𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗩𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 (𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚡𝙱)

Track 49 | 𝗖𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴

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I can barely remember what my life was like before I discovered music.

I like to think it all began when I was nine years old. 

June 10th, 2012 was the day I actually started to exist as a living, breathing, body of matter with actual interests and a personality. 

I had found my father's cassette collection in a beat-up cardboard box inside his closet. He barely listened to them, though. He only saved them to sell at auctions or garage sales or pawn shops when they had racked up enough value and became ancient artifacts of history. Of course, he couldn't see into the future, so he had no idea which ones would become valuable and which ones would stay obsolete. So, he just bought as many cassettes as he could find and hoped for the best. We were always low on money, and if I'm being really honest, Mom and Dad weren't exactly the best role models.

I distinctly remember the feeling I'd received when I held one of those cassettes in my paws for the first time. I was terrified, but the horror and suspense excited me. If Dad had caught me in here, rooting through his things, I would've been done for.

Though my father loved me, he was strict. And punishments were punishments to him, no matter who he was delivering them to. He was abusive towards my mother. My mother was a spendthrift.

They both adored me. But they weren't the best parents.

And although little nine-year-old me tried to deny it, I always knew it was true.

Knowing that my parents were gone for work, I utilized my time at home alone. I had found my mother's Walkman in her room and placed the skinny, uncomfortable headphones over my ears; you know, the old ones with the steel ring head mount and the orange circular foam muffs. 

The first cassette I shoved in there was a 1980s Michael Jackson mixtape. I pressed play like I'd seen my mother do before. And then I heard it feed into my ears.

That was the moment I had finally found something to connect to.

Music became everything to me.

Every day, when the house was empty, I would sneak back into my parents' bedroom and listen to a new cassette. I went from the essentials of Billy Joel to Jeff Buckley in one week. Then, I got into the Rolling Stones, and soon, The Beatles. A month later, I had gotten my paws on a cassette with a blank, white casing with a small toddler-like-doodle on the front of two smiling dogs sharing a deep embrace. It was the only cover that had no words to tell me who the artist was.

When I had popped open the casing, I read the label inside: 'Twin Fantasy, Car Seat Headrest'. It was certainly one of the more independent and underground records in my father's collection. I found it all the way at the bottom of the box.

But, after my first listen, I immediately fell in love.

For a good month straight, it was the only cassette I ever listened to whenever my parents were out. Something about the slurred vocals and the discordant indie rock songwriting had connected with nine-year-old me. I would lie on the floor of the living room and listen to the entire album, front to back. I would break down the lyrics and uncover hidden meanings that didn't exactly make sense to me back then. Piece by piece, I would pull apart every little sound and noise, finding myself obsessing over the smallest details in the vocals or the instruments. I loved it for what it was, even if I didn't understand what the message was yet. I just loved it because it made me feel happy. And before I knew it, I was dancing all around the house.

'Cute Thing' instantly became my favorite song of all time. I began to memorize the drum pattern and smacked my paws against the dining table rhythmically during dinner. I wasn't even doing it on purpose. Something about that song had entranced me. Possessed me. I couldn't get the melody out of my head. My dad would shout relentlessly at my persistent pitter-pattering, begging me to cut it out, while my mother, in between cigarette puffs, claimed that I was sure to be an all-star drummer when I grew up.

I guess that was what motivated her to go behind my father's back and buy me a drum set for my 10th birthday. I usually never got presents in previous years, considering how low on money we were, but my mom wanted this for me. And though my dad wanted it for me too, he was enraged by how much money Mom had spent on the drum set. They were practically broke by the next day and couldn't even afford rent.

They fought in the kitchen, thinking I was asleep. Their voices were so loud and haunting. The very foundation of the house began to shake with every scream. 

I couldn't stand it. 

I crept into my parents' room, out of sight. I took out the cassette and placed it into the Walkman. I turned the volume up to the highest setting, adorned the headphones, and pressed play. I laid there on the floor, hoping that if I blasted the music loud enough to the point where it would make my ears bleed, I could drown out the even louder screeching of my parents. Tears streamed down my face as I felt my body fade away into the music.

And then I forgot the world existed.

I stood up and began to dance. My eyes were locked shut, glued together by dried tears. I had no idea where I was, where I stood in the room, what surrounded me, what time it was... I even forgot myself. And my life. And everything bad that scared me.

I just danced. I was happy.

But then the song ended. And I could hear again.

"ARIZONA! CALL 911!"

It was Mom.

I opened my eyes and found myself standing in the hallway. At the end of the hall, far off in the kitchen, I could only catch a glimpse of what looked to be my mother.

She was on the floor with a knife stuck in her shoulder. I saw her, reaching out to me as if I were her lifeline; her last resort; a life preserver in a deep, dark ocean. I saw my father standing over her, fear and remorse in his eyes. He picked up his head and stared at me.

I saw the expression on his face.

This would be the moment our lives would change forever, for better or for worse. 

And it all happened within the duration of a two-minute song.

Dad went away. Mom was taken to the hospital. Adults in business suits accompanied by police officers sat me down in a room in a building that was nowhere near home. I had no idea where I was or why I was being asked so many questions about my parents and our living status. But, soon enough, they told me it was time to go.

I was forced to pack a backpack with clothes and personal belongings. I stuffed my mother's Walkman and the Twin Fantasy cassette into the bag. The woman who asked me questions said I could take one more thing from the house. Making it difficult for her, I chose the entire drum set.

I went into the system. They put a collar around my throat. It was itchy and uncomfortable but I got over it eventually.

I bounced a few homes when I was eleven. Three homes, to be exact. 

The first couple that welcomed me into their home reminded me a lot of my own parents. They were poor and needed to scrape together a few bucks; looking after me was a last resort. They had no room for me or the drum set in the house, so I slept in the basement. Every night, I listened to the album, comforted by its intimate lyrics and distracting tunes. I would dance around the basement, feeling my body whisk away into the raging melody. My favorite time of day was the night. It was when I could be alone and listen to the album. It was when I could truly be myself.

When the couple got what they wanted, I was sent back. 

House number two. I got picked up by a modern, upper-class couple who were also trying to get their hands on some extra cash while simultaneously winning brownie points from the parental district as the most honorable family in town. They had their own biological children that weren't fostered, me being the one kid every family member disliked for some reason. The parents treated their other gold-star kids with love and barely showed me any attention. They prohibited me from playing drums because it was too loud and disrupted their work. And when I voiced my complaints, they took away my Walkman.

Prior to this, I had never once felt anything close to anger in my entire life.

The moment that Walkman was ripped out of my hands, I finally knew what it felt like to be fucking enraged.

So, I lashed out and smashed a few glass plates at dinner time.

Back into the system, I went.

The third home was barely even a home. It was more like a shack, owned by some old farmer dude with a beard that had, like, three brain cells. I didn't understand why he ever wanted to foster me, he was nowhere near the image of an ideal father, but when he got really close to me one evening and began to touch me in certain places, I finally understood his true motives. I lashed out once more and almost killed the poor man. Of course, all the blame was shoveled onto me for the incident and I was sent back.

This went on and on. For every year that passed, I grew more annoyed and more tired. I bounced from house to house, unable to latch onto anything permanent. I couldn't allow myself to settle in anywhere, knowing that in a week or month or so, I would be sent right back. The only thing that stuck with me was the cassette and the drums. Music was the only thing that stayed.

I spent the entirety of middle school being tossed around from couple to couple, house to house, like a sadistic game of hot potato. Some were fine. Some were plain evil. Some were perverted, some were abusive, some were careless. And for some, there was nothing wrong with them. For some, I was the problem. I would act so selfish and cruel towards any family that would pick me up, even if they truly wanted the best for me. Eventually, my track record had maxed out, and soon, no one wanted Arizona Sundance.

And once I turned fifteen, everyone collectively decided that fostering a delinquent high school teenager was an absolutely terrible idea.

Except for one family.

Bonnie and Steven Shawl welcomed me into their home during my freshman year of high school. This was the first household that welcomed kids who were exactly like me: Dahlia and Shirley. Though I had my own rivalries with them—or really only one of them—they were foster kids like me. Dahlia was the first one to treat me with pure kindness. And I don't know if that was because she was, like, six or something, but it warmed my heart. Bonnie and Steven treated me differently. They didn't try to sugarcoat everything the way other bullshit couples that I'd met in recent years would, but instead, they addressed my issues rather than ignoring them.

I wish I could've been more open to loving them.

But I was too afraid of putting in the work of trying to love someone when I could lose them in the blink of an eye. 

I honestly thought they would be the ones that would stick. But I knew all too well that I could be leaving them and this town and everything about it behind by the next day.

When I was introduced to them, I acted like I didn't care. Because in that period of my life, I really didn't. All that I cared about was my music. It was all that I knew.

The first moment I got alone in my new room, I jumped at the chance and snuck out through the window. I ventured into town with my headphones over my ears, blasting my favorite album and drowning out my surroundings. I walked down the blocks of Cloverland, my new and likely temporary home, taking in the atmosphere. It was a small, modest neighborhood. I honestly had better opportunities here than anywhere else.

During my adventure, something caught my eye: a shop on the corner of 9th and Willow. A small one, with orange and black paint on the window displaying the brand name, 'Tunes'. I don't know what intrigued me so much about it, but I immediately went inside.

Here, I felt more at home than anywhere else. I was surrounded by the one thing I loved most, in any form you could possibly think of. For the first time, I removed my headphones and listened in.

The shop was quiet. Delicate music hummed over the speakers as customers browsed different sections and aisles. The soft chatter echoing off the walls of the store set my nerves at ease. There were only five people in the store, really. I looked over at the cash register and saw a cheetah leaning against the counter, reading a magazine. I looked over at the customers, all enveloped in their own worlds, seeking out their own tastes. I felt safer, knowing there were no eyes to police me. I began to walk through the store.

I brushed my fingers against the many crinkled plastic wrappings coating the wide selection of discs, all ordered and neatly compacted into upright shelves. I gazed up at the several posters on the walls of artists that I used to listen to back at my parents' house that I'd forgotten all about. I approached a small cardboard container filled with cassettes, similar to the ones that my dad would collect. My eyes watered as I picked up a few of them, feeling the smooth edges of the plastic casings, reminding me of the day I first discovered music.

I then made my way into the vinyl record section and flipped through all the cover art, amazed to see that the albums I grew up on could be played on what I initially believed to be oversized CDs. 

Then, I saw the edge of a white cover behind a few records. I reached forward and pulled it out of the shelf, finding a vinyl record of Twin Fantasy by Car Seat Headrest. I froze, a bubbling urge of excitement coming over me.

That was when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I immediately turned around, finding a tall and very large moose. I was deeply intimidated, to say the least.

"What're you doing here, kid?" He asked, crossing his arms. I didn't exactly know that fifteen-year-olds usually weren't common in this kind of store yet. He must've figured me to be a juvenile thief.

"I was just looking around," I mumbled, my feet trembling in my shoes.

"...Holy shit, is that a Walkman?" The moose squinted his eyes, stunned, staring at the tape player attached to my waist.

"...Yeah?" I had to do a double take to make sure that it was, in fact, a Walkman.

"Dude, that's... Where did you get that?"

"...From my mom."

"Wow," the moose gasped and chuckled with astonishment, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your mom's raising you right. I haven't seen one of those since I was your age. Even then, no kid your age in this time would be caught dead using a Walkman."

My eyes widened with fear. "Is that bad?"

"Nah, man, it's rad. It was a figure of speech. Like, nobody uses those anymore."

"It's 'rad'?"

"You know, cool. You're cool for still using a Walkman. It's legit."

"Well, how else would people listen to music?"

"Shit, ki—I mean, shoot, kid, you don't know anything about streaming?" I shook my head. "Spotify?" I shook my head again. "Ring a bell? No?" I kept shaking my head. "Wow, you are... You are retro, kid."

"...What's 'streaming'?"

"Look it up on your phone. Spotify. Or any other service, it doesn't really matter."

I looked down at my pants, staring at my empty pockets. I looked right back up at him, shrugging and shaking my head once more.

"You don't have a phone?" The moose raised his brows and leaned his arm against the nearest shelf, completely and utterly dumbfounded.

For the final time, I shook my head.

"Holy shit... You're a delicacy, dude."

He reached out his paw for me to shake.

"My name's Vic. This is my store. Come by anytime, we'd love to have you."

I stared at his paw longingly, a smile fighting its way onto my face. I reached for it, feeling how large it was compared to mine, and allowed our hands to share a tight embrace.

I had spent hours walking around town, admiring the scenery. By nightfall, I found myself wandering about by the nearby public park, watching as parents collected their children, setting course for home. I sat on the swing set, listening to Twin Fantasy, just daydreaming of being able to own that record on vinyl. Vic had explained to me that the cost was way outside of my budget range—which was currently zero dollars—much to my disappointment. Hours went by and I hadn't left that swing set. Bonnie and Steven were most likely losing their minds trying to find me at that time, but younger me didn't give two shits about them.

Once my three-hundred-and-thirty-first re-listen to the entire album had drawn to a close, I removed the headphones from my ears and set the Walkman aside for a moment. Listening to the midnight atmosphere, I noticed just how quiet the world could be after hours of feeding continuous noise directly into your ears. It was unsettling how grounding the real world could be.

But then, the silence was broken: "Hey, you."

I turned my head and looked over my shoulder, noticing some random guy, standing by the fence outside of the playground area, situated calmly with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes watched me like a hawk. I could feel my feet begin to sink into the earth once I'd caught wind of his presence.

He was a canine, like me. At first glance, he appeared to be a rough collie with his wispy fur, colored all different shades of brown, but his gray watercolor eyes spoke wolf. He looked to be somewhere around my age as well, i.e. not fully adult but getting there. He stood upright, like a proud mast, sharp and ghostly. My hands clutched the metal chains of the swing even tighter.

"Yeah, you," he called again, beckoning me over with his finger.

Normally, I'd shun off anyone who tried to come near me, but something about this guy in particular interested me. The way he stood at a safe distance. The subtlety to his gaze. The splendor; the image of him. He had some sort of power over me, like I was his puppet on strings, the collar to his leash in which he tugged hard.

I stood up and approached him.

"Wow, look at you," the boy hummed in a low tremolo, sending me shivers from head to toe as I came up to the fence. "You're quite the view. I adore Australian Shepherds."

"Ah," I nodded, keeping myself at least two feet away from the fence just in case he tried anything. Dad always taught me to watch out for strangers.

The boy took a step closer, allowing me to see him more clearly as the light from the nearest lamppost struck him more fluently. He was quite a bit taller than me, so, of course, I felt a little threatened, but I was beginning to experience different sensations as well. Newer ones. Growing up, I was never properly educated about the world of romance and passion, nor did I ever have crushes or, let's say, find someone physically appealing. 'Handsome' was one of the few words I'd heard being tossed around from time to time. And in that moment, if I were to use 'handsome' to describe anyone, it was the boy currently standing directly in front of me on the other side of the fence.

"You're not from here, are you?" The boy asked, resting his arms against the fence and leaning in presumptuously. "I've never seen you before."

He seemed playful. I decided to return the favor. "Maybe you just never noticed me."

"No way," he shook his head definitively. "You would've captured my attention in a heartbeat."

"I just moved here. Today."

"Welcome to Cloverland," he announced, clapping his paws together and extending them outward to the sides of him as if he were presenting the world to me. "Happy to have you here. I'm Jax."

He had a cute name.

I took a step closer to the fence and grasped it by the metal rods, looking up into the eyes of the canine in front of me.

"Ari."

"Pleased to meet you, Ari."

Jax then held his hand out, breaking the invisible barrier between us. I was tempted to refrain, but his hand, outstretched and eager to make contact, just seemed so inviting. I gave in and grabbed ahold of his paw, feeling the delicate skin of his paw pads. He shook my hand gently, the edge of his mouth curling upward. He then reached forward with his muzzle and politely laid a kiss down on my hand. It was the first time anyone had done such a thing to me.

"What the hell, man?" I reacted, pulling my hand away instinctively, though I didn't feel the slightest bit scared of him. Actually, I kind of liked what he did.

"How old are you?" Jax asked, tilting his head. He rested his chin on his arms which laid on top of the fence, projecting a curious and naive caricature. "Not a middle schooler, right?"

"Freshman. I'm fourteen, about to be fifteen in September."

Jax's eyes lit up. "Ah, I see. A clean slate."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're young, Ari," Jax told me, leaning his head in closer. "You're new and still learning things. You haven't fully experienced the world yet, you're—you're fresh and unbroken."

I scoffed. "Pretty broken, actually."

"Oh? You've got a history, huh?"

"I'm not telling you anything, I just met you."

"I'm not asking you to give me your life's story, pup. Keep your secrets. I like a mystery."

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow, giving him a peculiar glance. "...Why are you talking like that? You're playing up this weird cool-guy act, why?"

"'Why'?" His head perked up, almost offended. "Why do you think I'm putting on an act?"

"Because you're saying weird shit. No one talks like that."

"Hm," he mumbled, nodding his head and smirking, taking my punches with pride. "Where are you going to school? You live near here, don't you? I hope to see you in class."

I shook my head, though I was a little flattered. "You won't, I'm homeschooled."

"Oh? Guess I'll just have to visit you, then."

I began to chuckle softly. "Who even are you? Why are you talking to me?"

"You seem interesting," Jax shrugged.

"That's it?"

"What, a guy can't be interested?"

I squinted my eyes and examined his face closely. "How old are you?"

"I'm seventeen."

"One more year and you're basically a predator, you know that, right?"

"Who said I was preying on you?"

"You said you were interested."

"I said you seemed interesting."

I bit my bottom lip and smiled partly for him. Jax seemed to like it. 

"...Do you have a phone?"

