It was the same night, same routine, same everything. The music inside the home she was leaning against was playing the same playlist she had heard last Friday. The conversation she had walked out on was the same stupid debate she wanted no part in. Bebe brought the cigarette to her mouth and took a deep inhale.
Bebe knew living in South Park had kept her on a carousel. Life passed by in flashes, while
the sounds and sights always looked the same, as everyone kept to their own routine. She wanted to jump off, run and ride a roller coaster, or maybe try her hand at a rigged carnival game, but she stayed on.
She exhaled, mindlessly watching the smoke and her breath mingle in the freezing air before fading away. It was another cold night, a snowfall was beginning to fall from the murky sky and she had made the foolish decision to wear a short dress and newly purchased high heels. It was rare South Park gave her the ideal weather, so she had to endure, much like the events of tonight.
Bebe sometimes envied the unpopular kids. If they missed parties, no one bothered to wonder why or create rumors to fit their narrative. Most of her friends assumed she attended the gatherings to ensure her recent break up with Token hadn't left her devastated. Their friends didn't need to pick sides or fret on which one to invite because they both could handle themselves.
Truthfully, it hurt a bit to see him. The break up came upon a realization Bebe had been pushing away for years. She couldn't tell Token the reason and could only offer the cliche "it's me, not you" excuse. After that, she returned back to pretending what she wanted didn't exist. It was the reason she kept to the routine because one step off and she might actually be honest.
Being at Clyde's house offered her a distraction, especially after the relationship drama during school today. Stan and Wendy had another break up. Bebe had no idea what brought up the fight, just that she had spent the entire lunch period holding her best friend. Now, even though she knew her best friend was locked away in her room broken hearted, Bebe had made the selfish decision to be here.
The sound of footsteps sloppily trudging from behind caught her attention and she turned around. Her shoulder slumped when a disheveled Stan made his way over towards her. He was teetering violently, the amber bottle barely refraining from slipping from his fingertips. He kept running his free hand through his black hair, huffing and muttering bitterly beneath his breath.
"Stan?" Bebe carefully asked. It was clear he was drunk, but Stan had a habit of losing control when he mixed drinking and high emotions. He raised his brow, finally noticing her presence.
"Ha—have you sssseeen, Wsendy," he slurred, rubbing his temple aggressively as he tried to gather his next words. "I gotta talk to her."
Bebe sighed, wondering if she could sneak away and berate Clyde for inviting Stan. They knew the guy had a habit of pestering her whenever he and Wendy fought. She was always placed in the middle of their battles, becoming their messenger, their advisor, the shoulder for both when all she wanted to do was ignore their drama. It gave her nothing but falsehoods and a headache.
She approached Stan, her anger subsiding for pity instead. The scent of whisky and beer reeked off the poor boy almost as if he tried to drown himself in it. His lower lip stuck out like a child that had been reprimanded and his blue eyes brimmed with tears. Ideally, she would love to tell him to handle his own damn problems, but he was far past reasonable advice.
"Come here," she said gently and wrapped her arm around his waist. She led him back inside. Keeping a hold on Stan, they awkwardly stumbled past Token, Clyde, Craig, Tweek, and Kenny, all of them immersed in the flashing lights and violent sounds of another game. She kept pausing as Stan tried to remember proper coordination, occasionally tripping over his own feet or slamming against the wall.
"Where are we going?" he asked, tripping forward and Bebe caught him before he landed on his face.
Hefting him back up and shoving him into a dark room, she responded "I'm putting you to bed."
She ran her hand against the wall, hitting the switch and Stan hissed at the sudden light flooding the small bedroom. She knew about Clyde's small guest room when her and Token used to crash. She helped guide Stan towards the bed and he plopped down at the edge. His eyes looked around confusedly, frowning at the horrid wallpaper and photos of people smiling at him.
"She told me I don't care about what's going on in her life," he spoke suddenly. "I go to her volleyball games. I buy her shit. What more does she want?"
"I know it sucks, but we can talk about this Wendy shit tomorrow," she assured him and instantly hoping he was too drunk to remember the promise, "Let me grab you some water and then get some sleep."
She made her way to the small bathroom across the bedroom. She could still hear Stan rambling on while she filled a small paper cup with lukewarm water.
"I feel lost without Wendy. She's my everything. She's like, great," he whined as she entered the room and shoved the water in his hand.
"Drink," she ordered and Stan slumped but gulped down the water. She sat down next to him, observing him as he began to rip apart the paper, constantly sighing.
"Kyle doesn't get it because he's gay," he informed her, looking over.
