Ahah, hallo, fic readers et others (Well, if you're not a fic reader, why are you on a fic site? Hmn?). It's me, PseuDORK. Coming back after a vair vair lengthy break. This time, I am writing a prequel to ChocolateSugarCube's fic Glittered Lies. Her fic's vair dark, et full of drugs and prostitution.
Omnomnom. So I recommend you read hers only if you are MATURE ENUFF. Okay? Okay. Good. You's been warned. Right, there's a bloody rating on this for a REASON, so chu cannot yell at me. R&R and ai will rape chu in a Jewish way. Yes. (Also, the SP 'kids' are now, leik, seventeen/eighteen. I'd also leik to point out that my knowledge of SP is pretty much non-existent, et I kept having to ask SCS about it; so please bear with me. But anyway, it's most OC coss it's like, eight years in the future. Were you the same at nine that you are now? Don't be silly.)
"For crying out loud, Kyle," I growled, taking the bottle of pills from his hand and placing them in the pocket of my newest orange jacket, "You've already had three. No more, remember what the doctor said?" Kyle just grunted at me and pushed himself from the table, staggering over to the couch. He'd been in a bit of a car crash, his usual green hat had been replaced by a horrid looking, off-white bandage, and his arm was in a cast that had been signed by everyone. Tweek's signature was the biggest; a massive jerky line that looked like a heart-beat monitor, that flat-lined at the end. That was often how I felt about my relationship with Kyle. We'd go haywire at the drop of a hat, break up, make up, have make up sex, have angry sex, have… sex. But somewhere, somehow, at some point… all of it was going to flat line.
"Keeeeeee~eeeee~nnn~nny," he whined at me, looking at me with big, pitiful eyes and a pout that could put Angelina to shame, "could I puh-leeeease have another bottle of Jack?" He meant Jack Daniels, of course, our whiskey of choice for the past two years. It wasn't cheap, but we got down and dirty on it quicker than you could say 'Daniels, on the rocks'. "No." I quipped back, but we both knew full well that I was headed to the kitchen to get us both a nice big glass, and our latest bottle of brown. "Here you go, big guy," I winked at him as I walked back in, placing a large glass in his hand, "no ice, just how you like it." I took a sip of my own, and relished the warmth sliding down my neck. It was almost as good as Kyle… well… Almost.
"I love you, baby," he growled in my ear, "Annn I wanna show you jus' how much," he bit down on my neck, hard, "will you leh me? Can ah sho' yooou?" Suddenly, I felt repulsed. It wasn't the first time his advances had made me feel this way. Sometimes, he really made my skin crawl. I don't know why… or when it started happening. It just does.
"No." I growled, but this time I meant it. I grabbed him by his stupid fucking jewfro and yanked him and his mouth away from my neck. I didn't want this slathering, homogay jewish idiot anywhere near me. I needed to do something. "But Kenny, baaaby," he squealed, surprised but not shocked by my sudden violence – it was becoming a habit to hit him. A habit I had no intention of quitting – "I-I love y-" CRUNCH. One easy swing & his nose exploded in a colourful fountain of red. His eyes teared up, but he didn't cry – it was like he was scared to. I looked down at my sleeve. "YOU CUNT!" I screamed at him, "You got fucking blood on my new fucking jacket! You utter, utter twat!" BANG! I hit him again. It felt so good to feel him crushed underneath me- better than the high I got from a twenty-four hour coffee binge with Tweek, better than the acid trip I'd 'taken' with Butters.
Get Crunk, get drunk, and get fucked up; throw your hands in the air that's what's up. Now pass me the forty, girl, I need to get drunk before it's over, girl.
My tinny (and quite appropriate) ringtone blared out from my pocket, breaking my concentration. I pulled my phone out and checked caller ID. I wasn't sure if I could quite handle talking to Pip, the fucking French idiot. "Hi," I grunted down the phone, "meet me at the coffee shop, pronto."
I barely heard a very-British "Hello? Oh, oh, very well. See you there!" before I snapped my cell shut, and glared at Kyle "I expect you to clean your fucking shit off of my jacket by the time I get back."
