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I felt his hand clutch around my throat.

"Don't...move," he whispered threateningly.

I smelled the scaly odor of his hand gently pressed against my throat.

Thundering footsteps were heard above us as we crouched underneath the bottom of the stairs. My heart pounded in my ears as I searched the darkness for my friend's face.

"Where's my son!" We heard yelled upstairs.

The silence that followed was an echo to the pulse in my chest. My face flushed with heat as my friend's hand moved to my neck and shoulder, his thumb going up and down over my throat--his panic message an attempt to comfort me. I still couldn't find his face as I let out a small, quiet, whimper.

Then I saw them. His bright blue eyes flashed towards me and I witnessed the first love I had ever felt outside of my parents. The fear in his eyes, not for himself but for me, hit me like the breath he exhaled into my snout. His scent filled my nose, a chilling comfort behind the sleeping bags his family used for camping trips.

I went silent as he scooted his small body closer to me; his other hand touched my shoulder.

"Skylar, Where are you!" His father yelled slurred and drunkenly into the house, his voice booming over the stairs.

His two hands slipped from my neck and shoulder to underneath my arms and around my back, a tight embrace as he hugged me. It choke me more than his hand had around my throat A plea for silence and acceptance as he moved his light blue eyes past my face and rested on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered loud enough to soothe my heart's pounding.

More footsteps pounded overhead as we held the embrace. The steps stomped around the floor above us before they stopped directly overhead. Slowly, heavily, the steps clacked against the wooden boards down to the basement.

Our embrace became tighter; I hugged him back with more emotion than I knew possible. If only I knew what I had felt for him then.

Each stepped rang in my ear, my arms clasped tighter around his body, his scales evident through the fabric of his shirt. A shiver flexed through him as he froze once his father's steps reached the ground floor. I noticed the coldness of the stone floor we sat on for the first time. A shiver passed through Skylar and into me. I felt his body weaken from stress, the cold-effect evident on his body. His grasp faded as he wrapped around me.

"Don't...let go Deacon, okay?" He asked as he rested his snout on my shoulder.

"Okay," I whimpered back, fear seeped into my voice.

A tight hug came from his warm arms. Coldness suddenly surrounded me.

"There you are you little brat," his dad said before ripping him from my grasp, "time for you to come upstairs."

His limp hand was the last thing I felt. His blue eyes cast to the floor before being surrounded by his father. No fear--acceptance.

I didn't accept it and I charged his father. I bit him on the hand with my slim jaw. I felt the resistance of his scaled hand give way as I sank in. Skylar dropped as I slipped between his dad's sturdy legs and powerful tail. His father roared as I made my terrorized escape.

I ran and didn't look back; up the stairs and to the right, and out the front door. The sun's heat couldn't remove the sinking cold I felt as I sprinted home.

*

I slammed the door when I entered my house. My whimpers drew the ire of my mother as she hustled to me by the time the door latched shut.

"Honey, what's wrong?!" She asked urgently.

"I...I, it was Skylar," I finally managed to spit out, "his dad came home," tears welled in my eyes. I was too young to understand yet mature enough to feel my fear for Skylar and what I had done, it coursed through me while I continued, he was mad and looking for him. We hid. And he found us. And I ran." I barely finished before a sob made the rest of my words inaudible.

"Deacon, everything is going to be okay, alright honey?" She responded while she comforted me as best she could. "Everything is going to be fine, I'll call his house to make sure Skylar's okay." She said before leaving me to get the phone.

She dialed the number off of the post-it on the wall and waited.

And waited.

Her face made the fear in me grow like a monster. It contorted my mind, tormented my soul. I caused this.

I was sobbed uncontrollably at this point. I knew what this meant for a phone call. I knew what had happened. What I had done.

Everything blurred in my vision when my mom motioned back to the hook for the phone before she picked it up again. Her finger poked at the keys.

"Yes, I'd like to report an emergency."

I sat in my room after I heard my mother whimper those words. My door locked I sat on my bed and looked at my walls, unconsciously coiling my tail around my wrist over and over and over. I couldn't think.

Next thing I knew my dad was home. My mom had apparently called him and got him to try and console me. He unlocked the door-of course he had a key to get in-and sat down beside me. I felt, fear, I think when he sat there and didn't do anything; he didn't touch me, look at me, or even touch me, he just sat there.

I quietly looked away before he cleared his throat.

"Son-Deacon, stuff like this-this sorta thing," he paused, obviously uncomfortable with how to put words together, "umm, Deacon, we can't get find Skylar right know. We can only pray. We have to pray."

I lost it. My sobs. My nose. My hope for my best friend. I buried my face into his shoulder and hugged him. I ruined his shirt. My eyes jammed shut against his neck. I choked several times on my own depression-my own guilt. I tightened my grip around his chest when I heard him sigh and try console me with an arm wrapped around me.

"All we can do is pray right now."

*

The dark green claw came from the black space before me. It shot out, grabbed my chest, and scratched into my tan fur. The claw dug deep enough to draw blood. The eyes, the yellow glare penetrated the darkness. They bore down at me, their evil intent cut through me, they paralyzed me. My chest tightened-I couldn't breathe-I was pulled out from my bed.

"...I knew I would find you," the voice rasped venomously. His hot breath afflicted my nostrils, I whimpered in fear.

I looked for a way to escape, his eyes tortured my soul.

"Deacon!" I heard screamed through the darkness. "Deacon, no!"

The scream was Skylar's, his voice frightened but powerful.

