South Park © Matt & Trey.

I don't really do smut and such, but this is definitely the dirtiest and most sadistic thing I've written in a while... and of course it's with Craig and Kenny. They're my favorites lol.

Warnings: stalking, humiliation, exhibitionist Craig, stripper Kenny & probably OOC behaviour … PWP.
Side pairings: mentions of Clybe/Candy/Kyan

(Craig and Red are not related in this!)

June.

Summer break started a couple weeks ago and we're welcoming hot weather. University finished last month and everyone is slowly returning to South Park. Hell, I never left, so it'll be nice to see old friends again. Craig never left, either. He stayed here with me, along with Clyde and Bebe. We forewent university, all agreeing that for kids like us it would be more or less a futile effort and an overall waste of money.

Me and Craig are sitting in the backyard of my childhood home wearing tanks and shorts. Craig's are especially short, not that I mind. He has nice legs. He also has nice lips and he's currently fellating a pink popsicle. I'm hard and he knows it, but he hasn't said anything. I think he's being a tease.

I finish my latest rum and coke, setting the glass down on the plastic table that separates our lawn chairs.

"You still drink too much," Craig murmurs in a daze. The popsicle starts melting, dipping down his hand and wrist.

"No such thing," I insist. He doesn't reply. Instead, he starts squinting up at the clear, blue sky. It looks like he spaced out. "You'll go blind if you keep that up," I say warningly. "The sun is especially bright today." He lets out a bored sigh, reclining on the lawn chair he's sitting in. I do the same a moment later and ask, "How's work?"

"Dull," he says, licking the sugary mess off his hand, "but that's a good thing."

Unlike me, he's never been one for excitement. I find it funny. Craig is boring as hell, sure, but he's crazy in the sack and it almost makes up for his virtually nonexistent personality.

He's a receptionist at a tattoo parlour. He works with Red. I was never really friends with her, but Craig has known her for pretty much his whole life.

Hell, until two years ago I wasn't even friends with Craig. We never really paid much attention to one another when we were in school, but that changed when we ended up being amongst the small group of kids who didn't leave for university.

His work suits him. He has a bunch of tattoos… but I've never actually asked him what they mean – or if they mean anything at all.

When we were fifteen, Craig got his eyebrow pierced. He wears a stud in it. Next came the tattoos. He has the lyrics to a Radiohead song on his forearm: "I'm not living, I'm just killing time." I found it really fitting because Craig doesn't live life to the fullest. In his own words, he simply exists and rolls with what comes his way. He has an empty birdcage on his ribs and the tree of life on his shoulder. Below his navel is a simple cross, on his lower back is a venn diagram and on his wrist is his father's death date. I went with him when he got that last one. He cried as he got it done. He was silent, but the man giving him the tattoo asked if he was in pain. I don't think Craig realized he was crying until then. He scoffed at himself, briskly wiped his eyes and flatly informed the clueless sap his father just died. That was last year. Craig is done mourning, but I know he's still sad.

I know I hardly have a right – but when Thomas died I mourned as well. By then, Craig and I were dating and he was always nice to me, if a bit overprotective of his son… but that's understandable because my rep was shit. Plus, he knew exactly what I did for a living… Still, it was nice that he didn't treat me like trash because of it.

His death hit me hard. It was the first time I was hit by a death that wasn't my own. I almost forgot that other people had the ability to die. Maybe that sounds stupid as hell, but it's true. I was so used to dying and dying and dying and coming back that it slipped my mind. Other people die, too… but when they do, they don't come back. I'm just lucky… or gifted… or cursed, however you want to put it.

Ever since then, I can't stop thinking about things that haven't happened but could – like potential and inevitable tragedies. I keep thinking about when I'll die for good, when my family will die, when my friends will die and then I can't help but come up with these gruesomely vivid images and scenes in my head and I can't make them go away. I'm forced to watch them repeat in my mind until I distract myself but sometimes it's so fucking hard and I don't know what to do and it's making me go crazy. I can't handle it. I don't want to keep seeing this shit and I need it to stop but I don't know how.

My head is full of dark things these days. People have noticed. It's not just everyday things, either. I've gotten into watching really depraved porn. I feel like Eric Cartman. Sometimes me and Craig will watch that kind of shit together and I'll fuck his brains out. It's taken a strangely kinky toll on our relationship, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems to really dig it. We have the dirtiest, nastiest sex and it's awesome.

I love him and hey, no one said love had to be gentle.

"Craig," I murmur offhandedly, wanting to change the subject before my dick explodes in my pants, "What do your tattoos mean?"

He shrugs, finishing the popsicle and throwing the stick next to my discarded cup. "I got them because I like them… they resonate with me, simple as that."

"Do you want more?" I ask.

"Mhm," he muses, not bothering to give me any details.

I guess he's not in the mood for small talk. We'll do something interesting instead. "Let's make a memory," I decide, standing up.

"A memory?" he questions.

I nod, not bothering to answer him just yet. I go inside to get my sketchbook and a few other supplies. When I return he raises an eyebrow in my direction. "I want to draw you," I declare.

"You draw me all the time," he points out.

"We'll do it a little different this time." I flip to a new, clean page and get out my best pencil before placing both items on the table.

"Different?" he questions.

"Mhm," I muse, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to stand. I cup his face in my hands and stare into his icy, blue eyes. I can hardly ever read his thoughts. I've stopped trying a long time ago. I offer him a smile and he remains perfectly blank. We share a few sloppy, open mouthed kisses and when we part, I step back. "Lie down," I instruct, pointing to the ground.

He frowns at me, eyebrows drawing together in cautious curiousness. "On the grass…?"

"Yeah, on the grass," I say before adding, "And while you're at it, get naked."

"What if the neighbours see?" he asks.

I smirk. "A creepy, old fuck lives next door. He might jerk off to us, but you like that, don't you? You like being watched. You get so fucking excited. Pervert."

"Shut up," he murmurs, not bothering to deny his exhibitionism. "What about your parents?"

"Who cares if they see? I don't and you most definitely don't."

He stares at me, remaining perfectly stoic. "Wouldn't it make things weird?"

"Let them see," I say carelessly. "They won't hover if they do."

I don't get along with my parents. I'm on decent terms with Kevin and Karen, but they're wrapped up in their own lives so I don't see them as much these days. I'll probably see them even less after I move. It's okay, though. Kevin brings me down and I bring Karen down. It's a bit of a chain reaction. It's best when we don't spend too much time with one another.

"Anyway…" I start. "I don't want to talk about my mom and dad when I'm about to draw you like this. It'll ruin the mood."

He lets out a lazy sigh, pulling his tank top off and placing it on the lawn chair. He pushes his shorts down next, exposing his smooth, pale thighs. Once they're off, he throws them on top of his tank and lies down on the grass by my feet.

"Mm…" I practically moan at the sight. I flop back onto my lawn chair and place my sketchbook on my lap, readying my pencil. "Open your legs a little more…" I urge and Craig inches his bent knees apart further. "Don't get up until I say so," I add, touching the pencil to paper and making the first faint line. "I'm going to draw you just like that."

"Like this…?" Craig asks. "Why?"

"Because you look hot when you're on the ground all flustered," I tell him, "and plus… I've never drawn you naked before. This will make a fond last memory before I move out." I'll be gone in a matter of weeks. I'll finally be on my own. I'm scared and excited at the same time.

Craig snorts relenting. "Right. Okay."

I look at him and smirk. "Don't pretend you're not excited. I'll fuck you nicely when I'm done."

"Ha…" Craig laughs humourlessly. "Romance me with small talk…"

"Play with yourself a bit," I tell him, reaching into my pocket to grab the tiny bottle and then reaching forward to hand it to him. He grabs it, perching himself up on one of his elbows and opening the cap. He squeezes a generous amount into his hand before closing the bottle. He shifts on the grass, drawing his knees to his chest and allowing his hands to move down south. "Damn, babe," I say. "What a view. This is going to make some fine, fine art."

"Shut up," he says breathlessly, digging his fingers past the ring of muscle.

"Moan for me," I say. I love the sounds he makes. "Don't hold back, either. I know you're loving this."

"Ha…" he lets out another dry laugh. "Am I fucked up for liking this?"

"Nah," I insist, getting a few poses outlined. "We've all got our kinks." I tell him that all the time, but he still asks the same question. Am I fucked up? No, he's not.

