The Love we Hide (Gay Furry Romance/Thriller story) MA15+

C3P18 - He's...

The fox's ears twitched.

Barren streets, the kind you'd only ever find on accident, lost in all the worse ways. Seemingly abandoned, but these rows and rows of apartment buildings seem to say otherwise. Imagine a cup full of metal, chilled dice, thrown at random on the side of the road. As orderly as this would be, were the buildings that surrounded me and this horrifically burnt fox.

Large and looming, windows unwashed and occasionally cracked. No repairs, only masking tape that had moulded from being frozen refrozen again. Had they had radiators, they would leak. Trash occupied the alleyway, unwanted things. The body of this German shepherd, however he had been, someones father or something - maybe a part-time divorcee who's letting child-support chew away at him, now joined onto this list, and by the time I had the chance to see the brown checkered shirt he's already well dead. His eyeballs frozen in a milky gaze, staring at nothing important. Not an identity anymore, just a thing. Just a tripping hazard.

This fox is peering at me and his eyes are very alive, a chilling grey, and his vulpine muzzle roars up this animalistic snarl that forces me a back a few slippery steps. He's primal, the way he's acting. And its hard to call him a he, but his charred chest is strong and masculine, heaving in whisky breaths that whistle and steam from his charred lips. The way he's got his back arched, it's as though I were threatening his food, his territory. As though this shambling pile frozen metal and concrete were his home, and I had landed myself in the frozen puddle of blood that marks the foot of his nest. By pure chance. I wasn't a religious girl. My parents were, they never blamed god for wrongdoing. It was hard now to not think that something unholy and supernatural was looking down one somewhere, wishing me dead. I didn't like them, because they clearly don't like me.

Rust is liking the look of me. And I've recognised him now. That slender, muscled figure, those biceps that I used to look at in the time that he had sat in front of me at maths class. That feels like ages ago - there isn't even a student who had replaced his chair. No one had the balls. No one had the reputation.

"Rust, right?"

Its a wonder I'm as calm-sounding as I am, its as though I've worked up a shell, completely opaque around these beating feline lungs of mine.

He's still working his way towards me, creeping inch by inch on all fours, matching my movements. The way he's making sure I'm looking at him makes me think that if I were to suddenly look away, he'd cover that distance and find a way to tear my throat. He's clearly rabid with something, and I know I'm walking on a very tight line. Skating on very thin ice. So, I don't look away, - and while I'm looking at him, I realise this shakiness in his eyes. As though he were pained. As though this all isn't what he was intending to do.

"You wouldn't know me." I'm trying not to move too much, but this frozen blood trail is treacherous and my sneakers aren't known for their friction. "I was never popular."

He's clicking away on this guttural snarl. Some phlegmy thing in his throat.

I'm scared to shiver, certain it will provoke this fox. He's getting awfully close now.

"You know, I never really knew you that well. I never liked you sporty boys." I smile dryly. "Too loud. Too full of themselves. But you were different. People picked on me, you didn't."

Amazingly, as he's almost close enough to make a swipe at my legs, this fox's eyes are widening slightly. Softening. There's this glow of recognition in them. Something black and tar-like drips from his teeth as he verbalises a croaky word.

I'm wincing, expecting to be ripped open.

"Books." He says.

I'm breathing again. "That's right. One of the girls had slapped them out of my paws. Called me... that stupid nickname they had. Fat-Cat." Its hard to chuckle at this. The wounds had been too deep.