title: mediocrity
summary: is odd to me. or, Karen McCormick grows up.
characters: Karen McCormick/McCormick family/various
notes: title and summary by earl sweatshirt. odd future has me charmed, somewhat. excuse my lack of regular capitalization! i was hoping to convey a certain ~feel to it, changed my mind after the first chapter, and was so overwhelmed with changing everything that only pronouns are capitalized. sorry. and ofc, i own nothing!
also: ambiguous Kenny/Butters because i have a lot of feelings about them. underage sexuality (no smut), alcohol/drug abuse, dysfunctional families/relationships. etc.
keeping it surreal
not sugar free my tv aint HD thats too real
grape vine mango peaches & lime
a sweet life a sweet life sweet life
frank ocean
it's starting to snow out.
your Raisins shift got out late, as it usually does, and you had barely managed to slip on a pair of leggings before you headed out into the night. Kenny didn't like seeing you leave the house for work, especially not in uniform, leaving you to change there before and after your shift. Kevin had ran off a maybe a year ago – you can't quite remember. income, then, was even tighter than before, so you took the initiative and got a job.
Mom looked disgusted with herself, Kenny disgusted with everything about life.
not that that was new either.
he's taken to hanging out with that Stotch boy – the one with the bipolar parents. half the time they were sweeter than Liane Cartman's brownies but the other time they were gruesome. usually, the mother was the angel and the father the demon but you'd seen enough of the boy around town to see that it wasn't a singular concept.
his thinness, that fading quality, all of it marring flesh you're sure Kenny worships, the way he smiles on nights he gets home late despite not having any shifts. you like the Stotch boy though, only hope that your brother can treat him better than your parents taught you how and can make something of himself before dragging the little blond down with him. if that's even what's going on.
it's a long walk, it feels like. normally it would take you twenty minutes, but tonight you hadn't had a chance to grab your flats and you'd rather not be hobbling around tomorrow because you decided to rush around in heels.
even at barely fourteen they think you're a sleaze, the way they used to with Kenny and the way everyone knew with Kevin. you'll be fifteen in January, just a few weeks away. doesn't matter to anyone that the only boyfriend you've ever had is Ike Broflovski, for all of two weeks back in fifth grade. you're not quite sure why, considering he was maybe eight at the time but even now, when you're wandering the halls in lieu of dealing with sexist tools during study hall, you'll catch his glance and he'll give you a grateful smile, delicate.
you were children then, in a way he's slowly growing out of and a mindset you were yanked out of once middle school came by.
Kenny's going to be okay, you think, as you hustle by the elementary school, with maybe a fifteen-minute walk ahead of you now that you're halfway home. your feet are killing you; limping is going to be a pain tomorrow. you've got another shift from eight to twelve, giving you just enough time to do the necessary homework and scarf down a sandwich made from stale bread. they'll talk – say you sell yourself, the way Kenny must, how pathetic, how sad it must be to have the name McCormick – but like always you'll ignore them, the way you can't when you're at work and the same people mocking you at school are the fools staring down your shirt greedily.
he's going somewhere, and you stub your toe on a chunk of ice. you hiss, swear, stumble. never fall. that's not the McCormick way, it never was. Kenny will steal that sweet blond away, whether with permission from anyone or not, and make something out of himself. he'll be a better person than the type of man your father is, the man he turned Kevin into. you wobble on, telling yourself you'll be like Kenny, you'll be able to rise above the rest the way you're watching him do right now.
he's a senior, and while his grades aren't spectacular they're not horrifyingly terrible anymore. it had looked, for awhile, like he was going to flunk out sophomore year, but he made it somehow, and towards the end of that same year (which was when, you suspect, the Stotch boy caught his eye) he started trying in school again. being a junior fit him well, and from what you could tell this year was that he was ready to graduate. leave, probably, but unlike Kevin he planned to get his diploma. he wasn't dying nearly as often anymore – maybe once a month at most, but he'd had a couple incidents the past summer that left him bitter. so far his longest stretch was from august to February three years back, his streak ruined when a couple varsity wrestlers swerved into him on his way home from Kyle Broflovski's place.
one thing dating Ike taught you? you sure were sweet on redheads. Scott Tenerman, despite being half-brother to the always-disgusting but much slimmer Eric Cartman, was real nice when he stopped by at Raisin's to look for one of your co-workers (not that you really talk to any of the girls there).your breath is still returning to normal, the combined exhaustion and stinging of your frozen foot hitting you hard. you catch site of your ramshackle home and run in the final few yards, nearly falling onto the carpet when the door opens, unyielding, beneath your hands. your father's on the couch, half-awake, mumbling to himself and the tv. Mom's probably upstairs, and Kenny should be, too. he works at the mechanic place near Tweak Bros., eight-hour shifts on the weekends and two four-hour shifts during the week – Tuesdays and Fridays, you're pretty sure, but he's known to pick up extras when he can spare the time. probably for the Stotch boy.
