Recovery, Step One
#1 of Recovery
Hey there. So, this is my first post on... any furry site, really. And in terms of writing, I'm still quite inexperienced so any and all criticisms are appreciated and valued. I'd like to get better as fast as possible.
_This is a clean hurt/comfort piece featuring a pair of theater enthusiast tigers with no sexual content outside of brief references, so you probably won't get scarred for life if you're under the age, unless my writing is just that bad to you. Thanks for reading. _
Recovery, Step One - by Koryn
I don't quite recall the exact moment where I noticed your spirits falling. If I had to take a guess, I would say it was the time when your appearances at improv practices became more sporadic. All I know for sure is that when I called you up to ask if you were still planning to come out for the sushi-movie combo night with everyone, you gave me a paper-thin lie about feeling sick. It was amazing how little effort you put into sounding ill. You were a theater student for God's sake. At least put effort into it. But still, it's not like I wasn't to blame for the events that followed that night. I didn't pursue the issue. And that is solely to blame for what happened. I'm so sorry. All through the night, I didn't think once about calling you up and asking you if you were okay. I should have given up the night and gone to help you.
But I didn't. And for that, I'm truly sorry.
I don't even know why I didn't follow up on my suspicions. You never made lying a habit before. I still carried on with my evening, a thought of you not entering my head. I won't pretend I was in the right, but it's your own fault. You were quiet. You were always silent during nights out with everyone, not making any indication you were there unless we spoke to you directly. That's not to say you were cold or unfeeling to us. Whenever you did talk, you gave a quick and insightful response that always managed to put a smile on our faces. Even if you didn't intend to. You were this sarcastic yet secluded tiger, your orange and black-striped fur concealed beneath a thick black jacket and poofy navy blue hoody. It always puzzled me why you wore such thick clothes even in the summer. Your yellow eyes never glued on anything for too long, finding something interesting in the background to look at.
And when you got up on stage acting or improvising, your silence was a thing you left far behind. Way back when, when high school was an unfamiliar idea, our obsessive ursine instructor gave us a scene from Romeo and Juliet. You, of course, know what I mean when I talk about our instructor with the word obsessive. He wanted it to be authentic from the age the play came in. That meant two male actors, one for Romeo, one for Juliet.
Naturally, like any male freshman, the idea of doing anything remotely homosexual was one that injected freezing liquid terror directly into my spine. Especially since I had already built up my reputation of being the definition of a straight man. It was a complete lie, but I had put a lot of effort into that image. When no one volunteered, the sadist teaching us began choosing candidates at random. After his first choice, his eyes fell on me and blood rushed to my face, making my white fur glow crimson. Minor embarrassment was the hugest thing for me back then.
Then you stood up. All eyes were suddenly on you. This event seems really silly to me now, but it was a big deal at the time and anyone volunteering for this was going to get labeled with the deadly, deadly, word of 'gay'. A title that instantly loses all shame the moment one leaves high school and realizes, "Hey, that's right, no one gives a damn!" You seemed to have that attitude the moment I saw you, in that you looked like you could not give any less of a damn. You had no expression as you walked towards the instructor, grabbed the script right out of the bear's curled hand and walked toward the other guy, a fox who was more nervous than I could ever hope to replicate.
You looked at the script, opened your muzzle, and became Romeo.
I didn't understand a word you said. Your partner in this scene didn't even have any lines as he was playing an unconscious Juliet. You were staring at the script the whole time. Despite all this, I could not tear my eyes away from you for a single second. It was breathtaking how easily you stole our attention from us, keeping it until we were utterly enthralled.
"- I still will stay with thee," you said, nearing the end of your soliloquy. I swear, the pure unfiltered anguish and fear I saw in your eyes nearly made me break down and cry right there. Your voice began cracking, as if you were about to do the same as you gazed down at the squeamish fox's head beneath you. "And never from this palace of dim night depart again: here, here will I remain with worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here will I set up my everlasting rest, and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh." You looked the part. As I looked into your eyes, the pain within seemed to gain a tired quality that I hadn't noticed before, but somehow I knew it had always been there. It was sort of like when you see something new in the background of a painting that flew under your radar previously. "Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love!"
After that final word, you underwent an instant transformation back to your usual self. 'Transformation' seems to me like a poor word choice. There really was no transition involved. One moment, I almost believed you were the incarnation of the character on those crumpled pages and the next... you were you. Your face was utterly blank and the magic in that performance vanished. You returned the script to our stunned instructor and began walking back to your seat, hands in your pockets like nothing just happened. I waved to catch your eye and mouthed a thanks once I'd done so. As expected from you, you simply nodded and took your seat, not looking at me (or anyone else for that matter) for the rest of the week.
