upon eyeing my bed, he falls onto it and immediately makes himself comfortable. I can hear a purr coming from that sexy feline body as he stares me down. I know what he wants...
"Don't go anywhere..." I tell him, putting a low growl in my voice for emphasis. "I'm gonna go freshen up really quick. I'll be back in a flash."
He's already starting to strip off his clothes before I shut the door. Chuckling to myself at this cat's steadfast desire to sleep with me, I open the door to the tiny bathroom and step inside. I take off my dirty black tank-top and check myself out in the mirror. My light brown fur seems clean. The black spots which look like perfect circles around my hazel eyes appear to be fine. My black muzzle is spotless. I slip off the pair of dusty black jeans I'm wearing and check out my body, noting how my legs look powerful and my muscles look huge on my average-sized form. I run my paws over the six-pack abs that have gotten me laid so many times before. All in all, I'm one damn good-looking Shepherd, if you ask me.
I turn on the sink and splash some water on my face, before deciding that everything looks just perfect. Reaching under the counter, I pull out this bottle of whiskey that I'd managed to swipe from my dad a month prior. I unscrew the cap and take a few large gulps. This has become my pre-sex ritual lately, and none of the people who've tried to fuck me have seemed to mind. I cough from the feeling of the warm liquor burning its way down my throat, and take one last look at myself. Yeah... It's time to go back in. I cap the bottle and take it with me.
When I open my door, I see that the tiger is already naked and stretched out under my blanket. He beckons me forward with a claw, but I don't need encouragement. I've been through this routine before, and to tell the truth, I can honestly say it gets better every time.
He lifts up the covers, expecting me to slip under, but I'm not having any of that. With what we're about to do, I'm not willing to get bodily fluids all over my only blanket. I snatch it out of his hands and toss it onto the floor by the door. The whiskey bottle follows, landing on top of it. He giggles again, probably surprised that I'm going so fast. I immediately lay down on top of him, slip a paw behind his head, and press his muzzle squarely onto mine. He's willing, this one is, and he opens up immediately, thrusting his rough tongue into my mouth and frenching me like he invented it. I'm rubbing my paws all along his lithe body, stroking my way softly down his spine towards the base of his tail.
I can feel him shiver under my touch, and he moans a little into our kiss. Before I know it, I can feel his paws groping around by my boxers. He uses one paw to hold them open while he slips the other inside, and begins to stroke my sheath delicately. He's teasing me, and I'll be damned if he isn't good at it. I let a soft growl escape my muzzle as he begins to stroke me faster, grabbing ahold of my cock as it slowly emerges to its fully-erect length. He speeds up his kisses and begins to purr as I return the favor by reaching further down his backside and teasing his tailhole. Just then, he breaks away from the kiss, and gently pushes me onto the bed. I'm stunned for a second, but I can see where this is going. He licks my muzzle, and begins to work his way down my body slowly, trailing kisses down my chest and my stomach until he gets to my groin. He looks up to me, as if asking for permission, and I nod my head once to let him know to continue. With that, he slowly slides my boxers down my legs, and once he's got them removed, he discards them on the floor.
I growl as he licks slowly up and down my shaft, tasting me. His tongue feels perfect. After a few more licks, he slowly lowers his muzzle down on me, taking almost all of me in one motion, and causing me to elicit a pleasurable groan. As he slowly bobs his head up and down, he alternates between licking and sucking. I lower my hand onto the back of his head, and encourage him to take in more by applying a gentle pressure. He obeys and I am rewarded with a slight gag as I feel the head of my dick hitting the back of his throat. God, this cat knows EXACTLY what he's doing. After a minute, he brings a paw up to stroke the base of my cock as he licks and sucks me. With his other paw he rubs the fur on my belly, working his way down towards my sac. When he reaches them I can't help but let out an audible whimper. This kitty's a pro. I groan loudly as he goes to work on me. I bask in the pleasurable sensations rippling through my body as he teases and plays with me, alternating between long, slow licks, strokes with his paw, and gentle sucking. I can feel myself tensing up as he brings me close.
