With a shiver Marley passed her cigarette to Brady, shoving her paws in her jeans pockets. They were standing down by the river, and she could feel the cool breeze picking up the chill of the water on her face. Generally Labradors were invulnerable to the cold, but something about the weather today...it had a cruel edge to it. The grey wolf next to her dropped the smoke into the ground, stomping it out at the same time he exhaled his last puff.

     “How'd you do it man?" Marley asked in something barely above a whisper. Her and Oliver had now been separated for three days, and the reality of being alone was starting to set in. He'd texted her a few times, but so far she hadn't responded to any. She didn't plan to anytime soon either.

     “How'd I do what?" Brady asked, his gaze still lost somewhere in the river as he studied the reflection of the moon hanging in the black surface.

     “Go. You left, to go live in the city. Got out. How'd you manage to pull it off?" She asked with a slight laugh, before adding a sigh on the end for extra effect. Brady knew she wasn't asking how he found somewhere to live, or if he drove there. Marley wanted to leave, but she was scared, and he knew it.

     “I don't know. I didn't even really get away in the end though, did I?" He said with a slight shrug.

     “How so?" Marley asked.

     “Well I'm here now, for one. Every Uni break I come up here to stay, if I can. I wonder sometimes if I'll ever really fit in there."

     “That bad?"

     “Sometimes." He looked away. He hadn't spoken to Oliver yet, not properly. There'd been a few text messages exchanged between them, but little more than how are you holding up kind of ones. He'd been surprised to say the least, when Marley asked him to come hang out. The two had never been exceptionally close to one another, their interactions employing little more than a standard politeness, out of respect for the other's relationship with Oliver. But now that connection didn't exist for Marley, and the wolf couldn't help but wonder why they were really talking.

     “I wanna leave. I wanna leave so bad." Marley whined. Brady didn't believe her. Two different kinds of furs lived in these sorts of towns; the ones that grew up just knowing they'd leave one day, and the ones that would stay forever. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but Brady saw nothing about Marley that ever indicated she could - or would – survive outside of the rural world she'd always known.

     “I know." He lied, since it was easier than arguing the truth. Besides, there was a chance he was wrong about her, however unlikely. It was a cruel way to think, a part of him knew that, but he also didn't really care. A deep-seated place in the wolf had grown to hate this place and those who existed in it, to despise the nature it encouraged, one of self-obsession and social ranking that frankly disgusted him. They'd all merrily decry the city folk, claiming that furs “down there" were narcissistic and materialistic; hell even borderline psychopathic, but he knew the reality. In the city you could be who you wanted to be, you could free yourself from where you came from and live the life that was right for you. Furs that lived in towns like this, they weren't allowed to change. You are who you are, and gods help you if you wish they'd forget.

     “Have you heard from Ollie?" Marley asked after a moment of silence. She still cared about him, they both knew that much. In fact Marley suspected that she would always hold feelings for the Lab, but it was like she had told him herself: love wasn't enough.

     “Not really. I guess I should...go see him or something." Brady answered truthfully, feeling a little guilty for not taking more initiative with the dog.

     “What happened to you two?" Marley asked softly. She felt guilty for leaving Ollie at the same time everyone else did. She knew the dog was lonely, and that he hurt, but for once she had to put her own emotions first. She'd always put him first and now it was her turn. She chose to ignore how much that sounded like a lie, even in the safety of her own mind.

     “I don't know." Brady answered honestly. “I guess we just drifted apart without even realising it, we're so...different, I guess. I don't know." He explained, still wondering himself. Nothing had really happened that was unfixable between the two, but for the first time he didn't feel like fixing it. Sure Oliver had lied about the party, but so had Max, and despite the occasional twinge of physical pain in his arm serving as reminder, Brady was mostly over it. It was something else, something unspoken and indefinable. Oliver just seemed further away, as if he was out of reception, slowly descending down a path that only lead to more heartbreak.

