Something That Matters: Part One

>Sam’s unconscious body shifts against you, mulling over a dream

>His form is as familiar to you as your own clothing

>Hell, both you and him probably smell the same by now

>Like hay and timothy; like long grass after it rains

>One fact does stand out to you, however:

>Though small, Sam’s body sheds an immense amount of heat

>He’s like a fuzzy little star you can hold close

>A star all of your own

“What time is it?” You murmur in a half-dream

>Your mind recognizes that it’s morning by the birdsong which flutes in through the church’s broken windows

>A dawn chorus opens up, fully rousing you

>A sliver of battery life lets you read the time

>Six-thirty in the morning on Wednesday

>Still shaking off the weight of sleep, you squint in disbelief, trying to assign meaning to the shapes in the darkness

>Golden rays of light don’t shower down on you from the stained glass like you thought they would

>The old church’s foundations shift hard, like something is busy tunneling beneath aged concrete

>It’s cold in here, too

>No power, no heat

>Still, you have another hour-and-a-half before you need to be at school

>You stretch out delicately, trying to capture as much of Sam’s warmth as you can

>He shifts into your touch in response, his legs kicking at a near frantic pace

>You know the signs: Sam is definitely in a dream; a real vivid one, too

>Something about Sam’s mind offering him dreams to escape to curls your lips into a smile

>In the past, whenever Alex or Mike passed out on you, you tried to free yourself of their unconscious weight

>Sam is different

>Sam is your charge

>Your watch

>Your warrant

>It’s unclear to you how often Sam is afforded the safety required for deep sleep, but he looks OUT

>A vain part of you wonders if he’s dreaming of…

>…some human guy from school to teach him he’s valuable, strong, and brave?

>Maybe?!

>In contrast, Alex snores away, the sound that of a bulldozer crushing a parking lot of glass bottles

>You ease your eyes shut, and step back to the precipice of sleep

>You hear a nearby pew groan with shifting weight

>You turn your head, and, after some parsing of the dark, you spy the jagged tips of a fox’s ears like two jagged peaks

>Jenna stretches her arms wide, restrains a fanged yawn, and sets about getting ready for the day

>She smooths down her sweater, wipes her jeans down, and starts to run a spit-slick paw through the curls of her unkempt ‘bed-fur’

>Seems normal to you-

>Jenna then begins to lick her bare arm, smoothing out tufts of stubborn fur with her thorough tongue

>…

>You wonder if Sam grooms himself with his tongue

>You wonder what it’s like to be able to ‘bathe yourself’

>Your eyes drift downwards and settle upon your pale, spindly arms

>The voice of lucidity in your mind is still asleep, because you decide to go for it

>And as you bring the back of your wrist to your face, you pause

>Jenna – tongue still attached to her own arm – stares at you, mortified

>Your eyes meet

>The vixen lets out an involuntary (and mostly-controlled) squeak of embarrassment

>Her face is a rose garden

>“H-Hey, Anon,” she whispers, rolling her tongue back to its root in her mouth, “I didn’t… realize you were awake.”

“Were you just licking-”

>“No! No I wasn’t!” Jenna’s voice rings out in a thin staccato, explosive syllables doing all the blushing for her

>She then tries to catch her own voice with a quick palm across her mouth

>Sam shifts a little, murmuring a hushed sentence that managed to slip between the cracks in his subconscious

>“The g-ground is moving,” he moans

>You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding

>Sam’s still asleep, and that’s good

>In a sad attempt to throw you off her behavior, Jenna rakes her paws across her arm, trying to smooth down the fur she’d otherwise lick

>Whatever

>This isn’t a big deal

>You were caught picking your nose plenty of times

>“Psst, Anon,” Jenna hisses as she points to the doors of the church, still blushing

>Universal speech for ‘I need to talk to you outside.’

>Decoupling from Sam, however, feels more like disarming a bomb

>You inch away from him on the pew

>Gravity has other plans

>His unconscious form slides off your shoulder like snow cleaving off the side of a mountain

>An avalanche of sleeping bunny goes face down onto your lap

>Now it’s your turn to squeak

>Fucking hell…

>Of course it’s right in your…

>…how has Sam managed to stay asleep through all of this?

>You look to Jenna, desperate for help

>The vixen is fucking useless

>In fact, she looks like she’s about to pop

>You can hear her satisfied giggles die inside her mouth, like little she’s swallowed little balloons

>Foxes and their gekkering

>You glare daggers at Jenna; the look of a man about to spill it all to the general student body

>Mammals are supposed to grow out of licking themselves, right?

