Welcome to the Family Ch. 02

Disclaimer:

This story is purely fictitious and not suitable for anyone that is below the legal age in their country to view pornographic material. All characters involved in the story are either the age of eighteen or older, and belong to myself. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Reader discretion is advised.

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Y'know, I thought writing in first-person would be more awkward than it actually is.

"See? I told ya', it's a piece of cake."

For once, I'm sorry that I doubted you.

"I expect to be hearing that more often, now that you've seen the light."

The light? Pfft. Don't get me wrong, it's still uncomfortable for me to actually be saying 'I' and 'Me' within the narration of the story, just not as much as I expected.

"You have to admit, though, it keeps us from introducing twenty-plus characters within just a few thousand words. That has to be a load off for you specifically, on some level."

...

"What?"

Why are you suddenly being so kind and understanding towards me?

"Because, I, uh..."

Uhhh.

"Prick."

Spit it out already!

"Fine! I like this story, alright!... It's put me in a good mood, for some reason."

Odd, but okay... Oh, and I expect to be hearing that more often, now that you've seen-

"No the fuck you won't. Now, start doing your fucking job."

Well, it was nice while it lasted, folks.

"DID I STUTTER?!"

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Chapter 2: "Unfortunate Mistakes"

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"I'm sorry..." Izzy whispered, her face looming above my own in the dim lighting of my bedroom, her swirling, glowing, and violet-colored eyes burning deep into the depths of my mind. "It's just-... This is for the best, I think. I don't know... I don't know what else to do, Blake..."

I hated it when she made that face, even then, when it was covered with an incredibly thin, fascinating layer of white fur.

She just looked so... unhappy.

It always put a strain on my heart, even when I was only half conscious and under this strange, beautiful creature's captivating spell.

The tears dripping off of her cheeks and falling down onto my own felt painful, almost; her bright, swirling, and violet-colored eyes looking down at me.

If only Izzy had just let me speak, then maybe I could've said something sweet to her, like how I would never have gotten along so well without her there by my side since pops died; like how much I finding her sprawled out somewhere in the apartment watching anime after work because it gives me a reason to enjoy coming back home; like how much giving her company and cleaning up after her abundant messes fills me up with some bizarre, pathetic sort of purpose to my tragic little life...

If Izzy had asked me what I thought, I would've told her that I didn't want this.

But she didn't trust me, for whatever reasons she had for doing what she did, what she said, next.

'You're so stupid, Izzy...' I helplessly, meekly thought to myself, hoping and praying she had some sort of mind-reading ability behind that mystical, captivating gaze of hers.

Sadly, that didn't appear to be the case.

"Just sleep, for now. Forget about me, and forget about the days we've spent together. Dismiss anything that causes you pain or grief, from here on out." The sweet girl with snowy, white fur and large, tufted cat ears sticking out of a long, silvery mane said to me, and I mindlessly obeyed, turning over to nuzzle her soft, fuzzy, and very comforting thighs for what I believed in that moment to be the last time i that moment. "When you wake up, this will all feel like a distant, forgettable dream... And, I, uh..."

Izzy mumbled in her soft, broken voice, pausing for a moment to choke back tears and sniffle.

"I love you too, little brother... I'm so happy that I was finally able to meet you."

-----

Laying down on the couch, my body snapped upright in a panic at the first sign of consciousness. I sat there for a long time in the dark silence of my apartment living room, my eyes wide and my heart thumping rapidly in my chest. I had no idea what had woken me up. Come to think of it, I didn't have any memory at all of falling asleep last night, either. How strange...

The digital, red-lit clock on the blu-ray player under my television and the painfully uncomfortable chill in the air informed me that it was morning, and that I was almost late for work.

Shit, I thought, slowly twisting my strangely well-rested body from the couch to stand, the involuntary, spine-racking tremors of chills from the icy-cold, unheated air overtaking my nervous system, my brief sense of unease and distress quickly forgotten about and dismissed as yet another night-terror.

They weren't uncommon, and ones like that one weren't those that I took for granted.