     “You know my mother once told me something, and I think I finally get what she meant." Marley began, looking up at the night sky. “She told me that drowning furs are dangerous. She said if you get too close to someone who can't hold their own head above water, that they would latch on and try to drag you down with them." She spoke slowly, trying her best to accurately remember the quote, doubting that it truly came from her mother. Brady knew it was unfair to think something like that, to abandon friends just because they needed extra help, but he understood the point.

     “You think she was talking about Oliver?" He asked. Marley turned her head and met his gaze.

     “I do now." She said unwaveringly. “She didn't say it, and at the time I...didn't realise. But she saw Oliver for who he really was, someone...I don't know. Someone I can't be around, y'know? I mean, since we broke up, I'm miserable, but also relieved. It's like a huge weight is gone from my life, I can breathe properly for the first time in years." She explained, smiling more to herself than the wolf she spoke to.

     “Yeah." Brady said uncomfortably, unsure what else to add.

     “I'm sorry, I know you're close with Ollie, I shouldn't…I don't know, it's not fair to talk about him like this to you." She said, placing a paw gently on Brady's arm. “Sorry."

     “It's okay." He said, breaking their eye contact to look back at the water.

     “You won't tell him will you? It'd only cause more hurt." She asked, nervousness suddenly creeping into her voice.

     “No, you're right it wouldn't help anything." He said, intending to keep his word. He was closer with Oliver by a long shot, and still had no idea why Marley was telling this to him and not one of her own friends. Maybe it was because Brady also knew Oliver intimately, so she thought he at least had a better chance of understanding. Brady felt Marley's paw leave his arm, breaking their touch, he continued to look out at the river as she began to cry. It wasn't a sob, or a wail, just a few tears and a little sniffling. It was the sort of cry one might have at an estranged aunt's funeral.

     “Do you think I'll ever leave?" Marley eventually asked the wolf. Brady's ears flattened and he looked away, his tail pulled in closer to one of his legs. He blushed, but she couldn't see it. He opened his mouth to speak, paused and thought about his words, then answered.

     “Yeah, I do." He lied.

     Hiya. Max's phone beeped, the message coming through and lighting up the dark of his room with the phone's screen light. He shifted his position on the bed, sliding his laptop off his lap as he picked up the mobile. He opened the message, noting that it was from a friend he had in Canada. They'd never met in person, but nonetheless chatted online regularly. The Canadian fur was an otter named Hunter, a nice fellow who was bisexual – and more importantly, in a situation very similar to Max's; rural town, close-minded individuals, not many options dating wise.

     Hey there. Max sent back, smiling to himself.

     How are you? How are things with that hot wolf? The reply came quickly, and Max smiled at the otter's thoughtfulness. He'd mentioned the whole cluster fuck with Brady and Oliver's party, and Hunter had been nothing but helpful, seemingly filled with useful advice.

     Not…great. He hasn't spoken to me in a couple of days; I'm not sure what to think. He answered honestly. Max had agonised over his phone, just waiting for a message from Brady to ask for them to catch up, have coffee or something. He desperately wanted to repair things with the wolf. Even if they didn't end up romantically involved, he wanted to at least be friends. He looked up to Brady; try as he may to deny that. He had thought about messaging the fur himself, but figured it was best to just let him think. Things had gotten…weird last time, and Max hoped he hadn't freaked him out.

     That sucks. What happened? Hunter asked back. Max sighed, blushing at just the thought of how stupid he'd acted. He decided to be honest; it was easier in text message form.

     I told him the story about Angie, then kissed him and grabbed his dick. He sent back, typing fast and sending it before he could stop himself. His face went totally red and his heart began beating, his mind half expecting the otter to just laugh at him.

     I guess it didn't end how you were hoping then? Came the reply, lifting a slight smile out of the cheetah.

     Yeah maybe not. He replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Now I'm worried he hates me, and I just want a chance to explain myself to him.