>Whatever, your leg feels like television static now that Sam’s sleeping on it

>You really still gotta get Sam off-

>…

>-OF YOU, YOU MEAN

>Not ‘off,’ like…

>…fuck, never mind!

>With surgical precision, you grip onto the tangles of his neck fluff, gingerly holding him in place

>Touching Sam – even when you’re barely holding his head up by the scruff of his neck – is like touching a hot stove

>His entire body feels nuclear, like a pot boiling over

>You bite your lower lip

>Your instinct tells you something is wrong with him

>What if Sam is getting sick? Then what?

>The world ends on Halloween, Sam, there’s no time to be sick!

>You promise yourself to hit the store before school and get him some fever reducers

>Sam absolutely NEEDS to be in class this week

>You’ve already kidnapped him, and now you’re stealing his GED from him

>If any of you – Sam especially – makes it out of this alive, you want the bunny to at least have a chance at the future

>Welp, here goes nothing

>You gently lift Sam’s head up by the smallest fraction of an inch…

>…and slide your body out from underneath him

>Then – as if he were made of delicate glass – you lay him back down on the pew

>Sam’s unconscious response to all of this is to shiver, as if he’s not already at a boiling point

>And wearing your hoodie, still

>The rabbit curls in on himself, his body’s tremors dying against the well of heat he’s created

>You brush off an accumulation of Sam’s fur on your shirt, creating wisps of oaken clouds that flutter to your feet

>Jenna grins at all of this, clearly amused by how incredibly tender you are with the rabbit

>You swallow a knot of shame that’s lodged in your throat

>Keep it together, Anonymous

>Burn that image of her licking her own arm into your memory

>The oak doors of the church flutter shut behind you

>Outside, at the bottom of the steps leading back to the relative warmth of indoors, dawn lingers like a stain

>A chill dries out the air, reducing your breath of puffs

>Your body shakes, and you wrap your arms around your chest in response

>Jenna, by comparison, looks perfectly dressed for this weather

>“So, you and Sam really are an item, huh?” She says, so smug that it provokes you, like a bull charging a matador

>Yet, you’re smarter than someone like Mike, who may go for the flag

>You strike up a deal with the fox

“We’re as real as you still grooming yourself with your tongue,” you say, teeth cleaving syllables as you shiver

>Jenna’s smug grin deflates while she analyzes you subtext

>She casts an awkward glance over her shoulder, eyes trailing on the shape of your parked car where Mike sleeps, paralyzed in the back seat by a coffin of old fast-food wrappers and chunks of upholstery

>“Understood,” Jenna says quickly, killing the joke

>You roll your eyes with impatience

“Good. Now say what you need to say, please. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

>The vixen nods in silent affirmation, and then…

>…draws a gust of cold air in through her snout

>Her dark nose wrinkles as she scents the breeze

>Behind her, an orange tail capped with white fans, twirling like a hand-crank powering a primitive computer

>Jenna steps closer to you, still scenting wind, searching for an invisible thread that ties you to her

>All at once, she freezes, green eyes fixed to your lower body

>“Hold still,” Jenna commands

>You don’t have time to react

>You blink, and suddenly Jenna is on her knees at your feet, her elongated snout pressed onto your thigh with rote medical precision

“Jenna, what the hell!?” You shriek, dismayed

>You flush red, and pry her off your leg by dragging her up by the ears

“Listen, if you’re trying to ‘test’ me or something, you need to stop. I don’t know what Mike or Alex put you up to but I’m not-”

>Jenna’s isn’t paying attention

>She takes one final whiff of you before standing up to her full height, and dusting off her pants

>“Just like I thought. You smell like a female in heat.”

>You release her ears

>There must be a confused look on your face, because Jenna continues on

>“I brought you out here because I was trying to isolate the scent I thought I picked up last night,” she says, clearly oblivious to your discomfort

>Must be instinct when she’s picked up a strong scent

>Predators

>“The only thing I’m having trouble with, is the why you’d have the scent of a female in heat all over you in the first place?” She puzzles

“M-Maybe it’s yours? Who knows…” you say, desperate to understand for yourself, reaching for the lowest hanging fruit you can find

>Jenna shakes her head

>“I’m nowhere close in my cycle. And even if I were going into heat, I take my estrus blockers and scent masks like everyone else. This is a REALLY unique smell , Anon – that’s part of why it stood out. It’s the kind of smell that you only find in middle school changing rooms on girls that haven’t learned to use scent masks or anything yet.”