"Yeah, why?" Jax replied, instantly reaching into his back pocket. "Want my number?"

"Do you have 'streaming'? Like, 'Spotify'?"

"Yeah..?"

"Can I see it?"

"Sure."

Jax handed me his phone and told me the passcode to open it. From across the fence, he began to point me in the right direction, showing me where the 'Spotify' app was and how to navigate it. I then entered 'Twin Fantasy' into the search bar. The album showed up right away, being the first result on the screen.

"You've never used Spotify before?" Jax asked me, finding my astonishment humorous.

"No, I've never had a phone," I told him, tapping on the album and scrolling through the tracklist. I was amazed. Being able to have all of my favorite songs in one place, right there, right in front of me on the glowing screen, produced an excitement inside of me that I hadn't felt since the moment I first found those cassette tapes in my father's closet.

"My buddy is a tech engineer, he has a ton of iPhones lying around, I can get you one," Jax offered, though he was unable to take back control over my attention. I was far too distracted by the screen. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"This is amazing," I gushed, realizing how obsolete it was to carry a Walkman around everywhere I went. 

With a phone, I could skip to any song I wanted, rewind and fast forward to any part without having to estimate and guess where to land in the tape. It was smaller and portable and everything I've ever wanted—it was truly incredible.

I looked up at Jax with a brightness in my eyes. 

"I think I'll take you up on your offer."

"Alright," Jax nodded. "But, just so you know, I'm only getting you the phone. You're probably gonna have to ask your parents to figure out a cellphone plan for you."

And that's just what they did. In addition, they also installed some parental controls, too: basically, some shitty iPhone technology that limited my usage of the internet and cellular data, tracked my location, viewed my search history, and all that jazz.

With September and my 15th birthday approaching, as the other teenage freshmen my age in the area made their way over to school, I began my first year of domesticated homeschooling under the keen perception and qualified instruction of Bonnie and Steven Shawl. The living room became our classroom. Me and my foster siblings sat at miniature desks plated with notebooks and sparkly pencils.

Me being the eldest foster child of the bunch, I was learning on a different academic level than the other two, who also learned in separate ranks due to their varying ages, with Dahlia being the youngest at age six, and Shirley, the penultimate child, at age thirteen. Shirley and I were always at odds with one another; us being the oldest in the family, we fought over everything like we were involved in some ongoing competition against one another.

As the orange fall leaves gradually reappeared within the passing weeks, so did Jaxon Pedretti. He showed his face around regularly, visiting me in parks, giving me tours around town, walking me home every night. He'd take me out to get fast food and would tag along whenever I visited Vic at Tunes. And since he was the only real person I could actually call a friend in this unfamiliar territory of a neighborhood, I clung to him, despite my standoffish demeanor towards him.

We texted all the time. He made me laugh even though I hated laughing. He complimented me and what I wore, the music I listened to, the way I spoke. He frequently got upset whenever I had to leave him. Some days, I'd spend the entire day with Jax, just walking around, talking and doing nothing. He got me into weed and was there for my first sip of liquor. On cold autumn evenings, he'd hold me close like I were his boyfriend.

Some nights, he'd ask to come over. He was the first boy I ever snuck into my room through the window. We would just spend the night talking—or, more like, he would talk endlessly and I would listen.

He was unlike any boy I'd ever met before. He scared me. I was nervous every time I was near him.

And I loved it. I loved the feeling of it.

I never once experienced a crush before. I didn't realize at first that what I was feeling was attraction, mostly because no one had ever really educated me on it growing up, but it came to a point where I'd be up late at night thinking about him. And his wildly appealing face. His commanding voice. The way he would bite his lip and touch his tongue to the rim of his teeth, showing off his crisp, sharpened fangs and wide, threatening maw that could surely swallow me whole in one bite.

I loved the way he teased me. I loved the way he would touch me with a lingering desire to push the ordinary boundaries of our predetermined 'friendship'. I thought about him in ways I'd never thought of before. I thought about him, endlessly. I pictured him. I fantasized, I dreamed, I imagined. He was handsome. He was quick to run his mouth and yet so smooth with his tongue. He would make my fur stand on end.

And even so, the closer we got, the more closed off he became. 

As the seasons changed, he would come over to my room and not say a word and instead just stare at his phone. Normally, he would be the one to initiate conversation, he would be the one to interact first. But there I was, sitting there like a helpless pet, waiting for my owner to feed and care for me. His growing distance began in small hints but then festered and became more and more repetitive.

I felt needy. I felt like a dying, unwatered plant. I would be the one begging for attention, when in the beginning, it was him. He worked his way into my mind, lowered my guard, captured me in a vulnerable state, and then flipped the script on me. I don't know how he did it. He was smart, calculated, strategic; he rewired my entire brain. I hated it, I just wanted him to toy with me the way he always would. I hated that I became the one having to ask for his attention.

And by the time my pride had worn down enough for him to suck me dry like a vampire, he attacked. One night, he came over, and I confronted him. I called him out for being shallow and confusing. I forgot what exactly it was I said, due to the events that shortly followed, but I know it was heated. He just stared at me the entire time I lashed out at him. And then when I was finished, he gave me what I wanted.

He grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me down into the bed. He towered over me and began to kiss me. It was my first kiss and I didn't even see it coming.

I don't know how I felt. That's a lie, I felt good. I felt amazing. It felt like fireworks were erupting inside my gut, sending my entire body into a state of euphoria and pleasure. I'd seen people kiss like this in the movies, and now, I was experiencing it for myself. For years, it felt like a certain part of me had longed for this, and now, my undeniable thirst was being quenched.

The part that I didn't understand was my feelings for Jax. I wanted this, I wanted what he was doing to me, but I didn't know if I wanted him. But, in the heat of the moment, I figured I did. If I wanted this, then I must've wanted him, right? I chose not to focus too much on it and enjoy it while it lasted.

I kissed him back. He stopped repeatedly and told me what to do and what not to do. He taught me how to kiss correctly. How to kiss with the intention of kissing. Every time I did something wrong, he would step back and say, "Wrong", and then go right back to kissing me to show me how to do it right. Every time I asked if I was doing it right, he would say, "Good enough". His approval wasn't much, but it meant everything to me.

And then he took off my clothes. He would kiss my body with a hunger, unlike anything I'd ever seen in a man. His hands were firm, his claws were sharp. He cut into me and left scars, saying it was his own special way of marking his territory. His own little "permanent tattoo of love". From that moment on, he declared ownership over me. And I stayed quiet and let him use me.

He never really clarified whether we were dating or not. He would call me his boyfriend but I didn't really feel like one. He'd want to see me every day, and he did, but instead of us just talking, he would only want to kiss me. And touch me. And touch himself.

I lost my virginity in the winter. He invited me over to his house and immediately brought me to his bedroom. It was cold outside, but it was so warm in his bed. 

I wasn't even facing him when it happened, I'd been turned onto my hands and knees. I felt him from behind, his hands over my naked waist, gripping my thighs until he broke skin, and yet I never saw his face. I only heard his voice and his simple moans of pleasure, discreetly signaling what he liked and didn't like.

It hurt like fucking hell. He pushed himself inside of me with everything he had and fucked me until there was a stream of blood running down my inner thigh. I could feel him inside of me, shoving up against the walls of my intestines. I didn't love it. He fucked me like he was angry at me. He fucked me even after he finished. He fucked me until the feeling of him fucking me became numb. I grew desensitized to it, he was just a lifeless object going in and out and in and out. I couldn't feel my asshole for days. I didn't even finish.

Time went on and all he wanted to do was fuck me. It became a weekly practice. I'd go to his house during the day or he'd sneak into my room at night. We were way past the point of conversation; we were way past the point of flirting; and we were wayyy past the point of kissing. All we did was fuck. He would fuck me in the morning, fuck me midday, fuck me in the dead of night. He showed me things I'd never seen. He made me feel things I'd never felt.

I felt like a different person when I was with him.

He taught me everything I knew about sex. How to be submissive. How to turn him on. How to position my body. How to arch my back. How to thrust myself up and down the length of his shaft. How to give a blowjob. How to successfully work my tongue around his tip. How to have an orgasm. How to moan, how to whimper, how to pant and stick my tongue out as if I were parched for more sex. When to cum, when not to cum, when to hold myself back, when to give in, when to give it my all.

Soon, I grew accustomed to the feeling and eventually experienced pleasure. I liked being controlled. I liked being held down and taken advantage of. I hated the real world and all the responsibilities that came with it, I was already far too exhausted with everything at this point in my life. Sex with Jax felt like an escape from everything. I could give up my body, forget the world I existed in, and allow someone else to take the wheel. It was paradise, even if it only lasted for a few minutes. I loved the feeling of it. Being fucked, over and over. It became an addiction. He taught me how to touch myself whenever I felt lonely and in need of him. He taught me how to keep myself clean, how to stay fit and healthy, how to keep up my stamina, how to practice on my own.

He was creative. Anything he thought of, we did. He would fuck me in positions I didn't know existed. He would finger my prostate. He would eat me out. He devoured my body, there wasn't a single part of it he hadn't touched or kissed or licked. And I kept quiet and did everything he wanted. I did everything he asked. 

And I loved it.

Until I didn't.

He became aggressive. He became desperate. He wanted to see me all the time, every hour of every day. Sometimes, he'd creep up to my window unannounced and climb inside, begging for sex. And I would give it to him.

It exhausted me. My body ached all the time. I grew weary and fatigued during the day and fell asleep during lessons. Bonnie and Steven noticed. Bonnie took me to the doctor one day to make sure I was healthy. Turns out, I wasn't eating enough. I never really felt like eating and every time I wanted to, I just felt like throwing up. Dark circles appeared around my eyes. I slouched my back and hung my head low in debilitation. Some days I couldn't even walk, or better yet, get out of bed. Bonnie and Steven figured I was depressed—in hindsight, I probably was, I just didn't realize it at the time.

Jax kept coming onto me. He kept begging me to come over. Sex became as frequent as six times a week, one or two times a day, maybe even more than that. With every passing twenty-four-hour period, I became more and more tired, and more and more unwilling. Some days, I couldn't even get hard. I'd just lie down and disappear into my own world as Jax continued to push himself inside of me. I would come home and vomit up Jax's semen into the toilet. I'd fall asleep the moment my body hit the mattress.

Sometimes, I would ask him if we could just sit around and talk the way we used to. He'd always find a way to convince me not to do that. In the beginning, I was more lenient with his advances. As time went on, I grew persistent. I would ask him to stop and he would beg me like a puppy. Some days, I'd fall for his pleas. Other days, I stood my ground.

And when I did end up standing my ground, he got angry. And when he got angry, he got violent. He didn't blow up on me all of a sudden one day and try to murder me, no, he eased into it. It started with a few slaps to the face. A few slaps to my thigh. He would grab my collar during sex and choke me, leaving my throat sore and making it hard to swallow food or drink for the following months. Then, it got worse. He would push me when I declined. He'd shove me and grab me. He'd throw me onto the bed. And then, he'd throw me up against the wall.

One day, he punched me in the face. His fist made contact with my right eye. He cried and sobbed and apologized like a child begging not to be punished by his father, saying he'd be better. Saying he'd get help. Saying he was unlovable and that I was better off without him. He would say I didn't deserve him, and I'd end up the one comforting him, consoling him, telling him it was okay. 

Due to the punch, a vessel had burst in my right eye and there was a bright red blood clot next to my pupil for about a month. I wore sunglasses to hide it, as well as the black eye. That spring, Bonnie and Steven rarely saw me around the house. I would hide in my room, listening to music, playing my drums, doing everything in my power to forget the life I was living.

The second time he punched me, he broke down again and wept all over the floor, throwing a mindless tantrum. He said it was an underlying issue he had to deal with. He said he was going through a lot. He said his parents were getting a divorce and his father would be violent with his mother all the time so he was accustomed to using violence as a form of expressing anger, but not to worry, he'd spend time working on himself and getting better for me. He'd do it all for me. 

Because he loved me.

I sat there on his couch, not looking at him. He sat beside me and apologized over and over, promising me he'd change. He touched my leg and rubbed it. He kissed my thigh. Before I knew it, he was going down on me, and I couldn't do anything but accept his apology blowjob. I hated him but I loved the way he fucked me, so I let him do what he wanted. I allowed him to suck my dick and swallow my seed once I'd finished. He crawled up to me and thanked me, kissing me with his cum-soaked mouth. I didn't say a word.

As that was happening, down the hallway of his house, I caught the eyes of what looked to be his younger sister, peering into the room with worry in her eyes. The ginger collie seemed to be around my age; her face glistened with natural beauty and innocence. She wore pretty clothes and had pretty hair. She walked away immediately once we had made eye contact, nervous and antsy as if she'd walked in on something she wasn't supposed to see.

Little did I know that I'd be seeing her again very soon.

And by 'soon', I meant the following week. In mid-June, he invited me over on his eighteenth birthday, wanting to celebrate one last time with me before he left for college. He was all sad and mopey, saying he'd miss me. I wouldn't miss him at all. Actually, I'd been impatiently waiting for this day to come. For a while now. I felt like I hadn't been able to breathe properly since the day he first kissed me.

He brought me to his bed, which reeked of body odor, and began to feel me up, saying that we might as well do it once more, you know, for old time's sake. He kissed my neck and pushed me down into his sweaty mattress. He said, and I quote, "Don't worry, I'll be back soon to fuck the shit out of you all over again." I panicked and squirmed, thinking about what he said. The words echoed and repeated over and over in my head. I couldn't handle the idea of it; I was so close to being free of his grasp, only for him to tell me he'd be back. I'd be spending every moment following his departure dreading the day he'd return. 

He continued to kiss me despite my squirming. I said no and tried to pry his hands from my chest. He became persistent and began to beg. I said no again and pushed him off of me with force. He got aggressive.

He yelled some angry words. I yelled back. He grabbed me and shoved me violently up against the wall, nearly dislocating my shoulder. Stunned, I tried to get back up onto my feet, but he kneeled down to my level and began to hit me. He held me down on the floor and tried to remove my clothes. He dug his claws into my fur and tore fresh wounds. I screamed as he jammed his fingers down my throat. He struck me in the forehead, attempting to knock me unconscious.

Dazed and confused for a moment, I looked up at him as he stood over my body, looking down upon me like I was an ant caught under the sole of his shoe. I couldn't move, I couldn't think, my vision had gone blurry. He didn't try anything. He just wanted me to watch. He wanted me to lie there and see who had the power. He wanted me to see who was in charge. He wanted me to just sit there, stupefied to the brink of paralysis, and stare up at the man who owned me. He wanted me to know that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be the one in control.

His face was foggy but his smile was clear as day.

That was when my senses returned... and with them came his little sister.

She barged into the room, screaming the word 'stop'. She lunged at her big brother and succeeded in pushing him aside, despite her miniature figure.

I scrambled onto my hands and knees, backing myself up into a corner. The girl jumped in front of me, shielding me from him.

"GET OUT!" She screamed.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" He shouted back.

"GET OUT!"

"This is my fucking room!"

"JAX, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

"FUCK YOU!"

"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!"

He was speechless, brimming with rage. His face was engulfed in anger.

I cowered away in the corner, staring at him from over the girl's shoulder as I hid behind her. My paws gripped the flat walls, scratching at any bumps in desperate search of something to hold onto, something to keep me steady and poised. The girl backed up into me, covering me with her entire body, protecting me with her life.

Jax's fists clenched. I feared the worst for the poor savior girl. She'd have to suffer the consequences of protecting me.

But, I was wrong.

He fled the room like a coward.

He was gone.

That was the last time I ever saw his face.

I sank to the floor and began to cry. The girl spun around and dropped to her knees.

"Are you okay? Hey, you okay?!" She asked frantically, over and over, gently holding me by the shoulders. "I'm so sorry, he's horrible, he's the worst, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry..."

I had no idea who she was. Even so, I reached forward and hugged her, crying into her shirt. She wrapped her arms around me and rubbed my back, squeezing me with all the love in her heart. I felt safe for the first time in months. I could finally breathe again.

"It's okay... You're safe now, he won't hurt you... I won't let him hurt you anymore," she whispered into my ear. After years of music being the only audible thing to bring me peace, I finally found that comfort within a real, living person.

"As long as I'm here, he will not hurt you." Music to my fucking ears.

I nodded my head as she held my face tenderly in her palms.

"...What's your name?"

My bottom lip quivered in pain. "...Ari."

The girl wiped away the blood coming from the cut on my bottom lip.

"Hi, Ari," she greeted with a friendly smile. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Eden."

I never told Bonnie or Steven. In fact, nobody other than Eden knew about it. The abuse and the torture, the brutality, the trauma; I bottled it all up inside of me and never allowed it to see the light of day. And I swore to myself that I would never tell another soul. Not a single person, ever.

Jax left Cloverland to go to college that summer. In a flash, he was completely gone from my life after being the main focus of my existence for eleven months. It's funny how fast someone can disappear. His image just became a faint, reoccurring memory in my head, a stencil engraved into my brain, a ghost haunting me from afar. He lingered the same way the sun would if you'd closed your eyes after staring directly at it for a prolonged period of time.

I spent the first half of my summer just withering away in my room, decaying under the covers of my bed, trying to recollect myself and all the pieces of me that were left scattered by him. Bonnie and Steven periodically checked in on me, and I told them I was fine because, in actuality, I was. After months of intense torment, I felt free again. I prayed to God that he wouldn't come back, and thankfully, he never did come back.

Eden gave me her number shortly after our first meeting and encouraged me to keep in touch. One day in July, we eventually got around to seeing each other again in person. We got some drinks and sat on the swing set in the park, quietly existing in close proximity to one another. It was calm and quiet and only slightly awkward, but it was just what I needed. Eden constantly stared at me with this guilty expression as if she were the one who abused me. I didn't like being stared at like a victim, but I really couldn't blame her.