"Remember the time you tied me up and shoved a vibrator up my ass?" he asks, letting out a long sigh as he adds another finger. He's hard already.

I snicker, recalling that fond, fond memory. "You loved it."

"Yeah, I did," he admits. "When you finally let me come… fuck, that was the best orgasm I ever had. You kind of… made me feel better about myself with that fucked up experience."

I smile at that. "I know. And you doubted that I'd be able to make you scream. Babe, you were so damn loud the entire neighbourhood probably heard."

In a seemingly unconscious gesture, he spreads his legs apart even further. God, I love him like this… and he's all mine. I'm the only one who gets to touch him. Call me possessive. Hell, I'll admit it. I'm a possessive fucker, but I can't help it. I bet Craig would have that effect on other guys, too. He's pretty and there's something so fucking mysterious about him. He draws you in. He draws everyone in.

Soon enough, I finish a few sketches. "All right," I tell him with a self-satisfied grin. "I'm done."

"Can I see it?" he asks, breath hitching and toes curling as he gingerly removes the fingers.

"Ah, ah," I tut. "Not yet. I'm gonna fuck you first. Daddy is horny."

He gives me a look of humor. "Daddy, eh?" He lets out a chuckle, stifling it with the back of his hand. "I can't take you serious when you say shit like that."

I let out a boisterous laugh, standing up and pulling my shorts just below my hips. "Ready for Daddy's dick?"

"Daddy," Craig says pointedly, "We're the same age."

I let out another laugh and, just like Craig, am unable to take myself seriously. I've always sucked at talking dirty. I kneel between his legs and he holds them back as I position myself. I go in slow, trying not to jizz on the spot. He shudders, letting out little moans. "More…" he murmurs, lazily jerking himself off.

I gladly comply, revelling in the sounds coming from his mouth. I run my hands up his chest, over his nipples and back down the plane of his flat, pale stomach. As I continue to plow Craig, I hear a gentle creak. I turn my head and see my voyeuristic neighbour. I smirk and wave at him before telling Craig. "We're being watched…" I start, thrusting in harder, "just like I knew we would."

"God," he moans, starting to stroke his cock faster and letting out a loud gasp as I hit that particular spot that drives him up the wall.

I bite my lip at the sight. I continue railing him, feeling heat pool in my gut and in my groin. It doesn't take either of us long. He comes loudly and with a grunt, I follow mere seconds later. I let out a shuddery breath, pulling out slowly. I push Craig's legs back, enjoying the view.

"Perv," he murmurs.

"Aw, don't be shy," I coo at him. I release his legs and bend down, licking the mess of his abdomen.

"Ah…" he sighs breathlessly.

I sit up, wiping the corners of my mouth and winking at him. I tuck my dying hard-on back into my shorts and stand, offering Craig my hand. He accepts and I drag him to his feet. "Wanna see that picture, then?" I ask.

He nods his head, still shamelessly naked for the neighbourhood pervert. I turn around and grab my sketchbook, handing it to him. He stares down at the page in awe. "Wow," he praises. "That's really good. I look hot."

I let out a laugh, sitting back down on the chair. "You are hot."

The corners of his lips turn upward. As he walks past where I'm seated, I deliver a hard slap to his bare ass. He lets out a long whine. "Ow… you should be nicer to the people you like."

"Like?" I repeat before correcting him, "I don't like you, I love you."

"Well, then be nicer," he says pointedly, touching my cheek gently before delivering a light smack in return. "Dick."

I just chuckle. He puts his shirt back on and reaches for his shorts, but before he puts them on I grab him by the waist and bring him down onto my lap. "I love you," I say again.

"I love you, too," he returns flatly. It's never a passionate confession. It's always simple and sometimes tart, but this is Craig after all. Anything else would be too unexpected. "More is coming out," he adds offhandedly.

I release him a split second later and stare down at the spooge on my lap. "Well… I guess this means we should both go in and get cleaned up."

He grabs his shorts and shirt, putting them on and the two of us go back inside. Fortunately, we seem to be alone. Or at the least, my parents aren't home. When we walk upstairs, however, we see that Karen here. "Hi, perverts," she greets offhandedly as we walk past her open door. Craig holds up a hand while I just grin at her. "I had quite the view of Craig's ass," she adds lewdly. "Thanks for that."

"Whatever," I snort. "You probably enjoyed it." Everyone and their left tit knows Karen has a thing for my boyfriend. She doesn't try to hide it, either. It's a pretty shameless attraction, but who can really blame her? He's hot.

In response, she simply winks at us. "Run along."

I roll my eyes, grabbing Craig's wrist. We continue down the hallway and into the narrow bathroom. I turn the shower taps on and wait for the water to get hot.

Craig strips unceremoniously, taking off the clothes he just put back on. I follow in suit and when the water is hot, we both step inside. It's a tight fit, but we don't mind. I grope at Craig's ass, rinsing the jizz away. He leans against me and says, "I feel babyish when you do shit like this… like a kid who can't even tie his fucking shoes."

"When I do shit like what?" I ask stupidly.

"Clean me," he explains.

"I like cleaning you," I tell him. "I made the mess, after all. Shouldn't I be the one to clean it up? I like keeping my things tidy."

"Your things…" he repeats. "Possessive fucker."

"You like it," I say knowingly.

He draws back when I'm finished and simply stares at me. There it is yet again – the look that says absolutely nothing. He could be happy, he could be sad, he could be angry. But I don't know because he rarely shows those strong emotions. He says nothing. Instead, he leans forward and pecks me on the lips so I know he's not mad. Then he turns around, grabbing the shampoo bottle and washing his hair. I smile to myself and do the same.

July.

I move into my apartment in the middle of the month. Me and Craig christen the house that very night, amidst the boxes.

Bebe, Clyde, Kyle, Stan, Wendy and Eric come over once I'm settled in. We're all in the living room. It's pretty plain with a set of second hand furniture. I need to get some paintings and shit to decorate it. Craig helped me move. I didn't have that many things, so it wasn't a tiring ordeal. He's been spending a lot of time here since. He lives across town in a share-house with Clyde, Bebe and some other random kids. Those two dorks won't admit they're completely in love with one another, but everyone else sees it. They insist it's purely physical.

Things changed drastically since we were kids – especially in the love department. Wendy and Stan broke up when they were thirteen. It was mutual. Ever since then, Wendy and Cartman have been doing the dirty while Kyle has been giving it to Stan. Funny. Just like Clyde and Bebe, they all insist it's purely physical. And hey, maybe it is… but to be honest, I think everybody is a little bit afraid to say the L word. I guess you can't really blame 'em. Love hurts like a bitch sometimes.

Kyle, Stan and Eric are talking about university – a conversation I can't really partake in. I don't mind, though. They probably have even more in common with one another these days.

Clyde is telling Craig about his latest car troubles. Craig looks tired and weary. No matter how many times he tells Clyde to get a new car, the words go unheard. Clyde is attached to that piece of junk and Craig always has to fix it when it breaks down.

Bebe grabs my sketchbook from the coffee table. She flips through it, giving me a lewd smile after stopping on a certain page. "Is this Craig?" she asks, holding it up and pointing to the drawings I did last month. Yeah, it's of Craig – legs spread for the world to see.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaim, grabbing the coiled book from her. "I forgot that was in there."

Craig gives me a look of distaste from across the room, raising his hand and giving me the middle finger. "There's a time and place, Kenny."

I give him a sheepish smile in return. "Sorry, babe."

"Sorry, Craig," Bebe also apologizes.

"No, you're not," he says knowingly.

She gives him a smile twice as sheepish as mine and admits, "Yeah, you're right. You've got quite the little ass."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. Beside him, Clyde looks confused as ever. We all insist it's nothing.

"Craig Tucker, you are one fine, fine specimen," she compliments with a wink.

"What about me?" Clyde asks, pouting.

"You're all right, too," she adds lightly.

Me and Bebe go way back. I was friends with her long before I was friends with Craig or Clyde. She was my prom date at the end of grade twelve. She wore the suit and I wore the dress. We were quite the pretty sight, if I do say so myself. Now we work together.

When Craig goes back to talking with Clyde, Bebe gives me a smile and nods for me to follow her. We walk into the kitchen, where she says, "You make Craig happy."

It's weird to hear, but nonetheless I say, "I'm really fucking glad…" I used to think he was a sociopath, or too dissociated to feel things… but he can feel things. He just doesn't care when it comes to most stuff.

