South Park Matt & Trey.
TW: Mental illness, self-harm, eating disorder, drug and alcohol abuse, child abuse, suicide mention.
I'm honestly a fucking idiot. I should have been more careful about who I invited to my house this weekend. My parents don't care as long as I keep my grades up and the house is clean when they come home, but that's the hard part. Whenever I extend invitation past my immediate group of friends, I end up staying sober all night and picking up peoples' shit as soon as they walk in the door.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't bitter. I don't even know half these people. I know that Clyde and Nichole will help me clean up tomorrow morning, but a house full of random, drunk teenagers is still too stressful for me to be able to enjoy myself.
"Hey, man," Jason approaches me with a beer in his hand, "How's it going?"
"Shitty," I reply, brushing ashes off my counter where somebody obviously put their cigarette out.
"Dude, Token, worry about that later. I'll help you tomorrow." He sets the unopened beer down and slides it over.
"Ugh, I know."
This is so frustrating. Half the school must be here and not just the kids from South Park. When we started high school, they combined all the kids in the region. It's been a clusterfuck to say the least. I'm honestly just glad that I have a car. I can't imagine having to take the bus to that hellhole every day.
I grab the beer can, opening it and taking a swig.
"Better?" Jason jokes.
I force a smile. "Sure."
Beer in hand, I move throughout my house, keeping a wary eye out for any troublemakers… and speaking of – I haven't seen Craig since the night began.
In the kitchen, there are people mixing drinks – though many of them look like they've already had one too many. Still, it's not my job to play the carer. In the living room, there are people dancing closely together, moving to techno music. I wonder if half of them even know who it is they're pressed against. In the game room, there are people watching some sports game on the flat screen. They're all shouting, getting rowdy at the scores.
This is life in South Park. This is what kids around here do pretty much every damn weekend.
What does that say about this place? It says we don't have much to do and it seems like everyone just wants to be numbed out of that realization.
I still can't wrap my head around why my parents stayed here when they could have gone anywhere. All I know is that as soon as I can I'm getting the hell out.
I make my rounds back through the house, heading through the living room. Part of me wonders if I should just cut the music, or maybe I could call the cops on myself and then everyone would take off.
As I walk past the couch, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
Ugh. Gross. Of course people would be smashing their faces together on my parents' antique couch.
I try to take a closer look without being intrusive, and realize that it's Craig and Lola. Fucking fantastic.
"Craig!" I shout, trying to get his attention, but he doesn't hear me.
He's probably too tangled up in his catch of the week's face.
You'd think that someone who spends almost all of his free time at my house would be more respectful of my things, but that's not even the issue with this situation. Here's the real kicker: Craig is fucking gay. I know it—we all know it. I don't know who he's trying to fool.
Sometimes I think Craig is trying to fool himself as much as he's trying to fool everyone else.
I want to grimace at the sight of them and look away, but it's like watching a car crash. It's tragic and you can't stop staring.
They're all hands. Lola has her tongue so far down his throat I'm surprised either of them is even conscious at this point. Her hands start wandering down south, grabbing at his crotch.
For fuck's sake…
I don't get how they can do this kind of shit in front of everyone.
I wonder how much he had to drink tonight. He always overdoes it. He always ends up getting mind-numbingly drunk, throwing himself at the first cute girl to show interest, then blacking out at some point in the night only to wake up with the worst hangover you can imagine.
You can imagine who has to be the one to take care of him.
I look around but everyone seems to be too busy their own thing to notice the fucking fiasco happening right next to them, so I roll my eyes and stomp over.
"Lola," I say sternly, putting my hand on her shoulder, "Get up."
She glances over her shoulder, looking surprised, but stands up without much hesitation. She must be pretty far gone, too.
"Craig, dude, what the fuck." I scoff, offering my hand for him to pull himself up.
"Why'd you interrupt? We were having a good time," he mumbles insistently.
"Uh-huh," I drone. "Thought you could use a break."
Craig looks confused but doesn't argue. His eyes are dull. I wonder how much he's had to drink.
He has that glazed look, like he's literally not seeing or registering a damn thing that's going on or being said. It's a typical weekend look for Craig.
By the shoulders, I steer him out of the living room and into the kitchen, sitting him at the table and pouring him a glass of water.
"Drink," I instruct, setting the cup down in front of him. "Sip it slowly, don't rush it. You need to hydrate yourself, man. You can't just drink alcohol alone."
He grabs the cup, begrudgingly doing as I say.
"What's wrong with you lately?" I ask him. "You're so out of it."
"Nothing," he slurs. "I'm fine. Just leave it."
I let out a sigh, deciding to relent… for now. Instead, I pry with, "Did you eat today?"
"Had a sandwich before coming over," he says.
"That was hours ago," I point out. "Eat something now, even if it's just a few chips. It'll help."