We talked about life and I got to know her a little bit. She talked about school and her friends and how much she hated Cloverland—which I frankly didn't understand, it was a beautiful neighborhood. Much better than the neighborhoods I lived in growing up, for that matter. Turns out, we both had an undying passion for music. Finally being able to meet someone who shared the same interests as me was probably the highlight of my life at that time. I learned about her obsession with Arcade Fire and decided that would be the next band I'd listen to once I got the chance. She played me a few songs, including her favorite song, 'Wake Up'. I loved it, and I loved being there with her, sitting in the warm grass, soaking up the sun and listening to good music. We had a lot more in common than I initially imagined.

Near the end of the hangout, she suddenly became sincere and handed me a wad of cash as an apology. It was about thirty to forty dollars worth. She had been planning to give it to me the entire time we were hanging out. She said I didn't have to accept her apology, but at least accept the money. I politely declined, but of course, she insisted. She ended up shoving the cash into my pocket and hugged me before leaving.

"See you," she mumbled, hiding her face as she began to cry. She quickly spun around and fled, leaving me there on the sidewalk with roughly thirty-eight dollars and sixty-seven cents in my pocket.

The fact that it wasn't an even amount told me that it was probably all the money she had in cash. She willingly emptied her wallet for me.

I returned home with the money, the guilt weighing me down as if there was an anvil in my pocket. I felt like I had robbed her of all her life savings. It felt rude to give it back, but it felt even worse to hold it. I wanted to get rid of it immediately.

The moment I stepped through the doorway of the house, I spun on my heels and immediately stepped right back out, hastily making my way over to Tunes. I entered the store and stormed to the back, staring at the familiar white album cover of my favorite record, seated on the vinyl shelves like a golden needle in a haystack, waiting just for me. I reached in and pulled out a copy of Twin Fantasy by Car Seat Headrest on vinyl and tucked it under my arm, instantly marching towards the front desk. I slammed the money down on the counter and looked up at the cheetah in front of the register, handing him the record.

"This is a great album," he marveled, scanning the barcode on the back of the plastic. "It's good to see kids like you getting into stuff like this."

I eyed him strangely. "Huh?"

"Well, I mean, you're young. This album is pretty mature."

"...How young do you think I am?"

"...Twelve?"

"I'm fifteen."

"Oh, shit."

I stared at his name tag. 'Taylor'.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"And you think I'm too young for this?"

"I never said... Nevermind." He carefully slid the album into a paper bag and scraped together the cash on the counter, inserting it into the register. I grabbed the bag and held it securely by my side. He then asked me— "I assume you got into it because of the re-release, right?" 

"What?"

"The re-release. They re-recorded it, the album originally came out in 2011."

"I know that. I've been listening to it since I was nine. What do you mean they re-recorded it?"

"Oh, shit, dude, you don't know?"

"...What?"

With my new prized possession, I went home and urgently searched online for a way to listen to the re-recording. I hadn't known about it, and frankly, I felt stupid for not having known about it. Coincidentally, Bonnie came into my room for her periodic check-up on me and discovered my most recent purchase. After a bit of interrogation on where I got the money from and where I bought the record, she eventually brought me down to the basement and dug up her old Victrola for me. She had to wipe off all the dust and remind herself how to use it, but even then, I was overjoyed. I think it was the first time I ever hugged her.

I spent the rest of the day, locked inside my room, listening to the new enhanced version of my favorite album. At first, I didn't know how to feel. It was jarring on a first listen. But then, after a few repeats, I fell back in love with it. I felt like I was experiencing it for the first time again; the journey it took me on, the love and the heartbreak, the thrill and the sorrow, the adventure, the man behind the songwriting, his story, his passion, his love. It sounded better than ever. It was clearer, it packed a stronger punch, it screamed louder than ever before. It was everything I needed in that moment. It was a sign from the universe. A sign to begin again, start fresh, begin anew. I had survived, and I would continue to survive, no matter what came my way.

Hearing Will Toledo's passionate voice sing the lyrics, "Don't worry, you and me won't be alone no more," was the tip of the iceberg that eventually brought me to tears.

For the following week, I spent every single day just listening to the album on repeat, over and over and over and over. Shirley barged in a few times just to scream at me to turn down the volume. I flipped her off and cranked the volume knob to the max, jumping and moshing around in my room without a care in the world. It was everything to me.

Eden came over one day (through the window, of course) and the two of us just sat there in my room the entire time, listening to the album. We laid down, side by side, on my bed and stared up at the ceiling together as the music poured out from the speakers of the record player, allowing our spirits to be transported from our bodies and sent upward into a higher heaven.

"Oh, fuck, yes! I love this one!" Eden cheered once the song 'Cute Thing' began to play.

"Shut up, this is my favorite song ever," I added on, the two of us gushing over the track like two squealing fangirls. We sang in unison, sitting up from the bed and dancing around the room. Having her there to experience the music with me willingly was by far one of my happiest memories.

"I would sell my soul to hear that song live," Eden laughed as the two of us collapsed back down onto the bed after the song had ended, drastically out of breath.

"I bet all music sounds better live," I added.

"Wait, you've never gone to a concert or anything before?!" Eden gasped, her jaw dropping.

"No, never," I told her, shaking my head. "I probably would've gone once if I actually had money. I heard concerts are, like, super expensive."

"Well, I mean, yeah, if you're, like, a fan of Beyoncé or fuckin' Taylor Swift," Eden scoffed. "The big artists require the big bucks. On the other hand, tickets for smaller artists run for only, like, twenty to thirty dollars."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah, I've gone to tons of shows with my friends!"

"Wow, that's so cool," I expressed, dreaming about going to my first concert.

"When my band eventually plays shows, we'll probably be selling tickets for, like, three dollars, anyway," Eden chuckled.

"...You're in a band?"

"I never mentioned that?"

"No, you didn't!"

"Oh! Well, I am!"

"That's so fucking cool! How long have you guys been around?"

"Only a few months, we started it in January, I think."

"I didn't know you played an instrument!"

"I don't, actually! Well, I mean, I can sorta play guitar... but in the band, I don't. I'm the lead singer. None of the guys can really sing, except for maybe one, I guess."

"You're in a band with only men?"

"Weird, right? Speaking of instruments, I'm guessing you play the drums?" Eden picked her head up from the bed and pointed at the drum set in the corner of my room.

"Yeah! Been playin' since I was nine."

"That's fucking awesome, Ari."

"Thank you."

As the faint, somber chords of 'High to Death' echoed and reverberated off the walls of the room, the two of us stared into one another's eyes as we laid there in the bed, our heads turned to face each other, just existing with the music as well as the safety and tranquility it provided. After having been through so much shit caused by the same person, it meant everything to the two of us to finally find someone else to confide in. Although I was aware she had an entire life outside of this room that didn't involve me, I knew for a fact that what we had was special.

"...I heard Car Seat Headrest is going on tour," Eden mentioned, raising a suggestive eyebrow. "They're gonna be playing a show in Philadelphia this September. That's only, like, an hour or two away from here."

"...Oh?"

"...You wanna go with me?"

I had to hold back the urge to explode into a million pieces right then and there. I'm fairly certain you can predict what my answer was to her offer.

That September, Eden and I scraped together enough money to buy us general admission tickets to see Car Seat Headrest live on their North American tour, as well as supplies and bus fares to get to and from. It was my first time leaving the state on my own, unsupervised and without an adult, so I was definitely nervous, but having Eden by my side made it worth it. We packed our bags with water and other supplies and boarded the bus, spending the entire hour-and-a-half-long ride talking and joking and laughing.

We got off the bus and made it to the Franklin Music Hall in Philly, Pennsylvania around six in the afternoon. The line extended a few feet back from the entrance, but we didn't care. It didn't matter how close we were to the stage. As long as we were getting into that venue, we were happy. There was a moment when we saw adults carrying IDs and freaked out, worrying that it was an 18+ show, but then we saw other unaccompanied minors and instantly felt relieved.

The doors opened at seven and, thankfully, we got inside just in time. The overwhelming amount of people all trying to rush into the building at once was beginning to stress me out, but Eden was always there to calm me down. We were about halfway across the room from the stage, but little did I know that our spot on the floor would be changing drastically in the forthcoming hours. The opening acts came on and performed after about an hour of standing and waiting, and they were great as usual, but then Car Seat Headrest finally took the stage and it was electrifying. 

The whole room erupted with energy and passion once Will Toledo, Ethan Ives, Andrew Katz, and Seth Dalby showed their faces before a crowd of super fans. Their set began and everything instantly devolved into chaos. The speakers exploded with booming, screeching noise, loud enough to make you go deaf. The lights onstage whirred and burst with vibrant, flashing colors, bright enough to make you go blind. And the sea of people in which Eden and I found ourselves in, they all thrashed about, jumping, dancing, moshing, sweating, screaming, singing, just chaotic enough to make you go numb. I don't think I ever felt more alive than I did in that mosh pit. We all paraded about, stomping, shouting, throwing ourselves into one another, diving over each other, being carried from one end of the room to the other. I almost lost Eden in the ocean of sweat-soaked teenagers, but with a tight grip, we held onto one another and faced the storm together, side by side.

Then, they began to play my favorite song of all time. The moment I heard those first few chords of 'Cute Thing', along with those first two verses from Will Toledo himself—

I got so fuckin' romantic,

I apologize, let me light your cigarette.

—I screamed at the top of my fucking lungs. It was loud and high. I don't think my voice had ever reached a pitch that high, and I don't think it ever will again, but it's a testament to what concerts can do to a person and the surprises they can bring out of you. I felt like an entirely different person when I was at that concert. And the best part was that I was surrounded by hundreds of people who were the exact same way, including my newest best friend in the whole wide world.

Come visit Kansas for a week of debauchery,

songs, and high fives, and weird sex...

Eden and I, with our hands gripped together tightly, screamed out the lyrics to the song in unison with the crowd as the talent onstage launched into a fit of passion and beauty and sex and romance and all things glorious:

CUTE THING!

DON'T BE RUDE, THING!

HOT THING!

IT WAS NOTHING!

It was the happiest night of my life. Possibly, the best.

I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present.

Sophomore year began and I felt happier than I've ever been in a long, long time. I had a best friend, I lived in a good town with good people, I was no longer being abused by some stupid guy, and I was content. 

Life was just good. It certainly wasn't amazing, but after years of living through terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad conditions... just good was enough for me.

I was doing better in school, Bonnie and Steven saw rapid improvements in my grades and I was actually showing my face more around the house. I was even kind to Shirley. Eden and I hung out all the time, just the two of us. We would go out for food, we would do fun activities like going to the beach or the mall or the arcade, and sometimes, we would just relax in my room. Even though Jax was long gone, I still could never bring myself to go over to her house. Maybe it was PTSD or trauma or whatever, but I physically couldn't go over there anymore; just hearing about her apartment building made me shiver. Of course, she understood, so she would always come to me.

Once October rolled around, my foster family and I went out pumpkin picking one day, and I asked to invite Eden. Bonnie and Steven loved Edie, they claimed her instantly as if she were another foster sibling in the family (which Eden probably would've preferred). After we made it home with our freshly picked pumpkins, we all gathered around the living room dining table and began carving. Shirley and Dahlia were having the time of their life while Eden and I gagged over the sticky, seedy pulp. While scooping out the innards, Eden invited me to a few upcoming events, too, including a party that took place after a football game this upcoming Halloween. I was a little nervous to be around teenagers my age, but I decided to go for it. Hell, why not?

For a costume that year, I bought this silly-looking spandex skeleton onesie that covered my body from neck to toe. I looked at myself in the mirror and had an unexpected bout of confidence. The skin-tight suit showed off the shape of my body well, especially the curves of my waist and the outline of my ass. That was probably the first time I ever experienced this funny little thing called 'body positivity'. I thought I looked hot. Then, I remembered I wasn't a virgin and reminded myself of what my body was capable of. I got turned on just thinking about what I could get away with, now that I could basically fuck freely. 

I left for the football game in my costume feeling good about myself.

But, as I approached the field, I could feel my stomach turning. Though a large, brick wall blocked me from seeing anything before I entered the lot through the front gate, I heard the sound of the crowd roaring loudly with support, cheering on the home team and booing the guests. From sound alone, there was a lot of personality in this audience; a lot of pride and vigor.

I saw the line of costume-wearing high school students paying to enter the football field by the concession stand. Standing there by the entrance, waiting, was Eden, dressed up in a cute After-Laughter-era Hayley Williams costume. The moment she saw me, she squealed and ran up to me, giving me the biggest bear hug of all time.

Eden and I climbed onto the bleachers, and for the first time ever, I saw the people that Eden surrounded herself with in her daily life. I saw the community, the people, the boys, the girls, the parents, the teachers, all dressed up in colorful, creative, lively costumes. And I saw the way they all connected with one another. I saw the relationships. Who got along with whom. The friend groups, the clusters, the couples. I smiled at the sight, seeing them all jumping and cheering whenever the team made a point, and booing and groaning in anguish whenever the team lost a point. I envied it, I wanted to be a part of it, so badly. I wanted to be like the person that I saw in the middle of the crowd who talked to everyone and who everyone knew. I wanted to be like the person towards the top of the bleachers who climbed onto their friend's shoulders and shouted chants of encouragement. I wanted to be like the girl standing on the fence at the bottom of the bleachers, her boyfriend's arms wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her back from falling over as she cheered at the top of her lungs. 

I wanted to be a part of all of it.

But, I knew that even if I went to high school like a normal person, it wouldn't change a thing. I'd be quiet and timid and standoffish as always, constantly dreaming of entering the circle that would forever be forbidden. I could never be like them.

Eden and I sat on the bleachers and watched the game, trying our best to talk to one another over all the shouting. Out on the field were the football players, tossing an almond-shaped ball back and forth in burly, fitted uniforms and large, clunky helmets. The cheerleaders on the front line did their moves and stuck their poses, earning more applause from many of the male members of the audience. One guy shouted, "You're so hot, baby!", to one of the pom-pom-holding beauties, which I'd hoped was his girlfriend. Eden and I gave each other silly looks and laughed our way through the night.

With the score concluding 24 to 17, with our team in the lead, the audience erupted into deafening applause, cheering on our football squad as they romped around on the field, celebrating their win. One jock threw off his helmet, revealing his face and smiling wide as he ran across the field, shooting his fists into the air, howling victoriously. The hyena's contagious smile passed onto to my face. He was certainly cute. The back of his jersey read 'Baxter' with the number 02.

After the game, everyone made their way over to the party, which took place at this rich kid's house just a few blocks down from the field. The entire football team led the way, chanting and barking as they raced down the sidewalk, surrounded by their friends and girlfriends. Eden took my hand and guided me through the chaos, getting us to the front door of the house, which was booming with party music. The host must've only allowed certain people in because he was standing there at the front, checking to make sure no strangers got in. Thankfully, he knew Eden and I was her plus one, so we were both able to enter.

It was definitely a lot at first. The entire house was lit solely by flashing rainbow disco lights and was billowing with vape smoke. The air was so foggy and thick that I thought there was a fire somewhere in the kitchen. In the same way the Car Seat Headrest concert was sweaty and claustrophobic, so was this party. Teenagers were all around dancing, drinking, smoking, doing all sorts of shit, probably fucking, I don't know. There were people everywhere; bodies all over the place, no matter where you looked.

Eden and I stuck together through most of it until the two of us drank a little too much from the punch bowl and became a little too tipsy to remain intact. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, I lost her to some guy named Ryan. I later learned that his name was spelled with an 'I' and not a 'Y'.

I stood in the corner of the room, my senses inebriated from the alcohol, feeling the world around me falling apart at the seams. The sea of people all blended and meshed together in my mind, becoming one huge orgy mess of seismic pandemonium. I had never felt a pressure so intense and thrilling before. I obtained an opened bottle of vodka from the food and drink counter and fled the scene, escaping into the hallway.

Getting far away from the noise, I clumsily shoved my way into one of the bedrooms on the uppermost floor of the brownstone. It was a nice one at that; most likely belonging to some teenage girl my age, judging by the resounding academia theme and all the posters, wall decorations, stuffed animals, and abundantly-supplied bookshelves (no man my age reads). Closing the door behind me, I sat on the bed and gave myself a few seconds to breathe. My head was spinning. I could still hear the party going on downstairs, the intense bass from the speakers making the entire house shake in a sickening rhythm. I placed the rim of the vodka bottle to my mouth, guzzling down the bitter liquid as the floor vibrated beneath my feet. 

That was when I heard heavy footsteps just outside, pounding against the steps on their way up the stairs. Before I could anticipate it, someone had barged into the room violently, but my intoxicated state sustained me from reacting physically. I sat there, drunk and unresponsive, as the frustrated boy in front of me slammed the door behind him and paced around the room angrily, grumbling and muttering like a madman. He stared at the desk in the corner of the room and lashed out mindlessly, screaming as he threw the objects on the desk at the wall, breaking a few things and leaving dents in the plaster.

I focused my hazy vision and noticed the football uniform, recognizing the bold, red '02' on the back of his jersey.

"Yo, you okay?" I said in-between muffled burps.

The boy stared at me with a reddened face and reddened eyes, matching the color of his jersey. He hadn't realized I was in here. He was probably just as drunk as me, if not drunker.

"The fuck are you doing in here?" He attempted to annunciate, speaking in slurred speech.

Realizing how strange I looked, just sitting there on the bed with my legs outstretched on the mattress before me, I stared at the half-empty vodka bottle in my hand. 

"Drinking vodka." I looked back up at him. "It's disgusting."

"Who even are you?"