Bebe nods. "We've all noticed the change in him. It's slight, but it's there. He's not as angry and repressed. He isn't as spiteful. He used to be such a bully…"

"I know," I admit, recalling the time he beat up Kyle when we were in grade school. It's relieving to hear that I make him happy. He's still incredibly spiteful, but it's fine as long as I stay in his good graces. I can be spiteful, too. "That's probably because, as you said, he was repressing himself. He wouldn't express himself in a healthy way… or at all. I don't really know why. He's got a bangin' body. Well, clearly he knows that now."

"You make him feel comfortable," she continues. "Clyde once told me Craig was rigid when it came to sexual expression." I scoff in disbelief, causing her to smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I know he's a little deviant now, thanks to you," she chuckles. "Anyway… I'm glad he found someone who likes the things he likes and doesn't make him feel bad about it."

"There's nothin' wrong with getting a little crazy," I say humbly. I think Craig, of all people, especially needs that.

I make myself a stiff drink and down it with an ease that makes Bebe laugh. "Fuck me!" she exclaims. "I'd be cringing."

"Craig says it's a problem" I snort.

"I don't see you outside of work as much as I used to," she says, "so I wouldn't know how much you drink these days… but Craig isn't one to overreact."

"True," I murmur.

"You should do tattoos," Craig says after everyone leaves. We're seated on the sofa and some stupid reality TV program is playing in the background, but neither of us is paying attention. Craig is leafing through my sketch book, staring at all the drawings. "It's a stressful job and sometimes you get clients who want tattoos that are racist… but you just gotta straight up say nah to people who want that shit."

"Ugh," I grimace. "Awkward…"

Craig nods in agreement. Throughout the years, Wendy Testaburger and Token Black have taught us much on the topic of cultural appropriation and how to properly avoid it.

"If I were to consider it," I start, "Would that make you feel better?"

"Do you like your job?" he retorts, not bothering to answer my question.

"I'm good at it," I admit.

"That doesn't answer the question," he murmurs. "You can be good at something and still not like it. I'm good at fixing cars, but it doesn't mean I enjoy it. I fucking hate it and every time Clyde comes to me with car troubles I want to wring his neck."

I smile slightly. "I suppose so… I really do enjoy drawing…"

"I could get you an interview," he continues. "Once they see your portfolio, they'd probably want to get you an apprenticeship right away."

"You think?" I wonder.

"You're really fucking good," he says.

"Thanks," I wink. A compliment from Craig Tucker means a lot.

"You could keep your job until your apprenticeship is over," he adds, "but then you'd be free from it. You could work with me instead."

"I'll think about it," I promise him.

"You never talk about your work," he murmurs. "Why is that?"

"Because it's work and it's boring," I say with a careless shrug. "Most nights are the same… Plus, I don't know if it suits me."

"It does in a way," he reasons. "Your friends weren't surprised."

That's probably thanks to my infamous Halloween costume a few years back. I went dressed as a cop, little did everyone know I wasn't just an ordinary cop… I was a stripper cop. So, at some point in the night I ended up ripping my clothes off in one swift motion and there I was in this little thong. I did it for jokes. At the time I never actually considered a career as a stripper. Clyde laughed in disbelief, but Bebe approved and so did all her friends. She works at the same joint as me now, but she doesn't strip. She just manages and directs us onto stage. She keeps us safe.

"It'd suit you more," I add. "You're the exhibitionist."

He wrinkles his nose. "I'm not flexible or strong. I'm actually far too lazy for a job like that… besides, you like attention."

"You can say it, you know," I tell him. "It's not a dirty word and it's not a dirty job. I'm part of the sex industry."

"I know," he says flatly. "So, do you like being a stripper?"

"I guess," I tell him. "Though… I don't do a lot of stripping these days. I mostly work the pole. I like mesmerizing the crowd… When I'm on the pole it if feels like I'm fuckin' defying gravity. Plus, the money is pretty effortless, too. The only annoying part is having to shave myself."

"I don't hate it," Craig adds, answering the question I asked him earlier. "If you like it, then it's fine. It's not like you're touching people that aren't me. You're just dancing." I believe him. He doesn't get worked up over this sort of thing. He likes being watched, after all. I don't get off on it the way he does, but I have no shame.

"Right," I wink. "And don't worry, I haven't worked the champagne room since we got together."

Craig shifts closer, putting his arms around me. "Good."

The champagne room is where I did most of my actual stripping… and lap dances. I did a lot of those, too. Not so much anymore, though. I like to keep my distance as a tip collector. I might not look like it, but I've got strong legs. I can really work that pole.

August.

Come next month, I start my apprenticeship. They seemed pretty impressed with my portfolio. I worked hard on it. So far, everything has been straightforward. I've been learning how to clean equipment and other sanitary aspects of the job. Hella boring.

It's been a routine. I wake up and go to the parlour with Craig. Come night, I go to the strip club. Since there's only one strip club in South Park, there are male strippers and female strippers working together. The environment is somewhat bisexual for that reason. The stage is also quite small, so there's only room for one worker at a time.

I go backstage and spot Sally Darson and Kelly Rutherford-Menskin bent over vanities. I'm on good terms with them, but we aren't quite friends. We went to school together, though. They're both good friends with Bebe.

"What's up?" I greet them.

"The boss is in," Sally warns with a sigh.

"Ugh," I grimace. He's pretty stereotypically gross. Think of the sleaziest cliché you'd find at a strip joint and that's him to a T.

I throw my bag onto the counter as she applies her make up. They try to get me to wear make-up, but I prefer to get on stage fresh-faced. It's just a hassle. They get the water proof shit you won't sweat off and it's murder to remove. I keep things pretty plain compared to my lovely lady companions. I'm just not into the Rocky Horror kind of outfits.

Bebe pokes her head into the room and says, "Sally, you're on in five."

"Ready," she murmurs, closing a tube of mascara and giving herself a final once-over in the mirror.

"Are we doing rotations by song tonight?" Kelly asks.

"Yup," Bebe nods. "Kelly, you're on after Sally and Kenny, you're on last."

"Okie-dokie," I say. I guess I should get dressed… or, rather, undressed. I kick off my sneakers and tuck my socks into them. I unbutton my jeans and pull them down along with my boxers and then tug off my t-shirt. I dig around my bag for my uniform and slip it on, arranging my junk so it doesn't pop out.

"Nice thong," Bebe says, grabbing the waistband and letting it snap back against my skin.

"Ow," I whine.

"Do you know any guys who would be interested in stripping and slash or dancing on a pole?" Bebe asks out of the blue. "This is a small joint, but the boss wants more guys because, right now, you're the only one. I think some of the customers want to see more male action as well."

"Yeah," I mutter. "I can't really keep up with all these shifts."

She gives me a sympathetic smile.

"I mentioned it to Craig," I let out a laugh. "He wasn't into the idea of stripping at all."

She laughs along with me. "Honestly, I can't picture him doing this. No matter how sexual he might be, this is something I could never see him doing."

I shake my head. "I don't think he'd find it rewarding."

"Do you?" she wonders.

"Well, fuck yeah," I snort. "The tips are raw as hell… but I'm also doing an apprenticeship, so that's where a lot of it's going."

"Damn," she says. "What for?"

"Tattooing," I chuckle. "Craig got me the interview… but to be honest, even if I do end up a tattoo artist, I think I want to keep this job. The money I get here is effortless and fun in comparison."

"Understandable," she gives a long nod. "Some guys come here with wads of cash… wanting to make it rain on the bitches."

I chuckle slightly at that. "Besides, I don't feel like I'm putting my life in danger when I walk to work," I add. There are too many hicks around here, sure, but homophobia has never been something that existed in South Park. So, I'm not too worried.

"I'm relieved," Bebe smiles. She tries so damn hard to keep things safe around here since the owner doesn't give a flying shit. "Sally, out!"

Sally nods. Her high heels click as she leaves for the stage and not a moment later Britney Spears' "Toy Soldier" starts playing.

We rotate throughout the night. I get off at 1AM and it's midnight now. Another hour and I get to see Craig. I'm up on the stage now. I'm on the pole with Nicki Minaj's song "The Boys" playing. I feel like this could be the anthem for my teenaged self… Then I met Craig. I don't feel the need to fuck freely anymore.