He gives me a look of mild annoyance.
"Seriously, you have to take better care of yourself." I grab some hummus and carrots out of the refrigerator.
"Whatever." He rolls his eyes, but when I put the food down next to him, he takes it. I knew he would be hungry. I don't know why he never eats unless someone bothers him to.
"Okay, I need to go back and check on the party," I say, filling up his water glass a second time and handing it to him before turning to head for the doorway.
"Really?" Craig scoffs, "You're going to pull me out of the party to come sit me in the kitchen and then ditch me?"
"I'm not ditching you," I respond, irritated.
"No? Because that's what it feels like to me."
"Craig, I just need to make sure that nobody is fucking anything up—including you."
"Well, how can you be sure I'm not 'fucking anything up' if you're not even watching me?" he asks.
I honestly don't even know what the fuck to say to that. I never know what to say to him when he gets like this, but it's a recurring thing.
"Craig," I say sternly, "Chill. Seriously. I'll be back in five minutes. You can sit alone for five minutes."
He grinds his teeth, looking beyond upset.
"So, can I leave?" I ask, wanting him to just calm down.
"No!" he snaps.
"Why the hell are you like this?" I growl, unable to keep my temper under control.
Honestly, I'm not even mad at him. I'm just mad in general because this party is too huge and I can't control it anymore.
"Like what?" he seethes.
I raise my palms and start rubbing my temples. I really don't want him to get pissy with me. "Craig, please," I say as patiently as I can, "I'll be right back. I promise I'm coming right back. I'm not going to ditch you I just want to make sure things don't get out of control. This is my parent's house and if anything gets fucked up I'm going to be the one responsible."
Craig looks absolutely livid, but finally spits out a sharp, "Fine."
Jesus fucking Christ.
I turn around and exit the kitchen. I wish I could say that Craig is only like this when he's drunk, but that'd be a fat lie.
He's so damn clingy and constantly competing for my attention—I can't figure out what his deal is. If I didn't know any better I would say that he finds girls to hook up with just so I'll come and stop him. Honestly, that might not be so off base.
I do another scan of the house, taking a look in the basement. In the game room, things seem to be relatively peaceful – especially compared to the rest of the house. Namely, the main floor. The living room is still a hot mess of bodies. I think the living room has taken the most damage tonight.
I decide to head upstairs and lock the bedrooms before anyone gets any ideas. I'm just glad Craig didn't make it that far with Lola. Then again, judging by what I've seen from them so far… they probably would've flung off their clothes and done it right then and there.
Speaking of Lola, I have no fucking idea where she is now. She's probably got her mouth glued to someone new by now.
After surveying each room, I decide to head back downstairs and check back on Craig. Hopefully he won't be mad anymore and hopefully I wasn't gone too long.
When I get back to the kitchen he's still there, thank god, but he's moved to the dining table.
As I get closer to him, I hear a quiet thunking noise, and at first I think he's tapping his foot, but when I pull up a chair and sit down next to him I realize that he's banging his wrists on the wooden framing underneath the table.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" I ask, but he doesn't respond.
He's staring down and he looks rigid. His shoulders are visibly tense. "CRAIG!" I yell his name.
He jumps, pausing and glancing up at me. "What?"
I let out a breath, moving towards him. "What the fuck were you doing?" I demand to know, grabbing his hands and giving them a once-over until I see some red marks on his left wrist that I don't quite understand. "What the fuck is this?" I ask him.
He tears himself from my grip and then pushes me away, standing up. "Why are you so mad at me?"
"I'm not," I say, forcing a calm voice. "I just want to know what that was just now… What were you doing?"
"Nothing," he insists. "I was doing absolutely nothing."
He's still slurring, but it's not as bad as it was. I think the water and food helped.
"Okay, whatever man." I roll my eyes.
"Are you mad?" he repeats.
"No," I tell him for a second time, "I just can't be babysitting you all night, okay? I think you should go to bed."
"I feel like you're mad." He sounds panicked.
I swear I'll never fucking understand how he can go from so snappy to so submissive in a matter of seconds.
"I promise I'm not mad," I choose my words delicately, "I just want you to be safe and make good choices, alright? And I think the good choice right now would be for you to head up to my room and go to sleep."
Craig looks frustrated, but nods his head slowly and stands up from the table.
His wrists are starting to bruise now. Ugh. What the fuck.
I fill him up another glass of water and walk him up the stairs to my room.
"You can just sleep in my bed, okay?" I offer, unlocking the door.
"Thanks," he says sheepishly.
"It'll probably die down in a bit, but you're so damn drunk you'll probably have no problem sleeping even with all the noise," I tell him, noting the still-present sound of dance music coming from downstairs.
He just shrugs, not bothering to deny it. "When are you going to go to sleep?"