I can't even remember how I got to talking with you. I'm just glad I did. Despite your aloofness, you were one of the most interesting furs I had ever met. Even in your first years of high school, you were already working the graveyard shift three nights a week. And, for a reason unknown to me, you bumped up the workload in your last year. That isn't to say your grades suffered because of it, far from it. You know better than anyone how hard you work. I'm simply surprised how easily you found the time to hang around with the troupe. You were always so energized and would do anything for the sake of comedy during improv practice. Even so, you still stayed calm and collected whenever you were off to the sidelines. I found it incredibly odd. But, I suppose you wouldn't be you without that factor. And for that reason, I wouldn't change it for the world. Because even back then, Chris, I was getting more and more attached to you, finding plenty of excuses to hang when I wanted to be with you.
I'll admit, my feelings for you weren't immediate. I feel shallow beyond reason and I hope you can forgive me for saying this, but I didn't pay you much thought. It might have been because you seemed to have no depth to you, or because you were a tad cold when we first met. But, (I've hit myself for thinking this many times, don't worry) it was most likely because you didn't...work out. You didn't have the time nor did you seem like the jock type. You are an incredible artist, something I wouldn't understand as I treated the football field like my own personal church. But, I got into the trend eventually. As you can read, I started writing. All thanks to you.
I couldn't help myself. You go out of your way to make sure everyone is happy. You'll deny this, I know you will, but you do. I once mentioned in passing to you that the cold in the sushi restaurant was slightly uncomfortable. You immediately stood up, without a word, and walked into the kitchen despite several people yelling at you to get the hell out. Not a minute later, the heat turned up. You returned. I asked what you did. You shrugged and that was the end of it. Remember when Angela came to rehearsal practically in tears because she lost a necklace her recently deceased grandmother had given her at the beach? Remember how you stood the instant you heard that and rushed out the door? And remember how you returned an hour later, sand covering your paws as a pearl necklace was clutched between your fingers? My point is, you hear a problem and you deal with it. You barely have time to do anything for yourself because you're too busy helping everyone else.
So it was a surprise to the entire theater troupe when you handed each of us an unknown script and asked us to read it. It. Was. Amazing. The entire play showcased a cast of characters that seemed so...real. Real traumas occurred in the murder-mystery that I could see occurring to myself. The romance between our main character, Hawk (who, ironically, ended up being played by a wolf) and his girlfriend Carly was built up that I imagined myself there, in the ice cream shop as he kissed her. Everyone else was as blown away as I was. Thomas asked you who wrote it and you pointed to yourself, like it wasn't a big deal.
"So, is there anything in the rewrite I should take into consideration?" You asked in that monotone we had come to expect. I gaped at you.
"You're rewriting it?" I exclaimed, dumbfounded. You nodded. "You're telling me this is the draft?" You nodded. And I threw a hand up to smack my face. "How long did this take?"
"A year and a half. Mark helped inspire me to finish."
"Who's Mark?" Ellen, our mouse manager asked, flipping through the pages of the script nonchalantly.
"My boyfriend."
Our eyes widened. I honestly didn't see that coming. And shame on me for not doing so.
I looked back at the script and smiled. I think it was then that I realized how much of your own self you put into the pages. I think it was all in the balance of things. You never expressed yourself through your face. So, I suppose the words were supposed to make up for it. I sensed your style of humor emanating from every one of these characters. It was very meta. There were so many jokes which broke the fourth wall and I loved it. The dynamics of every character from the idiot street cop duo to the crazy female private eye suggested the personality of a stand-up comedian who couldn't go two seconds without making a joke. But you weren't that kind of comedian. You knew all about comedic timing. You knew how to make a white tiger's heart wrench with your words. And you knew how to make me laugh.
You forced a smile upon me whenever I caught a glimpse of you. You inspire me. I admire your strength to work so hard and take such little time off. Most of all, I'm glad that you spent it with the troupe. And me.
Then the night came. You know which one I'm talking about. The credits of the movie far behind me and the troupe having dispersed, my mind drifted slowly back to you and how you lied directly to me. I reasoned out that you really were feeling unwell and didn't want unnecessary concern. You're just that kind of guy, after all. And since you are, my concern for you instantly multiplied tenfold. It was probably nothing. Probably a spell of the flu you occasionally got and your pride wouldn't let you express weakness, not even in such a form as temporary illness.
How wrong I was.