Bebe cocked a brow. "What does that—-never mind," she shook her blonde head. It was stupid to try and argue with Stan's drunk logic. All she could do was coax him and continue to play her usual supportive role. "Wendy loves you. I'm sure once you guys talk, you'll both see how dumb you're both being."
"You're just like him," he murmured.
"Who?" she asked, taking the torn paper out of Stan's hand and tossing them into a nearby trashcan.
"Kyle."
"Yes. We both have curly hair, enjoy basketball, and have a preference for men," she said uncertainly, beyond confused with the assessment.
"Liar," he responded shortly.
"Excuse me?"
She watched him for a moment as he grappled to string together whatever he was getting at. He rubbed his palms across up and down his face, groaning.
"I never told you this because I never did," he explained matter of factly, "but I see the way you look at Wendy. I just thought you liked her like a friend, but after Kyle told me he had feelings for Kenny, I started to notice how differently he looks at him compared to how he looks at me or Clyde. He looks at Cartman differently but that's more like he's gonna be sick."
She said nothing. She didn't know what to say and could only wonder how the the chilly room suddenly became overwhelmingly hot and how the truth dangled on the tip of her tongue, ready to be let go.
"Stan, what are you getting at?" she asked quietly, feeling her throat constrict.
"It's the same with you. You looked at Token the same way you looked at everyone else but you light up when you see her. You light up just like I do," he confessed.
She could only stare back, completely aware her silence was all Stan needed as confirmation in his theory. She searched his face, finding no bitterness but only the same pity she always reserved for him. She blinked, finally noticing how close he was. He brushed her thick curls behind her ear.
"Wendy's a bitch," he said bluntly.
Bebe gave a small laugh. "No, being in love with her is a bitch," she admitted. Stan nodded before leaning forward and smashing his lips to hers.
Instantaneously, she parted her mouth as he greedily explored. Their tongues trailing against the other, teeth clumsily interfering but they paid it no mind. She bit at his lower lips, tugging at it with an urgency. He moaned, sliding his hand into her thick blonde hair to pull her closer.
After a moment of settling into the kiss, their tongues began to move effortlessly, dancing fluidly along the other. She rested her hand on his knee, sliding it up and feeling her heart skip at the hard flesh. He hissed as she began to rub him, never breaking away from their kiss.
His eyes were closed, head moving along with Bebe's and enjoying the feeling of his cock being stimulated. He could pretend the lips, tasting like strawberry and nicotine and the hand pleasing him, was Wendy. He could close his eyes and construct the image of the woman he loved. The blonde curls were black and straight, blue eyes brown and her breasts slightly smaller. He drifted his hand up, cupping one and pretending it was Wendy moaning in his ear. If this was their last kiss, he had to make sure it was perfect.
So much of this felt off and wrong. She had no attraction to Stan, but there was an escape he was providing her. He knew her secret and rather than issuing warning, he was giving her enjoyment and comfort. It didn't make a lot of sense, but the sensation of his fingers rubbing over her covered nipples and his tongue stroking along her own made reasoning useless. She couldn't pretend as easily Stan could that it was Wendy pleasing her. The rough pads of his fingers and the slight stubble on his chin was enough to quash that fantasy. However, she could put everything emotion constricted inside and anything left unspoken. There was a force of energy inside her, as if being with Stan was her way of finally expelling the truth to the world. If this was Wendy, she had to make sure this kiss was perfect.
She jolted when she felt a finger slip under her panties and began to stroke her clit. At last, she pulled away from the kiss, panting heavily. She looked at Stan's reddened face and wet lips, and he smiled back. She bit back a moan as he slipped his digit inside. A weird knot twisted inside her stomach as she felt him awkwardly slid his finger in and out.
"Stan," she trembled, placing a hand on his wrist to halt his movements. "This isn't a good idea."
He tilted his head, reminding Bebe so much of a confused puppy. The wetness of her pussy and the moans emitting from her earlier told him otherwise.
"You're drunk," she reminded him and his shoulders slumped. He mumbled something as he pulled his hands away and wiped his fingers on the comforter.
"What?" she pressed.
He looked up, opening his mouth to repeat whatever it was, but instead, flung forward and unloaded into the nearby trashcan. Bebe sighed, shaking her head while the sound of Stan vomiting filled the room. She could only be thankful, she had ended their little session.
She stood from the bed, adjusting her skirt as Stan stumbled back to the bed and threw himself down. She helped him crawl beneath the blankets, pulling them over and tucking him in.
Walking to the door, she could hear the steady sound of Stan already snoring. Shutting the lights off, she made her way outside, pulling out another cigarette.