I didn't wait for a response. He was bound to clean it up, I knew he would. I'd slammed out of the apartment and was down the cream stairs before I could even begin to register what damage I may have done this time. I was stalking across the parking lot when an image of Kyle's bloodied nose flashed into my mind. Whatever, that idiot shouldn't be so... so… so Jewish. I needed coffee, I needed space, and I needed a French faggy gay boy who didn't disgust me to let me face fuck him. Kyle knew about Pip and I. We weren't actually anything, just friends with benefits; it'd been that way for years.
"It's easy, honest," I heard "Tweek could earn a pretty penny, Craig." It was Butters. I figured the conversation might be one to listen to, so I zipped my old hoodie up and stayed hidden behind a garbage can. "Shut up whimpering, Tweekie," I heard Craig growl, followed by a sniffle of "Ngh. Pressure!" The two had been together on and off since childhood, but Craig had never been the violent ty- well, not violent toward his little Tweek. I took this as my que to enter, and rounded the corner with my hood down so they could recognise me (Even though I was the only kid to obsessively wear an oversized orange jacket; I'd grabbed my old one from the hook on the way out.)
"Ngh. Kenny!" Tweek squealed, glad of the distraction, pointing behind Butters to where I was coming from, "H- gah! Hi!" he was twitching, but even more than usual for the coffee-hyped blonde – and mainly when Craig moved to see me better. "Hey, squeakie," Craig greeted me, an uneasy smile on his face. Butters just nodded, seeming a bit embarrassed – had they known I heard them? Something in me hoped they hadn't. "W-wher- Ngh. Where's Kyle? Ken- Gah! Kenny?" I heard. I told them he'd walked into the bathroom door and bust his nose up. They believed me. I never hit Kyle hard enough before to break something. Whatever. It was his fault.
The day passed in a blur of laughter, talk about sex, random squeals of "Ngh! Gah! Pressure!" and pretty much everything else that came with the old gang. All too soon I had to turn back, I had to go apologise, even if I didn't mean it. I rang our apartment and got the home phone, "Kyle, baby, I'll be back soon. Put a chicken in the oven? Love you." And I did. As Jewish as he was, as annoying as he could be, I loved the idiotic homo Jew.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet where you know something's waiting to jump out at you. I'd opened the door and the quiet hit me like a tonne of bricks – really, really quiet bricks. "Kyle, honey? You home?" I yelled, knowing full well he wouldn't be. I found my jacket, bloodless and pressed, on the table in the kitchen, and a note pinned to it:
Kenny,
I can't do this anymore. I can't be hurt by you. Before, it was fine. I told myself you would change, that you would love me again. But you don't. and you won't. You never have. You never will.
Goodbye,
K x
I took the tiny words in my hands and cried. I cried for all the times I'd been a jerk. I cried for all the childhood memories. And I cried for me. I cried for the flat-lining that finally came.
*******
"Heyyyy!" It was Craig, high on something that might've just been Tweek. It'd been six months since Kyle had gone, and I hadn't seen him since, "you comin' to the shop?" 'The shop' was the new coffee place Tweek had found whilst on a walk. We'd never been before, so today was like a new adventure. "Sure," I smiled down the phone. I was in dire need of a distraction; I'd been stuck in the house with pictures I couldn't bear to take down, or to look at.
The coffee shop was like our old one, only it smelt a bit like flowers. Tweek was in his element, he was twitching a bit less, but in a good way. "I'll order for us, guys." I offered, and they gave me a list; Mocha for Craig, Skinny Latte for Butters, and "Gah, Van-nilla" for Tweek. There was someone in the queue ahead of me who looked familiar, but I brushed it off – no use thinking about my former lover.
He'd just received his coffee, thanked the girl behind the counter and turned when we met. Eye to eye. "Oh. Uhm, hi… Kenny," Kyle muttered.
Muahahaha! That is it. Finished :3 Yeah, I'mma hoe. So what? Now, if you wanna hear the rest, kinda, then go read ChocolateSugarCube's story 'Glittered Lies'. BUT I WARN YOU, IT IS D-A-R-K.