I found myself outside your dormitory within ten minutes. I knocked on your door and your puma roommate poked his head through the door, glaring and snarling at me like I'd just walked in on-
Never mind. The point is, you were absent as your roommate made explicitly clear. I made my way towards my car, leaving you a concerned text as I did so. I placed a paw around the handle of my car when that text seemingly got a response as my phone vibrated in my pocket. Hoping it was you, I clasped the phone and tore it from my pocket, disappointment striking when I saw it was an unknown number. I answered nonetheless.
"Hello?"
"Yes, is this Mister Victor Renalds?" The female voice spoke out to me, almost as robotic a tone as yours, Chris. Not quite, but almost.
"You got him," I replied as I fumbled with my keys, not paying the conversation any heed.
"Mister Renalds, you have a friend named Christopher Caelum, correct?"
My hands froze, the key inches before the lock of the door.
"Yeah?"
"We need you down here at Richmond's Hospital. There's been an incident."
That night was the first time I'd ever run a red light. It was also the second and the third time. My heart had gained sentience and was attempting to leap out of my chest. My paws leaked sweat as I gripped the steering like I was about to rip it apart. All I had to hear were the words 'blood loss' and 'found in an alley' to keep my foot paw clamped firmly down on the gas pedal. If I crashed, so what? An ambulance would probably get there faster. Crazy idea? Definitely. But at the moment, I was crazed. The idea of you in a hospital bed struck unrivaled fear in me. I don't think I could put into words how afraid I was. I hadn't even realized how my feelings had grown for you so dramatically. The mere fact that I was the first one called after you were hurt both touched my heart and punctured it with worry.
I rushed into the visitor's center. I'm sure the image of a large and burly white tiger approaching with a tense and almost angry look on his face scared the receptionist out of her wits. I was sure to apologize to her later. In the meantime, I demanded to know where you were and she meekly pointed in the correct direction. I bolted down the hall, nearly knocking several nurses over as I dashed. The black numbers '107' caught my eye above a white, dilapidated door and I strode towards it. However, as my paw reached to turn the knob, it turned on its own. I tried and failed to catch a glimpse of you within as a lithe lioness wearing scrubs and a white coat stepped out, eyes locking on me. She smiled.
"Hello. Mister Renalds, I presume?" I immediately recognized her voice from the phone call minutes earlier, except with a lot more sympathy in it. I nodded, my crazed expression and mindset not disappearing despite the doctor's calm tone.
"Yeah. H-How is he? Can I-?"
"He's going to be just fine. You hung up on me before I could tell you not to rush. We got him here long before any significant damage could be done. We did most of the work in the ambulance."
Relief oozed from me, a deep and powerful sigh escaping my maw. I clutched my calming heart, the concern lessening considerably within. Jeanette (as the doctor's nametag stated) giggled at me as if I had just started juggling in front of her. I hardly cared. You were alright Chris, that's all I cared about.
Unfortunately, my concern seemed to transfer to her face. And as a result, back to mine.
"How well, do you know Mister Caelum, Mister Renalds?"
"Call me Victor. And... well, we've been pals since high school, so I'd say we know each other pretty well."
"I see. Could you sit down for a minute Mister Renal- Victor." Jeanette referred to a bench just to the left of the door. I sat, Jeanette following suit, keeping steady eye contact. "Victor, did you catch what I said was the cause of the issue before you hung up?"
"Uh... no. Sorry 'bout that."
"It's fine. Well, you should know that he was cut..."
"Uh-huh?"
"...multiple times on the left arm."
I swallowed hard, an acidic sensation burning down my throat.
"The cuts were very deep. We found a switchblade next to him, definitely the weapon used."
"And...?" I asked, knowing the worst was about to come.
"From the angle of the cuts...they were self-inflicted."
"I'm sorry, what?" I had to resist the urge to call her a liar right to her face. There was no way in hell you were depressed, let alone suicidal. Even in hell I think you would be positively chipper. Granted, you were rare to show emotion, but you were the definition of having one's life together. You were currently one of the top students at your college, you were loved by pretty much every one of your friends because of all your selflessness, you were the only guy I knew at the time in a stable relationship, and quite frankly, you never had any time for depression. "No, no, are you sure you didn't make a mistake? Not that I'm blaming you of anything, Chris would just never do that."
"We're about ninety-nine point nine-nine percent sure." I gulped. "Look... I know you're good friends with him, but are you sure you haven't noticed anything? We tried calling his parents before you and Mister Caelum nearly assaulted poor Stephen for suggesting the idea."
"Chris doesn't assault people."
"Stephen would disagree. He's currently trembling in the breakroom and it's not because of the coffee. Mister Caelum kept yelling at us not to call his parents until we gave him a sedative. We had to hold him down to keep him from struggling so much. So, with no other options, we called his emergency contact." I quirked my brow. "You."