"When everyone else is gone," I say. "I'll grab the guest room for tonight, though, so don't worry about me waking you up."
"I don't want to kick you out of your own bed…" he starts.
I wave a dismissive hand. "It's fine, Craig. You're not kicking me out. I'm offering." I unlock my bedroom door and then put a hand on his back. "In you go."
He steps inside and then turns around to stare at me. There's an unreadable look on his face, one I want to question, but I don't. Not yet. There's really no use in talking to him like this. There's too much going on and I think it's getting to him. Hell knows it's getting to me.
He turns around to head towards the bed, pulling the door closed behind him.
Finally. Now I just need to focus on getting everyone else out.
I head down to the game room where Clyde and the rest of our school's football team are squished into the couch watching the last quarter of the Colorado Buffaloes game.
"Hey, man," I give Clyde's shoulder a squeeze to check in.
"Oh, hey!" he says, looking over his shoulder. "How's it going?"
"It's going." I shrug. "How much time left in the game?"
"Like five minutes, then we'll be out of your hair." He smiles. Clyde always knows when I'm getting worn down. I wonder if he'll be around to help me clean up tomorrow.
I go and check out the living room, where most of the dancers seem to have filtered out save a few stragglers.
Good. The damage doesn't seem too bad. I'll need to fluff some pillows and mop the floors. Not to mention toss away all the empty beer cans.
It's nearing 3AM. It's about damn time everyone fucks off. Half these people weren't even invited. I don't know why most of my parties turn into open-house. They never start that way, that's for damn sure.
I turn off the music and force a smile on my face as I wave everyone else out.
Good riddance, whoever the hell you all are.
I return to the game room and catch a few final minutes of the game.
"We'll let ourselves out after this, Token," Clyde says. "Don't worry about it."
"Craig is upstairs," I tell him.
"Enough said," Clyde laughs.
I smile wearily. "All right, I'll see you guys around, then."
With that, I head back upstairs. I grab my robe from the bathroom and throw it on over my t-shirt, stripping out of my jeans down to my boxers. I fold them neatly on the counter and then carry them with me to the guest room.
I close the door behind me and throw back the sheets. It's nights like these I'm so glad my parents keep things set up all the time.
I hit the lights and crawl into bed, but as I'm pulling up the sheets I hear the door creak open.
"Token?" comes Craig's voice from the hallway.
"Craig? Are you okay?" I ask. "Are you getting sick?"
"No," he says quietly, before stepping the rest of the way into the room, "I just wanted to talk to you."
"Oh," I say, sitting up in bed, "About what?"
"Are you mad?" he questions for what feels like the hundreds time tonight.
Dim light from the hallway filters into the room and I squint at Craig as I respond. "No," I tell him. "I'm sorry I seemed all over the place earlier. I was pretty frantic. I just wanted everyone to leave because the house was getting messed up and my parents will get pissed if things aren't in order when they get back."
"I get it," he says.
"Do you?" I wonder.
"Yeah," he insists. "I get it…"
"Then what's on your mind? Why were you so upset tonight?"
He pauses before taking further steps into the room. He sits on the bottom of the guest bed and stares at me in the dim room.
"I was jealous," he confesses. "I felt jealous you were paying attention to everyone but me… I get jealous when you're not paying attention to me."
For a moment, I'm quiet. I don't quite know what to do with that confession.
"What does that mean, Craig?" I ask him.
He lets out a sigh. "It's just how I feel, Token… You asked me, so I told you."
I give him a piteous look, though he probably can't make out the expression. "All right…" is all I muster up at first. "But I'm paying attention to you now," I add with finality.
"Yeah," he sighs, leaning over and laying his head on the mattress, "Thanks."
I want to help, but I don't know how. I don't understand what's wrong.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again.
"No," he says dryly.
I have no fucking clue what to do here. We've come to a standstill. He's not okay but he won't tell me how to help, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that.
"Can I sleep in here?" he asks suddenly.
"Um, yeah," I nod, scooting over to the left side of the bed, "Or we could both go to my room."
"No, I'm already in here," he says solemnly, inching up next to me and rolling under the covers.
We lie side by side and it's quiet again. I close my eyes and listen to him breathe for a few minutes. It doesn't take long for his breaths to even out. That's when I know he's asleep. Finally.
It's like he just expects me to know what's on his mind at all times and then he expects me to cater to his emotions and wants and needs… and I can't. But, honestly, I don't think Craig even knows what's going on in his own head. So, it's virtually impossible for anyone else to know. It's like he's always all over the place. Sometimes he's totally normal and fine, but other times… he's something else completely – something I don't quite recognize as the kid I grew up with. Then again, maybe it was always there lurking beneath the surface, but it was only recently that it all erupted.
There's a question on my mind and I feel vain for even contemplating it, but…
Is Craig into me?