I couldn't remember a thing about what my subconscious had tried to put me through last night, and my mornings usually went much smoother without a paralyzing sense of their context lingering within my thoughts.

In fact, I felt better than I had in a long time.

Instead of stiffly inching my way towards the bathroom like I normally would have, I practically skipped out of the living room (making sure to switch on the central heat as my dumb, forgetful ass passed by the thermostat) and down my short hallway at a brisk pace, slipping into the bathroom and dashing towards the shower in a flash. The hot water was on and running before I even realized what I was doing, and the explosive rush of steam that it produced caused a visible wave of goosebumps to sprout across every inch of my shirtless upper-body while it was leaned into the shower. It didn't take long for the bathroom to heat up, and in doing so, my shaking torso quickly relaxed.

When the misty warmth of the steam spread out further into the bathroom, the heater had just begun to blow out hot air of its own from a small grate in the floor as well. I sighed with relief and turned around to walk over towards the sink's counter, then braced my elbows against the marble surface and slumped over, not giving a damn about anything in the world except for how comfortable the air was becoming as the seconds peacefully passed by. It was so nice, I thought; this moment was amazing.

For the first time in a very, very long time, my head was clear. I was... I wasn't suffering; I wasn't making myself suffer. I had absolutely no desire to think about the past, and I found myself content, for once.

It was strange, sure. That wasn't lost on me. Still, it felt too nice for me to really give a shit about the why of it all.

Well, it's like they say: Don't look a gift-horse in the mouth.

And as to why "they" say that, I don't think I've ever really thought about it, come to think of it...

After some time, I rose and stood up straight to get a good look at myself in the mirror, but my view was blocked by all of the steam that'd built up on the reflective glass. I swiped my hand in a zig-zag motion down the center length, and was shocked by two very distinct things that I should've noticed as soon as I woke up. Firstly, and secondly, I was cut. Like, physically, and metaphorically, all over my muscular body.

When did I start working out again, when did I get a pet, and how did I somehow fall asleep on it?

Or something, fuck. This was spooky, I thought. It's not that I wasn't used to being this shredded (again, literally and figuratively), but my arms, back, pecs, and abs were as muscular and defined as they had been years ago when I finished boot camp, and were also covered with the distinct, swollen claw markings of a cat.

Only if that cat's paws were almost as big as my hands, anyway. Did I do that to myself in my sleep somehow?... Was the demon from my sleep paralysis nightmares real?

My mind was swimming with questions as I blankly stared at my blurry reflection in the mirror, which had quickly fogged up again before I realized it.

Then, in the blink of an eye, I'd quickly forgotten what I'd just been thinking about.

The confused expression on my face didn't change in that instant, but it did lighten up a bit as I stood there and tried to recall why I'd just spaced out like that.

That was weird, I thought to myself with a shrug, then turned around towards the hot shower and leaned in to ease a bit of cold water into its flow. So were the scratches, granted, but I am a restless, heavy sleeper, and this wasn't the first time I've somehow managed to injure myself in my sleep. If anything, I probably dropped a fork between the sofa cushions and it just roughly dug against my chilled, numb flesh. As far as my muscles were concerned, who knows? I'm no slacker, and maybe lifting all of those heavy boxes in the mailroom finally started doing something for me in that department.

Once I was actually in the shower and cleaning myself up, any of my previous, suspicious thoughts that'd been lingering around in the back of my mind seemed to drift away into oblivion. Despite all of the bizarre and forgettable instances before that moment and the few that may or may not have followed, something strange happened after I'd stepped out and began to dry myself off in the warm, misty air. There was a towel that I had grabbed from the small set of shelves above my toilet, one that was softer than the rest, light-pink compared to a plain, basic white, and when I brought it up to my face, it had a smell that both was and wasn't familiar at the same time.

I didn't understand why, but the sweet scent coming from that unfamiliar cloth was somehow nostalgic. It carried a wonderful, girly smell that I felt as though I'd gotten used to recently, but one that I knew I would never get to experience again. I pulled it away from my frowning face, but it was the last thing I wanted to do in that instant.