Here it comes... Holy shit... I grab the sheets on my bed and dig my claws into them as he thrusts his muzzle down and gives me one last powerful suck. I'm about to explode; I close my eyes, my muscles tense up, and I can feel a growl building up in my chest. I'm almost to the edge, and I'm readying myself for a great orgasm, when all of a sudden, I notice that I can no longer feel his muzzle wrapped around me. Forcing my eyes open, I look towards him and see that he's shaking his head and purring.
"Why'd you stop?" I ask him, with a hint of surprise in my voice. "I was almost there!"
He answers by climbing on top of me, until we're face-to-face. I shiver as I feel his soft tail rub against my balls. "I don't want you to be done just yet..." He whispers. I'm about to ask him why, when he slowly lowers himself onto me. I moan as I feel myself slipping into his tailhole. Oh... THAT's why... I can't take it anymore. If he wants it that badly, shit, he can HAVE it! I grab him by the shoulders and flip him so that he's underneath me. He gives a yelp of surprise, but he doesn't complain. Grabbing the thick fur on the back of my neck, he pulls me into a kiss, and I respond by slowly sliding my cock into his tight, warm body. He moans into my mouth as I slide in to the base, being careful to leave enough space for my knot to form when the time comes.
I start slowly, giving him time to get used to my size as I try to find a comfortable rhythm. When he begins to relax, I speed up, pumping eagerly into his tailhole as he digs his claws into my bed and wraps his legs around my waist. He begins to moan loudly into our kisses and begs me to go faster. I start speeding up my thrusts, burying myself to the hilt inside of him, no longer worrying about the knot building up near the base of my cock. Soon, we are fucking like a couple of coked-out rabbits, fast and hard, with me pounding into him while he thrusts his hips forward to meet me. The whole trailer shakes and creaks loudly with our movements, and I feel myself once again building up to a great orgasm. My knot begins to swell, but I ignore it, slamming into him like it's not even there. He begins to moan louder; I can tell he's enjoying it.
His own cock has fully emerged from his sheath, and as we fuck, I grip it with one of my paws, and begin to stroke him in time with my own thrusts. He digs his claws even deeper into my bed, tearing the fabric of my mattress as his moans become screams and I bring the two of us to our peak. I feel myself going over the edge, so I begin to thrust even harder, speeding up my strokes on his cock as well. With a loud yell, I thrust myself in deeply, to the hilt, and my whole body shakes as I experience a complete and total release. I feel him squirming as I fill him up with spunk, and he erupts into a loud roar as he, too, goes over the edge. He squirts thick, hot tiger fluids all over my chest and paw, before collapsing underneath me.
For a minute we just lay there wrapped up in each other, panting loudly and trying to catch our breath. I try to pull out, but I can tell that my knot has made that almost impossible. I'm about to give in and just wait for the swelling to go down, when I hear a noise that makes my ears perk up and my eyes go wide.
The front door has been jerked open and slammed shut. I can hear the familiar, heavy footsteps as my dad steps inside. Even from behind the closed door of my room, I can smell the stink of whiskey and beer coming from his body. This is not good. THIS IS NOT FUCKING GOOD.
The tiger eyes me with a look of panic, and I motion for him to keep quiet. I feel bad for what I'm about to do next, but it has to be done. Without giving him time to react, I grab a pillow from the bed and press it over his muzzle to muffle his yelp as I forcefully pull my knotted cock from his tailhole. He groans from the pain, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I toss the pillow onto the bed and jump to my feet, picking up his clothes from the floor and tossing them over to him.
"Get dressed, quick!" I whisper loudly. I can hear my dad's heavy footpaws making the floor creak as he walks his way slowly, drunkenly, towards my room.
The tiger, whose name I still haven't gotten, does as he's told, throwing on his top and pulling on his shorts as I crawl towards the small window above the bed. I flip the latch and push it open, waving for him to hurry up and move. He climbs out the window headfirst, and turns around to face me once he's on the ground. The look on his face is almost sad. He tries to say something, but I cut him off with a shake of my head before closing the window and locking it again.
Suddenly, there's a loud banging on the door to my room. "CHARLIE! CHARLIE! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!" My dad yells, in his gruff, cigarette-stained voice.
"Yeah, yeah!" I reply. "Give me a minute!"