"Me?" I asked. That answered the mystery of why I was the only one here to support him. Not even Mark, your so-called boyfriend was here. I wasn't complaining though. I'll be honest with you here, Chris, I really didn't like that guy. And it wasn't because he had you and I didn't. I'm not that petty. "Why am I...?"
"You tell me."
"But, he has a..." I gulped, not knowing if you would deem it alright to tell her you were...y'know. So I did the only appropriate thing in that situation and used a more ambiguous word. "...a partner. Why didn't you call them?"
"He has a partner? That's strange..."
"It is?"
"Yes," she continued, folding her arms and seeming to ponder something carefully in her head. "I shouldn't be telling this to you, but Christopher updated his information just last week. That's when he changed his emergency contact to you. And you were the only one listed."
The sensation of knowing that last part struck me again. It was an odd feeling, being honored and worried at the same time.
"We didn't even look up the information on his parents yet because we feared it might upset him again. In fact, when he had calmed down enough, we tried to send in a psychiatrist in within the hour of his arrival. But he wouldn't talk at all."
"That sounds like Chris," I said softly, smiling sadly at how well I knew you at this point.
"At the end of our attempts at talking to him, he simply requested your presence. I apologize, but we didn't call you right away because of your lack of family connection."
"What time did you bring him in anyway?"
"Around seven-thirty."
I felt guilt well within my stomach. That was around the time I was downing California rolls without a thought of you in my head. Have I mentioned I'm sorry about that?
"Go on," I said, not really wanting her to, but interest counteracted my own squeamishness.
"That's pretty much it actually. He cut himself, we have no idea why, he won't tell us, and I was hoping that you would be able to do something about it."
"Why me?" I asked, dreading the answer to come. Jeanette shrugged.
"He called on you and only you. Yours was the only name that ever came up. I'm not letting him leave until I can be assured that this won't happen again." I understood the feeling. "Tell me, is he living with anyone right now?"
"His roommate, but I wouldn't count on him to keep any urges of his under control, if you know what I mean."
"I... see." Her concern visibly amplified. As a result, she stood and gestured towards the door. "Well, I'm not expecting miracles, but go ahead and give it a shot. Before you do though, can think of any reason why Christopher would-"
"No. Not a single one." I said that plainly and without hesitation. She nodded, understanding in her body language.
"Then you've got your work cut out for you."
With those final words of encouragement, I stepped around her and grasped the doorknob with a shaking hand. I opened it slowly, so as not to spook you. I poked my head inside first, looking around the clean hospital room. The lights were dimmed, a lamp in the corner being the only source of illumination. Various monitors, all blank surrounded a bed with lime green sheets that were neatly placed as if no one had ever touched them, despite the tiger sitting atop them.
You were sitting with your back to me, your usual black jacket lay forgotten on the floor, your slumped shoulders surrounded by a loose navy blue t, and from my point of view, you looked utterly at ease. Your ears were flat, unperked, as if you were receiving a massage. However, this façade was easy to see through based on the amount of bandages coiled tightly around your limp left arm.
"I don't want any food," you said, mistaking my presence for that of a nurse's. Your voice was hoarse, as if you had taken up swallowing sandpaper as a hobby.
"That can't be good for you." Your ears perked at the sound of my response. I chuckled a tad, trying to lighten the mood. I shut the door behind me, sitting down on the opposite side of the mattress from you, placing a paw on your shoulder. You flinched at the touch and I pulled back. You shook your head.
"Sorry."
"S'all good," I replied, not risking the contact again. "So... how's it going?"
Before you ask, yes, I know that was a stupid question. You snorting said as much.
"Fucking brilliant. Sorry to make you come out here and ruin your evening."
"Don't apologize. I was worried about you."
"Sorry."
"Stop apologizing." That habit of yours really does get annoying. "You want to talk about what happened tonight?"
"Not if I don't have to."
"Too bad."
You laughed. It was just a tiny chuckle, but it was a good sign. You almost never laughed back then.
"Okay, but... God, where do I start?"
"Why don't we start with why you did... that?"
"I fucked up Vic." I saw you shudder visibly. My eyes widened again. I couldn't help it. First laughing and now this? Something was wrong. Even in the darkest of hours, your calm and cool composure reigned supreme. You shook your head. "I fucked up so badly and I can't fix it. I guess... I just wanted to remove the problem altogether."
"That's not a solution, that's just more problems, Chris." I felt like you had cut me just as deeply with those words. The reason why you thought of yourself as a problem when you did nothing but find solutions eluded me. I decided to change the subject and take this slower. Obviously it wasn't happening by asking directly. "Chris, why am I your only emergency contact?"