Suddenly emotion flushed into me; fear rippled through me like shivers, my hair stood on end, bristled through instinct. I was terrified. I had to save Skylar. I had to free him.

I writhed in his grasp. I tried to free myself, nothing, his grasp only tightened on my chest. I gasped in pain, his claw dug deeper. I couldn't handle it. I thrashed, the yellow eyes loomed over me, trying to get away from their power. I couldn't.

"Ha, puny little rat, where are you going to run to now!" His breath hissed into my ears.

I heard Skylar plead, "Just let him go!"

I heard a scuffle and scratches before the voice boomed into my face, "This is what you get," the voice strained, followed by the shriek of Skylar, "for trying to save your friend."

I screamed when I heard a crack of something hitting the ground. His face grew into a white grin, his teeth vicariously white in the black that engulfed me. Their sharp points glistened dangerously.

He lurched forward; his mouth engulfed me before he bit down. A moist heat surrounded me like a swamp of death. Then I felt it, like knives slowly pricking into my stomach and back.

I snapped awake, shrouded in my sheets. I whimpered as I looked at my blurry room. My noises drew the ire of my mother from across the hall.

I was eighteen now, at least I didn't wet the bed this time.

"Same dream, honey?" My mother asked as she rubbed her eyes in the doorway.

"Yeah." My internal system slowly recovered from shock, my paws feeling cold and my chest slowing down from my panting.

I collapsed back into my pillows. There was no way I could go back to sleep; both sides of my pillow were too warm.

*

I was scared I would forget him, that event. Yet, every month, sometimes within the same week everything would come back before I could snap awake and try to forget. I could never forget. The nightmares guaranteed that. His voice rippled through my head, his blue eyes tormented me practically every other night. It was more than guilt that weighed me down into my bed. That pinned me under the sheets of that deep sleep, the kind that needs a free mind to achieve.

Middle school was a struggle. No, well, yeah. I discovered the closet that I changed in front of meant more metaphorically than reality each time I stepped away from it. Who I was attracted to for a week and who I just wanted to act out on geared towards the sex that took even me by surprise when other boys started going out with girls. My heart didn't beat to them. I guess it was one of the things that made me, me. I was a bunch of things but nothing that made me stand out. Being gay was one of them and I just hadn't figured it out right away. Sucks right? The closet I fit in was meant for two yet I remained alone--buried under stereotypes, polo's and muscle shirts, or hair gel and stupid flashy collars. No school dances, girlfriends; I lie; I had one that ended in an emotional catastrophe on my part, kind of confirmed my own sexual status after that and let me bury myself deeper inside. I thought she wanted a kiss, I felt super amounts of panic when she put her hand under my throat and against my chest. I flashed to Skylar when her hand tensed and when I moved in for a quick peck but yelped at the sudden move. Fuck, her screech hurt my ears.

My grades sailed in choppy waters, a 3.0 and nothing exceptional and nothing failed.

High school, however, was a whole new hell except with handrails. My story became one of the masses, lost behind the homework assignments, organizations, and practices. This is where the nightmares grew into what they were now. Skylar wasn't forgotten but shunned. Never wanting to be experienced, I was tired and just wanted to be over it. He was used as a tool of strength to keep me vigilant when I didn't make varsity on football or soccer. I continued to build my physique to become strong enough to burst through the door. Yet I wasn't strong enough, I was too alone and needed someone for support. Skylar became the beacon of strength. He found the types that didn't fit my size and took them out of the closet. He exposed the light under the door, a direction for me to go in to escape this clustered and isolated environment that I had surrounded myself in. He helped me step into my own clothes, and find solidarity within other furs that achieved an escape from the bindings that held me in my homosexuality.

A German Shepard has unprecedented expectations.

I will slap police off the tip of the tongue from first person who mentions it.

My parents held me for the athletic figure I upheld, not for the sheepish way I felt. A front I used to show I had gotten over Skylar that I had forgotten him or forgiven myself. The guilt bogged me down, even when my Dad and I discussed the opportunities before a dog such as myself. All the weight of their expectations kept the door to my personal life, my closet packed with me trapped under a weight of expectation.

They didn't see the way Skylar had impacted my life. My constant apprehension at a relationship. Or when I held their hug a second longer than they did. Skylar's words gripped me unconsciously.

I lasted until my senior year before I found the courage to step out from under the weight that was upon me. It was a surprise that hurt my family but together, we healed from quickly. I found my way out of the closet and told them I was gay.

My mom, moaned? It was that girlish awe that they have, like when a man proposes kind of way. Her, "Oh my god! Deacon," voice came with the soft touch that every girl had. That touches that you couldn't tell if it was disappointment or affection. Ugh, women...

My Dad, well, they don't say dogs have a puppy face for any reason. Disappointment was the first thing his eyes told me. Silence came next, as my mother held her hands to her chest before she hugged me, I never looked away from my father, my stance unwavering. His reaction told me more words than he could have said. It was disappointment that he was forced himself to accept. He knew I saw the emotion behind his eyes, the tilt of his head and a soft sigh before he smiled and waited for my mom to release me before he touched my bicep.

"Just," my father struggled, looking around our dining room, before he came out with it, "just, please--be smart, like you always have been, okay?" His tight hug made me well up for a split second before I blinked it away.

Like I said, I didn't know that I loved Skylar immediately; my parents helped me see that in myself because I loved them. I struggled to admit it, even to myself, but they loved me and taught me how to love someone else.