I run to my small closet, and take out an old Furvana T-shirt, along with a pair of denim shorts. I throw the shirt over my head and pull it on, following up with the shorts. I grit my teeth in pain as my tail misses the slit in the back, and reach down to correct it. Not bothering to grab anything else, I go to the door and throw it open, expecting to hear my father rant some more. Instead, he pounces on me.
I cry out in pain as he pins me to the floor, sticking his muzzle directly into my face as he growls.
"You were supposed to be there to help us carry out all the loot!" he yells, his muzzle dripping spit onto my neck. I try to squirm out from underneath him, but he clamps his claws firmly around my arms and holds them down.
"I TOLD YOU I WASN'T GONNA HELP YOU WITH THAT SHIT!" I scream at him.
His eyes go wide with rage at the defiant tone in my voice. Before I can stop him, he balls a paw into a fist and brings it down on my muzzle with enough force to make me see stars. As I groan and try to stare up at him, I can taste blood in my mouth, and feel the remains of a tooth rattling around. He doesn't stop. He hits me again, this time harder. My vision blurs and my body goes slack. Seeing this, he releases me and gets to his feet.
"THAT HEIST WAS SUPPOSED TO GET US ENOUGH MONEY FOR SIX MONTHS!" he roars. "WE BARELY GOT THE HELL OUT OF THERE BEFORE THE COPS SHOWED UP!"
I cough as the piece from my tooth lodges itself in the back of my throat. Pulling myself onto my side, I look up at him, and reply, "Why don't you just get a damn job?! Then you wouldn't have to worry about me being with you so you and your guys can hit a fucking BANK!"
I cry out in pain as he drives a foot into my stomach. Curling myself into the fetal position, I can't stop the tears from running down my cheeks.
"So you're gonna be a smartass, aren'tcha?!" he yells. "FINE! If you're not gonna help me support this family, you're gonna help me with something else!"
I watch, dazed, as he yanks off the shirt he's wearing and begins to undo his belt. I begin to sob softly, knowing what he has in store for me. I silently wish he would just kill me instead.
"Dad... no..." I whimper, blood spilling onto the floor from my muzzle as the words come out.
"SHUT UP!" he screams. I try to block his advances as he reaches for my arms, but eventually, he gets ahold of me and throws me onto the bed on my stomach. I try to crawl away form him, but I fall onto the mattress as he punches me in the face once more. I cry loudly as he tears my shorts off and mounts me, his sick breath filling my nostrils as he pulls up my tail. I can feel his cock pressing firmly against my tailhole, and all I can do is scream as he forces himself in completely, and begins to thrust. As he rapes me, I find myself fading away. I pray that I'll go unconscious before it gets any worse, and the gods must have heard me, because my vision goes black and I pass out on the bed.
When I wake up, my room is dark and empty, and my dad is gone...
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and grimace in pain as I stand. Limping, I make my way to the bathroom and turn the shower on full blast. I step in while the water is still cold, and begin to furiously scrub down my fur with soap, crying out as the suds get into the wounds on my muzzle and the torn skin near the base of my tail. I sob softly as I perform this task, trying to decide what I should do now. Where can I go? Who would help me? Would anybody believe me if I told them? So many questions are swimming through my head, and I try my best to block them out for the moment. When I've scrubbed myself down to the point where I can no longer smell my father's disgusting odor on my body, I leave the shower and use a towel to dry myself off. Checking my muzzle in the mirror, I can see that the left side of my jaw is swollen, and the spot around my right eye has become slightly purple. I open my mouth and check my teeth. As I had suspected, one of my molars has been knocked out; the root is clearly visible under a small patch of dried red blood.
The thought hits me as I stare at my reflection, trying to figure out a way to handle this. I should leave. Just pack up my shit, grab my guitar, some food, and maybe some booze, and go. I exit the bathroom and step into my room, a newfound sense of purpose helping me to ignore the throbbing pain in my ass.
I've decided to get out of here. For good.