Your ears flattened again.
"I'm really sorry. I was gonna change it again when I found somebody... else."
"But why me? Why not Mark or your parents?"
"I..." You hesitated, fists curling. I hated seeing you like this. You were trying so hard to stay reserved which I suppose was the way you were used to being. You seemed to despise the very idea of saying anything to draw attention to yourself. "Look, Vic, sorry to make you worry. I'm okay now. You can go home."
I took a deep breath, stared into a stripe on the back of your head and said, "No."
"I'm telling you-"
"Look at me when you say you're okay. Then I'll believe it."
Your feline ears stood to attention and your curled fists began to tremble. "Go away Vic. Please."
"No."
"Go away!" You no less than shrieked, turning around and my resolve to help only increased as a result. The naked unmasked fear, anger, and helplessness I saw deep in your eyes broke my heart. The stains of tears streaked your face fur like a spider web, and you were choking back desperate sobs behind a snarling muzzle. I felt the defiant tone die in my throat. It crushed me to see you like this. You weren't acting this time. You never could do crying scenes. You had to take special eyedrops for us to get your eyes to water.
There was no reason to stop and think of what to do next. I climbed atop the bed, on my knees, kneeling above you a couple of feet. I reached out and pulled you into my arms, bringing your head up against my chest. Your smaller body spasmed from the sudden action, but you relented afterward. You continued to resist your obvious urges to cry, however, your snarling ceased entirely as I stroked the back of your head, the scent of blood from the events of that night wafting into my nostrils. I held strong as your cold arms wrapped around my warm midsection, your heavy breathing slowing gradually. I rocked you in my larger arms, the desire to comfort you radiating from me.
We sat there for a while as you calmed down, your head resting beneath mine. I felt your body's racking sobs eventually simmer to less and less intensity until they had utterly vanished. I remained silent, wanting you to let me know when it would be okay to talk.
"You're the only one," you said suddenly.
"Hm?"
You sniffled before continuing. "I'm sorry about all this drama. I know I'm being whiny and stupid, but I didn't know who else to call who I could talk to."
"Not even-"
"Not Mark. Not anymore."
The connotations of those words filled me with dread and, contrarily, gave my mind a ray of hope.
I really hated Mark. Not specifically for what he did to you, but for what he didn't do to you. How you felt about him was no lie. You would bring him to rehearsal occasionally and you weren't able to concentrate. Being one of the only times you broke your bored barrier, you wouldn't stop staring at him lovingly. Whenever you sat next to him, you would wrap your arms around him and cuddle him. To my shock, you were the sappiest thing I had ever seen in any relationship. You were clearly obsessed with the fox, nudging him when you walked by him, kissing him right in front of everyone as if you were bragging, and even celebrating your one-year anniversary at the theater and giving your gift to him there. You were the happiest I'd ever seen you when you handed him that rare comic he'd been lusting after for months. It warmed my heart to see you devoting yourself to the love that you had for this fox.
That bliss was, however, derived entirely from ignorance. While you were busy hunting down comics and thinking of new ways to show your love for the vulpine, he was busy ignoring you. Rage boiled within my very soul as I saw him texting while you snuggled up to him so affectionately. I wanted to tear that jackass to shreds when he yawned as he sat in the audience during one of your most heart-wrenching performances. I nearly did so when he responded to your anniversary gift to him by not having a gift to give back. He didn't even find one for you afterward. It's like you didn't even exist to him and I wanted to peel his eyes open with rusty pliers every time he did. To see you pour your heart out for him and watch as he took complete advantage was, by far, the most aggravating experiences of my life.
You didn't care though, did you? In fact, I don't think you even noticed. That's one of the reasons I love you so much, Chris. You throw yourself into the problems of others with the thought of personal benefit never crossing your mind. You didn't always show it, but you were perfectly happy to do this.
To look at you shaking and crying in my arms pained and confused me. It was all I could do to hold you without breaking down and crying myself. You have such inner strength and to witness the collapse of such an iron will almost shattered my own.
I held you there for the longest time minutes passing like seconds, your jaw remaining shut.
"Please tell me," I broke the silence again, my voice getting weaker. It was difficult to be persuasive at this point. With anyone else, I would forcefully demand an answer. Not you. Especially not when you were like this. You shook your head. "Why not?"
"Please just..." You coughed as if the words were stuck in your throat. "I can't. I'm sorry I told you to leave. Please don't."
"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. But you've got to tell me what's wrong or I can't do anything about it."
"You don't have to do anything about it. Please, just don't let go." I held you even tighter.
"Let me help you, Chris."
"I can't tell you."
"Why?"