I cleared my throat, almost gagging. "I'm Ari. I know Eden."

"Oh, shit, yeah," the boy wiped away the drool on his chin with his fist. "I know Eden. She's hot." 

And then he started to cry.

It was definitely awkward, sitting there watching some football jock sob uncontrollably in front of me, but I didn't really mind it. Actually, I kind of appreciated it.

"Are you legitimately okay or should I give you some space?"

The boy shook his head and waved his hands in the air, declining my offer. "No, it's fine, I'm just gonna..." He then grabbed the nearest chair and slowly lowered himself onto it, stumbling a bit in the process. "...I'm just gonna sit here for a bit."

And so, he just sat there for a bit. And so did I. Again, it was awkward and silent between us, but I wouldn't really call it an awkward silence. It was more like we were just existing there in that room together, living with ourselves and all of our issues.

"...Why aren't you wearing a costume?" I eventually spoke up.

"What?"

"It's a Halloween party."

He took a second to look down at his clothes. "This is my costume. I'm a football player."

"But you are a football player. The point of Halloween is to be something you're not."

Then he started crying all over again.

"Sheila..." He whimpered, sobbing into his hands.

"What?"

"My girlfriend dumped me."

"Shit. Sorry about that." The boy kept on crying. I couldn't really hold it against him, he had valid reasoning for it. "...Who are you again?"

The boy looked up at me, offended almost. It was like he expected everyone in the world to know who he was. "Corey," he stated.

I held the bottle of vodka up. "You want some vodka, Corey?"

About half an hour of drinking later, I found myself in a peculiar predicament. There I was, lying in the bed, sandwiched between the wall and the body of none other than star-studded football athlete Corey Baxter, who laid directly beside me, our bodies facing the ceiling.

Corey held his phone over our heads, scrolling through his photo album and showing me pictures of him and his girlfriend—now ex-girlfriend—Sheila. She certainly was pretty.

"Shhhhe wasss... ssso pretty...." Corey spoke in garbled, mispronounced articulation, inhibited by the large amounts of alcohol in his system.

"Yeah... she's pretty," I agreed truthfully, despite the fact that her face looked blurry in every image due to my inebriated state.

"She was everything to me," Corey sniffled, touching his finger to the screen and slowly dragging it across her body in the image.

"Did you love her?" I asked, forcing a burp down my throat as I took another sip of the nearly emptied bottle.

"I dunno..." Corey exhaled, clicking his phone off and dropping it onto his chest as he rubbed his eyes with his fist. "Love is a stupid concept."

I smirked a little at that comment. "Truer words have never been spoken."

"Wh—what about you?" He stammered, tilting his head over to me. "You got any foiled love stories?"

"...Yeah, I guess. Just one," I sighed, staring into his eyes. I don't know why I was opening up to a stranger, but the mood felt right to share. "Just a really... shitty person who hurt me."

"She sounds like a fucking bitch, bro."

I took another swig of the vodka. "...Yep."

"Did you love her?"

Good question, Corey.

"...I said I did, but I... I don't think that was ever true."

"I say..." Corey reached out and took the bottle from my hand, our fingers briskly touching. The sensation sent chills down my spine. He took a lazy, slobbery sip, some of the vodka dripping down his chin, and then held it out for me to take back. "...We give up on love. Forever."

The edges of my mouth curled upwards into a faint grin. I willingly took the bottle from him, sealing the deal.

"I'm with you," I told him, gulping down the last drop in the bottle.

"...I still miss her."

"What even happened?"

"She fucked my best friend."

"Dude, what?! That's so fucked up."

"I know."

"Why do you miss her? She cheated on you."

He hesitated for a moment and stared down at his crotch. "She was amazing..."

"She cheated on you..."

"...at sex."

"...Oh."

"She was so hot, bro," he whimpered in a hot, pent little breath.

"Oh, great."

"Like, fuckin'... perfect, man. Like, perfect sex."

"O... kay."

"Man, I'm gettin' hard right now just thinking about it, like, shit... she had such a tight little pussy—that shit slid around my dick so well... her body was perfect, her back, her waist, mmph, she was so fucking sexy..." He squeezed his eyes shut, his fist tightening. His exhales were one decibel away from being orgasms. I could feel my face begin to heat up. "Fuck, man, I'm so horny... Is Eden single?"

"...Yes, but I can assure you, you're not fucking her tonight."

"I need something to fuck..."

His eyes met mine. I could tell he wasn't himself; there was a certain cloudiness behind his gaze, hindering him from thinking clearly. His head was all scrambled and his perception of left and right—as well as right and wrong—was muddled and confused.

But when he started to feel me up, immediately aiming for my crotch and rubbing my bulge beneath the spandex, it instantly caught me off guard. He wasn't perceiving me as a woman, he still knew who I was and he acted upon instinct as if he'd done this several times before.

In hindsight, it definitely wasn't a smart decision, but at the time, I was also heavily drunk so I really wasn't thinking straight either. And before I knew it, he was stripping himself down to his underwear and tearing me out of my skeleton onesie. He literally ripped off the zipper.

It was my first time having sex since everything with Jax and, let me tell you, it was sheer fucking euphoria. The one and only time in my life that I ever felt that good up until then was at the concert, which was an entirely different experience, I know, but the passion, sweat, and rush of adrenaline were all still the same. 

I'd forgotten how much I loved the feeling of being held down and fucked mindlessly. I was having an epiphany almost; a whole new world was being opened up to me. I loved sex but I hated Jax. Now that he was gone from my life, I could finally fuck without fearing the person fucking me. Corey wasn't as rough or daring as Jax was in bed, but he was still quite the joyride. He bent me over and clamped down on my shoulders, using them as handlebars to pull my body against his, thrusting into me with force, away and back, away and back. We both came so fucking loudly that our screams probably overpowered the bass-boosted speaker downstairs.

I know it's kinda fucked up, but deep down... I wished Jax could've been there to watch the entire thing take place.

My memory grows hazy of what happened afterward. Corey disappeared sometime in the night. After reuniting with a drunk, exhausted Eden, I left the party with my entire backside showing due to the broken zipper. I collapsed into bed the moment I got home and instantly passed out. I slept so well that night.

I woke up the next morning hungover, and yet, I felt no shame. Instead, a rush of excitement. My whole life, music was the main thing that kept me happy. Now, there was a distraction. A really, really, really tempting distraction.

I felt confident. I felt brave. I felt active. I felt sexy and slutty and all that stupid shit. I don't know if it was a hormone thing but I got really horny my sophomore year.

Every time there was an upcoming football game, I would beg Eden to let me come with her. On days when she couldn't go, I just went by myself. I hadn't heard much from Corey after the party, we never spoke once, but I would occasionally watch him play on the field. I became a regular at those games, and every time, I'd scout out someone new. Someone approachable. Someone to fuck.

And every single time, I succeeded. As it turns out, no straight teenage male experiencing adolescence can withstand the power of a queer kid with confidence.

The first boy I ended up turning was this husky named Daniel Pierre: a broad, tan, tall drink of water—seemingly a ladies' man on the outside. It was hard to approach him at first because of all the girls he was busy chatting up, despite only being sixteen, but once he caught wind of me, he never wanted to leave my side. He ended up fucking me under the bleachers towards the end of the game; thankfully, the cheerful school pride above us was loud and proud enough to cover our indiscreet lovemaking.

It was the first time someone had ever fucked me without protection. Jax and Corey, although rampant and messy in their own distinct ways, still took precautionary measures. Daniel claimed to have pulled out, but I didn't really believe him. Once the game was over, Daniel was halfway done with pulling his pants back up when he made the statement: "That was the best sex I ever had". Yet another thing to boost my ego—and libido, I guess.

We both swore not to tell and moved on from one another; the interaction ended as fast and as sudden as it began. He didn't seem too concerned about me whistleblowing though, probably because he knew through Eden that I was homeschooled. He knew I couldn't spread a rumor even if I tried. And, now that I think about it, that was probably the main reason why I was able to score as many boys as I did over the following two months.

At every game, I showed up, I scanned the crowd for a new target, approached them, and ended up running off somewhere with them. Though I couldn't really convince them to have sex with me—I was never as lucky as I was with Daniel—I still ended up sucking a lot of cock and kissing a lot of mouths. I lost count of all the boys I gave blowjobs to, but I know it was a lot. We'd sneak off to parks, empty streets, dark alleyways, my room, you name it. I hated the taste of cum but I loved swallowing it every time I sucked a guy off. Every night would somehow end with some phrase being uttered along the lines of: "That was the best sex, blowjob, whatever I've ever had". My name must've been passed around a bit during that time because whenever I'd show up to another game, I'd catch the eyes of several insecure, sexuality-questioning, closeted, thirsty, horny little boys.

With every clandestine meeting, every scandalous rendezvous, I could feel myself becoming more and more aware of my own identity and capabilities. My confidence levels shot through the roof. I'd brag about it with Eden constantly whenever we hung out. I could tell she was worried about me, despite her cheering me on. On shopping trips with her, I'd buy the skankiest clothing in the sleaziest of stores. I'd go home and take erotic photos of myself in the mirror when the rest of the family was asleep. In private, I'd touch myself wildly, dreaming of my next encounter with another man's dick. 

I felt invincible, unstoppable, like some kind of God.

And I was only sixteen.

The football season was coming to an end and I was soaking up every last drop of whatever I could get while it lasted. I knew that what I was doing wasn't necessarily healthy nor ethical—I knew that it was turning into an addiction of some kind, but I... didn't care. At last, after years of endless misery, I was finally in a good mental state—actually, let me reword that—I was finally feeling good. And I didn't want it to stop. I wanted to be in that carefree, euphoric, blissful state of ecstasy forever and ever.

My reign of terror came to an abrupt end one day.

It was at one of the final few games of the season. After finishing some stranger off below the bleachers, packing up, and saying our swift meaningless goodbyes, I left the field, plotting a course for home. Midway through, on an empty street, my journey was suddenly interrupted as I heard the sound of someone running up behind me.

I spun around and found Corey standing behind me, still dressed in his signature uniform, bending over and catching his breath. I stood there, uncomfortable and surprised to see his face. He held up a finger as he panted, taking a moment to recollect himself.

"...Corey?"

"Hey, yeah," he smiled awkwardly. He must've just come from the game. "Ari, right?"

"Yeah."

It took him a few seconds to figure out what to say. "...Um, how are you? How are you doing?" Even so, I had no idea what he was trying to say.

"I'm... good?"

"Yeah? That's good, that's good, uhm..."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, uh," Corey blanked, spinning his head around to make sure there weren't any nearby witnesses. Witnesses that he knew, for that matter. "...I don't know how to, um, say this."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick stack of rolled-up cash, bound together by a rubber band. My clammy paws nervously gripped the straps of my backpack. "...What are you doing?"

"Look, I know we haven't talked since... you know..."

"...That was two months ago."

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry I never reached out—"

"—You didn't have to. It's fine. It meant nothing, we were just... blowing off steam. We don't have to make a big deal about it—"

"—Yeah, no, I know, it's, just... I've been, um... I've been hearing a lot about you recently."

"...Oh?"

"I mean, a lot, a lot. Like, about what you've been doing. These past few months."

"...Oh."

"I—I'm not here to judge you or anything, I mean, that would just be hypocritical of me—I—I don't care what it is that you do, that's up to you—I, just—I—I wanted to—" He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "...I just wanted to make sure that... you haven't told anyone about what you and I did."

I thought back to all the times I would brag to Eden about that night at the party.

"...You don't have to worry, Corey," I assured him. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't tell people about something like that."

"...I figured you wouldn't, I'm, just..." He looked down at his trembling hands, grasping the money tightly. "...I'm kinda... scared? I dunno..."

"...What are you scared about?"

"It's, just, like—I'm not gay. I know I'm not straight, but I'm not gay. And that's what everyone else thinks of me, or at least, that's what I hope—"

"—Corey, if you only came here to tell me that you're not gay, I'm not—"

"—No, no, Ari, please, just, listen. Nobody knows about this, and I want to keep it that way. Not because I don't like you, not because I'm, like, homophobic or something, I'm... I, just, I—I—I have a life that I've spent... years trying to cultivate and... I don't want this to become the thing I'm known for. I don't want people to look at me in the halls and think, 'Oh, that's the guy who fucked that other guy', because that's not all that I am."

"...And yet, you're totally fine with bragging about fucking Sheila?" I retorted, challenging his claim.

"I don't... I don't normally brag about that stuff, Ari, I was... I was in a bad place and it was a bad time... and you were there, so I... I confided in you and just said a lot of random shit, I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry."

"...No, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking either."

Corey frowned and stared at the money. 

"...This is, like, one hundred, two hundred something total."

He reached forward and tried to get me to take the money.

"...Please, Ari," he bargained, a desperate look in his eyes. "Please, I beg you, please, do not tell anyone about us."

I stared at the money.

"...I don't need you to pay me."

He reached forward and grabbed me by the arm, placing the money in my hand with force.

"I know I don't," he told me. "That's why I think you'll shut up if I do pay you."

"I don't run my mouth, Corey, it's not like I'm telling every single guy I fuck that you and I had sex—"

"—If I want to live to see the end of high school, I'm gonna have to assume you are. Please, take the money, and don't say a thing."

I sighed and shoved the stack of cash into my pocket. "Happy?"

He certainly didn't look happy, but it would have to do. "Again, I don't dislike you... Actually, I envy you. You seem to have everything figured out. I still don't know who I am or what I want. I don't even know if I like football..."

"...Why does doing what you want scare you?"

"...Whatever it is I want, I'm not ready for it."

I could see his eyes watering.

"...Are you gonna be okay?" I asked sincerely.

On the brink of tears, Corey scoffed and scratched the back of his head, holding back the urge to break down. It wouldn't be the first time in front of me.

"...I don't know, Ari."

I stared at the floor and nodded my head.

"I'll see you around, I guess," I dismissed him quickly, spinning on my heels, wanting to flee the scene as fast as possible. 

I made it only a few steps until I heard Corey say: "That night with you was amazing."

I stopped and slowly turned back around.

"I... I know that it makes no sense and that neither of us want it, but..." Corey cleared his throat. "...Maybe we could've been something. I don't know."

"Hey, quick word of advice, stop thinking with your dick," I refuted, facing him head-on. "Just because I—or Sheila—can satisfy your sexual needs, it doesn't mean we're 'the one'."

"...I know that. I never thought Sheila was 'the one', mind you. I just mean that... when I was with you... I actually felt like myself."

I couldn't think of a response.

"Maybe if I wasn't so concerned about what people thought of me, I could've asked you out properly. Because... with what little time we spent together, I liked you far better than any of the girls I've ever been with."

"...Can you imagine how amazing life would be for everyone if people just accepted one another?"

Corey scoffed. "Yeah. What a sucky world we live in."

I chuckled softly. This time, before leaving him, I nodded and gave him a friendly smile. He did the same. We both spun around and walked our separate ways.

"Oh, and for the record," Corey called out as I approached the end of the block. I looked back at him over my shoulder, seeing him down the sidewalk. "That was probably the best sex I ever had!"

That night, I sat in my room, staring at the money he gave me, having icky feelings over it. I didn't want it. I didn't feel like I deserved it. I didn't like how it felt to hold it. Holding it made me feel like... well, like a slut. Other than that, I had no way of explaining where I got it from if Bonnie or Steven ever asked, and that's only if I ever purchased anything with it which I ended up promising myself I wouldn't.

Having all this money in my hand made me feel ironically worthless. I began to question my recent obsession, and in turn, I began questioning myself. Was this all I was good for? Was I to leave my mark on the world by merely being a good lay?

The next morning, I shot straight up out of bed and threw on a winter coat. I marched my way over to Tunes and waited by the door until they opened. Once I saw Taylor approaching the door, taking out his keys to unlock it, I immediately stormed inside the moment he opened it and made my way to the back.

"Ari, what are you—?!" Vic jumped in his chair the second I barged into his office. "You're not allowed back here—!"

"—Give me a job."

"What?"

"Vic, please." I stepped forward and slammed my hands down on his desk, standing over him. "Give me a job."

The age requirement to be hired as a part-time worker at Tunes was eighteen. Vic gave me the job despite me still being sixteen. It was the first and best job I ever had.

My first week, I was introduced to the rest of the staff, who were all over the age of eighteen, including Tara, Ashley, Natalia, and Taylor. Taylor became my mentor and trained me on several routines: replenishing product shelves, documenting and ordering new inventory, cleaning and fixing up used records for sale, working the PO system and the register, and yadda, yadda, yadda. At first, it was terrifying; I felt like my coworkers were judging me for my age and watching my every move, I screwed up at the cash register countless times, I dropped a few things and slipped up my words when helping out customers—I was a whole mess. But two weeks in, I started to get a hang of things and was learning the inner-workings of the store, inside and out. 

I got along with my coworkers and began to develop a deep love and appreciation towards them, as did they for me. Being the youngest worker, they called me the little brother of the Tunes family. We would laugh and talk about our lives during shifts and discuss music, new and old. They each had individual tastes, which expanded my range and allowed me to connect with artists I'd never heard of before. Tara played me some older music while Ashley would catch me up on newer releases. Natalia and I would obsess over indie rock while Taylor showed me a broad horizon of things. He certainly had the most diverse interests. The store became my safe haven.

It felt good to have a job. I was making money by working in my favorite store in the whole wide world, selling my favorite thing in the whole wide world. I became a good salesman, I gave customers recommendations and shared my opinions, flexing the knowledge that I'd gained from my peers. I knew what to say and how to say it. It felt good to finally reconnect with my love for music after everything. I'd been distracted recently and had forgotten all about it.

Speaking of, during those two weeks of working, I hadn't gone to a single football game. I hadn't been thinking about men or about sex or anything like that at all.

