The Rat Who Broke Me

I’m sick. I’m punch drunk. I’m missing a piece of me, and waiting for the cops to show up. Inside of a hotel bathroom as dim as a flashlight on one battery. And on top of that, at a furry convention of all places. 
I’ve always been a part of this subculture, since I was fifteen, if I’m remembering correctly. Always been fascinated by the idea of roleplaying as an anthropomorphic animal. Weird as fuck, I know, but it surprisingly gets me a good chunk of socialization. Albeit, with other weird people. I just wanted to hang out. 
Now, I’m sitting in a tub, unloved. All I could’ve done was take the numerous outcomes into consideration, but no. 
I let a fucking rat cosplayer ruin me. 
It was almost one in the morning, and the last event of the con was being held in the ballroom. A relatively medium-sized area, yes, but it was packed with people. 
Idiots that started bar fights for no reason, a DJ that cranked up the volume to its max to the point where I could barely hear what anyone was saying, and the bouncers themselves didn’t do their stinking jobs right. Unfortunately, a few people with epilepsy ended up being let inside. Make of that what you will.
Oh, right. There was a bar area, in a ball room of all places. I was one of those customers. I’ll cut it simple. Too many shots of vodka, that racked up twenty bucks every four shots, and I felt tipsy by the fifth glass. I spent forty dollars, and the rest of what I paid for went unswallowed. Again, the place was full of idiots; me being one of them.  
Then, the slob showed up and took a seat next to me, slightly hunched over. Legs crossed all elegantly, head in his hand. The DJ’s music faded a bit, his mixtape reaching its end as he went on to get another. 
The rat just stared, and stared, and stared. Like my eyes were sparkling stars under a crescent moon. He never spoke; vocally at least. He had a “differentiated” mode of communication. 
A button with a built-in, miniature speaker, pinned to his well-knitted, turquoise, virgin-killer sweater made especially to fit his fursuit. He gently pawed on it with his big hands until it activated.
“Hi! My name is Reggie, I like guys!”
What a heart-throb, am I right? Going straight for the kill. Nah, but seriously, that was odd. I remember most of what had happened, but I can hardly even call back what I was trying to say at that moment. My speech was so slurred with sputtering bubbles and cheap drinks, that I felt like I was going to flop on my back. 
My dumbass thought it was attractive anyway, and I went on to, I guess, spill my guts out to him. Like he was my boyfriend, or some shit. Only reason I’m assuming this is because afterward, he pulled my head over to his fluffy, rather clean and well-kempt bosom. I felt comforted, for the first time in a while.
For the first time. In a while. 
Half an hour passes. The rat boy led my stumbling ass up to a room that wasn’t mine, and threw me on my bed like his bridesmaid. He lied next to me, tracing his finger over my cheek, before reaching over to his side of the bed and grabbing a bottle of cheap liquor. There was some sort of itty bitty, colored oval floating around inside of it.
But, I drank it anyway, and ended up swallowing the tiny piece. Paid zero attention to it. Didn't think I had much to lose at this point. 
“Reggie” stared me down again, Gray’s Anatomy on the TV barely resonating throughout the room’s hefty air. He pressed his button again once he got in my face a tad more. 
“I… really like guys. There’s just something about them. Their touch, their smell. Their… taste.”
I felt my vision blurring, becoming more saturated. His fur was getting soggier from where I was sitting. It’s probably from how lightheaded I was feeling, or from all the sweat that this stranger was omitting just being here with me. 
“I like to be taken, from… behind… as they…”
Slower the automated lines became, until I couldn’t understand what he was saying at all anymore. I tried prying my eyes open the best I possibly could, and I succeeded, only because I felt something incredibly sharp plunge into my abdomen. 
I shouted something, whatever I could’ve thought of. I was fucking terrified. I wanted to understand why I was hurting so much, but I doubt he would’ve spilled the beans about it. 
That’s when Reggie stood up, his back stooped, and stumbled away from the bed to get something, from some small, blue box-like object. 
Everything was so hazy and hard to recognize, but I could make a few things out. He pulled two objects out of the box, and turned around. His right hand behind his back, and some sort of card in the other. No matter how close he pressed it against my face, I still couldn’t see shit. 
He pulled up his mascot head ever so slightly, revealing his herpes-ridden, bruised lower half of his face. Riddled with strands of unkempt facial hair. His whispers echoed in my mind, but not before he tore off his button speaker. 
“All… stronger…”
Next thing I know, I woke up here. Freezing in a bath of ice, stitches on my belly. Smelling of my festering sweat, with my phone conveniently placed to my side. Still powered on, at 3%. 
Just as I was about to sluggishly dial the police to come over, I noticed that the last application used was my sound file folder. One new file. 
Tap.
“I'll be all fixed up by the end of tomorrow morning. You're a lifesaver, handsome.”
Category:Weird
Category:Memes
Category:Lafawnda's Reading Hour