I set my guitar case on the bed, checking to make sure that my instrument is intact and undamaged by my father's drunken rage. After zipping up the soft case, I grab the camping backpack from my closet, complete with my sleeping bag, and begin to fill it with clothes. Some people would say that I'm being unreasonable for wanting to just get out of there and not look back. Some people would say that I should just confront my father and get it over with, telling him to his face that I'm not going to be there to take his shit anymore. Well, I say fuck those people. I'm glad none of them are around. When I'm finished packing, I notice the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor next to my blanket. I'd completely forgotten about it. I snatch it up and throw it in with the rest of my stuff. I'm gonna need that shit later on for sure.
Strapping my guitar case securely to the pack, I lift the heavy bag and slide it over my shoulders. I check to make sure I have everything I'll need, and suddenly remember that I've forgotten to pack food. Making my way towards the small kitchenette, I can hear a soft growling coming from the door to my father's room. The drunken bastard must've passed out. Oh well, that's just perfect for me. He won't be getting up anytime soon. As I'm cleaning out the fridge, shoving anything that I can eat cold under my arms, my eyes happen to brush over a pair of black duffel bags sitting on the counter. Curiosity wins me over, and I set down what I've collected to have a look inside of one.
I unzip the bag, and stretch it open. What I see makes my jaw drop. The bag is piled full of cash. Hundreds, fifties, twenties, and tens, all bound neatly together with those little paper strips that tell you exactly how much is in each bundle. I run the numbers through my head: there must be close to a few hundred grand in this bag alone. With a smile, I decide that it's a no-brainer. I toss the food on top of the money and zip the bag shut, hefting its weight over my right shoulder with a paw. As I consider taking the second bag as well, I notice a gallon-sized bottle of cheap grain alcohol sitting nearby. The label reads, "WARNING: Extremely Flammable!"
No...This is just TOO perfect...
Moments later, I've splashed the contents of the bottle over nearly every visible surface, including my bed. I make sure to let some pool on the floor next to my dad's room, and cover his door entirely with the strong-smelling booze. With a satisfied smirk on my face, I make a small trail of liquor heading towards the front door, which stops when I reach the concrete blocks that serve as steps in front of the trailer. I heave a sigh, and tip the bottle over my mouth, pouring a good portion of what's left down my muzzle. I cough as it burns its way down, and shake my head to clear away the fumes. Setting down the duffel bag, I reach into my pocket and retrieve my old, scuffed-up chrome zippo. I kiss the metal tenderly, knowing that after years of good service, this would be the last time I see it. Not that that would be a problem. With this cash I could buy a fuckin' million of em'. With a shit-eating grin on my face, I spark the flame to life, and toss it through the front door. I watch it land on the counter, close to the second duffle bag. There is an audible 'WHOOSH' as the place almost instantly goes up in flames.
I take a moment to stare at the scene, which, to me, looks oddly beautiful. The burning light of the flames give me a feeling of hope, as if they are showing me that there is, indeed, a chance for me to get through this. I smell the wood and plastic paneling which covers the interior burning, and the thick, black smoke tastes like freedom. I hear a scream of pain and surprise, and I know that my dad has woken up. As he rushes to the door, I can see that his fur is smoldering with embers. He pauses in the frame when he sees me standing there, smiling with his bag of cash at my feet. "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?!" he screams. I don't say anything. I simply heft the bottle of alcohol in my paw, and throw it at the concrete blocks by his feet. It explodes in a shower of glass, splashing his bare chest with booze, which immediately catches fire in the blaze. I hear him scream again as he falls back onto the burning floor of the trailer, attempting to smother out the flames by rolling.
I don't look back to see whether he makes it out alive. I grab the duffel bag at my feet, sling it over my shoulder, and begin to walk, quite calmly, towards the entrance to the trailer park...
...A few months later, he tracked me down.
I'd been living in a nice-sized townhouse apartment I'd rented with the members of my band, located in the heart of Harbor City. The place was great; well-furnished thanks to the cash I'd taken. There was a sixty-inch plasma HDTV hung on the wall of the living room, with a satellite TV box on top and a couple of video game consoles placed beneath it. My collection of new guitars hangs proudly on the wall opposite the large sofa placed in front of the TV, above three nice-sounding guitar and bass amps and the set of drums I'd recently purchased as 'early Christmas gifts' for my friends and myself. The fridge in the large kitchen was fully stocked with beer, soda and numerous kinds of food; we could afford to have something different each day of the week if we wanted to. We never had to order out.