Well, I mean, sure, I sorta developed a little bit of a crush on Taylor—and occasionally found myself drooling over the thought of him—but he was two years older than me and an adult anyway, so there wasn't any chance.

It was the final game of the season. I attended it with Eden because, well, why not? Almost the entire school population showed up, too, in support of the football team's epic conclusion. This time, I didn't search for someone to screw. Instead, I just watched the game with my closest friend and enjoyed it. I cheered when they made a point. I booed when they lost one. I stood on my feet and clapped along with the rest of the crowd.

Once the game was over, I watched as all the football players retreated into the small locker room building off to the side of the field. The crowd slowly dissipated in small amounts, eventually clearing out. I'd heard there was another party going on afterward, so they must've all been headed there. I asked Eden to go home without me.

I closely examined as certain football players left the locker rooms, dressed in their normal everyday clothing. I watched and I waited until the majority of them had left. If my memory served me correctly, Corey was always coincidentally the last to leave the locker room, so I figured I'd be able to catch him alone.

I'd been thinking about Corey ever since our last conversation. I'd been thinking a lot about Corey and what he said. And I hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.

I entered the empty locker room, peering my head down the dimly lit hall of stacked locker cages, searching for that familiar, handsome face. All of the lights had been shut off, except for a meager few around the corner, which reflected off of the steel locker doors. I heard the sound of a shower being run.

"Corey?" I whispered, turning the corner.

Before me stood someone who was not Corey. Actually, they weren't standing. Sitting on a bench in front of an opened locker was Sean Leith, Corey's best friend and teammate on the football field. He was a Dalmatian, like Steven. I'd never interacted with him personally before, but I'd heard about him nonstop from Eden and probably everyone else who went to her school that I'd encountered.

The canine was all sweaty and tired after finishing up his final game of the season, slowly undressing and changing out of his sports uniform, exposing his bare black-and-white-spotted torso and wearing nothing but his padded football pants. He looked up at me the moment I stumbled upon him. I'd caught him at the wrong time. In the room next to him, the shower was running.

"Oh, shit, sorry," I apologized. "I was looking for Corey, I'll leave—"

"—He's gone," Sean called out before I could go. "But, hey, you're... Ari, right?"

"...Yeah, that's me." I didn't know how or where he found out about me. He barely even knew Eden so he couldn't have learned from her.

"Oh, boy, I've heard a lot about you," he snickered, tucking his balled-up socks into his sports shoes.

"Oh. Okay," I shrugged, turning to leave.

"Hey, wait, stay," Sean beckoned, standing up from the bench.

I had to admit, he sure was fine as hell. I don't know if it was the steam from the shower that was making the room feel all hot and stuffy or if it was my hormones acting up as usual, but either way, I was feeling something. I couldn't take my eyes off of him and his well-defined build, slick with sweat, and those tight pants, showing off the shape of his taut thighs and calves, as well as other parts down below.

"...Hello?" He waved his hand, gaining back my attention.

"What—? Sorry, yes?" I shook my head. Calm down, Ari, calm down.

"I asked what you needed Corey for..?"

"Oh, just..." I bit my tongue. "...I wanted to talk to him."

Sean slowly approached me, eyeing me with a devilish stare. I instantly felt smaller and shorter than him by all comparisons, pinned down and with my feet stapled to the floor. All that confidence I gained over the past few months withered away in a flash. 

"What did you want to talk to him about?"

Gulp. "Um... Just, like, about us, I guess."

He walked right up to me, taking his time as if he were testing my limits. He was much taller than me, probably one of the biggest guys I've ever seen. The height of my eyes just barely reached his shoulders, and when I stared directly ahead, I got a face full of pecs. I did everything in my power to hold back the urge to start undressing myself.

"You know, after all those rumors," Sean hummed, looking down at me, closely examining my face, "I've always been interested in meeting you. And now, we're finally face to face."

Double gulp. "Um, so... should I just go, or..?"

"You're much nicer looking than I'd imagined," the Dalmatian flirted expertly, touching my hair and coiling his finger around an individual strand. "No wonder you were able to pull that many men."

"How do you... know about—"

"You're the talk of the town, cutie," he smiled seductively, biting his lip and flashing only one end of his teeth. "And, from what I've heard... you're a bit of a slut."

Triple gulp.

"Uhm..." My face was turning red.

Unexpectedly, Sean reached his hand out to the right of my face. I flinched, but instead of him reaching to touch me, he was instead reaching for the locker right beside my head. He opened the door and rummaged through it, searching for something specific.

Once he found it, he reeled his arm back, retrieving the item. In his hand was a packaged condom. He placed the square corner in his mouth and held it between his teeth, a provocative glimmer in his eager eyes.

I could feel my breath escaping me. The Dalmatian turned around and sauntered over to the shower room, standing in the doorway before entering. He grabbed the waistline of his pants and slowly pulled them down, along with his underwear, exposing himself to me. He kicked off his remaining article of clothes, which landed in the pile of other shit he owned by the bench in front of his locker, and peered back at me from over his shoulder. His eyes were like daggers; they hungered for me like sustenance. He ripped open the small plastic square and removed the condom from the package, giving me one last look before disappearing into the steam of the shower.

Quadruple gulp. I quickly got undressed.

"Ugh, FUCK—!" I moaned vociferously, gasping for air and clawing at the tiles while being shoved up against the damp shower wall, my entire body wet and sticky from both sweat and steaming hot shower water. Not a single inch of my thick coat of fur wasn't exposed and madly soaked in the ongoing stream.

Sean buckled his arms around my waist and pushed himself into my back, the two of us crashing into one another, our drenched bodies and overheated limbs melting together and fusing into one. We both released short, stifled sighs of pleasure in time with one another, taking a moment to catch our breath with the comedown after hitting our shared climax in unison. I leaned my head back, resting my panting, drooling muzzle against his, feeling his hot breath waft against my face. I could feel his throbbing member inside of me, emptying load after load into the condom that plumped up in size like a balloon about to burst.

"Fffuck... Oh, God..." Sean exhaled into my neck, his wandering paw feeling up my chest, his claws delicately tracing circles around my nipples, making my senses run wild. He kept his rhythm despite reaching his orgasm, still leisurely sliding in and out of my rear, slower now than he was a few seconds ago.

I hung my head forward, squeezing my eyes shut and allowing the water from the showerhead to pour down onto me, washing and cleansing my hair. With his hardened, secreting member still buried deep within my stomach, I reached for the handle in front of me, turning the temperature knob to a colder setting as I was on the brink of dying from heat overexposure.

That was when I felt a sharp, intense pain in my lower abdomen as Sean forced himself deeper into me, smashing his entire body forward and slamming me up against the wall in a fierce, violent manner.

"OW! What the f—?!" I yelped, unable to speak clearly with my face smushed into the damp wall.

"Now, here's the deal," Sean suddenly grumbled in a low, haunting, and intimidating growl, morphing into an entirely different person from before. "You don't tell anyone about this, I won't tell anyone about you and how you like to sneak around."

Well, this was certainly unexpected.

"...Are you trying to blackmail me?" I asked in pure disbelief. There were several things stupid about this, but the randomness of it was what really got me going. I had to suppress a laugh at first, but that humor vanished quickly once he pushed deeper into me again, shooting steel fits of agonizing pain throughout my lower intestines.

"Heh, that's a funny way to put it," Sean chuckled like an evil supervillain.

"This is stupid," I snorted, all the while slightly frightened for my life. Mind you, he still had me locked in that position with a literal stick up my butt. "Who would I tell?"

"Oh, you'd find someone, I'm sure."

"I don't care if people know I fuck, Sean. There's not much on the line."

"But do they know you fucked Corey?"

Oh, shit.

I froze up, suddenly afraid. I reassessed my situation and realized just how bad of a position I had put myself in. One wrong move and he could do whatever he wanted. One wrong move and I could be trapped in a case of sexual assault or, even worse, statutory rape, but even then, who would believe me if I tried to fight back? We literally had shower sex before this.

Instantly, I felt weak and small again, held down and locked away against my own will. It was bringing back bad memories.

"Yeah, that's right," Sean whispered into my ear like a snake slithering its way into my brain. "I know you fucked my best friend. And I know that he's trying to keep that part of him a secret, unlike you. And I also know that you two made an agreement to keep quiet. Would be a shame if he were outed to the whole school because of you, wouldn't it?"

"What are you doing?" I groaned in pain, firmly pressing my hands against the wall to get a grip on my surroundings.

"I'm just taking necessary precautions to ensure that my secret doesn't spread."

"I wouldn't tell anyone. I don't do that."

"Then how does half the school already know about you and your antics?"

"I don't even go to your school!"

"Yet, somehow, you're the talk of it."

"You fucked Sheila!"

"Small town, I guess."

"Sean, I—MPH!" My entire body went into lockdown as Sean dug himself a deeper hole, his tip nearly stabbing the surface of my stomach, sending shockwaves of agony and torment throughout my gut. I guess bigger isn't better. "I—I won't tell—! Why would I tell anyone? Why?!"

"Well, as you can see, I can be pretty unlikable," he muttered. The worst part about this was that I couldn't even see his face, being pressed to the wall like a hot iron. "Unfortunately, that's something most people find out after I put my dick in them. I wouldn't want you running your mouth after this, you understand?"

I was at a loss for words. With one final push into me, Sean helped me find them.

"AH—! Fuck, okay! Yeah! Yeah, I understand!"

"Thank you," he spoke in a cheery tone, patting my shoulder merrily. "I appreciate you, bud."

Just as I was practically begging for release, he gave it to me, but in the worst way possible. He didn't exit me slowly or give me a chance to breathe, no. He instantly slid out of me in a vicious, aggressive motion, like a missile shooting out of a cannon, his lasting impression leaving phantom pains, coursing throughout my stomach. I almost fell to the floor, paralyzed.

"See you whenever I see you, homeschooler," he dismissed, exiting the room, leaving me there to slowly sink to the shower floor, quivering and trembling. It was possibly the worst pain I've ever experienced.

Nope, actually, Jax still holds the title for that.

I ended up going to the after-party, but I hadn't planned on staying. I walked in, snatched the nearest full bottle of alcohol, and walked right out. It was some kind of whiskey, I didn't know, I barely read the label. I just popped off the cap and started drinking as I made my way down the sidewalk.

I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know anywhere to go. I just walked mindlessly, taking one sip per step, my head getting dizzier and more out of touch with reality the farther I ventured.

In about fifteen minutes or less, the bottle was emptied. Drunk again, I sat on the curb of the sidewalk, my shoes on the tar road, my eyes intently focused on the storm drain across the street. From afar, I watched the rainwater as it rushed down the side of the road like a tiny river stream, dripping into the sewer system, contaminated with small, broken-up chunks of twigs, leaves, and dirt. 

I just sat there and stared for a while. The world was rotating beneath my feet and all I could do was watch rainwater spill into the storm drain for, like, twenty minutes.

"Arizona?" I heard a voice approach, along with the sound of car tires crunching against the gravelly road.

I looked up from the storm drain and noticed the car pulling up right in front of me. In the driver's seat was Taylor, my cheetah coworker from Tunes.

"What are you..?" He then noticed the empty glass whiskey bottle in my hands. "Oh, God... Arizona, are you okay?"

"...Tay-lah?" I stumbled over my words, mispronouncing his name horribly.

"Okay, you're drunk, I'm driving you home," he concluded from that one response alone. He immediately hopped out of his car and picked me up from the street, hauling me into the passenger's seat.

He tried asking me for my address, but unfortunately, I was physically incapable of articulating a single word in the entire English language vocabulary. So, he took me to his apartment instead, giving me a place to lie down for a little while until I sobered up.

His apartment reminded me a little of Rian's (who I still hadn't met yet), just slightly larger and more organized. The difference between Rian's apartment and Taylor's apartment was that Taylor's actually looked like it was owned by an adult and not an emancipated high schooler.

His bedroom sported a lot of red and orange tones. His walls were painted a deep mahogany. The lampshade bore a dark red veil, illuminating the room with fervent, amatory tones. Even his bed flaunted a burgundy comforter, stitched like a quilt with plastic ruby jewels hanging from the ends and corners; it was like something you'd find on your grandmother's couch. It certainly was comfy to sit on, which I did as I waited in Taylor's bedroom for Taylor himself.

He entered the room with a glass of water for me to drink.

"Are you feelin' any better?" Taylor bombarded me with questions as I guzzled down the liquid. "You don't need to throw up or anything? Do you wanna take a nap?"

"I'll be out of your—" hic "—hair soon, so don't you worry," I slurred my speech, randomly tapping the tip of his nose with my finger. He was clearly put off by that.

Even though I'd just had sex about an hour prior, I was already horny again. I was horny and desperate to distract myself from the guilt I was feeling, the alcohol wasn't enough to get my mind off of it.

"It's fine if you stay, just, you know," Taylor shrugged, taking the empty glass out of my hand, "maybe... don't tell people that your nineteen-year-old coworker took you—a minor—to his place while you were drunk and susceptible in the middle of the night?"

"Why phrase it like that?" I muttered, carelessly rummaging my fingers in between the locks of my hazel brown hair, making a mess of it. "Why turn it into a sex thing?"

"Um, okay, first of all, never said it was a sex thing—"

"—You clearly implied it—"

"—Second of all, I'm not gonna be the one turning it into a sex thing, our boss probably will. And probably everyone else who saw me load a helpless and lonely teenager into my car."

Ignoring him, I pushed my feet off the floor and scooted further onto the bed, lying down vertically with my head resting on his pillows. I stretched my limbs and rubbed my sensitive thighs together, kicking off my shoes. Taylor stood up and looked down at me as I made myself at home, nestling into the bed comfortably. 

Then, a bad idea emerged.

Holding my arms over my head, I shut my eyes and released a long, drawn-out exhale that sounded scarily close to a whimper of pleasure. "...Would you want it to be a sex thing?"

I heard no reply. I opened one eye and gazed up at him, noticing the way he stared at me with an unhealthy desire. Sure, I was super drunk and was running my mouth like it was no one's business, but even so, my game was unmatched. It was like I had a superpower; I could sniff out any guy's sexuality in minutes. It only took a little teasing to coax their true selves out of them.

And that's exactly what I did with Taylor.

He stood there, fighting the urge to drop everything and give in. He understood the situation. He understood the consequences that came with it. He understood what would come if he gave into temptation and indulged. And I understood it as well. I was the one taunting him.

I lifted my right leg and held it in the air, seductively swaying it side to side, a sort of invitation for him to come inside.

"Arizona..." Taylor chuckled awkwardly, attempting to avoid eye contact. "We work together. You're a kid. Let's not do this."

"Do you think I'm a slut, Taylor?"

"...What?"

"Apparently, according to some people, it's what I am."

"I... I don't..."

"Maybe if you fucked me, right now, you could answer that question for yourself."

He scratched his forehead, quivering with enticement. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. "Arizona..."

"Ari. Just Ari, you can call me that."

"Let's not do anything we'll regret."

"Oh, so you're not entirely against it?" I sat up in the bed and positioned my hands behind me, crossing one leg over the other to form a tight X with my lower limbs, making my pants tighter and a certain body part of mine harder. I wonder if he noticed it growing under my jeans.

"Ari, come on..."

"I don't see you cursing or kicking me out of your house," I bit my bottom lip, rubbing my feet together cozily. I knew all the right moves, his buttons were easy to press. A subtle head tilt here, a tiny leg shift there. It was all in the body language. "If you want me to stay, Taylor, I'll stay."

Not a word came out of his mouth. Instead, all I could hear was the sound of his heavy breathing, resisting the predatory urge to mate and breed and fornicate and all of those fancy little words that mean the same thing. His eyes were pointed directly at my legs, specifically, my crotch. He couldn't look away. His red hot little face said everything I needed to know. He knew what he wanted, he just needed a little nudge in the right direction.

"Do you want to fuck me, Taylor?"

"Ari..."

"There's no harm in telling the truth," I said, lying back down and reaching for my fly, undoing the button of my jeans. "It's not illegal, you haven't put your dick in me, yet."

"...Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, you wanna fuck me?"

"Yeah."

"Now, was that so hard?"

"God, I wanna..."

"...What? You wanna what?"

"...Jesus Christ, Ari."

I grabbed the zipper of my fly and slowly pulled it downward, the sound of the metal teeth undoing activating his fight-or-flight instincts.

"Let's just pretend I'm old enough."

"We can't."

"It's not illegal if no one finds out."

"We can't, Ari."

"How about... it's only wrong if you cum inside of me?"

He was panting like a dog.

"It's not sex," I attempted to convince him even though we both knew that was a lie. I grabbed the waistline of my jeans and slowly worked my way out of them. "It's not sex if you don't finish. So, it's not a crime. You're just getting a feel for it, that's it. Just a test run."

Taylor slowly approached the bed, gradually making his way on top of it, crawling on all fours.

"...Yeah, that's it," I whispered as he came closer. "Let's just try it out. For just a second, that's it."

"Just a second," he repeated like a mindless slave, climbing over me in the bed and touching his hand to my lower abdomen, reaching under my shirt.

"Remember, you can't cum."

"I won't."

"You promise?"

"I promise," he nearly whined, feeling up my torso from beneath my shirt.

"Come on in, Taylor," I breathed longingly into his neck as he began to kiss mine. "I'm all yours. Do with me as you please."

So, yeah, it's pretty obvious that we both ended up cumming anyway, sealing our fate. Having sex with two different people two times in a row in one day—or better yet—in one night was probably not the best way to go about things (and it certainly was not light on my asshole). After sneaking back home post-fuck, I woke up the next morning in my room sore out of my motherfucking mind and sick to my stomach. I sat on the floor of the shower for about forty minutes, trying not to cry. I felt like a dirty whore all over again.

