Kenny's POV

The song was left on a loop; the ending fading out into the start. Over and over again. I lay flat on my back, my lips moving minutely to the words, as if I was belting the lyrics out of my own heart. I hadn't moved from my room since yesterday and I had no intention of doing so for a while. It was as if the hands of my bedroom clock had been glued in place to taunt me, reminding me that the day still hadn't ended. My day now consisted of fifteen hours sleep. If you can call it that. I tossed and turned, feeling physically sick the moment my consciousness even brushed against the memory of what had happened. I would have to literally shake my head to force the thoughts away and squeeze my eyes tighter still, mentally screaming for the dreams to come take me away.

My mom had gingerly knocked on my door, unable to shift it since I had blocked it with my chest of drawers, locking the door shut to keep the outside world at bay. At least for the time being while I got my head sorted. She'd called my name and feebly pleaded with me to come out and at least talk to her. She would usually give up after five minutes. Dad tried once, banging on the door and hollering at me to get the fuck out of my room to explain what had happened. He even made up some bull about looking bad to the other parents for letting his son skip school. If he cared what the neighbours thought, he'd have stopped drinking long ago and wouldn't hit my mom in public. He'd stop the police cars from coming round every other day, he'd not slap me around the face in the store...he wouldn't sell drugs in our living room. The family home was now a store for addicts. They'd sometimes speak to us. Mom would send us out of the house, shoving a tattered $5 bill in our hands. Little could be done with $5 but we usually obeyed. I stayed behind sometimes...

None of this had hurt me that bad. None of them had broken my heart and made me act this way. I didn't skip school as often as I used to, school became my escape from this shithole. It was my only way out, other than the alternative of course. The alternative option became more and more tempting by the moment.

I know what you're wondering. What could've been that bad? What would cause a seventeen-year-old boy to want to end his life so badly? What could be worse than having a drug dealing father and a shitty lifestyle? I'll tell you what. Heart break. Typical huh? People always try to comfort you by telling you that life isn't about getting laid or having a boyfriend/girlfriend, when in reality, it is. What are people constantly talking about? What film or book doesn't have love involved? Seriously. I can't escape it. Love is an element that takes over our lives and it took over mine. To think, only last week I was over the moon. My life didn't seem so bad...it seemed amazing. It seemed worth it. Just to have a hand to hold, fingers to intertwine my own with, lips to explore and eyes to dive into whenever it pleased me...it completed me. But now it was taken away and the way it was taken, had hurt. Hurt much more than this person simply telling me that they no longer loved me.

They were using me. The entire time. The whole time they were holding my hand and resting their head on my shoulder, the three months I was inhaling their scent as if it were an antidote to a poison that had been rotting my life away until it seemed almost worthless...it was all a lie. False words being breathed in my ear. False utterances as we embraced when it got cold. False kisses that you swore meant everything to you. False smiles when I spilled my hearts' content out to you. Did he even feel guilty? Did he stop for a single moment and thought: 'Hey...this isn't right...I shouldn't lie anymore. Three months. 2 191.45319 hours. 131 487.192 minutes. 7 889 231.49 seconds. All that time...but he didn't even think to speak up? To tell me that he didn't feel that way? Not a single word...just all these lies and fake feelings that he acted out like a pro every single day we spent together. He deserved an award...anything to show him that I was convinced. I was certain that everything that was being said was true.

"Kenny..." a deep sigh. "I can't be with you anymore..."

I snatched my pillow from under my head and pressed it against my face, closing my eyes tightly as the tears began to cascade down my cheeks freely, no restraint. My heart clenched. I choked; inhaling sharply that sent a searing pain ripping down my chest. I trembled as the scene replayed right before my eyes, the pain never easing, only getting rawer...

* * * *

It was mid January and the air wasn't as cold as it used to be. It was light and crisp, not making me shiver in the slightest but not exactly the type of weather where you'd tear off your coat and allow the sun to paint your skin a rich brown. In fact, I don't think I'd ever been tanned in my life. In South Park, where it was always cold and blanketed by a white carpet, there was rarely days of scorching sunshine. It's weird thinking back now, how fresh everything is in my mind. I recall every single detail; the way the clouds moved slowly over my head and I remember thinking: "Isn't it strange that we're moving but yet we don't feel it?"

I was walking next to my old friend, Stan. I use the term good since I couldn't exactly call him my best friend, since that wouldn't be correct. I'd like to think that Stan and I were best friends. But in actuality, Stan was 100% devoted to Kyle. I didn't resent him for this fact though; the pair was together since they were practically babies. I met them in preschool and then came Cartman. I would try to ignore the odd conversations that Stan and Kyle would have, bringing up times that occurred at a sleepover that only the pair witnessed. Whenever I'd ask if they wanted to see a movie, they'd have already seen it together and would often see it a second time for me. But this was the norm for me. It'd been that way since we were tiny and it was that way now. But still, Stan was a good friend. He was easy to talk to, friendly, supportive. He was everyone's voice of reason and would be the one to calm everyone down whenever a fight or argument broke out. Most of the time, Stan would be in the middle of Kyle and Cartman, an understanding expression on his face as he tried to see it from both side's point of views, never warming to one side rather than the other (although most of the time he would secretly agree with Kyle).