I stared down at the small, pretty towel in my hands, wondering where it had come from, and wondering why I was crying.

-----

It was certainly cold out there, in that dreadful flurry of snow. The park bench beneath me was just as chilling as the air, and its thin, metal bars that the side of my body was laying against seemed to ignore the thick, black hoodie and sweatpants I wore. My thin coat of fur was keeping me from dying of hypothermia, at the very least, but a large part of me silently prayed for such a dull, deserving fate.

It was what I deserved, after all.

I had taken advantage of the only man in this world who would, who could ever love a twisted monster like me. My own flesh and blood, used for nothing more than cleaning up after me and satiating my carnal desires. Blake deserved better than me.

For over a month, I'd selfishly slept in his bed, ate any and all food around his home without consideration like a glutton, tortured and teased his two best friends by wearing next-to-nothing when they were around while never being kind to them (I can't say that part wasn't fun), caused him countless headaches with my irreparable insecurities and borderline bipolar outbursts of petty discontent, and worse of all...

I had raped him. More times than I care to recall, and without any shame before or after each incident. Of course, we had made love quite a few times while he was awake and more than willing, but the majority of our sexual encounters involved me throwing him into a trance, forcing him to fall unconscious, so that I could manipulate and do whatever I pleased with his wonderful, delicious body.

It was safe to say that the shame was very much present within me, then.

After a time, I'm not sure how long, I slowly and stiffly sat up from the bench, annoyed that the layer of snow building up over the side of my body was melting slightly and seeping into the fabric of my clothes and the fur protecting my flesh. Finally, I began to shiver. The weight of my actions started to become less painful than the cruel, icy sting of the winter elements around me.

Although, looking back on it, I wish I had just stayed there until the Reaper came for me. When I managed to rise and bring myself to my feet, a familiar, short figure came jogging along the park's sidewalk several feet away from me, not paying any mind to the poor, forgotten girl he shared a home with the day prior. It was Blake, on his way to work, and likely right on time, if I'd known the standard route he took each morning.

If I had known he would be here, I would've gone much further than just a few blocks away after I'd left his apartment.

One thing that both touched and broke my heart at the same time, was seeing a partial bit of his face as he passed, most of it masked by his own, dark-grey hoodie pulled up over his head.

Blake was smiling. Grinning from ear-to-ear, even. Making an expression he would only see when we were spending time together and laughing about something either mean or stupid that one of them had said in regards to anything that deserved it, or when I would put him under and have him talk about an early, happy memory of his life, or when he would see me disrobing before I jumped into his warm bed with him.

This time, he was most likely smiling because he didn't have me in his life to cause him any more trouble or excess grief.

That final thought did me in, and I resigned myself to standing there in the park like a statue, silently and pathetically sobbing to myself in the cold.

Aimlessly, I eventually began to wander down the sidewalk in the opposite direction that Blake was travelling, with no destination in particular.

Like the rest of my body, my feet had gone completely numb from the ice-cold water that had seeped into my tennis shoes. The slow pace I walked at only grew slower and slower as the endless moments of self-pity trudged on along with the invisible needles digging deeper and deeper into my aching muscles. And, of course, it wasn't long before I was completely lost in the frozen, concrete jungle of Imperial City.

The tops of the towering buildings that scraped the dark, early morning skies above me weren't visible if I had looked up at any moment, but I could barely keep my eyes open let alone even glance down at the ground that my feet were crunching against. I was sure that the tears on my cheeks were frozen along with the melted snow that'd seeped into my clothes; that I would eventually fall to the ground as I did then out of exhaustion and the lack of a will to continue; that I deserved what was happening to me for abandoning my mother and sisters at the castle because I was too selfish to do what the duty of my family commanded of me. And, I was absolutely certain that Blake was going to live a much longer, happier life without me.

... What I didn't expect, was to wake up where I had found myself, afterwards.

-----

Something was wrong.

"Hey, Blake!" Melvin, my supervisor, said just as I had punched in on our outdated time-card machine. "How's the girlfriend?"

"Fine, I guess." I said flatly while trying to keep my composure as calm and collected as possible, not knowing what else to say besides: 'What the fuck are you going on about, Mel?', or, 'Why is it Tuesday, of next month?!'

"Fine?" He chuckled, letting out an awkward snort during. "If that's all you've got to say about her, then it doesn't sound fine, bud."

Okay, a couple of things were wrong.

I looked up and away from the misdated time-card and towards Melvin's face, who was smiling like an idiot, rather than someone who was genuinely concerned about his employee going through a relationship hiccup.

Ohhh, I thought to myself, all of this was some kind of stupid prank, or something.

With a shrug and a sigh, I wordlessly turned away from Melvin, exited the warehouse portion of the building, and then began down a hallway that led towards my puny, little office.

It's too bad that Melvin couldn't get the hint that he wasn't being funny. I swear, if the time-card thing screws with my pay at the end of the month, I'll be more than a little bit upset. If fact, I'll be very fucking upset.

"Blake, wait up!" Melvin called out. He stood there in a strange sort of shock when I hadn't reacted to him forging the dates on my card, nor when he mentioned something about one of my exes, and simply walked away with an understandable disinterest.

We weren't friends. I knew that he didn't have any, and was always desperate to make a few with those who worked under him. It didn't matter to me, though.

If it weren't for Dominic and Justin, two of my old highschool buddies that always showed up to my apartment unannounced and uninvited, I could say the same about myself.

Friends were overrated, and Melvin, a man nearly twice my age, should've accepted that fact by now.

Again, and in general, it was a shame that Melvin couldn't take a hint.

"What's wrong, man?" He asked, the familiarity in his voice sending chills up my spine, for some reason. Sure, I may be an antisocial zero on a level comparable to his, but something just felt strange about the way he spoke to me. He was acting as if we've casually chit-chatted before. "Was it something I said?"

"Sorry, I'm just not feeling well." I blurted out, quickening the pace of my speedy steps as my anxiety levels were threatening to break through its metaphorical container's proverbial roof. "I just-..."

I stopped in my tracks, suddenly experiencing a powerful and instantaneous shift in my emotional state.

"I... Uh." I muttered, shaking my head.

Melvin gently put a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched fairly hard.

"Oop, sorry." He said, quickly retracting his arm and stepping back. "I forgot that you don't like being touched."

"Y-yeah..." I sighed, and as genuinely relaxed as I could've possibly been, I turned around to face him with a weak, reluctant smile. "Glad you remembered."

Despite that fact about me being true, I'd never told him about it.

Something was wrong.

"Are you and the lady going through some stuff?" Melvin asked, still wearing the friendly mask he wore when I started worrying about the-... Wait, what was I freaking out about, earlier? "I know what it's like, man. Y'know, having been through two divorces myself, but I've talked your ear off about it enough."

"You've been married before?" I asked, cocking my head to the side as I examined the tall, skinny man. He wore the same light-blue, long-sleeved, button-up shirt and puke-brown, khaki pants that made up our gaudy post-office uniforms. The guy wasn't totally unattractive aside from that, but his deathly twiggy build and the dark lines in his aging face and neck made him look like the Grim Reaper, if they were, y'know, a postmaster. It's hard to imagine what kind of women had actually agreed to get romantically involved with him, let alone marry the guy.

"Yeah." Melvin openly laughed, something I know for a fact that I've never witnessed before. "That's the spirit. The past is dead and gone, right? It's time for me to finally move on with my life."

Okay, a couple of things were wrong.

... Wait, haven't I thought that today, already?

Feels like I've thought it a few times, now that I think about it.

"Which is why I feel weird about bringing this up since you and your lady are in the middle of a spat, but you're the only one around this place who would probably give a damn about the news."

Unless he was about to introduce me to this girl that I'm apparently dating, then I didn't give a damn about any other news, honestly.

Still, not wanting to say anything that I shouldn't to my boss, I just continued standing there with a polite, half-smiling expression on my face.