At work, him and I barely spoke a word to each other. We stood on opposite ends of the store; quiet, cold, distant. Shame and regret lingered in the air like smoke. Winter break came just in time and I hadn't seen him for a month. 

I got really depressed in January and spent most of the winter indoors, not coming out of my room unless it was for food, school, work, or to go to the bathroom. Again, Taylor and I never exchanged a single sentence of dialogue while on the clock. Vic and the others definitely noticed something was up, but none of them budged.

I got really sick one time in the spring and couldn't get out of bed. My body was freezing and overheated at the same time and I spent hours upon hours just rolling around in my own sweat, tugging at the cramps in my stomach, consuming nothing but water. Again, the thought of eating made me want to vomit. Getting up and walking around made me dizzy. 

Bonnie took me to the doctor a grand total of eight times in the month of May. It felt like the only thing keeping me alive was music. All day, every day, I spun my favorite album on the record player, hoping it could rejuvenate some spark of hope inside of me. For the most part, it did, but once the final track on the album had concluded, I would nosedive right back down into that deep, dark well of emptiness. Eden would constantly ask to come over just to see if I was okay, and although I refused, one day, she came up to my window with a container of chicken soup. We binge-watched an entire season of Parks and Rec together on my laptop in bed that evening.

I kept thinking of Taylor. I spent nights fantasizing about him, longing for him, endlessly touching myself with the thought of him in my head. By the time summer came around, I was a hot, horny, lovesick mess. I jacked off like crazy, desperate for intercourse again. I hadn't had sex in months and I was going through a sort of withdrawal—five months sober and in need of a relapse. I felt like a creep at work, staring at him with a beastly hunger when he wasn't looking. I required relief instantly and there was no other candidate more fit for the job. There were no sports games, no school events, no opportunities whatsoever for me to get off easy. It had to be him.

I couldn't take it anymore. I crept out of my room one night and tried to locate his house from memory alone. It started to pour and I didn't have an umbrella. After rerouting and redirecting myself for the thirtieth time in the humid, mucky rain, anxiously biting my nails like a heroin addict, I finally came across his apartment building. In the first floor lobby, I scanned the list of names and room numbers on the intercom system, realizing I didn't even know Taylor's last name. I ended up going down the line of abbreviated T's, buzzing one apartment after another, answering to strangers, asking them for their name, and apologizing to them for disturbing their sleep. After several minutes, I landed on 'T. Saunders'. 

"Hello?" His voice fizzled through the muffled speakerphone. I instantly knew it was him.

"Taylor?" My entire body flared with excitement, my fingers clawing at the speaker in desperation. "Taylor, it's me, Ari."

"...Ari?" He'd obviously just woken up. "What... What are you doing here?"

"I need you to fuck me, Taylor... I can't stand it anymore, I need you."

"...Ari. You can't be doing this."

"Taylor, please. Just one more night. And then I'll be gone from your life. Forever, I'll be gone, I promise, I'll stay as far away from you as possible, I'll quit my job, I'll do anything, just let me in."

"...You love your job."

"Just LET ME IN!"

No response. Then, I heard the latch of the lobby door unlock.

I ascended the stairwell and we fucked the moment I entered his apartment. It felt so, so horribly wrong. I felt disgusting, like a monster. Just a filthy little slut. But, God, it was pure bliss. No matter how terrible it made me feel, the shame and despair could not compare in the slightest to the sheer fucking ecstasy of being bent over and fucked stupidly like a brainless slave, deprived of my liberty, stripped of my dignity, just a soulless sex doll. If I had the opportunity to become either a zombie or a robot that got fucked repeatedly, on and on, all day, all night, without rest, forever, I would've taken it. It would've been my nirvana. 

Taylor and I were practically screaming like two savage animals, starved and in desperate need of release. All that pent-up fire was finally being unleashed as he exploded inside of me, fireworks going off inside of my stomach. I sprayed my cum all over his sheets, orgasming so loud that the neighbors next door were banging on the walls. The pleasure was so intense that the sweat from our entangled limbs evaporated into steam and wafted in the air around us, clouding up the thick, moist atmosphere.

Despite what I said, Taylor didn't want me to leave. In fact, he kept me around. 

At last, we were talking again at work, and occasionally, when no one was looking, he'd put his hands down my jeans and grope me. The tension was so severe that we had to physically restrain ourselves from fucking in the break room. He'd invite me over. I would come. And every night concluded with passionate fornication. Even on days where we couldn't see each other, we'd call privately and he'd talk dirty as I touched myself.

We became addicted to one another that summer. Having each other to hold and to touch became a basic human necessity at that point. We couldn't live without it, it drove our motivation to get out of bed in the morning, it gave us the energy needed to get through the day; we lived our lives daily with the promise of sweet, raging sex as an end-of-day reward.

He fucked me like his life depended on it. He'd growl and bark and howl, reaching deep within the back of his throat every time. He fucked me in every position known to man. He knew his stuff and he proved it to me. It was, by far, the best sex I'd ever had in my entire life. And yes, I was still only sixteen.

Time went on, months passed, and before I knew it, it was September again. Following the start of junior year, after I'd turned seventeen, he wanted to experiment a little. He pulled out an old shoebox underneath his bed one night and opened the lid, presenting me to a wide-array of sex toys. He asked me if I was okay with it, and though it freaked me out a little, I still gave in. We decided on a safeword and started off slow. The first thing he did was handcuff me to his bed frame and tie a blindfold around my eyes. He asked me to pretend I was a hostage, begging for freedom. The second time, he placed a red rubber ball gag in my mouth. With every meeting came another step further into delirium. I surrendered to his otherworldly desires, the same way he surrendered to mine. I figured I owed him that, at least, even if I was started to get uncomfortable.

Winter rolled around, and he got more and more psychotic. Over holiday break, he wanted to do things I was barely into. He was obsessed with me and discovering what I was capable of in the bedroom. I was like his little lab rat, something he could poke and prod and dissect, something he could strap to a table and conduct experiments on.

He began to remind me of someone.

Sure, he never tortured or abused me, everything we did was consensual, but he was constantly begging. One time I told him I wasn't up for it and he kissed my feet and nearly cried. That was when I realized I was stuck again. Sex with Taylor lost its edge. Whenever he fucked me, all I could see was Jax's face. 

Eden noticed I was acting different again. All the signs were there: I was depressed, I wasn't eating, I was fatigued during the day, I slept in every morning, I barely paid attention, I looked like a fucking mess. She immediately understood what was happening and begged me to put an end to it. She nearly cried, too.

It went on for longer than I'd anticipated. Taylor and I had been "together" for over a year at that time. Constantly devoting myself to one person sexually had somehow worked its way back into my daily routine. One night in the spring, Taylor fucked me harder than I'd ever been fucked before. He tugged hard on my collar and choked me, which really triggered my memories of Jax.

"My God..." He whispered into my ear once the storm had settled. "...You sure you're only seventeen?"

Something about that really bugged me.

A weird thing happened. I started looking down at myself from the ceiling up above, realizing where I was. What the fuck am I doing here, in my nineteen-year-old coworker's bed, his arms folded tightly around me like a leech? 

And then I remembered it was me who started this. I was at fault. I'd made my bed, now I was both figuratively and literally lying in it.

I didn't feel in touch with myself anymore. I felt like I existed outside of my own body, allowing my sex drive to take the wheel while my spirit got dragged along by a leash, constantly floating around as my physical form descended further into madness. 

I thought I wanted this. A while ago, I felt like I was gonna die if I didn't have this. And now I wanted out.

It didn't make sense. How can I expect myself to remain happy if everything just inevitably fades?

Well... everything but music, that is.

"I think we should stop seeing each other," I told him as I stared at the ceiling, making eye contact with my ghost who surveyed from above.

Our meeting ended in a terrible fight. We had a "breakup" of sorts. I told him I just couldn't do it anymore, he got mad and blamed me for initiating all of this, calling me a hypocrite and a bloodsucking vampire. Oh, yeah, and a slut, too.

I stormed out of his apartment, fuming with rage, but walked the empty streets with tears streaming down my face. I didn't want to feel this way anymore. I needed a distraction. Something to numb the pain. Like sex—but not sex, because that was what I was initially running away from—maybe alcohol? No, alcohol is the reason I get myself into shitty situations like this. Maybe some music will cheer me up. Some dancing would help. Yeah, some dancing would...

Halfway through that thought, I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside of a bustling home, teenagers my age crowding the front patio, party lights and booming music coming from inside the building. I then remembered it was senior prom at Eden's school. This was likely the after-party.

Fuck it. I went inside.

In the midst of the chaos, flashing colors and sweaty bodies thrashing around at every angle, I stood in the center of the dance floor, taking in the sight of strangers violently dancing without a care in the world, in harmony with the music. Despite my guilt and shame weighing me down like a brick, I closed my eyes and just allowed my body to do what it naturally did. I danced and jumped and twirled and paraded about, becoming one with the sea of people, getting lost in the waves. I was sobbing the entire time, but I couldn't stop dancing. It was the strangest sensation in my entire life.

The music was doing its thing, but it wasn't heavy enough. I still felt sad. So, naturally, I went over to the drinks table and poured myself a cup of whatever the fuck was in that cooler. I know I said I wouldn't partake in any alcohol, but one drink couldn't hurt, right? Or three? Or ten?

The music and the alcohol together was a slightly better combo, but it wasn't enough. I went back onto the dance floor, hoping I could somehow just sort of disappear into myself, but alas, I could still feel my shoes against the sticky floor. Hallucinatory visions marked by dizzy spells began to flash in my head, making me see things that weren't there. At one point, I thought I saw Jax. And then Corey. Then, Daniel. And Sean. And Taylor. The alcohol wasn't working its magic. I needed to black out.

I sat myself down on the couch that belonged to the stoners in the living room, unable to clearly see all of them through the fog. They passed me a few blunts infused with some wacky ass shit produced in the Netherlands or something, I couldn't remember. I smoked it and began to feel like I was falling through the floor.

"Yo... are you Arizona?" Some leopard dude sitting next to me asked, stoned out his mind. There was like a ten-second delay in between each and every syllable that came out of his mouth.

"Huh?" I picked my head up from the frame of the sofa.

"Are you 'Arizona Sunshine'?"

"Sundance, yeah, why?"

"Yo..." The other stoners sitting on the floor began to cackle. "...Aren't you the dude that Daniel Pierre fucked?"

I sighed and rested my head right back down onto the sofa cushions, staring at the ceiling. "...Where'd you hear that?"

"I dunno, rumors spread."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that."

"Heh, you the loyal type," the leopard nodded his head in slow motion. "I admire that, man."

Moments later, the high got even stronger. It felt like my body was existing in two places at once: both in the ceiling and against the walls, when in actuality, I was lying down horizontally on the sofa, my head in the leopard boy's lap. The party was beginning to calm down—I don't know if that was because it was drawing to a close or if my crippled sense of reality was blocking out the world entirely. The room faded away and it ended up only being me and him. 

After what felt like hours of moronic conversation, I later learned his name was Ezra Myers and that he was graduating high school in a few months. I didn't really understand how someone like him could graduate, considering he didn't really revolve in the same direction as planet Earth, but regardless, he was cute in a stupid sort of way.

"You just don't seem like the type-a guy who has sex, y'know?" Ezra slurred, peering down at me in his lap.

"No, I don't know, what do you mean?" I laughed uncontrollably through every word.

"I dunno, you just don't look like a guy who fucks!"

"What distinguishes me as the type of guy that doesn't fuck?"

"I dunno... the way you dress?"

"What about the way I dress?!"

"You look lonely, shiiiit, I dunno..."

"Lonely? Damn... you didn't have to come for me like that."

"Shiii, my bad, man..."

With the music and the alcohol and the substances combined, I still couldn't get those images out of my head. Jax, Corey, Daniel, Sean, Taylor. Every boy I ever kissed or sucked off. The amalgamation of all three deafening distractions wasn't working. There was only one option left.

"You'd be surprised, I have lots of sex..." I mumbled, staring down at my thighs as I rubbed them together, a tent forming beneath my jeans.

"You for real, man? How many times you done it?"

"I can't say for certain..."

"What's your body count, then?"

"Uhh... five? I think?"

"Damn, and you still a junior? Shit, you got more action than me last year."

"I don't go to school, those terms mean nothing to me," I joked, not really understand half of the things coming out of my mouth.

"Oh, so you're, like, fuckin', VIP-type shit..."

"What?"

"You don't go to school, your hookups gotta get to you exclusively, you're like VIP sex..."

"You think I'm exclusive?"

"Hell yeah, you dicked down five guys already..."

"Well, first, they dicked me down, and second, I know plenty of people my age that have had more sex than me. You don't need a VIP pass to sleep with me, I'm pretty... fuckin' easy to pull..." Probably the truest thing I've ever said. "There's just not a lot of sexually active gay men in American high schools these days—that's probably what makes it exclusive."

"...Do they all gotta be gay?"

I caught his stare and raised a suspicious eyebrow. "...What do you mean?"

"Well, do they gotta be gay to fuck wit' you?"

"I mean... if a guy fucks me, there's gotta be some gay in them, right?"

Ezra seemed conflicted, ideas bouncing around in his head. "What if they know their sexuality is straight but they wanna experiment and shit..? Like, what if they just curious?"

A grin slowly made its way onto my face. I teasingly began to trace my finger against his inner thigh. "...Why, are you curious?"

What are you doing, Ari?

Ezra started to laugh, red in the face. "Shiii, maybe..."

"Oh, really?" I began to laugh too.

"I dunno, man..."

"...Shit, wait, do you want to fuck me?"

"Ahhh..." His laugh of amusement morphed into one of embarrassment. "Man, I dunno..."

Whatever you're thinking of doing, Ari, stop it, right now.

"Seriously, do you..." I sat up from his lap and faced him with my body. "...You have to give me a definitive answer."

"...Maybe."

"That's not definitive."

He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words to say, but nothing computed. He just couldn't stop smiling.

Don't, Ari.

I got up from the couch and searched for the closest bedroom.

Stop.

"Hey, where you goin'?"

"Come with me!" I gestured him over, a mischievous smile plastered onto my lips.

Ari, stop.

"Where we goin'?"

"Do you know where the bedrooms in this house are?"

Ari, fucking STOP!

It was too late.

In the war between body and mind, my body emerged the victor.

It was one of the few times that I ever took charge of the situation, with Ezra being a little too high to situate himself inside of me properly. Instead, he laid himself down on the bed, his body facing the sky, and I climbed on top of him. I barely looked at him the entire time. I just shut my eyes and watched it all take place through my legs and my waist, allowing the sensation of insurmountable pleasure to wash over me. It wasn't about him or us, it was about me. For me, by me.

The second it was over and I'd gotten what I came for, I threw on my clothes and immediately left the room, not once batting an eye at the man I'd just stripped of his "homosexual virginity". I hated myself for not saying anything, I hated myself for running like a coward, but I just couldn't bare to look at him. 

I had used him. I took advantage of someone deep in the throes of denial and sexual ambiguity, desperate for answers or clarity. He trusted to find that in me and I just dined and dashed. The worst part was that he was probably one of the nicest guys I'd ever met. And I'd abandoned him there; left him on his own to deal with the mind-numbing obscurity and lack of understanding of his own identity. Like every other closeted straight boy I'd come into contact with.

He graduated and I never saw him again.

I was a user. And I discarded people after I got what I wanted: just a quick and easy fuck. I played with people like dolls in a dollhouse; I lured them in with my tricks and got them where I wanted them, only to throw them out once their value depreciated. 

I left the party back where I started: a sobbing mess, in need of a new distraction.

A part of me considered stopping midway while crossing the street and lying face down on the tar road, waiting for the oncoming headlights to take up my entire vision until my entire world had gone white and then eternally black. 

But I'd probably despise myself even more for that. It was the easy way out. The path of a coward. There was nothing I could do to make things right. Even ruling out my own existence was shitty on my part. Every single factor of my being was wrong and unfit for the world.

It's stupid and melodramatic, but maybe things would've been better if I were never born.

Mom and Dad would probably still be together, and happy, at that. None of those foster families I had growing up would've had to deal with such a cosmic burden to their lives. God forbid, Bonnie and Steven wouldn't have had to drag my sick, poor, lonely little bottom everywhere they went. Eden would've never had to fight to save my life.

I got home and entered through the front door, too tired to use the ladder. I stepped inside and found Bonnie, Steven, Dahlia, and Shirley gathered around a tiny baby boy in the middle of the living room, peering down at the bunny cradled snugly within Bonnie's arms.

"...What's going on?" I asked the group.

They all looked up at me, stunned by my presence. Bonnie and Steven beamed, Dahlia nearly jumped for joy. Shirley glared with an icy fury.

"Ari!" Bonnie smiled, delighted and excited by my arrival. She took a step forward, allowing me to get a close-up look at the face of the child, sleeping soundly against his foster mother's chest. "Meet your new brother, Theo."

With a tear-stained face, I looked down at the boy. So new to the world, so fresh and unbroken. Young, innocent, pure. Clean and unsullied.

"My new... foster brother?" I asked, staring up into Bonnie's eyes.

"Well, yes, but... think of him as like your actual brother, Ari."

"Where were you?" Shirley piped up, her arms crossed stiffly.

"Shirley, come on," Steven whispered to her.

"How can he be my actual brother if we don't share the same parents?" 

Bonnie was put off by my comment. I could see it in the way her face dropped. "Ari... You do share the same parents."

"You're not my mother, Bonnie," I muttered to myself.

"...What was that?" She leaned in, her eyes growing sharp and intense.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Ari?!" Shirley raised her voice.

Steven tried to step in. "Hey, hey, let's not—"

"No! I'm sick and tired of his attitude! He's a jerk!"

"Shirley, let's calm down—"

"If he really cared about us, he would've known to be here, we told him a thousand times Theo was coming today, and he never listened! He never showed up!"

"Mommy, what's going on?" Dahlia tugged on Bonnie's skirt.

"I want you to repeat what you said," Bonnie ordered, pointing a stern finger at me.

I avoided her fiery glare, instead choosing to focus my attention on Theo, sound asleep and unbothered. A foster child, younger than I was when I was given up on. I wanted to be happy, I wanted to meet my new brother and hold him in my arms, but I could not stand the fact that he'd be growing up in the same environment I did. I couldn't stand to see this poor, harmless boy be swept up into the true horrors of the world and bear the same torture that I once endured. I could not stand the idea of him growing up to become me.

"...How old is he?" I asked, my eyes watering all over again.

"One," Steven answered. "Thirteen months, to be exact."

Who in their right minds would bring a child into this world without their permission and end up tossing them away to another family like a piece of raggedy old clothing? Why have the child when you cannot care for the child? What the FUCK is wrong with this cruel, malicious, monstrous, ugly, dirty, filthy FUCKING world?!

"Why did you take him?" My voice was all shaky and whiny, tears rushing down my face like a waterfall. Bonnie could not believe her eyes or her ears. "Why did you do this to him?"

"...What?" She took a step back, overcome with an underlying sense of dread.

"He's gonna die," I cried, making Bonnie's face erupt into fear and horror.

Steven caught Bonnie as she stumbled back into his arms. "Ari, hey—"

"What the FUCK, Ari?!" Shirley screamed.

"Hey, don't curse!" Dahlia whined.

"He's gonna die, we're gonna kill him," I sobbed, hiding my face away into my hands. "This world is gonna kill him. He's gonna die."

Bonnie began to cry. She stared at me like I was an intruder in her home; someone she no longer recognized. She fled the room in a hurry, racing upstairs, taking Theo with her. The intense and sudden motion had awakened him, and the screeching noise of a baby wailing uncontrollably could be heard through the ceiling. Steven panicked, not knowing what to do.

"Um, okay, guys, let's, uh, let's take a breather—"

"You're a FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Shirley ran up to me and shoved me violently.

"SHIRL!" Steven reprimanded.

Dahlia began to cry, too, watching the entire family break apart into pieces, right before her eyes.

"YOU'RE THE WORST FUCKING PERSON IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!" Shirley began to kick at my shins as Steven tried his best to hold her back. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

"Shirley, PLEASE!" Steven begged.

Fuck this. I made my way over to the stairwell and marched upward, quickly absconding to my room.

"I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM SO MUCH!" ...could be heard from downstairs right before I slammed the door to my bedroom shut. "HE'S FUCKING EVIL!"

The screaming and the crying bounced off the walls of the house and shot directly into my ears, nearly making me go deaf. I clasped my paws over my ears, trying to block out the noise. It was like my mother and father all over again.

I frantically searched the bedroom for my Walkman. The moment I found it under the covers of my bed, I placed the headphones over my ears and cranked the volume to the max. I hit the play button and 'Cute Thing', my favorite song in the whole wide world, fed into my ears through the playback. But I didn't feel the comfort or joy it usually provided.

The volume was frighteningly loud, to the point of deafening, but I'd do whatever it took to drown out the world around me. I clasped the earphones of the headset and nearly pressed them into my ears, attempting to lodge the music right into my head where it could stay forever. I just wanted to fade away and not exist. I just wanted to live without a body or a mind, instead, just as an empty black space of no consciousness or physicality whatsoever. 

I wanted to die. In that moment, I really wanted to die.

But then the world decided on a fate far worse.

At first, I thought the Walkman had broke. But then a blistering pain shot bullets of agony into my ear drums and began to set my brain on fire. It felt like my entire head was about to explode, hearing both everything and nothing at the same time. And then, a slight ringing.

I threw the headset off of me and discovered a bright red substance staining the orange foam earmuffs.

At the top of my lungs, I shouted for Bonnie. It horrified me even more when I was unable to hear my own voice. I shouted her name over and over, perceiving no sound whatsoever. That same, high-pitched ringing kept droning and on and on inside my head. I almost passed out.

After going to the doctor's for the hundredth time this year, I was then presented with possibly the most devastating news I'd ever received in my life.

Due to excessive noise exposure from an early age and blunt force head trauma gained over recent years, my hearing was severely at risk. Since I hadn't been treating my exhibiting symptoms and was constantly exposing myself to harmful noise pollution ever since I was nine, my condition had gotten worse over the years. And I was too blind to realize any of it was happening. 

The doctors warned me that although my hearing loss could be treated and my expectancy could be extended, it was far from likely that it could be cured indefinitely. There was no possible way to reverse the condition. All I could really do was try to protect it from getting worse.

They gave a list of ways to treat my condition, as well as audiologists to visit in case we were interested in trying out hearing aids or surgical implants. They recommended limiting my exposure to music, if not completely expelling it from my life. It sounded like torture.

I spent the summer before senior year doing what was expected of me: hiding away in my room, not eating, not sleeping—just slowly decaying to rot in my sad, cold, soggy bed. I asked to be taken off the work schedule because of vacation, when in actuality, I couldn't bare to see Taylor. And I also couldn't bare to be surrounded by the one thing I love, knowing that I was literally restricted from enjoying any of it.

Though I couldn't stand silence and the space it allowed for my thoughts to corrupt and feed into my fears, I spent every second of every day living with it—dealing with it. Enduring it. Surviving it. And I was barely hanging onto a thread. But if all the misery meant possibly saving my hearing, I'd willingly do it for however long it took. My daily routine went a little something like this: wake up, stare at the ceiling, try to exist with the torturous, excruciating absence of sound, get out of bed to use the bathroom, return to my room, spend the rest of my day just lying there in my own puddle of sweat, and lastly, go to sleep.

Though Steven would check in every now and then, I rarely saw the rest of the family that summer. Bonnie was busy looking after Theo. Shirley was busy staying angry at me. Dahlia was afraid of me. Out of everyone, Dahlia's rejection hurt the most. They knew about my condition and gave me my space, but they also weren't ready to forgive me yet. And I stood by their decision. I couldn't bring myself to forgive me, either.

Eden texted and called many times, I never answered. She tried coming over once but I wouldn't let her in. I just shut the blinds and pretended I wasn't home when I heard her knocking on the glass window. She didn't deserve to care about someone like me so I gave her the option not to. In fact, I chose it for her.

My eighteenth birthday was coming up and the doctors asked to see me again for a checkup. On the way to the office, I prayed and prayed and prayed that the four months of abstinence was inevitably worth it.

They told me I had about a year left.

They apologized and said there was nothing they could do. They opened the conversation up to alternatives and possible surgeries, but everything past the point of "you have a year left" faded into a muffled blur. That was it, my fate was sealed. The final sentence of my contract, signing away my life, was dashed and dotted in permanent black ink. 

In a year, I'd be going deaf.

I didn't care anymore. I gave up on trying to protect my hearing. The moment I got home, I plugged my headphones into the Victrola and blasted every single record I acquired and owned up until that point on full volume, feeling the music shake my bones, destroying the filter of safety I'd spent the last four months of my life tirelessly building for nothing.

The family warmed up to me and expressed their sympathies and condolences. I took their pity with a stone cold face and barely a hint of life behind my eyes. Something died in me that day; from that moment on, I would continue to live my life as just a sack of flesh and fur with no soul or life to inhabit it.

Vic and everyone else at work caught wind of the news and sent a company 'get well soon' card to my address. Eden eventually convinced Bonnie and Steven to let her inside so that she could see me. With nothing left to lose, I chose to tell her everything. She said her sorries and conveyed her sorrow. I hated every second of it.

September came and Eden invited me to see the first football game of the season with her, in hopes that it would cheer me up a little. I knew it wouldn't, but I still decided to go. I hadn't left the house in a while anyway, it would've been good for me.

I regretted it immediately once I showed up, though. I hadn't been to a game in two years, and still, nothing had changed. Occasionally, everyone would glance at me like I was some sort of town pariah. The screaming and the cheering hurt my ears and made my entire body tremble. Eden could tell I was having some sort of panic attack and asked if I was alright. I quickly excused myself, saying I'd be right back, and left her alone on the bleachers.

"Hey, are you okay?" I heard a voice call out to me as I bent over, vomiting, in the vast, dark, private, empty space beneath the bleachers.

I wiped my mouth and looked up to see a silhouette of some dude standing at the opening of the bleachers, spying on me.

"Yeah," I called back.

"...You're Ari, right?"

For fuck's sake.

"Yeah," I said with a sigh this time.

The boy came forward, carefully approaching me. Tiny slivers of light peeking through the metal structure of the bleachers shone down on him, illuminating his face once he'd gotten close enough. He was a tan, silver lynx, looking to be around my age, timid and wary like most of the boys I'd fooled around with under here during games. He kept his distance, maybe to be polite or something. I knew why he was here.

"Uhm... I-I'm Alex," he introduced himself, nervously fiddling with something in his hands. "Alex Freeson."

"Hi, Alex Freeson," I responded monotonously.

"So, uh..." The boy bit his lip anxiously, his face scrunching up with unease. He stared at the little patch of vomit on the stone floor. "...Are you okay? What happened?"

"Sick," I told him.

"...Do you need to go home or something?"

"Why are you talking to me?"

"Oh, um..." I could hear him sucking his teeth and gulping down his saliva. He stared down at whatever was in his hands doubtfully. "I heard you could... do something for me?"

"What?"

He held his paw out, offering me a crisp twenty dollar bill.

"...Can we just get this over with?" He blurted out suddenly and without consideration, looking away out of fear. 

I cautiously took the bill from his hand and stared at it. "...I don't understand."

"...You know," he sighed, his face pale and corrupted with disdain. It looked like he would be next in line to vomit. "Can we just skip the whole routine and just do it? I wanna get it over with."

"...I'm not a prostitute, you don't need to pay me."

Alex then looked up at me as if he hadn't known, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh. Right—no, yeah, I knew that, I..."

I held the twenty dollars in my hand and slowly exhaled through my nostrils. I shrugged gently and shoved the bill into my back pocket. "...Alright, undo your belt."

"No, no, I—" Alex waved his paw in dismissal. "I mean... I meant..." He then groaned and stared up at the ceiling, spilling his guts— "I want to have sex."

"Oh."

"...Yeah."

I thought about it for a second. My hesitation was torture to him, every second of silence dragged him down a little further.

"...Let's not do it here," I eventually told the lynx, walking past him and heading back out into the open air. "We'll go to my house."

Abandoning Eden at the football game—which hadn't even reached halftime yet—Alex and I walked alongside one another, quiet and retained. We eventually made it to my house and I guided him through the whole ladder-window routine. Alex was awkward and jumpy the entire time; he was definitely the most shy and sheepish of the bunch I'd been with.

"You have a... nice room," Alex complimented, standing in the center of my bedroom as I struggled to shut the window. "Oh, sorry, do you need help?"

"I got it." Once the window was closed, I rose to my feet and brushed my hands off.

Alex was still distracted by my room. He scanned the walls, admiring what I'd done with the place. I rolled my eyes, promising myself not to get attached as I marched forward, establishing my authority and initiating the get-go. I grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned up to kiss him.

"Hey, wait—!" Alex jumped back before our lips could make contact. I froze up, confused. "I... I don't want that, I... just want to have sex."

"Oh." I dropped my hands to my sides. "...Alright, c'mon."

I lured him over to my bed and climbed on top of it. He seemed so scared for some reason, especially when I started to undress.

"You okay?" I asked after changing out of my shirt.

"Yeah—yeah, sorry," he stammered, standing over me on the bed, nervously taking his own shirt off.

I side-eyed him suspiciously as I unbuttoned my jeans. Before I could pull my pants down, I noticed how slow and how unhurried he was to get undressed. "...We don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable."

"No, no, I want to do this."

"...Doesn't look like it."

"I want this, I do, I swear. I, just... have to warm up to it."

"Okay, we're not doing this," I concluded, zipping my fly right back up.

"No, wait! Ari!" He panicked as he saw me reach for my shirt. "Please, please, just give me a minute, I want this, I promise."

I'd never seen someone so desperate and so reluctant at the same time.

"...Why are you doing this?" I asked him, holding the shirt in my hands. "Why do you want to do this with me?"

"I'm..." Alex released a shaky breath, staring at the floor as he tried to collect his thoughts in order. "I'm confused, okay..? I've been confused for a while. I thought this would help me find out."

"Find out what?"

"What I am."

"Like... sexuality-wise?"

"Yeah..."

"...Why did you think this would help?"

"I don't know!" Alex whined, sitting himself down clumsily onto the bed as he collapsed his head into his hands. "Maybe, if I liked it, I'd find out!"

Oh, boy.

"...Yeah, well," I put on my shirt and sat down beside him, "you can like a lot of things. One night with me isn't gonna give you all the answers."

"It would at least be a step in the right direction."

I stared at the saddened lynx on my bed, trying my best to figure out what to make of the situation. A part of me just wanted him to leave, now that sex was out of the question, but another part of me pitied him. He was just a confused, lost soul in search of some plane of solid ground to stand upon. In the not too distant past, I'd snatch boys like him up for dinner like an eagle feasting on prey. I used to think I was helping them explore themselves, when really, I was just taking advantage of their fragile state of self-consciousness for my own personal gain.

"...I'm sorry," I apologized to him, though he clearly misunderstood what I was apologizing for.

"It's okay," he spoke in a low, supple voice, covering his left eye with his palm.

"...What makes you think you're not straight?"

"I dunno, is anyone straight?"

I chuckled a little. He got me there.

"I guess..." Alex continued, leaning forward and sitting with his back hunched over his knees. "...I have this friend, and I constantly think about him. I've never once found myself attracted to men, but, this one guy, he's... He never leaves my mind."

"...In what way does he not leave your mind?"

"...Sometimes, I just think about him holding me," Alex spoke in the gentlest of whispers. "Nothing more. I'm just in his arms and... I'm safe."

"You don't ever think about kissing him? Or anything more?"

"No. Well, I mean... I've thought about it, but I'm... not sure it's what I want."

"What you want is... to be held and feel safe?"

"By him. And only him." Tears came to his eyes. "...But, I could never ask him for that."

I reached out and hugged him. I'm not sure why I did it but it felt right. I welcomed a complete stranger into my arms because they felt lost and alone. I was nervous, but I figured he needed it. And he did.

He began to cry into my shoulder, hugging me back tightly, nearly crushing me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and offered my body to him in a way that I've never offered it before. Not for sex, or for pleasure, but for comfort.

Minutes passed and he'd grown quiet. He picked his head up from my shoulder and stared into my eyes, his own glassy orbs gleaming with gloom.

"...Are you alright?" I asked, gentle and polite.

He nodded his head. 

And then he leaned in and kissed me.

I kissed him back. 

He touched me, kindly and with care. 

We slowly lowered ourselves onto the mattress and continued to kiss with utmost respect and tenderness. 

We took it at a slow, unhurried pace. I helped him out of his clothes first and then he helped me out of mine. 

Stripped down to our drawers, we just sat and looked at each other for a bit.

He traced his fingers against all the cuts and bruises I'd procured over the years. 

We embraced strongly for a bit, he rested his head on my bare chest as I brushed my fingers through his delicate, silky hair.

Once he was comfortable with it, we tried it out for a bit. He entered me, mindful and considerate. I guided him every step of the way. I taught him what to do and how to do it.

We ended up not really getting anywhere with it, and that was okay. Neither him nor I reached any sort of climax, and that was okay. We stopped and put our clothes back on, per his request. And it was all, perfectly okay.

"...I'm sorry," Alex said, his head hanging low with mortification. We sat on opposite ends of the bed, just peacefully co-existing in the same space together.

"Don't be sorry," I told him, tapping my foot against his, a friendly gesture.

"I've never had sex before."

"That's okay."

"...Did I just lose my virginity?"

"...It's your choice. You can still call yourself a virgin if you'd like."

Alex stared at his knees, his eyebrows furrowing. "...I don't think I will." He then looked up at me, a faint smile lingering on his face. "I want to remember you."

"What if you never see me again?"

"Doesn't matter," he gently shook his head. "You'll always be important to me. You were the one who gave me the greatest night of my life."

"...But you never got what you wanted."

"I did. I felt safe. And not alone."

It got quiet again. I gazed into Alex's eyes, longing to hold him once more.

Every now and then, I think back to Corey and wonder if we could've been anything. Anything more than just a quick one-and-done. If the circumstances were different—if he weren't so afraid to be himself and if I weren't so lost—maybe, in another life, there was a chance that we could've... fallen in love, perhaps. And not a harmful, tortuous love, no—a true, honest love.

And now when I sit here, looking at the boy sitting across from me in my bed, I wonder the same thing.

Maybe, in another life, we had a good, wholesome relationship. Alex would've learned how to seek comfort in other people, and I would've learned how to offer it.

Maybe, in another life, Jax could've grown up surrounded by love and care instead of violence and hatred. He would've learned how to pass that love onward; onto his mother, his sister, maybe even onto me. And maybe even onto himself.

Maybe, in another life, boys like Daniel and Sean and Ezra could've found a way to be at peace with themselves and not feel constantly pressured to hide who they truly are.

Maybe, in another life, I could've grown up with parents who stayed. Maybe, in another life, I could've grown up in one permanent household that I could've called home. Maybe, in another life, I could've grown up to become someone who understood how to offer both love and comfort, and how to receive it as well.

Maybe, in another life, we all could've understood how to offer love and comfort, and receive it as well.

"...Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," I answered him.

"...Why do you do this? All the sleeping around and... stuff?"