I like this view of the club. I can see everyone and everything. I can see the bartender mixing drinks. I can see the bouncers watching for trouble makers. I can see the DJ bobbing his head up and down to the tune of the song. I can see Bebe exchanging words with the slimy guy who owns this joint. I can see all the men and women in the crowd, staring at me, chatting amongst themselves, having a good time.

I could do this with my eyes closed and still know what's happening. Towards the end of the song, I spot a gladly familiar face entering the joint, making me eager to get off the pole. As the song fades, I collect my tips and just jump off the stage, making room for Sally. "Fxxk Boyz Get Money" by FEMM starts playing as she enters the stage, high heels clicking against the surface.

I make my way through the crowd and towards my boyfriend. "Craig," I call, waving him over.

He spots me and shoves his way past strangers. When he's standing in front of me, I give him a kiss and bring him backstage.

"Nice thong," he says.

"Yeah, yeah," I snicker, perching myself up onto a vanity. Craig moves forward and stands between my legs. "Why'd you come so early?"

He shrugs. "Nothing better to do, so I came to watch."

From the vanity on the opposite side of the room, Kelly watches us in the mirror and lets out a whine. "You guys are so cute," she says. "It almost makes me want a boyfriend. Too bad I'm a raging lesbian."

I let out a chuckle, while Craig simply smiles. "I'm a lucky guy," I tell her, leaning forward and kissing him again.

Bebe arrives on scene before things get too heated. "No sex in the dressing room," she sing-songs.

I've fucked him during my breaks a few times in the past. We always get caught, but I think that's mostly why Craig initiates it.

"Hey, how'd you realize exhibitionism was one of your kinks?" I ask him, genuinely curious.

"I was always a pervert," Craig admits. "I was just quiet about it."

"Yeah?" I urge, wanting to know the dirty details.

He presses his lips together for a moment. "I was somewhat stifled… I wasn't quite ready to admit what I wanted. I'd go online and webcam with strangers, though. Looking back on it, those guys were all asshole, but I kind of got turned on at their demands. Before that phase, I used to masturbate a lot at school. I'd go into the locker rooms or sit in empty classrooms and I'd get off knowing I could be caught by a student or a teacher. It never happened, though. Looking back on it, I'm relieved. I probably would've gotten in serious shit for that. I wasn't exactly cautious."

"Ha!" I chuckle, locking my legs around him. "That's awesome. I never would've pegged you for the type."

I've had my share of in-school sexual endeavours as well, but I wasn't exactly flying solo at the time, so I won't bring them up.

"Kenny, you can leave after your next rotation," Bebe says.

"Okay," I smile.

When my shift is over, I throw my jeans and t-shirt back on, bidding the girls a quick goodbye before leaving with Craig. When we get back to my apartment, I immediately crack open a bottle of vodka. Craig sighs, but doesn't tell me to stop. Nonetheless, I call him out. "I'm not an alcoholic," I tell him. "I know that's what you're thinking. I'm not dependent on this shit."

"All right," is all he says in response.

"I'm not!" I insist.

"Then why are you trying so hard to defend yourself?" he asks, crossing his arms.

I huff, choosing not to reply.

"You're going to get into trouble one of these days," he murmurs.

September.

It happened. It fucking happened.

Since I'm on house arrest, things have been pretty dull. I got busted for a DUI, but I plead guilty and my sentence was reduced thanks to Kyle's dad. I'm fortunate, right? Maybe this will force me to smarten up? Ah, who knows.

Everything went down at a party. Of course it fucking did. Everything bad happens at parties. I got so fucking drunk I hardly remember that night. I couldn't find Craig, so after a few too many drinks and a major mistake, I drove home, passed out at the wheel and crashed into a hay bale. I ended up getting alcohol poisoning and having to get my stomach pumped upon having a concussion. That made it all worse. Like everything about that night wasn't bad enough. I was drunk and lonely and I couldn't find Craig so I kissed someone else. I'm a dick, right? Yeah.

Now I've got one of those stupid devices on my ankle, so I can't stray too far or they'll know. I also can't drink. They'd know about that, too. Sobriety has been forced upon me, much to everyone's relief.

My life is a mess right now. I feel like everything came crashing down in a split second, but I swear, I'm trying to get it together. It's just hard… and now the rest of my summer has been flushed down the drain because I'm an idiot. All I can do is go to work. I can't even go visit Craig and force him to stop avoiding me. I haven't seen him since I left the hospital. He cried and screamed at me before leaving. I felt a hundred times worse because it takes a lot for him to get outwardly emotional like that. He's also been calling sick to work on days I'm in so he doesn't have to see me. It fucking sucks.

I think my friends find it relieving that I'm not allowed to drink anymore – especially Craig. Then again, he's not quite a friend. He's pretty pissed off I got arrested. We haven't had an actual conversation since the day before my trial. That was a week ago. He called me just to tell me he wouldn't be there. Ouch.

At least I still have his nudes to keep me going until he finally decides to talk to me again.

It's grossly funny. Craig continuously told me to stop drinking so heavily. I don't know why I cheated on him, but I feel like I started something bad. I cheated and then he did too. He said it was to get back at me, but what he did was worse than what I did. Part of me wants to hurt him for it because I'm so fucking jealous I can't stand it… but I started this, right? I don't need to finish it.

A few nights ago I shot him a text asking him if he wanted to come over since I can't go to see him. He texted back telling me he was busy. When I asked with what, he just sent me a photo. It took me a second to piece it together. At first, I just saw his face and his middle finger – but then I saw the big, hairy dude behind him. He was getting railed doggy style by someone that wasn't me. It was the biggest fuck you and he threw it right in my deserving face. That's when I knew he knew I kissed Red. Someone must've told him. I'll be in for a mouthful when I finally do see him.

This isn't the first time this kind of shit has happened. I keep telling myself it'll be the last, but then it's not and I'm once again on the receiving end of Craig's spite. Though… this is the first time he's done something like this. This is the first time he's let someone who wasn't me touch him and I can't fucking stand it.

The following week, I invite Craig over. This time, he shows up. "It feels like forever," I say offhandedly.

"Well," Craig starts flatly, "You're under house arrest… and I'm mad at you."

"I know you are," I mutter, "but I'm mad at you, too. All I did was kiss someone." Someone who didn't keep it a fuckin' secret… but hey, it's for the best. The truth always comes out, right? "I didn't even make the first move. She did."

"You didn't kiss someone," he points out, getting himself a glass of water. "You kissed Red, for fuck's sake… and I still have to look at her every damn day."

"So?" I cross my arms. "You fucked another guy like some insatiable whore. So, how was it? Was his cock as fat as he was or was it hard to find under all the rolls?"

Craig takes a long sip of the water and then throws the remaining contents into my unsuspecting face. He's trying to get me riled up and he knows exactly how to get me good and pissed.

"For fuck's sake!" I snap at him, grabbing the edge of my t-shirt to dry myself.

"You want to punish me?" he offers out of the blue.

Just like that, I get a boner, but I ignore it. I'm such a slapdick sometimes. "God," I laugh. "You're so fucked up." No, no, no. I'm saying the wrong things. He's not fucked up. I want to assure him, but I'm too angry.

"So are you," he retorts and I can't deny it. That's why this works. That's why we work… and to be honest, I probably ruined that.

"If I can recall," I start, "It's all thanks to my so-called alcoholism that we got together in the first place, isn't it?"

Craig sneers at me. "Only you would see it like that."

I give a careless shrug. We were eighteen. He told me to slow down. We weren't even friends at the time, really. We just happened to both be at the same party and he saw me chugging. I was only on my second drink – not perfectly sober, but not drunk either. So I said I'd slow down if he gave me a reason to. He knew what I meant by that. My tone was suggestive. He stuttered. Craig Tucker actually stuttered. I liked that. I wanted to see what other reactions I could pull out of him.

"I wanted to see you scream," I say. "I told you I'd make you… and I did… and now you went and fucked someone who wasn't me."

He was a virgin when I first put my hands on him – untouched… but I've tainted him with my dirty hands and now he's got a taste for all the strange things I do. It's gone past his ever-present exhibitionism.

Craig flushes and looks to the side, avoiding my gaze.

"So, yeah," I continue with finality, "I want to punish you…" I nod towards the door, gesturing for him to follow me out of the kitchen and into my bedroom.

"Strip," I tell him as I reach for my belt, unbuckling it.