"Because if I tell you why I can't call anyone else, then you'll hate me too. I-I know we're not exactly... bros or anything, but I need someone. And you're the only one who I haven't pushed away yet. Please don't make me tell you."
"What? You haven't pushed anyone away."
"Yes I have. I...I fucked up so many times and now I'm paying for it."
"Listen to me, okay? There's nothing you can say right now that's going to make me throw you aside and leave, okay? I'm not that much of a douchebag."
"You just don't get it."
"I think that might be because you won't tell me anything."
"Could be." I felt a laugh escape me. You had found your ability to relax at last. I felt it as you mellowed out in my arms. You hadn't given me the green light to release you yet, so I held onto you diligently.
"Why can't you call your parents?"
"Because..." You paused, gulped, and then continued. "...Because I can't really look at my mom right now."
"Why not?" I asked, fearing the answer.
"Because she hates me. And it's deserved, I can assure you." I stayed silent, wanting to object, but didn't. If I stopped you now, you may have never gotten this off your chest. "I... I knew I was gay since I was fifteen. My parents weren't against it in any way. They were more supportive than parents should be when they find out their only son is gay, if you ask me. They were literally setting up dates for me. Mom said I didn't dress right to attract the guys. My dad especially was so...accepting. He hugged me after I told him and told me I deserved to be happy. That's kind of ironic now."
"Why do you think they hate you?"
"I know mom hates me. Dad I'm not so sure about. He probably will though-"
What you said next made my insides freeze.
"-if he wakes up."
I didn't like where this was going.
"You know when we first met in high school?"
"Yeah?"
"About a couple months before that, I was working on getting my driver's licence." You started trembling in my grasp again as a new wave of grief pounded into you. "Dad...was supportive as always. He took me out driving every day. I wish he hadn't. I wish the fucking idiot hadn't let me behind the wheel!" You spat that last part out just before you let out a mournful roar, your retracted claws clasping to the back of my winter jacket. You shook your head. "I screwed up. I was moving along on city streets. Everything was going fine. And then I did something... very, very stupid." You were becoming restless again, holding onto me like a security blanket.
"I can't believe how much of a fucking idiot I am. I was driving down a short road, not many traffic lights. I kept going. I wasn't thinking about it too much. I sped up a little since no one was around. I... I didn't even see the intersection coming up. I didn't even think about the stop sign. I missed the fucking stop sign! Why did I miss the fucking stop sign?"
You began breathing faster and your claws were tensing. I realized quickly that you were actually reliving the event. I stroked the back of your head to no avail.
"I went through. Dad yelled at me to stop. I panicked and I hit the gas by accident and... and... and..." You were shaking uncontrollably at this point.
"It's okay. I'm sorry, you don't have to keep going," I explained, attempting to soothe you now that I knew the story. You didn't hear me.
"A truck slammed right into us. Dad threw himself over me and hit his head pretty bad. Got cut by some glass that shattered too. Vic..." You couldn't stop yourself from setting the waterworks loose this time. You blubbered and then released the whole package. You sobbed into my chest, tears drenching my shirt. "He's in a coma now Vic. He has been for years. Mom refuses to give up on him. It's because of my stupid mistake that he's dead."
"He-" It was hard to recover from such a revelation, but I stayed strong. "-He's not dead though."
"He might as well be. I killed my dad, Vic. I'm a fucking murderer."
"It wasn't your fault."
"I was driving. I didn't notice a stop sign in broad daylight. I hit the gas instead of the brakes. Sure sounds like it's my fault."
"You were just getting started."
"I'd been driving for weeks. Perfectly. I've gone over this a hundred times, Vic. There's no excuse. I killed him."
I didn't know what to say. You were so adamant in making this your doing. I held you as I had, refusing to let yourself put yourself down this way.
"No. The other driver could have stopped too. You were still inexperienced no matter what you say. It was an accident Chris."
"You weren't there. It was my fault."
"No, it wasn't. Why are you so convinced that this is all on you? It was just an accident. You didn't cause it, it just happened."
"Mom doesn't agree. You want to know why I work a job and go to school five times a week each? So I can afford my own education. I can't live in that house anymore. I can't live with a woman, knowing that I took her husband away from her."
"Chris..." I stroked your back. If you weren't going to stop blaming yourself, then I was going to have to be just as stubborn. "...Did she ever explicitly say that she hates you?"
"She doesn't have to. I can feel it. Every time I'm around her, she's just so sad. And it's because of me. I decided not to force her to have me around anymore. I looked for a job every day. I begged for one. And just look at me now. Full time waiter making just enough to get by."
"Wait...you ran away?"