My own bedroom, which I considered the 'main attraction' of the tour whenever I brought a guy home from a show, was a masterpiece of my own design. It had a luxuriously soft king-sized bed, covered with expensive hemp and silk sheets, along with a down-filled comforter that my dates could never seem to get enough of when we fucked on top of it. I had a full closet of clothes, all of which I'd chosen carefully to match my own personal sense of style. To top it all off, our band had just landed a recording contract with a budding local rock label. It wasn't much, to be sure, but it was a great way for us to get our music off the ground.
Me? Shit, I'm sitting in front of the TV right now with my best friends Henry and Jason on either side of me, while rolling up a nice-sized joint of some of the best pot Harbor City has to offer.
Henry is a cougar with a real talent for writing lyrics. He's been playing the bass since he was old enough to lift one up, and it shows when he performs his insane solos during our shows. We met when we were both freshmen at Harbor Hills High school; we'd skip out on all our classes and go get high together. Some of the kids there liked to go to this place called Hoover's, a convenience store right down the street. Not our little group. We had our own private places to retreat to. A few blocks away from the school was a dead-end street where every single house on both sides of the street had been abandoned.
Nobody ever told us why people didn't live there, but for some reason, those houses became our sanctuaries. We would sneak out of school during class hours, meet up with a few of our friends, and wander down that empty, deserted street as we decided on a vacant house to occupy that day. Once we'd found one, we'd call or text some more people, and before we knew it, we could have a small ditching party going on at any time of the day. We would also use the houses for our sexual trysts, bringing females, or in my case, males, to a different house on each day so we could fuck around. Yeah, Henry's sandy, tan fur was always a huge hit with the ladies. I also can't count how many of them I've seen simply stare into his deep, black eyes, while stroking their hands over that ever-so-slight hint of white fringe around his muzzle. He always tried to tell me that there were plenty of girls out there who would gladly take me into their beds, but I would always politely refuse. He knew I didn't really swing that way. That was just Henry's way of being, well... Henry.
Jason is a totally different animal. He's a bull with a dark black hide and so much muscle on his body that sometimes I think he could snap me in half if we ever fucked. Not that that's likely to happen, though; we both prefer to be on top. He's the kind of guy who files his horns into sharp points and wears a solid sterling silver hoop through his nose, not to mention half a dozen earrings and even a pair of nipple piercings. Total fucking metalhead... Literally. Unlike Henry and I, he never attended Harbor Hills; his parents had had enough money to send him to the Hager Prep School, the snooty private school on the far side of town, where all the other rich people lived. I can't say I'm jealous of the guy, though... Well, maybe a little... Henry and I met Jason when he showed up at one of our ditching parties during sophomore year.
Neither of us knew who'd invited him, and we didn't like him already. Halfway through the festivities, drunk on beer and tripping on some mushrooms, somebody suggested that the two of us pick a fight with him, and we, being extremely gullible teenagers at the time, eagerly obliged. The fight must have lasted all of ten seconds. Before either of us could get a good punch in, Jason had us both on the floor, with me bleeding from a busted lip and Henry clutching his balls. After that day, we slowly grew accustomed to him showing up at our parties, and eventually even came to like him. When we found out he was a drummer, neither of us could resist the temptation to ask him to join our new band. Once we'd hooked him on our songs and gotten him to play with us at a few parties, the rest, as they say, was history.
"So what do you think of my new song?" Henry asks, as he plucks the finished joint from my paw and sticks it between his lips.
"I think it's great, man." I reply, handing him my lighter so he can spark the thing up.
"Yeah, it's got a great flow to it," Jason agrees. "I really like the title, too. 'Lost Shepherd.' Just sounds awesome, if you ask me."
Henry nods as he lights the joint, and passes it back to me. I take a few hits, and hold it out for Jason. "Dude, that actually sounds better than a song..." I say, my voice coming out in a squeak from holding in the smoke. I exhale before I continue. "That actually sounds like a great name for our band."
The two of them seem to think about this for a moment, sitting in silence as we pass the joint. I get frustrated with the quiet, snatch the TV remote off the table, and put on FMTV.