He does so. When he's standing naked, I bend him over my bed and take my belt off. He tenses. He knows what's coming. I wrap the belt around my hand a few times, getting a decent grip on it. Without warning, I raise my arm and bring it down fast. His fingers curl into my bed sheets and he lets out a pained gasp, nearly choking on his breath. The first few hits are always the worst. He muffles his shout, pressing his face into the duvet.

"One," I say aloud. "Count with me."

He exhales, his breath coming out shallow. "One," he echoes hoarsely, turning his head to the side so I'll hear him clearly.

Smack.

"Two," I say.

"Two," he repeats, body rigid.

Forty-eight hits later, I tell him I'm done and he lets out a long sigh, visibly relaxing. I stare down at the damage. I probably did more than necessary… but fuck, I'm jealous and it's driving me mad. "Does it hurt?" I ask. I didn't break the skin, but the marks are bright red.

"Yeah," he says, slowly rolling over. His eyebrows are drawn together as he gingerly lies on his back, cupping a hand over his erection.

"You're hard," I point out. I smile with satisfaction as my cute, horny boyfriend stares back at me. There's that same, flat expression on his face, but his eyes are glazed over, his cheeks are flushed and his breath is coming out more shallow than usual. "Touch yourself," I demand. Craig turns a light shade of pink, but complies. I smirk at that. "Why are you being so modest?"

"I'm not," he insists.

How adorable. He gets like this when I'm pissed off at him, but I don't think he realizes it. "Open your legs."

Craig's thighs inch apart slowly, but I'm not quite satisfied. "Spread them wider and gimme a better view," I tell him. I want to see everything.

He obediently does as he's told.

"Do you want me?" I ask.

"Yeah," Craig whispers.

"Say it," I murmur, drawing closer.

"I want you."

Craig stays the night since he doesn't work tomorrow. Neither do I, so I decide to invite the guys over for a little fun. They're back for the weekend, so it's a perfect opportunity for something interesting.

"I'm gonna fuck you tonight," I tell Craig as we make lunch.

"Your friends are coming over," he reminds me.

"I know," I say simply. "Then everyone can see what a whore you are." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I suppress a cringe. I shouldn't call him names like that.

He gives me a look of disbelief, but relents. "Fair enough…" he murmurs.

I let out a sigh. "You're not supposed to let me talk to you like that."

"Maybe I like it," he says airily.

"Do you?" I wonder, only half convinced.

"Either way it doesn't matter because it's true," he mutters. "I did something… really unsavory."

"Ha… that's one way to put it," I say dryly.

"I hurt you," he adds.

I remind him, "I hurt you first, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but it's just like you said… what I did was a lot worse. You deserve to speak your mind."

"Do you forgive me?"

He nods, not even hesitating. "Do you forgive me?" he retorts.

"Yeah," I murmur. "It's going to bug me for a while, but I forgive you."

And fuck, we're both probably lying. This kind of shit can't be fixed so simply. We can't force things to go back to normal. We'll just fuck ourselves over.

Around seven, the guys show up. On nights like this, I really like to drink… but I can't violate the terms of my arrest.

"What's the plan?" Kyle asks once we settle in the living room.

"Pizza and cards," I say with a sweet smile. "No liquor because I'll get in trouble."

"What's the name of the game?" Eric asks.

"Strip poker," I tell him with a wink.

Stan snorts back a laugh. "You serious?"

"Very serious," I nod. It won't be too weird. My friendship with these three fuckers was always a bit homoerotic. Bro-jobs were a natural occurrence in our teenage years and contrary to popular belief – Kyle did suck Eric's balls.

"Well, all right," he mutters with a faint smile.

"Been a long time since we've played this game," Eric adds, while Kyle simply looks thoughtful. He's probably trying to analyze exactly why this is happening. With him, there's always a why. There are always questions and he doesn't stop thinking until there are answers. Sometimes he overanalyzes things to the point of no return and starts believing things that simply aren't true because he has a hard time getting the words out aloud. If only he'd ask.

I let out a little sigh, deciding to save him from his own brain. "It's a game, Kyle," I say. "Craig will be joining us... He sucks at cards. He'll be the first one naked and at some point during the night, I'm probably going to fuck him."

"Oh," he snorts. "I see what's going on. Is this yet another one of your weird, kinky fantasy games?"

Throughout the past couple years they've had the fun opportunity to witness me and Craig in all sorts of interesting positions. I just wiggle my eyebrows at him. "He's picking up pizza since I don't want to cook," I add. "Don't worry, Kyle. No bacon."

"Great," the redhead chuckles.

When Craig returns, I get the poker chips ready and shuffle the cards. Craig sets the pizza on the coffee table and everyone digs in.

Let the game begin.

Soon enough, Craig is wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. Eric still has most of his clothes on. He took his socks off first, the little shit. Too bad Craig wasn't even wearing socks when the game started. All he had on were jeans, boxers and his t-shirt, poor fucker. Kyle has merely discarded his sweater and belt while Stan is sitting next to him in his shorts and tank. Along with Eric, I've still got most of my clothes on. Everyone is staring down at their cards, no one wanting to be the first person in their birthday suit.

After losing his next bet, Craig stands up and removes his shorts. Eric lets out a devious snicker, "Shit, you really do suck at this game."

"I don't understand it," Craig explains pointedly.

"What now? You've got nothing else to take off."

"Don't worry about that," I cut in offhandedly. "If Craig loses another bet, I know what he can do."

"What's that?" Craig asks, kneeling back on the floor.

"You'll see," I sing-song. I'm getting excited just thinking about it. He makes a face at me and Kyle chuckles nervously at the potential of it.

"Oh, I just love bonding with my pals," Eric says in a simpering tone. "Never a heterosexual moment."

I smirk, staring back down at my cards.

Craig loses another round – obviously. He grits his teeth and says, "Fuck."

"Ha!" I jump to my feet and leave the room, returning with a nicely sized dildo. "You get to ride this now… and don't stop until you're out." I wiggle it in his face and grin.

Craig stares at me in disbelief and Eric cackles loudly. "I don't even understand this game," Craig reiterates, snatching the dildo from me.

"Got it all lubed up for yah," I add, winking.

He remains stoic as he puts the suction-cupped end onto the floor and unceremoniously sits on it. He lets out a shuddery breath as we ready for the next round. Kyle and Stan stare at Craig with perverse awe before averting their eyes from the vulgar scene.

Here we go, final round.

Kyle wins the game. Naturally. For some reason, he always wins at everything. Afterward, Eric turns the TV on and flips to some sports game before flopping onto the sofa. I was never really into sports. Instead, I grin at Craig from across the coffee table. He knows what's coming. He rises to his feet slowly, exhaling once he's free of the dildo. Bet he's loosened up by now.

He repositions himself on the chair near the sofa and lifts up his legs, giving me a pretty sweet view. He's blushing pretty fiercely. Eric takes picture, cackling callously. What a voyeur.

We fuck unceremoniously in front of my friends. Kyle and Stan face the television, pretending to watch but I know they're not paying attention to the shit on screen. I'm sure they're enjoying the view as much as Eric is. We're all perverts here and this isn't the first time we've done this kind of thing. It gives Craig a sort of thrill and I like seeing him when he's flustered – unsure of how to express what he's feeling.

I come first before going down on him. I grab his hips, keeping him from squirming around. He releases a long, whiny moan, body trembling. "Shit..."

"That was quite a show," Eric simpers at us.

"You enjoyed it, you fat, voyeuristic pervert," I snort. He's spent his childhood spying on Kyle. We found the proof a few years ago – a photo album dedicated to our sweet, daywalking friend. Kyle was far from flattered, to say the least.

"Ay! I ain't fat!" Eric protests, not bothering to deny that he's a voyeur or a pervert.

Craig grimaces as he stands, probably growing aware of the spunk trying to escape out of his rear end. "Ugh," he mutters, dazed as he walks down the hallway and into the bathroom.

"He lets everyone see him," Eric comments offhandedly.

"So?" I ask.

"Doesn't that kind of kink bother you? Aren't you jealous?"

"Why would it?" I wonder.

"It'd bother most people," Eric says with a shrug.

I wrinkle my nose. After a moment I stand up and follow Craig. Inside the bathroom, I catch him staring at himself. He cups a hand over the hickeys on his neck and I clear my throat, announcing my presence.

"What?" he asks dully.

"Just checking in on you," I say.

He snorts. "How kind."

"I can be nice," I tell him.

"Hardly," he says.