"Not exactly. They're an hour's drive away. Not that I ever plan on driving ever again."
That explained why you took the bus everywhere.
"She doesn't know where I am though. Hell, she doesn't even know I'm going to school."
"She's probably worried sick about you."
"It's no big secret. It's not like I'm hiding or anything. It's been years. No amber alerts. No policefurs breaking down my door. She knows my cell number Vic, I never changed it. Her answer's pretty clear. I left her a note telling her how sorry I am. I guess this means she doesn't accept my apology."
"Oh Chris," I said sympathetically, keeping you close.
"I wasn't hoping to start over or anything like that. I still visit dad every once in a while. Muscles nearly atrophied. He's skinny as a skeleton. I sure got the job done, didn't I?"
"Chris...stop blaming yourself."
"It's true though. Everyone I touch I hurt. That's why Mark left me."
"He did what?" I swear, the anger that erupted within me burst a vein in my head.
"I understand. He told me what he really thought of me before he left. Turns out I disgust him. He went on about his new boyfriend with the rather generous endowment. They must've been with each other for a while. They've already consummated their love, so to speak." Your lips began to quiver and you pounded a weak fist into my chest. "I tried my best to make myself attractive for him Vic. I started working out every day but I'm still just this pudgy pile of shit. My best wasn't good enough. So I don't deserve him. I figured, what's the point anymore? Nobody needs me, nobody wants me, and all I do is waste time with those I'm with or hurt them."
"That's enough!" I shouted that one, grabbing your shoulders and bring you to eye level with myself. Not that you met my eyes. You avoided them at all costs, instead finding the stains of your tears on my shirt far more interesting. "Don't do that. Don't you dare do that, y'hear me? I want you! I need you! All of us at the theater need you!"
"You can find another actor." I snarled to that response.
"Not what I meant, Tiger! You do not hurt anyone! Hell, you're the nicest guy I know! Anytime I was in trouble, you didn't say a word. You just jumped up to help me. Sometimes you didn't even tell me you were helping. You don't bring pain, you bring joy and entertainment! Have you seen how much you did for that unappreciative Mark? How can someone who loves those around him as much as you do hurt anyone?"
"If that were true-"
"It is." I cut you off, placing a paw around your muzzle to shut it. "Your dad was absolutely right. If anyone deserves happiness, it's you. You didn't deserve Mark. You deserve so much better. Chris you don't even know how amazing you are! Truth be told, I was really jealous of Mark." You definitely weren't expecting that remark. You were so surprised that you managed to meet my eyes. "You were giving him all of this love and attention that I don't think many furs are even capable of giving. It made me want to switch places with that guy. He didn't know what he had and he's going to regret letting you go for the rest of his life. You wouldn't hurt a fly, Chris. You're too busy being the most generous guy in the world. You're not a problem and you certainly don't solve the ones you're having by erasing yourself. I'll say it as many times as it takes for you to understand. You deserve happiness."
You stared into my eyes as I finished up. I wasn't sure how far I had actually gotten. It was hard to get a read on you. You were calmer at the very least. Silently, you leaned against my chest once more, your ears listening to the steady thump of my heart. You wrapped your arms around me again and I was more than happy to return the favor.
"I..." You started to say, voice back to its monotone roots. "I... just want to say thanks for coming."
Uh oh. Had I made no progress at all?
"Can I get a guarantee you won't try something like this again?"
"You won't be called down ever again."
"That's not an answer."
"I won't do it again. Promise."
"Come on," I responded, lifting you onto your feet and putting an arm around your shoulders, walking you to the door. "You're staying with me tonight."
"That's really okay-"
"Your roommate didn't seem like he was going to be sympathetic for you when I went to his apartment."
"He's got a 'special female friend', huh?"
"Ha ha, yeah. Besides, I have to make sure you keep your promise."
"I will, you don't have to-"
"Yes." I said softly as I gripped the door handle. I looked down into your eyes, compassion in my own. "I do."
You stared straight ahead and leaned against me, ears flat. This was the calmest you had looked all night. Of course, now that I knew what was behind that mask, it made me all the more determined to never abandon you.
We filled out the paperwork for your discharge and I guided you over to my car, bidding a farewell to Doctor Jeanette Harper before doing so. I guided you to the passenger seat, almost having to place your fatigued form inside. It was such a contrast seeing you as you are usually and how you were at that moment. Silent or not, you were always strong and seemingly invincible. Nothing seemed to distress you. But there you were, in the seat next to me as I drove, weak, defeated, and so very helpless. Your paws were still shaking and you gave the occasional shudder, indications that even your unfeeling disposition was failing you. It was all I could manage not to look at you so I could focus on driving. I knew if I stared at you too long, I would probably start hugging you again.