"You may actually be right, man." Henry finally says, talking loudly over the music video that's being shown on the screen. "Yeah!" Jason seconds, handing me the joint. "You are the lead singer, after all."
I chuckle and wave the joint away, already stoned enough as it is. "It's not even ABOUT that, guys." I say. "I'd never take all the credit for what we do; that just wouldn't be cool."
Jason gets up from the sofa, and heads over to the new set of drums against the back wall. He begins to bang the drums in tune with the music video on-screen, perfectly mimicking the artist's playing style. Henry, turning his head to compliment Jason on his drumming, looks back at me with a confused look on his face.
"Hey, how do you get the money for all this stuff?" he asks me.
I'm paralyzed. I can't speak. I take the joint from his paw and inhale deeply from it, before shaking my head and waving off his question with a shrug of my shoulders. I'd never told Henry and Jase what had happened between me and my dad. To be perfectly honest, it's not because I hadn't wanted to, but because I wasn't sure how they would react to hearing it. I mean, what was I supposed to say? 'My dad and I used to rob banks, so one day, after he raped me for skipping out on a heist to get laid, I stole a duffel bag full of money and burned down our trailer?' That scenario never worked out in my head, no matter which way I played it. So I just kept my mouth shut when it came to questions about my sudden, newfound wealth as of a few months ago. Not that it mattered. They would know what I'd done soon enough...
The three of us were momentarily startled when a loud knock came from the front door. "WHO IS IT?" I shouted over the music. There was no response. I was getting up from the sofa to go and answer it, when Henry placed a paw on my chest and told me to sit back down. "Don't worry about it, bro." he told me. "I'll handle this one."
Jason had stopped banging his drums, and was staring intently at the door with his arms crossed over his chest. I turned down the volume of the TV as Henry checked the peephole before opening it.
"Who are you guys, and what do you want?" he asked. I couldn't see who it was from where I was sitting.
"Is Charlie here?" came a gruff voice. I thought it sounded familiar, like someone I'd known for a while, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Henry confirmed that I was, indeed, in the apartment, and there was the sound of multiple heavy footsteps as the new arrivals stepped in through the door. "Where is he?" came the familiar voice. Just then, I got it. I jumped up from my seat and my eyes began to go wide as the speaker came around the corner. It was my father. A good portion of the skin and fur surrounding his muzzle and ears on the right side of his face had been burnt away, leaving only scar tissue in its place. I could see patches devoid of fur on both of his arms, as well as his legs. He looked like a third-degree burn victim, which, because of me, he had been. I could see a devilish grin sweep across his face as he stood in front of me. His two associates, a nasty-looking pit bull and a doberman with spots of white around his muzzle, took their places next to him. Henry made his way around them, and stood next to me. Jason stood up from his seat at the drums with a snarl on his face. "You know these guys, Charlie?" he asked.
"Yeah..." I spoke softly, unsure of what to say. My dad handled that for me.
"Well, well, if it isn't my fucked-up pup..." he chuckled, stepping away from his friends and moving across the room towards me. "I can see you've been doing well for yourself, kid."
"Yeah, not with any help from YOU, dad." I replied, stepping back towards the farthest cushion on the couch, where I'd kept my well-oiled .45 caliber pistol.
"Oh, I disagree." He retorted, the smile turning into a scowl as he got right down to business. "Where's my money, kid?"
"It's gone." I told him. "It's all gone. Take a look at this place. Like you said, I'm doing pretty well."
I could hear him growl with rage as I sat down on the couch and slowly slipped a paw between the cushion. I felt around eagerly for my pistol, wanting to end this before it began, but my claws couldn't seem to find anything.
"Looking for this?" my dad asked, brandishing my pistol from his belt. My heart sank as he brought it down to bear on my forehead, chuckling with a sort of dark joy as he cocked the hammer.
"How the hell did you--" I started.
"Lesson number one, kid," he interrupted me, "Never rob a bank without casing the joint first. You thought I wouldn't know you had a little 'surprise' waiting for me for when I showed up? I had my friends here check the place out while you were playing your show last night. You guys are actually pretty good, by the way..."