>You tilt your head

“No offense, Jenna, but you’re the only woman in our group. If it’s anyone’s heat juice-”

>“Please don’t call it that,” Jenna cuts in, looking like she’s about to crumble

“-then, logically, it has to be yours, right?”

>“Logic doesn’t apply anymore, remember? There’s a vampire sleeping in your car right now,” she throws a thumb over her shoulder

“Well, Mike is usually like that anyway, so…”

>The vixen snaps her face in close to yours – so close that you can see the pores the accumulated moisture on her nose

>“Do you think it’s possible you’re being tracked?” She says

>You squint, thinking back to all the students who approached you in the hallways today

“I suppose it’s possible,” you muse, though you really don’t want to admit to the idea

>Jenna presses forward, more excited now, her tail very nearly giving her lift

>“I’d bet money that when you betrayed Vanessa in the altar room she cursed you on the way out.”

>You try some nervous laughter, fingers tightening the reins on your train of thought

“Cursed me to what, smell like a girl in heat?”

>Jenna draws back, still lightly scenting the air around you

>You try to breathe a sigh of relief, but you’re worried she’s going to inhale it

>“You humans will never be able to understand how loud that scent is – and how unusual it’d be coming off of a guy,” Jenna continues, “it’s actually a perfect tracking mechanism. It’s like a beacon you, personally, would never know is on you.”

>Jenna does circles around your shaking body, pausing and inhaling every few seconds

>This new reality is starting to make you uncomfortable

“W-Well, how do you know it’s a female scent?” You stammer, clinging to a small modicum of hope

>In an instant Jenna pops back into your face

>Her interest in explaining this to you: scientific

>Her enthusiasm: autistic

>“Smell is the strongest memory trigger in all mammals. I promise, every female on Earth who’s not human knows that particular cocktail of sweat, onion, and pheromone. It’s apart of being a girl.”

>Your face sours

“And men… like to smell that?”

>Jenna pauses for a moment, as if you’d shot her

>Then, deep from her internal well of crushed feelings and clearly intact virginities, she dredges up a pathetic, defeated sigh

>“Well, if it does work, I wouldn’t know it,” she mumbles

>Silence soon follows, because you’re not sure what to say

>And Jenna isn’t following any more

>She casts her gaze towards the light storming over the church steeple

>“You know, it makes me sad,” she says plainly, as if speaking to a very old friend, “human men can have no clue that some anthro girl likes them. It’s like we’re speaking a different language all together.”

>She looks at you a moment, studying you in the weakening dark

>“I’ve never really understood how courtship works anyway,” she sighs

>You shrug in response, eyes fixed on the same light as the fox

“So tell him,” you say as you shove your hands into the pockets of your denim, “you, me, and whoever you have a crush on? We all speak the same language – and I’m not talking about English. Tell him how you feel, or you can show him.”

>You smirk and start to waddle inside, hands still jammed into your pockets

>Jenna’s laughter stops you

>“I’m really losing it,” she says, grinning, “I’m fighting vampires and goth kids with all of you guys, and now Anonymous is giving me relationship advice? This has to be a dream.”

>She beams up at you with a confident smile

>“Unless you’re secretly a girl, we can chalk this up to Vanessa’s trickery.”

>You manage to smile back

>Jenna’s smart

>She’s PROBABLY right

>Besides, what kind of deeply troubled person would pretend to be the opposite sex for plot reasons?

>Only some smelly, stuttering weirdo

>Thankfully, that rules out everyone you know

>“By the way, we should make plans to bathe you,” Jenna says, starting to laugh again, “because you smell like a hooker – no offense.”

>You impulsively sniff yourself and come up blank

“Alright, I’ll go home and bathe at SOME point. First thing, however, is I need to get some meds for Sam. Kid feels like a furnace.”

>Jenna cocks her head a bit, but, deciding not to pursue that line of inquiry, warns you against visiting the Shop N’ Save

>You don’t even flinch at this point

>You’re certain that at this point you’re meddling in something that defies the natural order anyway

>Speaking of…

>…Mike is still asleep in your car

>You wonder if he’d be up for a ride this early?

>After all, it’s still dark

>And cold

>And Sam has your hoodie still

>And the car has a working heater

Oliver Hart

Author of Foxing, The Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.

Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall