Damaged (Gay Furry Story)

Chapter one : Touch Me

(Ivann's POV)

"Cheers!" the group shouted, for the third time tonight, their glasses clinking together. "Congrats on getting the Fairfield account!" They congratulated for the third time as well.

I don't know why I let them drag me out to the bar with them, but I did, so now I have to deal with it - for a bit at least. They always insist that they take me out to celebrate whenever I get a big contract at the firm, or when anyone gets some kind of contract, big or small - any reason to go out drinking, I suppose. But that's the thing; I'm not much for drinking. I'm surprised they haven't noticed that the first drink, which someone ordered for me, a rum and coke, hasn't even been touched. I've just been sitting here eating under-cooked fries that one of them ordered for the table, half listening to them ramble on about work or their relationships or their next sexual conquest for the past hour or so.

When the attention was off of me, I slid my chair out and stood up, and walked to the bathroom, even though I didn't have to go. I just needed some space, some time to myself, some time to breathe. I could feel the panic attack coming on and I just needed to get away. I opened the first stall door and stepped in, locking it behind me, and sat down.

"It's okay," I told myself as the fear rose in me. "Everything is alright. Everything will be fine. Nothing's going to happen."

The lies I told myself weren't working this time. Some drunken barflies stumbled into the bathroom, hooting and hollering, bumping into the stalls as they jostled to get their flies down to drain their bladders. My ears folded back, down to my head, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my tail around myself, trying to hold it together, as more and more piled into the bathroom. I jumped and cringed at every fresh voice that boomed and echoed off the walls.

I waited for the ruckus to die down before I nervously unlocked the stall door and peaked out. The coast was clear and I hastily made my escape. I peered at the group that I had come in with, sitting around the table and then at my untouched drink, dripping condensation down the sides of the glass. They didn't seem to notice that I left, or they just didn't care. I didn't mind either way. It gave me the opening I needed to get out of this place.

I weaved my way through the tables and other groups, to the door, unseen... or so I thought.

"Hey," a familiar voice called from behind. "Why are you leaving so soon?"

I turned to see Sean, the wolf that delivers mail and other paperwork in the office, wobbling a bit as he walked and tried to light a cigarette at the same time.

"I'm just not feeling it tonight," I answered, which wasn't exactly a lie.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

He must have heard the fear laced in my voice.

"I'm fine," I growled. "I just don't feel like drinking tonight, that's all."

I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my wrist. "Hey, man, what's up? You can talk to me."

I turned, slapping his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me!" I barked at him, my Russian accent skewing my words a bit. I haven't heard it in so long - I began hiding it when my mother and I moved to the states - that I didn't recognize my own voice for a moment.

He looked shocked, frozen in place, his eyes wide and his jaw Slack, cigarette barely held in place between his lips. Whether because of my outburst or by my accent, I didn't care; he was still, and I made my getaway as quick as possible. I left him standing there as I ran to my car before he could see the tears in my eyes.