I felt sick to my stomach. How couldn't I have known? Why hadn't I bothered to check for the gun after returning from the show last night? He'd actually come to our show? Why didn't he just approach me then? All these questions came to mind, but my muzzle couldn't form the words as he placed a paw on the sofa's arm rest and leaned over to press the barrel of the gun into the fur on my chest.
"Last chance, kid," he snarled, "Tell me where the rest of the money is."
I looked to Henry and Jason for help, but neither of them seemed willing to do anything about my imminent demise. Jason, for the first time since I'd met him, looked positively scared shitless.
"Fine... I-i-it's in the closet. The bag's in there. There's a hundred grand left." I stuttered out these words as if they would save my life. Somewhere inside of me, however, I knew they probably wouldn't.
My dad gave a nod to his two companions, who went into my bedroom and began to ransack my closet. I could hear the sound of shuffling feet along with clothes and other items piling on the floor as they threw everything out. Finally, the noises stopped. The Doberman returned with the duffel bag clutched tightly in his paw. The pit bull soon followed.
"Open it." My dad instructed, keeping the gun trained firmly over my heart. I heard the zipper pull back, and there was more shuffling as the two henchmen rifled through the contents of the bag. "It's all here, boss," the pit bull called over. "And there's a few pounds of weed in there, too."
"Good, that's good..." said my father, his scarred muzzle twisting into a smile. "Well, I guess this is the end of the road for you, kid."
"WHAT?!" I shouted, suddnly afraid, "NO! I gave you the money, don't--"
My words were cut short by the loud sound of two gunshots.
I fell back onto the sofa, unable to move. There was a burning pain in my chest, and when I finally managed to bring a paw up to assess the damage, it came away covered in blood. As my vision began to blur and fade to blackness, I could hear shouting coming from all around me. I could feel soft hands gripping my shoulders and shaking me, a voice screaming words that I couldn't decipher. I said nothing as my breathing became labored, and my eyes finally closed. I was done. I was dead. I knew it. I'd accepted it. With my last act of fleeting consciousness, I somehow even came to embrace it...
I could hear a faint beeping noise as I slowly opened my eyes. Where was I? Was I dead? Was this heaven... Or hell? What was going on? I tried to will myself to sit up and assess the situation, but I experienced a sharp, stabbing pain that made me lie back down. As I blinked my eyes, clearing away the blurriness and the crust which seemed to have formed around them, I turned my head to get a better look at my surroundings. I could see a rubber mask covering my muzzle, attached via a small hose to a respirator on my right. There were needles taped to each one of my paws, with thin tubes running to two different bags on either side of me. One of them dispensed clear liquid; the other appeared to be filled with blood.
Some sort of electrical device was attached to one of my claws, the wires running into a machine next to me that turned out to be the source of the steady beeping. I turned my attention downwards, towards my body, and I saw that I was dressed in a plain blue gown, with what felt like nothing underneath. A thick blanket covered my body up to my chest, and I could feel a pressure in my lungs whenever I tried to breathe. It suddenly dawned on me: I was in a hospital. How did I get here? Was an ambulance called? What happened to Jason and Henry? Where was my father? I searched my mind for the answers to these questions, but no matter how hard I tried, I could only find blackness for memories.
Turning my head once again, I noticed a small device with a single red button on it pinned to my gown. 'This should be what I think it is...' I told myself. 'Maybe the doctors can give me some answers...' It took all my strength to lift up a paw and bring it down on the device, which sounded a loud buzzing noise somewhere outside of my room. Not even a minute later, a nurse and a doctor came in.
The doctor, a panda whose lab coat hung over him like a blanket, began to scribble something on a clipboard he held in his hands. His nurse, a slender, young fox with bright orange fur, began to check my vitals.
"You're awake." The doctor noted, a hint of astonishment in his voice. "Can you talk? How are you feeling?"
I tried to speak, but nothing but a throaty gasp came from my muzzle. I motioned for the nurse to remove the mask covering it so that I could try again. Once the offending device had been placed aside, I coughed to clear my throat before giving it another shot.
"Where... Where am I" I rasped, staring into the panda's eyes as he pondered my question.
"You're at Harbor General," he replied. "You were shot twice in the chest about a month ago. The bullets missed your heart by less than five millimeters. If your friends hadn't brought you in as quickly as they did, you probably wouldn't be here right now. For the longest time, none of the staff actually thought you'd make it. You're pretty lucky, kid."
I silently thanked Jase and Henry for their help. I would have to do something to return the favor once this ordeal was over.
"What about... Dad?" I continued, the words catching in my throat as they came out.
"Your father is in prison." The doctor replied, "He was arrested a week after you were shot, trying to flee the country. He was apprehended at the airport with a bag containing nearly a hundred thousand dollars in cash; It was all over the news. Your friends identified him as your attacker and he's awaiting trial for attempted murder, not to mention several bank robberies."
I tried to laugh at this, but all that came out was a wheeze, followed by more stabbing pain. "It hurts..." I whispered, the pain in my chest beginning to build as I spoke. I coughed a couple more times, and settled my head back onto the bed, breathing out a sigh as I felt a sense of relief.
"Don't worry about that, kid," the doctor chuckled. "Nurse Janet here will change out that bag of morphine for you in a minute. Before you nod out again, I feel obligated to tell you that the bullets damaged some very sensitive nerves when they went through your body. You'll likely never stop feeling some pain where the wounds are located, and every now and then, you could experience a sharp pain akin to being stabbed. You'll probably be on medication for life."
I found myself thinking about this for a moment, and I decided that a life on painkillers couldn't be all that bad. I mean, who knows? It might even be interesting. I feel a pressure on my left paw as the nurse replaces the old bag of morphine and attaches the tube to the new one. I watch as she flips a small switch, and droplets of the drug began to drip down the tube and into my bloodstream. I feel an overwhelming sense of calm, and close my eyes. As the pain begins to dull and fade away, I find myself lapsing into a deep, dreamless sleep...
The show is over. The crowd is still screaming, begging for an encore, but I apologize and tell them that my body's just not up to it. After playing our entire new album, the speed is beginning to wear off. I feel the shakes coming back, along with a familiar tightness and pain in my chest. Subconsciously, I reach for my little silver pill case, and remove five of the yellow pills before closing it. Painkillers. My bane. My curse. My punishment. I could think of a thousand things to call them, none of them good, but I don't. I toss them back and swallow them dry, getting dirty looks from both Jason and Henry as I do so. I shrug my shoulders, and offer them the pillbox, which they decline. Oh well... They don't know what they're missing, really. At the same time, I know they're right... It's a nasty habit to have, and I shouldn't be doing it, but with my pain, I don't really have a choice in the matter.
I sling my guitar onto my back and remove a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. Lighting one up, I follow Henry and Jase offstage towards the back door of the club. A personal waiter hands me my shirt, which I throw over my shoulder as I head for the exit. He skips ahead of us and holds open the door, directing us towards a black Town Car that has been summoned to take us home to our apartment. As we pass between the two columns of screaming fans of both genders and all species, I watch as Jase and Henry stop to sign some autographs.
A nice-looking albino wolf with sky-blue eyes waves me over and asks me to sign something for him. He tells me he's just broken up with his girlfriend and that he loves my music. He calls me sexy, and I tell him I appreciate the comment. He hands me a marker and one of our band's albums, but I decide to do him one better, and pull my white 'L0$T SH3PHERD" shirt off of my shoulders so that I can sign it. He gives me his name and I write it on the shirt, smiling, before handing it back to him. He holds it up so that the crowd can read what I've written before bursting out in a cheer.
The shirt says, "To Tommy Carson, one of my coolest fans. I love it when you call me 'sexy.' --Charlie"
That was exhausting..... Well, there was Chapter 2, everyone. I hope you all enjoyed my introduction of Charlie, the second main character in my growing and every-changing story. In case you're wondering, I wrote this chapter in one day on a fourteen-hour long creative binge. I certainly hope you guys enjoy it. I'm gonna take a couple days off before I write up chapter 3 and post it, but to whoever reads what I've got so far, I hope you're all willing to give me a little time. As always, Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated. I've gotta crash out; my brain is aching, hahaha. Til' next time.
--Ken