She put her hand on him again and Andrew flinched.

“Come on, I'm trying to help you,” she said, sounding a little irritated.

“G-go away.” It was quiet, and low, almost a whisper.

“I'm not going to go away. For one thing you're in my bed. And for another you need to take a shower and get cleaned up, you can't just lie there like that forever.”

“Yes I c-can. G-g-go away.”

“Listen, you stupid little deer. You're a freaking vampire. If nothing else you'll have to get up to feed, and I'm pretty damn certain you're going to really regret it if you just stay there until you're so hungry you have to. Now come on.”

Andrew said nothing.

She muttered a curse under her breath. “Well, maybe this will get your attention.” There was a pause, a soft sound he couldn't quite identify, and then Andrew shuddered as he smelled blood. Hunger clawed its way into his brain, overriding everything else. He had fed that night, but what his three assailants had taken from him had left him worse off than when he began. He opened his eyes and looked up.

Standing over him was the short, stocky form of a female lynx. She was dressed in a ripped back t-shirt and jeans. But he hardly registered her appearance, his attention was on her wrist, where a broad red line slowly oozed blood. She held it in front of his muzzle and with a low moan of need he grabbed her arm and pressed his lips to the wound. He closed his eyes again and drank, aware of nothing but the wonderful taste of it. The lynx put her hand on his shoulder, bracing herself as she swayed. He drank deeply, taking his fill of her, leaving her weakened. But eventually he had enough and he was able to stop.

“Ugh. I don't know why the hell I did that.” She let go of his shoulder and shot him a glare, and he flinched. She sighed again. “Damn idiots, both of us. Well, now that I have your attention are you going to get up and clean yourself up, or do I have to do it for you?”

He slowly sat up. Physically he felt better, the pain was slowly fading. Mentally... he shied away from the thought of what had been done to him. He didn't want to think about it. But she was right, he at least needed to get cleaned up. And... “Y-you mentioned a shower?”

“Yeah, I'm one of the privileged few, this room has hot water. Go ahead and take one, there's plenty.” She gestured at a door that stood open, showing a tiled bathroom beyond. Andrew slowly rose to his feet. He limped across the room to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He sighed softly with relief to be alone again. He turned on the water and climbed in as soon as it was warm. He just stood under the spray for a long time, letting the heat wash over him.

Eventually he realized that he would need to scrub off what had... what had been left on him. He picked up a bar of soap in one hand. With the other he cautiously reached under his tail to explore. The pain was already almost gone, he healed rapidly. But his fingers encountered slick, matted fur, and the feel of the other men's semen sent a shudder of horror and disgust through him. He swayed, feeling like he might faint. He dropped to his knees in the bottom of the tub, shuddering and whimpering. He didn't want to touch it, didn't want to think about it. But I can't just... just leave it there on me. No!

With another shudder he started to rub the soap through his fur, trying to only touch the soiled areas with the bar and not his hands. After a while he managed to scrub all of it off, but even though his cautious touch revealed no trace of it he still felt dirty, and he found himself washing off the area half a dozen more times before he finally stopped, not because he felt clean but because the hot water ran out and he didn't want to stay in the freezing spray. He rinsed the last suds from his fur and turned the water off. He shook off and drew the curtain aside. There was a towel sitting on the counter, so he took it and dried off, then wrapped it around his waist. He looked down at where his discarded clothing lay on the floor. The pants were ruined. Even if they hadn't been torn they were spotted and stained and he didn't even want to touch them. And they were lying on top of the shirt. He shivered. He had other clothes, he would leave these.

He stepped out of the bathroom. The lynx girl was lying on the bed. She looked up at him and smiled. “You look a little better. Feel better?”

“Yeah, s-some.” He frowned. He hated his stutter, and usually he managed to keep it from showing, but sometimes when he was upset he couldn't keep it under control. “Thanks,” he said, manging not to stutter that.

“Yeah, well, I just wish I'd come along earlier. I should beat those bastards to a bloody pulp next time I run into them.”

He looked at her. She hardly came up to his chin but he didn't doubt she meant every word. She radiated a kind of feisty confidence. And her stocky frame was all muscle and curves. He flicked his ears nervously, suddenly very conscious of his nakedness under the towel, and of how she'd seen him shamed. He wanted to flee. “Uhm. I th-th-think I should g-go...”

“Okay. But listen. If those bozos hurt you again, you come tell me, and I'll take it out of their hides, okay?”

He nodded.

“Good. Them or anybody else. I mean it, if anybody's picking on you, just let me know, I'll give them a good thumping for you.”

“Okay,” he said, turning to go to the door.

“Hey wait.” He looked back at her. “I don't know your name.”

“Andrew,” he said.

She smiled at him. “I'm Jen.”

He managed a faint smile in return.

“That's more like it.” She grinned at him. “Don't let those bastards get you down, okay? And if there's anything I can do for you, let me know.”

He nodded.

“Good boy. It's nearly dawn though, so you probably should go.”

“Yeah.”

He just had time enough to reach his room and curl up in the bed before the sun rose and sent him into welcome oblivion, where he didn't have to remember or feel.