"You let everyone look at you," I say in a murmur, repeating what Eric had mentioned moments ago. "In turn, you let everyone use you."

Is that what Eric was getting at?

Craig's eyebrows draw together. "What...?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

"No," his voice shakes. "Repeat what you just said."

I press my lips together before doing as he requests. "I said you let people use you."

"So… that's how you see it," he states. His voice breaks and it makes me feel bad.

I click my tongue, pissed off at myself. I can't seem to say the right thing. I just keep saying the wrong thing. I keep hurting him because I'm still feeling crazy jealous. "No," I mutter. "I don't mean that."

"Maybe the only one using me is you," he bites.

"I didn't mean it," I repeat myself.

"Then why did you say it?" he asks. I can see humiliation burning on his skin. His eyes get glassy and it makes me feel even worse. A second later, tears start falling. "For fuck's sake," he hisses, cupping his palms over his eyes. "You made me cry."

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Are we okay now?" he asks somewhat wetly, lowering his hands. There's something pleading about his tone and it makes me feel like the worst shit on the planet for even considering the trash coming out of Eric's dumb mouth. "Can we even recover from what I did?"

"Yeah," I promise, leaning forward and pecking him on the lips. "We're okay. Go wash up."

He nods airily and I leave, shutting the door behind myself. I can't help but think about it though – can we recover from cheating? Will I always feel jealous and sour? Will I keep giving him reasons to be pissed off in return? Probably. I did start this, though. I don't need to finish it. Right?

I return to the living room. Stan and Kyle look like they're ready to pass out. "You guys can have the guest room," I tell them. "Eric can have the sofa."

They nod their gratitude, retiring for the night. I sit down next to Eric, keeping my eyes on the television but not really paying attention.

"So?" he asks expectantly.

"What?"

"You're upset over somethin'," he points out knowingly. "I can read you like a book, Ken."

I let out a sigh. "I said something rude to Craig," I tell him, not bothering to admit I repeated his own words. "I kissed a girl… and he fucked someone else."

"Whores," he snorts. "See? This is why sluts can't date. It won't work out."

"Asshole," I whisper, but I can't help but wonder if he's onto something. Are Craig and I too different or too similar?

When I hear Craig leave the bathroom, I bid Cartman a goodnight before following him into my room. He sifts through my closet and puts on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants before crawling into my bed and under the covers. He doesn't spare me a glance or a word. I crawl in next to him and wrap my arms around him. He immediately turns around in my hold and presses his face into my chest. Still, neither of us speaks.

October.

I'm down to three nights a week at the strip joint. They hired two new guys. That means less money for me, but more time to do other things. I work four days a week at the tattoo parlour. My schedule is pretty good. Somehow, I have a lot more free time.

Things have been tense between me and Craig and I'm not really sure why. We just fucked and it was fun but now he's angry again. "Why don't you ever fucking talk to me?" he asks.

"I'm talking to you right now," I point out with a shrug.

He looks away, letting out a sigh. "That was the last time," he murmurs as he picks his clothing up.

I stand up and grab his things out of his hands, tossing them across the room. "What?" I snap.

"I said that was the last time," he repeats himself. "I'm not going to keep rewarding you for acting like a piece of trash."

"You're dumping me?" I ask in disbelief.

"Yeah, maybe I am," he says.

"No one dumps me," I murmur. "I do the dumping and I'm not done with you."

Craig scoffs at that. "Not done with me? What am I? A toy?" His voice wavers and I mentally cuss at myself for being an ass again.

"No, I didn't mean it like that…" I let out a breath and apologize, giving him back his things. He grabs them and puts them on quickly, leaving without another word.

My house arrest ends the night before Halloween. Cool. At least this means I can go out and waste time again. On the thirty-first, I go to a bar and get pretty drunk. Kyle offers me a drive home and I start wailing in the car. He lets out a sigh and asks me, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know why he dumped me," I sob grossly. "What's wrong with me?"

"You're distant these days," Kyle answers effortlessly.

I sniff loudly, wiping my nose on my sleeve unceremoniously. "He told you that?" I whisper.

"In more or less words," he says with a shrug. "He doesn't talk to us – you know that. You're the only person he really talks to. He probably wants you to talk to him in return… but you don't. It's all physical with you two these days… and sure, that's a big part of being in love and all that shit, but there needs to be a healthy balance. Love and communication… you know? And… just because you love someone it doesn't mean you're right for them. You guys both fucked up, right? You can't just ignore it. You need to deal with it if you want to be together, otherwise it'll just stay shitty. Don't force things to go back to normal."

"Can you take me to him?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah," Kyle mutters. "I'll take you to his place."

The rest of the drive is silent apart from my whimpering. I try to collect myself by the time I arrive at Craig's door, but I'm still a mess. He answers the door with a sigh and lets me in. I wave to Kyle as thanks before walking through. He nods for me to follow him upstairs.

It's tense. I have a lot to say, but I'm at a loss for words so I just sit here blubbering.

"I didn't mean it," he admits after a long pause. "I was just frustrated with you… and I wanted to upset you."

"You did," I murmur.

"Our relationship isn't healthy," he continues. "I'm not talking about the sex… I mean, that's fine. People have kinks, right? Ours are just a bit different. I meant…" he trails off, pausing. He looks like he's trying to collect his thoughts and he looks like he has no idea where to start. "What's love?" he asks out of the blue.

"Love…" I repeat, musing. "I think it's a lot of things. It's like… compassion… and wanting to take care of someone. It's putting someone else's needs before yours. It's feeling like you need someone. It hurts, but in a good way. I think everyone's idea is a bit different."

"Yeah?" Craig asks.

"Why are you asking me this?" I pry, frowning.

"Because a while ago I heard Wendy talking to Stan about love," he says.

I feel my frown deepen. Of course it was Wendy. "What did she say?"

"She said if you feel the need to cheat on the person you're with, then there's no point in being with them at all," he whispers.

I soften. "Oh."

"It's hard… it's hard to move past things like that," he murmurs. "I know you're still mad and maybe that's why you won't talk to me… but fuck, it's killing me… So I broke up with you because I knew this would happen. I knew you'd come crawling back and I knew you'd finally fucking talk to me."

"Huh," I say flatly. "You know me well."

"Yeah…" He is staring at the ground as if he can't bear to look at me.

"I'm sorry," I tell him sincerely.

"Me, too," he responds before adding, "Drunk asshole."

I don't want to be the type of guy who realizes he once had something good but then he threw it all away.

November.

We agreed to take a break but not break up. No sex. Just friendship. But even so, I've promised myself that I'm going to control myself and not sleep with anyone else in the meantime. It hasn't been hard. My libido has been out of whack. I don't know if it'd because I'm sad and angsty or what. Right now, we're at Harbucks getting coffee. He pays for his and I pay for mine. We sit in the corner of the café, over by the window. "So…" I start. "How's things?"

"Good," he says vaguely.

Awkward, right? I don't even know how to act around him without overstepping the friendship bound. We haven't mentioned our pause, but I want to. I want to get it out of the way. I want to apologize, too. I want him to know I'm sincerely sorry for saying stupid things and making him feel bad about himself. I'll tell him soon. But for now, I just smile and say, "That's good."

"How about you?" he asks.

We still see one another at work. And Red. We see her, too. Craig ended his friendship with her abruptly, which is kind of a shame. They were good friends, but me and her kind of fucked up big time. Craig doesn't have very many friends. He keeps his circle small, but they're the kind of people that he isn't afraid to bare himself to – in more ways than one, if you get what I mean.

"Things are good," I tell him.

"Have you…" he trails off, pausing and frowning. "Have you been drinking much?"

I knew that question would come sooner or later. "No," I tell him honestly. "I've been avoiding parties… and the liquor store. The last time I got drunk is when I ended up at your house last month."

"Oh," is all he says.

"Yeah," I murmur. "I meant it when I said I wasn't an alcoholic. I wasn't dependent. It was something I did for fun… and maybe it wasn't healthy, but hey, I got a reality check."

I learned the hard way, just like I do with most things these days.