     I'm sure he doesn't hate you. Hunter's reply, sent after a few seconds delay. Different furs process things at different speeds. Not everyone moves as fast as you do. The otter liked to think he was funny, and while normally Max disagreed with the sentiment he couldn't help laughing out loud at that. It felt nice to smile, after spending a few days crying like a dumb teenager it was refreshing to say the least. It was true about Max though, he wasn't much of a runner, but he liked to move things along fast, often not giving others much time to adjust to the new plan. Maybe Brady was just thinking?

     It's been almost a whole week though. He sent back.

     Oh, that's not…great. Hunter admitted. Maybe you should message him then? Max shuddered, his stomach getting nervous at merely the thought of doing such a thing.

     I don't know. He sent, after much deliberation. What would I even say?

     You say 'hey things got kind of weird before. I'd really like a chance to explain myself and apologise to you, can I get you a coffee some day soon?' Hunter replied, his little dot-dot indicator still going, informing Max he was adding a second message. It popped through after only a moment. Always offer coffee, it's like the ceasefire zone or some shit.

     Haha. Max sent back. Emotional DMZ.

     I'm serious tho dude, no reason you can't take the first step. You gave him some time to think, now patch it up. It's okay to make mistakes. Ugh, Hunter seemed really intent on helping. Max stretched on his bed, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Damn Canadians, they were like New Zealanders...but worse.

     Eh, can't you just do it for me? He sent, only half joking.

     Very funny. Would if I could. The little dot-dots continued. Just send what I told you, and take it from there. Trust me.

     Because of all your great relationship experience? Max teased, knowing full well Hunter was and has always been single.

     Hilarious. But seriously, as an outsider I have perfect clarity on this. Facetious bastard. Max did appreciate the help though, he supposed it would be easy to just send a text. He'd find out then if there was any hope of keeping Brady around in his life, or if the wolf was done for good.

     Fine. You fucking arsehole. He sent back, scrolling up to find Hunter's speech for his memory. Hey Brady. Things got weird last time, sorry about that. Can I get you a coffee or something, as a chance to apologise/explain? He typed out quickly before hitting send to the Wolf's number.

     Stupid spelling. Asshole looks waaay better written. Hunter added in an effort to lighten the mood.

     Yeah, but trust me, an Australian pronouncing it like that is just stupid, sounds like we're copying a movie or something.

     Ridiculous continent. Hunter sent back.

     Fight me. Max added playfully. He left the message chat for a moment, going over to Brady's text. He saw that the wolf had seen the message, but as of yet there was no reply.

     He just hoped he got one eventually.

     Jake lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He'd been in bed for an hour now, but was so far unable to sleep. It felt weird, not having to get up anymore and sneak out to see Wendy. He'd realised today that a part of him missed it, just a small part. He missed the routine, the safety, and the known. With his new age-appropriate girlfriend, they had to start all over. There was also the problem that Jake was much more sexually experienced than she was, which made him treat discussions regarding the act rather flippantly. He had to remember she was still a young fourteen-year-old girl, with no experience at sex or boys or anything. Whereas he now possessed what he realised to be too much knowledge about the topic, at least for someone his age. He worried that when the two finally did have sex, whenever that may be, he might find the girl terribly disappointing. He was terrified that he'd resent her for not touching him the way that Wendy used to, or even worse...that he'd end up leaving her and get back together with the deer. Thoughts of Wendy, especially unprovoked ones, tended to fill him with a sense of intangible dread. He was getting messages on his phone as much as any teenager could expect, mostly from friends, a few from Brady and every now and then one from the new girl in his life, but each time it gave him a little anxiety. Each time his breath caught in his throat and he panicked, frightened that Wendy was going to ignore Brady's threats.

     He cried himself to sleep most nights that week, face shoved deep into his wet pillow, sobbing at just how shattered he felt. How used and pathetic he'd been, he cried at how he hadn't been strong enough to make Wendy understand. He was upset and mortified that Brady knew everything, and for the first hour or so of waking each morning he had a difficult time making eye contact with his brother. Brady had been fantastic though, he couldn't deny that. Jake knew he was lucky to have such a good big brother. The wolf made no jokes, didn't talk about anything they'd done unless he brought it up first, and never mentioned it to their parents true to his word. Jake knew something was wrong in Brady's life now, he'd heard him crying in the shower late one night…but he didn't know what or why. He guessed it was probably some issue with Max or maybe even Oliver, noting that the older wolf wasn't going out with his friends as often as he had a few weeks ago, but Jake knew nothing for sure. The older wolf didn't confide in him of his own volition, and while Jake desperately wished he could comfort his sibling in some way, he didn't know how. He was scared about bringing the subject up, scared that Brady would laugh at him, or think that he was just a dumb teenage kid trying to help in grown-up problems. 

     But he wanted to be there for Brady like Brady had been there for him.

     During the day when he was at school, Jake couldn't help but be jumpy. A friend simply putting a paw on his shoulder without announcing their presence was enough for him to jump and cry out – much to the amusement of his fellow students. They once joked that he was easily spooked...like a deer, and Jake had to quickly run off to the bathroom and cry, overwhelmed by memory and emotion. Each time someone near him got a message or looked at him funny, Jake worried. Despite knowing that Wendy's photos were gone, they still haunted him every day, following him around every corner. He hated that part of their relationship; he hated how the deer still had a hold over his life without being in it. 

     He also hated his newfound and (In his mind at least) weird attraction to older women, as his pornography browsing habits might show he had developed. He felt hurt and different, changed, and he worried that he'd never be able to go back to how it was before. Brady would occasionally come into his room and ask how he's really doing, and for some reason Jake always claimed he was fine. He didn't talk about the dreams, or the fetish, or the fears. He didn't know why, he trusted Brady now more than anyone else in his life, and had no reason to not trust him but…he didn't know. He didn't want the older wolf to think he was weak, or a little kid. He should be able to move on from this, it shouldn't be affecting him this much...right?

     And now the older wolf himself was hurting. He was upset and sad, quieter than usual. Jake desperately wanted to help, so badly it hurt, but he couldn't. What did he know anyway? He was still insecure about being straight, that fear a part of his personality that he utterly despised; he loved Brady and wanted to be like him...so why was he so afraid of being gay? One of the ways he used to justify his relationship with Wendy to himself, was the fact their relationship had proved he was straight. And that part was something Jake now recognised, he knew how ashamed he was of thinking it but couldn't help himself. He didn't want to be gay and was always horrified at any kind of thought even close to homoerotic. He'd once watched a film with a gay sex scene, and his body had responded the way that fourteen year old bodies typically respond to sex scenes. Jake had cried himself to sleep again that night, miserable and hating how much he hated the idea for no good reason. 

     He got made fun of at school because of Brady's orientation too, not as much as one might think but enough to hurt his pride. He was careful to never wear rainbow patterns, careful not to look at any other boys for too long, just in case anyone got the wrong idea. He wanted to talk to the big wolf about it, but how could he? How would Brady even begin to take that? I'm terrified of being like you is all he would hear, and he'd certainly think that Jake was ashamed of having a gay brother. Which he wasn't, one hundred percent he loved Brady for who he was. The rational part of his brain even knew for a fact that he was straight, his porn interest, school crushes and general attraction to other furs was (Except for that errant sex scene) always directed at females. But still, that animalistic side, that instinct, that foul country-boy driven part of him was still there, buried deep where nobody could find it except him.  

     And he hated himself for it. Turning over in his bed, Jake began quietly sobbing into the pillow again, settling in for another night of misery.