After parking in the lot beneath my apartment building, I pulled you out of the car and onto your wobbly foot paws. I took off my coat and threw it over your shivering shoulders, not receiving approval or rejection of the act in return. That done, I gently pushed you to the elevator, slamming a claw on the number three once inside.
When we got to my apartment door, I fumbled with the lock. I always hated that apartment if only for the lock. I needed to get you inside quick and at least make you feel comfortable. Even my lock seemed to be working against you.
Come to think of it, that was the first visit you ever made to my apartment. Not that the invitation hadn't been sent before. I had hosted many a cast party, but you never showed. I had always assumed it was because you just weren't a party-guy, so to speak. However, after the events of the night, I couldn't get a read on you. I wasn't even sure if Chris was your real name anymore.
I brought you inside, shutting the door behind me. You instinctively took your shoes off and tore my coat off of yourself, handing it back to me at the hem, obviously not sure what you should do with it. I took it and hung it up on the knob of the front door. I turned back to find you were already gliding down the hall like a puppet on strings, passing the door to my bedroom and the one to the bathroom, eventually coming to a stop in the living room-kitchen combo, not sure what you should do next. I came up behind you and clasped both of your shoulders. Like earlier, you flinched at the touch. I refused to relent this time.
"Do you want to talk anymore?" I asked, giving your shoulders a gentle rub to help you relax. You didn't take the offer, instead moving outside my grip and shaking your head.
"No... thanks." You said, sounding adamant about it. I exhaled slowly.
"Anything to drink?" I immediately regretted asking that. The last thing you needed right now was alcohol.
"No. Thank you. You've done plenty."
Clearly not enough, I thought to myself.
"Would you like the bed or the couch, because-"
"Couch..." You answered instantly and decisively.
"Are you sure? I'm happy sleeping out here. And after the night you've had-"
"Couch," You repeated, making your decision final by walking over to my poofy leather couch and dumping yourself into it. I rushed over, peering over to see how you were doing.
You were already asleep. Good gracious, that had to be a world record. Then again, now that I looked at the clock on my oven, it was four in the morning at this point. I'm surprised I hadn't felt sleepier than I was. Then again, the adrenaline caused by your situation kept me energized. I looked down at you, your chest puffing out and in rhythmically as you breathed peacefully, as if the trauma from earlier hadn't happened. The bandage around the arm you were clutching with the uninjured one was a grim reminder, though.
I smiled down at you. I will never understand Mark's thought process when he left you. I don't care if I sound creepy, Chris. I stroked your handsome face, your orange and black fur running smoothly beneath my retracted claw. You're the greatest guy in the world and you didn't even know it. So generous, so loving, so caring, and yet so unsure of yourself. This is skipping ahead a bit, but you're the sappiest romantic I've ever known. When you're with someone, they'll know you love them. If the constant gifts, the many kisses, the loving cuddling sessions, and the weekly poems you wrote about how your love continued to grow ever more passionate weren't enough, you had this look in your eye. You know the one, Chris. The one where your love seemed to download into the heart of the fur you're staring at. One can't help but feel love when you're involved, Chris.
Which is why I can never agree with that ludicrous notion of you being a bringer of pain and despair. You're too much of a softie for that. I wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you from head to toe. I wanted to bring you over to my bed and snuggle with you until the dawn. I wanted to be the one to make you realize just how wonderful you were. I wanted you to feel the same love you give, intentionally or unintentionally, to those around you. I wanted you to be mine. All mine.
That's not what you needed though. You didn't need someone telling you they wanted you romantically after Mark had hurt you so badly. Knowing you, you'd probably reject the offer anyway telling me I could do better.
Chris, I want you to know that that's incorrect. There is no one better than you.
I burrowed into the closet of my bedroom , finding an old and patched quilt that I replaced with the thick white blanket on my bed. I tucked you in beneath the comfy white blanket, lifting your head up gently to place a pillow beneath it. You didn't wake, instead allowing a smile to curve your lips as you dug your head into the feathery pillow beneath you. You looked so cozy. It felt good to make you look so contented. Especially after the night you had.
Then and only then did the fatigue hit me. I yawned, stumbling over to my bedroom and looking over my shoulder at you sleeping snugly one more time. Before I shut the door, I heard a content purr from you. I giggled. I had no idea you could make such an adorable sound.
I ducked under the thin quilt, shutting my eyes for the night. I only hoped that you would be in a better mood the next day.
Thanks again for reading. If you enjoyed it, please let me know. And if you hated it, still let me know. Writing tips from those more experienced are always appreciated. Thank you.