"All right," he says quietly. He finishes his coffee and stares out the window. I continue looking at him even though he's looking far away from me. He's pretty and handsome and all that, but I get that looks fade. I know I'd still feel this way if he wasn't as attractive as he is. I've always been a shallow person, but not when it comes to Craig. I feel like I want him for the right reasons, but maybe it's not the alcohol I'm dependent on – it's him. I've always been a drinker but every single time I overdo it is due to something Craig-related. I guess that says something about me as a person. And maybe he was right when he said our relationship wasn't healthy. I guess I'm the type of person who loves too hard. I'm like a fucking parasite when I get attached. I've always been this way… It's probably because I'm starving for the affection my parents never gave me. I'm such a cliché.

Maybe we need this break. Maybe I was smothering him. Maybe I need to learn to let things and people go – softly.

The following week, on my way to the strip joint, I find Craig walking Clyde's dog. I wave to him and he waves back, but we don't stop to chat. If I wasn't in a rush, maybe I would.

At the club, I get (un)dressed and Bebe says, "Cutting it close, huh?"

I force a smile. "Sorry."

She waves her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

I get off at 1AM and throw my jeans and t-shirt back on before swinging my bag over my shoulders. I wave to Bebe and the other workers before leaving. As soon as I step outside, I hear footsteps behind me. I inwardly groan to myself, quickening my pace. As soon as I do, the footsteps quicken as well. It's times like this I wish I had a car… or my license. I turn around and decide to face the music. "What the fuck, dude?" I ask straight up.

"I was waiting for you."

It's a man – naturally. I recall seeing him in the club earlier and I saw one of the bouncers kick him out for being too loud and too drunk. He's not particularly tall. I'm taller – but he's got big arms and a fat gut. I squint, trying to recall where else I might've seen him before. "Hey!" I exclaim in sudden realization. "You're the asshole that fucked my boyfriend!"

"And he didn't even call me back," the man mutters lightly.

"So, what?" I ask. "He wasn't into you. He just wanted to get me back."

"I've been watching him for a long time…"

That's really fucking unsettling. "Stalker," I mumble, wishing I had a can of mace or something on me.

"I saw him at a bar by himself," he continues, "so I finally got the chance to talk to him. He told me all about you, his blond, stripper boyfriend. I've seen you with him. You aren't worthy of him."

"Maybe," I admit, "but you're not either."

"I'd treat him right!"

I can't help but chortle at that. "Craig doesn't want to be treated like a little prince, just so you know. He likes it rough and he loves to show off. He has this funny little façade be puts on for strangers and that's probably what you got a taste for. Craig – innocent and mild tempered, right? He was just being coy."

The man's jaw tightens noticeably. He's getting pissed off. Fuck, I'm so bad with this kind of shit. I'm too impulsive. I don't know how to humor someone's dangerous intentions. My pride won't allow it, even if my life is in danger.

"Can I go now?" I ask flatly. "You're wasting my time with your nonsense."

"Yes," he grits out. "You can go."

I let out a bored sigh and turn around. As I begin walking, I heard a click and a second later a bang. I halt and feel a sharp, tearing sensation in my side. I reach a hand to touch it and when I stare down, it's bloody. A split second later, my knees buckle and I let out a loud hiss. 'Great,' I can't help but think as I hear the asshole running away.

I've always been lucky when it comes to this kind of shit. When I come to, I'm in a hospital bed wearing a hospital gown and there's a painfully bright light shining down on my face from the ceiling. I squint and try to sit up, but a familiar voice says, "Don't," and then a hand is placed on my chest.

"Craig?"

"Your stitches…" he says quietly.

"Oh, right," I murmur, staring up at him.

He gives me a look of mixed emotions. "But… you're okay," he whispers, letting out a breath. His eyes are wet and a moment later that start to leak.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I say with a smile.

"You made me cry again, you stupid fuck," he murmurs, wiping his eyes.

"Happy tears?" I ask.

"Yeah," he murmurs.

"Those are okay," I promise. "Real talk, I thought I was going to croak again."

"Yeah," Craig murmurs. "Bebe said everyone heard the gun shot from inside the club."

"Mm…" I recall. "She rode in the ambulance with me."

Craig nods. "I met her here and we waited while they stitched you up. You were lucky whoever did it had bad aim. The bullet didn't enter; it just grazed you and left you with a pretty serious split and you passed out from the pain. There's a cop stationed outside your room."

"You have a stalker," I decide to tell him.

He gives me a weird look. "No…?"

"Yeah," I insist. "He's the one who fucking shot me."

He frowns. "Who…?"

"That fat bastard you fucked the other month," I murmur, feeling even more sour about the whole ordeal. I should've at least tried beating him up if this is what was going to happen. Then again, maybe he would've successfully killed me if I did. Dying sucks. "He said he's been watching you for a long-ass time. Fuck, Craig, you have the worst taste." Me included.

Craig cringes, rubbing a hand down his weary face. "So… So, this is –"

"Don't," I cut him off. "It's not your damn fault, so don't say it is. It's not like you knew he had an unhealthy obsession for you."

"I'm an idiot," Craig states. "Did… did they catch him?"

"No," I murmur. "They don't even know his fucking name… but I'm betting you do, hm?"

"Yeah," Craig whispers. "I'll go tell the cop."

He leaves a moment later and doesn't come back.

I've been drawing a lot more, since it's all I really have time to do. I can't work and walking to the bathroom is a task in itself. The wound was pretty deep. Fortunately, the arrest was made. Attempted murder. Dun, dun, dun.

A couple days after getting shot, Craig comes to see me again. My nurse comes in with a smile and announces that I have a visitor. A moment later, Craig walks inside.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," he echoes. Once the nurse is gone, he takes a seat on the edge of my bed.

"Why'd you disappear the other day?" I ask him.

"I felt bad," he admits.

"Don't feel bad," I murmur.

"I'll try," he says flatly. "So… what are you drawing?"

"Doodling," I admit, holding up my page full of cartoon cats and mice.

"Oh," he says.

"Hey, how about I draw your next tattoo design," I proposition.

He looks thoughtful for a moment before asking, "You'd be into that?"

"Fuck, yeah," I tell him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've never seemed into the idea of me getting more tattoos," he murmurs. "You don't seem to like them."

"I don't like or dislike them," I admit, "but I love you and the idea of a piece of my art marking you forever seems pretty appealing to me."

He softens visibly. "All right."

I try to think about Craig as a person – what's something that would reflect who he is? I bite my lip, humming aloud to myself as I think. Suddenly, an idea springs to mind. It's simple and small, but I think it's perfect. Hopefully Craig will think so, too. I pick up my pencil and sketch easy shapes.

"Idea?" Craig asks expectantly.

A second later I hold up my sketchbook again. "This would suit you."

"A paw print," he states with a little chuckle. "Yeah, all right."

"Where are you going to get it?" I pry.

He thinks for a moment and then says, "By my ankle… might be cliché, but I think you're right – it does suit me."

"Craig Tucker – lover of animals," I say with a small smile. "Wait until I'm outta here to get it, okay? I want to be there."

"Deal," he agrees.

When I finally do leave the hospital, I'm given strict instructions not to overexert myself. That, of course, means I need to avoid the pole at all costs… which sucks ass.

But today I'm going out with Craig. He's going to get his tattoo since it's his day off and I'm no longer at Hells Pass. When we enter the parlour, Craig refuses to spare Red a glance. She huffs at him and decides to call him out. "I'm fucking sorry, Craig!" she raises her voice at him. "I'm fucking sorry I got drunk and made out with your equally drunk boyfriend, but if you forgave him why can't you forgive me? We've been friends since we were five!"

Craig starts to take another step, but I grab the back of his t-shirt and force him to halt. He exhales and turns to face her, "Fine, you want to talk about this?"

"Yes!" she exclaims. "I've been trying to!"

"Fine," he says again. "Come over when your shift is done." He glances at me and adds, "You, too."

"Okay," I murmur while Red simply nods gladly.

Craig continues walking a moment later. Once we're out of her ear-shot, he admits, "I do forgive you…"

"Okay," I say softly. To be honest, I think he's just trying to convince himself of it. That way, he can force himself to try and move on. He always screws himself up by doing this kind of shit. Either his negative emotions get the best of him or he forces them away until he snaps.

"Do you forgive me?" he asks.

"What for?" I wonder.

"The whole mess… with that guy," he explains vaguely.

"I forgive you for cheating, but other than that there's nothing to forgive," I state. "I already told you, it wasn't your fault I got shot. You didn't know you were getting fucked by your stalker."

He pales. "Don't say it like that."