     Oliver dressed himself slowly and awkwardly; his right paw aching and glowing red. He'd just performed his now nightly ritual in the bathroom, stripping down and burning his paw in the almost boiling water. He spent almost all day in bed, getting up only to use the bathroom and occasionally eat something. He preferred it where it was warm and soft, non-confronting. Pulling a top over his head, the Labrador padded out to the lounge room, whining at himself and the silence, hating the fact there was no way to fix it. He hurt for Marley; he wanted to call her, to go to her, to beg her to come back with him. But he knew she wouldn't. He couldn't put a finger on it, but a part of him knew that this time it was for good. He and Marley were over, and he suspected the same was happening with Brady. The wolf knew they'd broken up, and yet hadn't been around. Only Paul had been any help, the horse bringing over different kinds of uppers to try and help ease his sorrow. 

    He cried a lot, so much his eyes hurt. He found himself wondering where the tears even came from, amazed he physically could cry that much. He padded into the kitchen, grabbing some bandage he kept on top of the microwave. He wrapped it slowly and methodically around the aching paw, before setting about hydrating himself before retreating back to bed. As he was pouring himself a glass of milk, he almost dropped the bottle when there was a knock at his door. Oliver checked his phone, seeing that it was almost 11:30pm, who the fuck would be here at that time of night? He hoped it would be Marley, but he knew better than that. She wasn't coming back, not now and not ever. He carefully put the bottle of milk down, heading to the front door and opening it up, instantly surprised at the Labrador he found standing there.

     “Hi Mum." He said softly. The old dog smiled at him, but not the kind of warm motherly smile that reached her eyes. The kind of smile someone gives in a meeting at the office, because they have to for forms sake.

     “Hello Oliver. May I come in?" She asked, her voice sounding hoarse and croaky. Results of being a lifelong smoker he figured. The young male shrugged, stepping aside to let her past, shutting the door as she passed. As soon as Oliver's trade job let him make enough money to rent a small place, he'd moved out from under his folks. He hadn't lived with his parents for two years now and rarely saw them. He never spoke to his Dad with anything more than a 'hello'.

       “What do you want?" He asked her cautiously, worried that she was here to ask for money or something. His parents had been at best neglectful, and at worst cruel. Oliver couldn't remember a single time they'd ever told him that they loved him, or that they were proud of him. He watched warily as Maryanne reach into her handbag, carefully pulling out a small bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label.

     “I heard you and Marley broke up. I thought we'd have a drink." He stared at his mother suspiciously; trying to size her motives up, work out what kind of game she was playing. When he decided there didn't seem to be any kind of malicious intent behind her actions, Oliver nodded.

     “Okay. Why…don't you sit down, I'll get us some glasses." He said, gesturing to his little round dining table. His mother sat carefully and delicately, conscious not to upset the balance of her precious appearance. His mother had always cared about appearances; one of Oliver's strongest memories was her slapping him across the face when he was seven. It was an adult slap too, the kind of thing that hurt proper, and it was all because he spilled some juice on the carpet.

     “How have you been?" Maryanne asked as he sat down, sliding the two circular glasses to her. The old lab poured them both a third of a cup, before pushing Oliver's glass back over to him.

     “Well I'm still here." He answered, lifting the glass and sipping the liquid. He let it sit on his tongue, unable to stop himself comparing the taste to gasoline. He'd never been a fan of drinking alcohol like this straight, typically preferring to mix it with something. He'd be damned if he was going to show that kind of weakness in front of his mother though. Maryanne nodded at his response.

     “Yes, I can see that. Your father has done his back out again, that is if you care." She said snidely, working in that trademark passive aggressiveness Oliver recognised from his childhood. He just shrugged.

     “I'm sure he'll manage without me." He said. I was fine without him. He thought. Joseph had barely been a father when Oliver grew up, choosing to have as little to do with his son as possible. In his younger years Oliver knew him as the scary man who came home from work shouting. The one you stayed away from if you didn't want a smack. Joseph was more like a force of nature or a wild animal than a parent, unpredictable and at times violent.