It was the first time someone had genuinely asked me that. I realized that I didn't really have an answer for him. I don't think I ever stopped to question why I did any of it.

"...I don't know," I told him, truthfully. "I guess that's something I'm gonna have to figure out on my own."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"...I don't think so, no."

"Do you ever plan on it?"

"Not sure. It scares me a little."

"I want to fall in love," Alex professed, staring up at the sky through the window behind me. "Have you ever thought about being with someone, all the time, and never getting sick of it?"

"I don't know if I'm capable of that," I exhaled heavily. "I'm not used to things that stick. Life just comes and goes."

"You're scared of things that are permanent?"

"Well... more like I don't trust them. I could be stable for one moment and then, the next thing I know, the floor is falling away from underneath me."

"...Don't you ever get tired of it?" Alex questioned, tilting his head in remorse. "All the relentless hookups and stuff?"

"Not really."

"But, you don't ever want to be in a real, loving relationship?"

"...Maybe one day," I whispered to no one but myself. "But for now, the idea is just that. An idea. I think I'd rather fantasize about it than actually have it."

I sat there for a second, thinking about what he asked. 'Why do you do this?' 

In that moment, I knew the answer. But from that moment onward, I decided to change it to something else.

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the twenty dollar bill from earlier, handing it back to him. Before he could say anything, I leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"...Thank you, Alex."

The next morning, I woke up feeling better than usual.

I rose from the pillow and stared directly at the drum set on the other side of the room, my mind submerging deep into thought.

Maybe I don't have to fantasize about different lives and what I could've been in another timeline. Maybe, instead, I can focus on this life and what I can do to make it better.

I decided to change my ways, for the most part. I took it one step at a time.

I returned to work that October. Despite his avoidance, I eventually persuaded Taylor into a one-on-one conversation with me in private. We talked about our relationship, what it meant, and why it wasn't good for us. I admitted my faults, and surprisingly, so did he. It was a quiet, awkward conversation, but a necessary one. 

We didn't immediately become best friends after that, obviously. We still gave each other the necessary space we needed for a while, and as time went on, we gradually warmed up to one another and shifted back into the talking phase: I would walk into the store and say 'hi', and he would do the same. We would share an occasional laugh or two. Sometimes, a small conversation. But never anything like what we did before.

We may never go back to that, but I was fine with it. And although, to this day, there are still cracks and gray areas in my relationship to him, it felt good not to be threatened or have his guilty conscience weighing me down like a ball and chain.

I spent the final three months of the year building my relationship with Theo. I'd watch over him when Bonnie and Steven were busy and took the allotted time necessary to get to know him. He used to cry hysterically for his parents whenever he was in my arms, but slowly, he grew more and more accustomed to me. I'd play him some music and do a goofy little dance, he'd laugh and chew on his fingers. Over time, he'd no longer see me as a stranger, and instead, a brother. 

One day, as I was cradling him to sleep, I quietly promised him that I wouldn't let him end up like me. I wouldn't let him live the life I did.

I promised him that, no matter what, I would make sure that he had a good life surrounded by good people.

And he was surrounded by good people.

Likewise, I made an effort to rekindle my relationship with my foster family. I spent time with each of them individually, hoping that they could find it in their hearts to forgive me for my erroneous ways. 

To make it up to them, I took good care of Theo, and occasionally showed up a little bit more around the house, even indulging in a conversation or two. Some nights, I'd eat the meals Bonnie prepared for dinner, and other times, I'd help Steven out with chores around the house. Dahlia was the quickest to warm up to me, followed by Bonnie and Steven. Shirley, as per usual, remained tough as nails. I couldn't hold it against her, though. Shirley and I never really had that kind of bond.

Bonnie would talk to me occasionally about my condition and what it meant for the future. She understood how strongly I felt about the situation and granted me the privilege to choose how I wanted to go about things—whether that meant purchasing hearing aids, getting surgical implants, or just learning basic American Sign Language. 

I told her I didn't know. She responded by saying "no pressure, it's your decision". Weirdly enough, those words put even more pressure on me.

What was I to do? I spent months procrastinating, setting the dilemma aside for another time. With every day that passed, I grew more and more anxious, knowing my hearing was deteriorating stronger and faster with every passing second. Either, I avoid my problems for long enough and end up going deaf regardless, or get hearing aids and still go deaf, or get the implant surgery and live the rest of my life listening to an artificial world through an automated speaker. And with the surgery, there's also the risk of losing my hearing immediately due to a mistake in the procedure.

Or... I can just accept it. Accept my fate and enjoy what little time I have left.

Too scared to take a risk and too frightened to waste any more time, the last option was unfortunately the most approachable.

For Christmas, I took all the money I'd saved up over the three total years I'd worked at Tunes and pooled it all together towards purchasing my first—and probably my last—acoustic guitar. After growing up around guitars and similar instruments, I'd developed the passion and urge to acquire one of my own, so I figured if I ever were to make that dream a reality, the time was now. Therefore, I bought the nicest acoustic guitar three years of minimum wage could buy.

I was rusty at first. It took a few months to familiarize myself with the instrument again and get back into the swing of things, but by the time March rolled around, I was right back at it. Muscle memory had finally taken over and I was a guitarist again.

"For someone who's never owned a guitar before, you can play pretty damn well," Eden admired, listening to the sweet, swooning chords that reverberated off of the metal strings of my polished spruce tonewood guitar.

"It's all really just muscle memory," I told her, plucking the strings in the tune of Will Toledo's 'Joe Goes to School'. I'd learned how to play mainly from my father, but also from other people in my life that I'd met along the way. Now, to finally own a guitar that belonged to no one but myself established a feeling of pride within me, fulfilling a deeper purpose.

"Are you still gonna keep it? After... you-know-what happens?"

"I'd like to. But, if it gets to the point where it's too painful for me to own, maybe I'll just give it to you or something."

Eden stared at the floor in which she sat upon, tracing circles against the cotton rug. "...I'm still so sorry about all this. I know you don't like it when I bring it up, but... still."

"It's okay, Eden."

"...Do you think you're gonna be okay? When it happens?"

"...I'm not sure yet," I spoke calmly, concentrating on the guitar as I strummed certain chords in a specific order and rhythm. "But I've got about eight months left, so I'd rather not worry too much. I wanna spend every second I have left listening to all of my favorite songs, all of my favorite artists, my favorite albums, my favorite sounds..."

"Do you have a favorite sound?"

I shrugged. "Haven't decided on one yet. You?"

"I don't wanna sound cheesy, but... maybe waves hitting the shore?"

"It's not cheesy. It's a nice sound."

There was a break in our dialogue, making room for the signature guitar solo to ring out and fill the bedroom with its sweet and subtle melody. Eden hunched over and rested her chin on her fists, staring hypnotically at me as I intently plucked the steel, producing a melodious tune.

"...You should go to my school," Eden suggested quietly at first, only to find herself getting more and more enticed by the idea. "Yeah! You should go to my school! For the final semester!"

I raised an eyebrow and shook my head, not sold on it. "You really think so?"

"It's senior year. You've been homeschooled all your life. You'll never get the chance to experience what it's like to go to an American high school ever again. It's absolutely horrible but it's worth experiencing!" She scooted herself closer to me, grabbing onto my knees while I continued to strum the same chord progression over and over again. "You'll finally get to see our student body outside of a football game. School is boring and exhausting, yes, but when you're there, the hallways are just brimming with personality. Voices. Loud, obnoxious voices. You'd love it."

I scoffed. "Would I?"

"You would! Ari, I literally have the coolest friends ever, you'd love them. I'd finally get to introduce you to Rian!"

Eden was really the only friend I ever had. The thought of being able to extend my bubble of familiars—past just my family, my coworkers, and the people I fucked—kind of excited me, I'm not gonna lie. But it also terrified me. No doubt everyone at that school knew who I was back then.

"...They probably wouldn't even like me," I mumbled, channeling my focus back onto the guitar.

"They would love you," Eden gushed, her attention also drifting to the guitar and how unexpectedly experienced I was with playing it. "...You know, you could literally join our band."

I stopped playing. My heart had skipped a beat.

"...S-Seriously?" I stammered, trying to cover up my enthusiasm.

"Well... I mean, we already have two guitarists—"

"—What about a drummer?"

"Yeah, we have a drummer, too... but if a spot did open up, you could join our band."

The short, small rush of excitement had died away instantly. My widened eyes fell away and I returned to the guitar.

"But, I still want you to meet them," Eden added, keeping an open mind. "What are you doing next Friday, by the way? Friday night?"

"Literally nothing."

"My band is playing a show. It'll be one of our first actual legitimate gigs. We're working on a flyer, I'll send you a copy once we make it, it'll have all the info. You should come by."

"I have a thing in the afternoon with Bonnie that day. I don't know how long it'll take, but if I can make it in time, then I'll definitely come. I rarely get to see you perform."

"I'll be singing my heart out on that stage for you and you only."

We both chuckled.

"What are you doing with Bonnie?" Eden wondered, her interest piqued.

"Oh, she's just trying to find me an ASL tutor. We're going to the elementary school because apparently there's a high schooler there who volunteers." I quickly changed the subject. "Who's in the band, by the way?"

"Okay, well, there's Rian, who you know about, he plays—"

"—Bass, I remember."

"Yeah, and then there's Harvey, he's lead guitar." If only I'd known just how frequently that name would be appearing in my life for the following months. "Him, Rian, and I started the band freshman year, he's so sweet, I love him so much. I know you'd like him..."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"He's, you know..." Eden bounced her eyebrows up and down and nudged me with her elbow playfully, waiting for me to understand. I shook my head, completely lost. "Ugh, he's hot! He's literally the high school heartthrob, every girl I know is pining after him."

"Why would I be interested in that? Is he even gay?"

"Well, no... but you could probably turn him."

"Oh, fuck yeah, I can."

Eden laughed, collecting herself. "So that's Harvey, and then there's Torrence and Harley..."

The end of the work week came earlier than expected. One moment, I'm talking to Eden about the upcoming show, and before I know it, it's already Friday. 

Little did I know that today, someone very important to me would be making their grand entrance into my life.

The day had started out just like any other: schoolwork, lessons, the usual. Then, right around 3 PM, Bonnie took me to the elementary school. Though I was reluctant to go and was feeling pretty moody at the time, I still made an effort to try. For Bonnie.

We entered the school. It was certainly an attack on the senses; the hallways glimmered and burst with such vibrant color that I was nearly blinded. I found myself surrounded by walls colored different hues of the rainbow, adorning gray silhouettes and painted pantomimes of children doing everyday childish things: jumping, frolicking, basketball-shooting, hula-hooping, playing around to their heart's content. Bulletin boards were posted directly outside of every classroom, displaying artwork and creative writing done by bright, optimistic toddlers with a world of imagination right at their fingertips. From the hallways alone, I could see the care and the attention that was being put into this facility. It was a school that uplifted its students and gave them the opportunity to succeed at life.

I wish I could've grown up in a setting like this. I wish I could've grown up alongside kids I would've known for years, being able to call them my classmates and my friends. I'd be excited to see them in the hallways, we'd pass notes during class, we'd work on projects together and share markers and pens. I wish I could've had a normal life.

Bonnie and I approached the classroom where the student volunteer-led ASL lesson was taking place. Mrs. Harper and Mrs. Westview had set up the meeting in advance and had asked Bonnie and I to poke our heads into a class session, just to get a feel for it. It was arranged that we'd meet with the kid after the lesson was over.

I decided to eavesdrop in on the lesson, as suggested. I heard no noise coming from inside the classroom, only the low droning of air conditioners and ceiling fans. I leaned my head forward and peered through the tiny crack in the doorway, taking a quick peek inside.

The quick peek ended up becoming a long, drawn-out stare.

That was the first time I ever saw him.

The young adonis. The tall, lean, handsome coyote.

I could almost feel the two pupils of my eyes morphing into the shape of a heart.

There was so much to unpack about him. He sat with good posture, facing a small audience of little kids, seated on the carpet before him. He had a silver-grayish coat of fur and some patches of chestnut brown tinging certain areas of his body, such as his chiseled snout, his floppy ears, his fluffy tail, as well as his burly arms and legs. He wore wrinkled, faded clothing—but purposefully so. Corduroy pants and a Nirvana tee, a style similar to my tastes. His hair appeared soft and wavy to the touch, the ends of his strands pointing outward like a potted plant.

A peculiar sensation came over me. My knees grew weak and my heart began to pound. Something about his essence was just so... endearing. The way he moved his hands as he spoke, the lively expressions on his face, the way he connected with the kids and engaged them in the lesson. His considerate and vitalizing behavior reminded me of the way fathers and mothers would uplift their children, inspiring a sense of hope and optimism in them, no matter their situation.

Using a dry-erase marker, he scribbled something down onto the small handheld whiteboard in his paws, the faint squeaks of the pen breaking the silent ambience in the room. Each squeak enticed me further, drawing me in.

Once he had finished writing, he held the whiteboard up to the children in front of him.

It read: "You don't need a melody to write something beautiful. And you don't need a voice to make noise."

The breath escaped my lungs and mouth like a vacuum. My eyes began to water. My heart stung.

I leaned forward without thinking, accidentally pressing myself up against the door. It opened slightly, eliciting a small 'creeeaaak'.

The boy looked my way.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, the entire world had fallen silent.

My surroundings disappeared, submerging only him and I into a dark, black void, surrounded by stars and far off planets, a galaxy at our disposal. 

So close, and yet, so far apart.

In an instant, I fled down the hallway.

I discovered later on that evening that the boy was, in fact, CHS's very own Harvard Northwest.

I attended the show and pushed through a wide margin of people to get a good view of the concert. As I watched him make his entrance onto the stage alongside Eden and his other bandmates, the realization hit me like a brick. My grip tightened against the metal railing of the balcony as I watched them from the gallery seating section above the club floor. Under the warm glow of the spotlights, they each donned their signature instruments: Eden, her microphone, Harvey and Torrence, their guitars, Rian, his bass, and Harley, his drumsticks.

Eden turned her back to the audience. Harvey, Rian, and Torrence meticulously placed their fingers on the fretboards of their instruments. Harley raised his drumsticks in the air. The room grew quiet in anticipation as the band readied themself.

Four neatly-timed drumstick clicks and they were off.

The stage exploded with so much reverberation and energy that I could nearly picture jagged, vibrating zig-zag lightning doodles manifesting in the air around them. Eden danced across the stage, singing passionately into the microphone, flaunting her soaring voice as well as her loose disposition. Harley battered his drums in an organized, yet chaotic manner. Rian smacked his thumb against the thick strings of his bass as Torrence strummed his electric guitar.

So much talent everywhere you looked, and yet, I could not—for the life of me—take my eyes off of Harvey. His spot on the stage glowed the brightest in my eyes.

He shredded his paws against the guitar, playing it with such fervent dedication that one could jokingly claim he was making love to it. Though he was both halfway across the room and lower to the ground than me, I could still see the affection and joy he gout out of his music clear as day. I could see it in his eyes, I could see how much he loved it. 

Seeing that intense, familiar passion in someone other than myself reminded me of the reason why music was such an important part of my life. Something about watching Harvey play that guitar, not a care in the world, happy as can be, made me fall right back in love with music all over again. 

He was like the living embodiment of what made music so significant and vital to me.

I wanted to meet him.

I wanted to know him.

I wanted him to know me. 

I wanted him to know my name and who I was.

But with that reasonable desire came worsening doubt. 

What if I come on to strong and fuck things up? What if he doesn't like me or is even disgusted by me? What if I do somehow lure him in? And in doing so, what if he ends up just like every other guy I'd met and forgotten in my life? What if he only stays for a moment and I end up abandoning him just like the rest?

In the middle of their first song, I found my mind escaping elsewhere as my eyes remained focused on the pretty coyote, ardently strumming his shiny Fender Stratocaster. I thought back to earlier memories, rehashing old recollections of the past. All the guys I'd ever been with. All the crushes and wasted feelings that only ended in far worse circumstances. All the fuck ups and the failures, all the men I used and took advantage of, the men that abused and tortured me. It was just one tragedy after another; my romantic track record was not clean in the slightest. 

It seemed to me that, no matter what I did, if him and I were to do so little as to—I dunno—meet, then we were already bound for failure. It was a given. Any and all individuals that were to come into contact with Arizona Sundance were destined to have their heart chewed up and spat out. It was inevitable.

But then, a sign.

Their first song had come to an end, and him and I found ourselves caught in the crossroads of one another's line of sight.

We stared at each other from across the room for what felt like thirty minutes, when in reality, it was probably only for thirty seconds.

I wanted to know him. And for some reason, it felt like he wanted to know me, too.

Maybe we were destined to fail. Maybe we would end up hurting one another and destroying each other's lives.

But my heart was telling me otherwise.

It was practically leaping out of my chest, screaming for him. It screamed louder than any of the large, booming speakers situated above the stage. It screamed louder than the vociferous, bustling crowd around me and below me, filling up every possible space of the club.

It screamed louder than silence itself.

I think I'll meet him. Just a quick hello, nothing too big. Nothing too fast, either. I just want to get to know him, and I'll see where things take us from there.

I don't care if we're destined to fail. I don't care if nothing at all comes out of this. My past was staring me dead in the eyes, asking me if I really wanted to take the risk. All the previous faults and disappointments shackled me like a pair of handcuffs chained to a pole in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn't let myself be held back by my own ambition any more.

Though I'm only eighteen, I already feel like I've lived three times that amount of years. For once in my life, I want something good. No more darkness, no more pain or misery, just something honest. Something fairly, certainly, genuinely good.

I want to know him. Whoever Harvard Northwest turns out to be, I want to get to know him.

One thing's for sure, though...

He's a cute little thing.