I smile somewhat callously, but don't respond. We soon enter the room, greeting the artist. Craig doesn't even cringe when the needle touches his skin. He has a pretty high tolerance for physical pain. Emotional pain… that's a whole other story. He's pretty unstable. Then again, I am, too. Someday, when I am qualified to actually do tattoos, I'd like to ink him. I think that'd be fucking sweet.

"How did you even meet him?" I ask.

"He came into the shop," Craig murmurs. "He was early for his appointment, so he spoke to me for a few minutes… and that's all."

"That's all it takes for freaks like him," I say, gritting my teeth.

"I was drinking alone…" he continues. "It was after Red confessed that she pulled the moves on you. I guess… he approached me and I found an easy opportunity to make you feel like shit. So, I took it. It made me feel like shit, too, though. He was fat and gross."

I close my eyes and nod slowly. "So, that's how it went."

"That's how it went," he confirms.

Afterward, we go back to Craig's place and wait for Red. When she does arrive, it's around six. Craig lets her in wordlessly and we all go upstairs. No one wants to be the first to speak, so I decide I'll start.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I got shit-faced… and I know that's not an excuse, but it's the plain truth."

"Hm," Craig muses. "At least you've finally stopped."

"I'm sorry, too," Red cuts in.

"I know," he sighs. "I know you're both sorry. Let's just forget it happened. I don't want to have to keep thinking about it and I don't want to have to deal with it anymore."

"Is that healthy?" Red asks.

"Nothing I do is particularly healthy," Craig murmurs.

He's kind of right about that. I think he needs a little therapy – not that he'd go for it.

"If you ignore your problems then they'll blow up in your face and you'll have a fuckin' mental breakdown," she snaps.

"Yeah, it happens," he admits, "but I don't care. You miss me, right?"

"Fuck, Craig!" she growls. "Get angry at me! Slap me! Anything!"

"I'm not going to fucking slap you," he states flatly.

"Why?" she asks, getting up in his face and egging him on. "I can handle it. Come on, do it."

He raises an eyebrow. "Funny, usually I'm the one asking to get slapped," he says, giving me a somewhat lewd look. "Okay, then."

She nods. "Okay, I'm ready. Do it. And don't hold back."

He raises his hand and smacks her across the face.

She lets out a groan. "Craig, I said not to hold back. I know you're not particularly strong, but you're definitely stronger than that. Come on, harder!" She jumps up and down a few times. "I'm ready!"

He exhales slowly, raising his hand again. This time, it's a hell of a lot louder and her head swings to the side on impact. She stumbles and lets out a gasp. "Fuck," she whispers, pressing a palm to her red cheek. "That's more like it."

Craig presses his lips together. It looks like he wants to apologize, but he won't. That would defeat the purpose of this ridiculous exercise. "I've never hit a girl before," he admits after a pause.

She chuckles. "It's fine, Craig. I consented."

"My turn?" I offer him my face next.

"Hm," he mumbles. This time, he doesn't hesitate. He slaps me really fucking hard and them punches me in the face. I fall backwards and Red gasps again. Apart from the sharp pain in my face, my stitches are also stinging. I lift up the edge of my shirt – fortunately there's no blood on the bandages. As if realizing what could've happened, Craig lets out a weak, "I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," I say with a nervous laugh. "Don't apologize. I told you to hit me, remember?"

"Sorry…" he repeats again, sounding airy – like he's in a grievous daze. "I'm sorry…"

"Dude, stop," I mutter, standing up. I do it slowly and pain is shooting up my abdomen. It stings, but I suppress a cringe.

He pulls on his hair, causing me to frown. I take a slow step forward and when he doesn't tell me to stop, I reach and untangle his fingers from his hair. "I'm really angry," he whispers harshly, as if he's only realizing it now. I'm just glad he's saying it out loud. "I'm really angry at you both… and I don't know how to stop being angry." He lets out a sob, covering his mouth as if he's embarrassed to be crying in front of someone who isn't me. "I don't know how to express myself," he continues, coughing the words out. "That's why I always do worse things..." He takes a few steps away from me, distancing himself.

Red looks incredibly sympathetic and apologetic. She's the first one to move forward. Tentatively, she wraps her arms around him. I follow her lead and wrap my arms around the both of them.

"You have a right to be mad," I tell him.

"So do you," he murmurs. "Like you said, what I did is worse. You got shot..."

"I forgive you," I promise. Maybe it doesn't matter that I personally don't believe that it's his fault. It's not like he knew, but maybe he needs to be reassured.

December.

Ever since Craig's latest mental breakdown, we've been spending a lot of time with red – the three of us as friends. If we really want to move on from our stupid infidelities, I think it's okay if we all spend time like this.

It's Christmas Eve. I'm sitting with Craig in my living room. He spent most of the day with his mom and sister. I have him now, but he'll be gone before morning. We both will. We're spending Christmas at the Tucker residence. It's probably going to be a huge mess, but I won't make Craig suffer alone. Holidays at Craig's house have always been messy, even before his father passed. They're full of fighting and now they're full of fighting and crying because Thomas isn't there with them.

We haven't discussed our relationship, but we did just finish sleeping together. We had sex on the sofa in my living room – the same sofa I fucked him on while my friends were here. It was pretty vanilla compared to that, but I think that's fine. It was nice, movie-type sex.

"I missed sleeping with you," he says quietly.

"I missed it, too," I admit.

I grab a blanket from the linen closet and wrap it around Craig and I both. We sit in silence, watching It's A Wonderful Life. I shed a few tears near the end, but Craig doesn't laugh at me for it.

When the movie is over, he says, "I love you."

"I love you, too," I say it back.

"What now?" he asks.

"We should do couple's therapy," I suggest.

Craig scoffs. "Look at us… unable to solve our own problems."

"It's okay to ask for help," I remind him. "Sometimes it's the only thing you can do."

"Maybe," he murmurs.

"Besides," I continue, "I think we both need a bit of counselling. It doesn't take a genius to see that we're both severely fucked up people."

"Maybe," he repeats in the same voice.

Here we go.

.

.

.

Epilogue: Next Summer.

"Is everything ready?" Craig asks me after setting the table.

"Yeah," I nod. "I think so."

Summer just started and our friends are all returning from university once more. That's why we're having a barbeque to celebrate. It might sound small and seemingly unimportant, but it's the first time me and Craig worked together on something.

"Take a break, guys," Bebe says.

"Yeah, shit, watching you two run around all day is making me tired," Clyde adds with a snicker. "You should've let us help."

"No," I cut in. "You guys are guests."

"Technically Craig is a guest, too," Red points out.

"He's my boyfriend," I remind her. "So, he doesn't count."

She chuckles at that. "Of course."

Soon enough, the doorbell rings and I see the familiar faces of my friends. I invite them in and the pile inside. Hand in hand, Stan and Kyle enter. I guess they're no longer denying their relationship – though it was always really damn obvious. Similarly, Eric and Wendy enter. He's got a possessive arm around her, though she shakes him off a moment later.

"Wendy!" Bebe hollers from the other room.

Wendy gives me a giddy smile before running into the living room to greet her best friend. We follow and see them hugging and jumping around in circles.

"So, what's been happening in South Park?" Kyle asks.

"These two pervs are up to their same tricks," Bebe says lightly, pointing to me and Craig.

"Of course," he laughs.

"I'll take that as good news," Stan adds.

I smile somewhat sheepishly. Hopefully there won't be any more drama coming from me and Craig's end any time soon. I think everyone is tired of it.

We relocate to the kitchen, opening the balcony door. Naturally, Wendy takes control of the grill. "Oh, fuck me," she exclaims, picking up a slab of perfectly cooked meat with a pair of metal tongs.

"Beautiful, babe," Eric praises, salivating.

I can't help but snicker. They make a pretty odd couple, but in a way, they work. Just like Stan and Kyle.

I pull Craig aside and give him a peck on the lips. "Success?"

"Everyone seems to be having fun," Craig replies.

"Are you?" I ask him.

"I suppose so," he murmurs.

I'll take that as a hell yeah. Craig isn't the kind of person to admit he's having a good time. "I'm glad," I say with a smile.

We're still working on fixing things. There are no quick fixes when it comes to relationships. People aren't like puzzles. I get that now… but Craig seems lighter. Therapy helps, of course. He smiles more. I like seeing it. I like seeing him happy. I want to make him feel happy. I want to make him feel safe. I want to make him feel good about himself. I think I'm off to a better start. I think we both are.

Fin.