     “Yes, your father is often stubbornly self-reliant. He'll be all right, but still…I think he might like it if you visited." She hesitated for a second. “You know your father, and he'd never admit to this but...I know he regrets how things with you turned out." She said, of course not admitting any fault. If anything, Maryanne and Joseph shifted the blame of their parenting failure onto Oliver himself. Growing up he'd always been told he wasn't good enough, that he'd be alone forever, that he was stupid, idiotic. He'd been dressed and paraded like a doll in front of her friends, then sent away to play in his room that had few toys or personal touches. When the school told his parents that Oliver was bright and wanted to move him up a year so he'd be better challenged, Joseph turned them down. He said that nothing good comes from the boy having a big head.

     “Well, he knows where I live if it's eating him up so bad." Oliver said plainly, his voice hard and cold. Children should be seen and not heard was something his father always took very seriously. To know your place was vital to being a part of their family, if you could even call it that.  

     “Oliver, why do you have to make everything difficult?" Maryanne said dramatically, exhaling and rubbing her forehead with a paw. “He tried his best with you, and you've been nothing but…" She stopped, the word ungrateful frozen on her lips. Oliver stared her down.

     “What?" He asked calmly. Maryanne shook her head, looking away.

     “I'm sorry. We've fought enough, I didn't come here to argue with you. We both know nothing comes of it anyway." She said, sounding almost genuine. Oliver was surprised, but didn't let his guard down. His father was a brute, but at least Oliver always knew where they stood. His mother would frequently show just a fraction of weakness, before dashing the hopes in his face and stepping on his dreams.

     “So why did you come here? Do you want money?" He asked, cutting straight to the point. He couldn't be bothered waiting for her to dance around the issue. He just wanted her to get out of his house, he was beginning to feel queasy just from looking at her. And his paw still hurt.  

     “No, I don't want any money. I just...wanted to see if you were okay. Maybe help you get over her." She said, motioning at the bottle. Oliver hated the way his mother said the word her, it was filled with contempt and disrespect; she'd barely ever acknowledged Marley's existence. And the Lab female had tried hard to win Maryanne's respect despite Oliver's protests, to no avail. He swallowed back his anger, trying to keep a clear head.

     “No." He said directly. “I'm not okay, and you coming over with this false show of affection and a bottle of shit isn't gonna fix that. I'm miserable and you care as much now as you did when I was younger." He snapped the words out, falling back in his chair. His mother stared at him for a moment, examining him, studying his face. Maybe she recognised her own father in his features, after all Oliver was always told how much he looked like his grandfather. Maybe she recognised a bit of herself in his looks, his eyes. The two sat there in silence, the tension in the air palpable. After what felt like an eternity, Maryanne finally spoke, in barely a whisper.

     “You're not the only one, you know." She said softly. “You come by it honestly, your pain. The truth is your father and I have never been happy, not once in either of our lives. We're diseased; it lives in our bones, that…darkness. And we passed that on to you."

     “Mother…"

     “You were born broken, Oliver. That's just how it is. There's...something wrong with you, always has been. I could see it in you since you were a pup; you were born with our sickness. I thought maybe having a son could fix me, but it only hurt more. I was...stupid, naïve I suppose." She looked into her glass, finding it empty. Oliver was silent, his mouth open, ears flush with his head and eyes wide. Her gaze flicked up to meet his. “I thought I could fix you too. But I only made things worse. There's a hole in you, and the older you grow the more it drains everything good inside. You can try as we did to fill it with...your toys, your drugs, your little...girlfriends. But it's your inheritance, that misery, and nothing you do will ever fix it."

     Maryanne's son didn't reply, there were tears in his eyes and he felt sick to his core. His mother waited for a response, but when it was clear she wasn't getting one, she closed her eyes and sighed. They both knew that any chance of a healthy relationship was dead, what was the point in even pretending anymore? She could at least give him the truth. It was the most honest thing Oliver could ever recall hearing come out of his mother's mouth. Moving slowly, the old Labrador pulled herself up from the table and left without another word. Oliver's gaze never faltered, he just kept staring ahead, blankly looking at the wall of his house, his mind far away.