Not much had changed about Stan since we were eight-years-old in elementary school. All four of us practically made a pact to get into the same high school. Amazingly, we all did. Even Cartman (much to Kyle's dismay). Stan wasn't in any of my other classes other than English. I was good at English, I got it. As for Stan, he seemed to be in all the top sets along with Kyle. I was only top in English, in the rest I was pretty much average along with Cartman. And trust me, even Cartman's impressions of people got old after a while. Stan was a little taller, not as tall as he used to seem though. Around 5'8 and he was constantly stuck in his worn blue jeans, trainers that he'd had since forever and a similar brown jacket to the one he used to wear when we were kids. I was the tallest now. I was once the small, petite boy. Now, I was 5'11. Tallest out of them all.

"So, did you manage the homework okay?" Stan asked, tucking his hands deep into his pockets, his cheeks a bright pink from the nipping wind that I seemed immune to.

"Kind of..." I replied, concealing a smile to a secret joke. Stan raised his eyebrows knowingly, a smile spreading across his lips also. "I forgot..." I admitted after a moment's pause. He grinned, looking down at his feet as he walked next to me, shaking his head slowly. He closed one of his eyes as he looked up at me once more.

"You're hopeless, Ken," he teased. "Fine; once more, I'll be a hero and let you copy out some of the key points in my work."

"Thank you!" I sang, throwing my arms out and flinging them around him, nearly lifting him straight off his feet, holding him tightly. "Love you, Stan."

I flushed. I guess you can tell the way I talk about Stan, that I sort of have a thing for him. He was always so nice to me; he wasn't like Kyle who threw a hello in my direction simply because I was there. Stan would be the one to ask where I was if I was absent, he'd be the one to drop down by my house if I was off sick and he always remembered my birthday. Sometimes, I would notice on my cards on Christmas and my birthday, the names Kyle and Cartman squished onto the end, thin letters forced together so they would fit. Didn't help that they were written in Stan's handwriting.

Stan laughed, prying my arms from around his neck. I kept my eyes locked to his blue ones, not dropping my gaze for a moment. I wasn't gay or anything. I was bi curious if anything. It was just Stan. The way my heart hiccupped around him, the way I blushed whenever I said something like "I love you" or "you know you love me". If I said that to Kyle or Cartman, nothing would happen. I'd be the same. But not with Stan.

"Hey, homos,"

I closed my eyes as I mentally cringed. I forced my eyes open as I turned my head to see Cartman and Kyle walking over to us. I guessed from Kyle's enraged expression that Cartman hadn't been cutting him any slack the entire walk here. Kyle was catching up to me in height; he was around 5'10 and had finally been able to join the school basketball team like he'd always wanted. The only thing that had grown about Cartman was his gut. He was cutting down though on the food. I suppose he kind of stopped believing in the 'big-boned' bull that his mother had been pulling for years.

"Ha, ha," I stuck my tongue out at him, folding my arms firmly around my chest, kicking up the snow with the toe of my shoe. I subconsciously side stepped a few inches away from Stan.

"I can't believe you made me walk with him all the way up to the bus stop, Stan," Kyle didn't once lower his voice despite the fact the person he was talking about was within three yards away from him. "I get a knock on the door this morning and find that tub of lard there!"

"Don't call me fat, butt fucker!" Cartman barked, marching over to Kyle as he jabbed out an accusing finger.

"Sorry, Kyle," Stan said, blatant to Cartman's reaction. "Kenny asked me to stay over his last night. I was gonna call but I thought it wouldn't matter."

I saw the hurt flash across Kyle's eyes. He didn't seem to notice the one that danced in mine. Kyle acted as if the pair of them was dating or something. He was always on Stan's ass whenever he was over someone else's house or visiting a friend other than him. I'd asked Stan to stay over mine at a random whim. I'd contemplated the idea of asking him for weeks but never had the courage to do so. Last night, I came up with the idea of having trouble with my math and inviting him over. Stan came over and I played the dummy until it was late enough for me to suggest that he stayed the night. Stan didn't protest; he called his mom telling her he'd be at mine for the night and he borrowed some of my pyjamas. They were my only pair but he didn't notice that I was sleeping in my boxers and the same shirt I'd worn all day.

The bus rolled up and we all piled on. As usual, Kyle claimed the seat next to Stan before Stan even sat down. I was stuck behind them with Cartman next to me, being pressed up against the window since Cartman seemed set on the idea of putting his chair in between us to prevent me from hitting on him. Even if I was gay, I wouldn't go for Cartman. Never ever, ever.

I would be right in presuming that you believe the person, who had broken my heart, was Stan. That suddenly, Stan decided he wouldn't mind playing gay for a while. But it wasn't Stan. I wish it was now...I wish that he'd sprung it on me and that I'd said yes. And no, it wasn't Cartman. Let me reiterate, never ever, ever. There's only one person left really. Right? You've got it...