's not abuse, he had once told you, when he got home at the same time you did, looking bright eyed and goofy despite your icy look.
how well d'you even know him? you had asked, angry for some reason. you remembered all the nasty things your brother and his friends had gotten up to as kids, suddenly remembering how that boy – Stotch, something with a b – had nearly lost an eye because of your idiot brother. just like that, Kenny's good mood faded and a flicker of anger flashed in his eyes. it surprised you, because Kenny'd always been the best brother to you, and you'd never seen him angry.
i know him best, he told you, pulling his jacket – just as orange as his old one – tighter around him, i know all there needs to be known about this kid, so don't tell me what i'm doin' is wrong.
i didn't –
don't tell me i can't take care of him, he snapped, you don't know jack about what's goin' on with him, alright.
and he had stormed off to bed, happiness lost and you wondering whether or not it was going to work out in the long run.
his one year is probably coming up, you realize as you slip off your jacket, tuck your shoes into your backpack as you pass the kitchen. maybe he'll take the blond out for dinner – you doubt that going out every time they're together is really possible, considering the ambivalence on his parents' part, but then again there's no telling what your parents would say. maybe it would work out.
your father mumbles loudly, cussing about illegitimate babies you don't want to know about.
or maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to let the whole town know. you really aren't going to touch that one, considering the only information you have concerning the two of them is a hunch at most.
you try not to stumble into the wall but you're tired and your feet hurt, and you raise a badly manicured hand to rub at your eye. your boss is always on your case about pretty hands but you're nervous by nature and have a bad habit of biting them when you're at home. she recommended some weird polish that tastes bad, to cure you, but considering you got the job out of desperation you're not going to waste cash on things to please them. you hear a door creak, turn to find Kenny's blue eyes staring at you, worried.
he opens the door a bit wider. you just get home?
you shrug, careful not to look at him. he just got back a few days ago and you saw the way his last life ended, don't like looking at him too long else you start imagining the acid some idiot teacher spilled on him as he was greeting you before lunch, the way it burned through him, quick. his quiet sigh makes you raise your head, and he looks as tired as you feel.
i don't want you working so late, he says, and you purse your lips. tell him, not much choice. he huffs.
's not fair.
nothing is.
he grunts his agreement. reaches out, hugs you.
i'm here, he says, like you're going to forget it anytime soon. i'm stickin' around as long as i can, kiddo.
you press your face to his shoulder, arm, breath in that undertone of brimstone that never quite fades, no matter how long he stays up with the family. i know, you say, and it hurts, knowing that for all the trying and wishful thinking everyone ever does, it never quite keeps Kenny around as long as you want, i know.
you go to bed, dream of ice and acid and tripping over Kenny's bones in your high heels.
it doesn't snow on valentine's day but it's icy, freezing and it bites at you.
you wear some old pink shirt with an island name scrawled across – or maybe a port, you don't know – and jeans that are tight not because it's fashionable but because they barely reach your ankle. your boots hide your humiliation. even worse, you've got a shift right after school, four to eight, and for some God awful reason every teen in the town thinks Raisins is a good valentine's day gig. it's not.
you're chatting with Dougie about some English project assigned a few days before; it's not a partner one, but he's been making eyes at you lately and you'll indulge him. not lead him on, of course, but being nice never hurt anyone but Kenny.
Dougie's trying to explain his narrative outline when you hear your name called, and you look away for a moment before turning to him and saying a quick sorry. he nods, says, see you later, and you walk in separate directions when you leave. you peer around, looking for who might have called you, when someone – brimstone scent and all – simply engulfs you, nearly blocking out your vision when they spin you once, twice, three times.
a couple underclassman snicker at the display but you see Wendy Testaburger smile from where she's switching out heavy books at her locker. a laugh from nearby catches your attention, and you turn to see the Stotch boy grinning at you and Kenny.
mostly Kenny, really, but you'll let it slide as long as it means you can scope the kid out.
you haven't gotten the chance to really look at the kid, not in years. he never really came around to begin with, and was never really a point of interest until you realized Kenny was seeing him. (you're not actually quite sure what's going on with them, if they're together or just that close, but you know the boy's good for Kenny, even if the opposite isn't necessarily true.)
he's cute, you realize, but then again you like redheads. his hair is no longer quite tufty; it's still fluffy and blond but it sits better on him now, and while he still looks far younger than he is it suits him. he's not tall, maybe a few inches taller than your five-five frame, but considering he'd been super tiny as kids he'd done alright. Kenny was maybe five-ten on a good day, which he claimed was every day, but he was really closer to five-nine. you would know, you'd been hero-worshipping him since you were children.
Stotch is thin, but not as thin as you or Kenny. there's still a lingering softness over him, and you're glad to note that he was simply glowing, not like how he had the last time you'd seen him up close – that same week in December when the acid killed Kenny. it's odd, if you think about it; no one ever pays too much attention to when Kenny dies, and you're not sure whether it's because they're used to it or because, as Kenny insists, they can't remember. you always remember, as do your parents, but then again, you haven't seen Kevin make a fuss in awhile – haven't seen him in awhile, really.
you're blushing now, for some reason, and you raise a hand to swipe at your hair, tucking the brown strands behind your ears. you've been growing it out over a year now, having cut it the first Christmas without Kevin, when you'd lied down on the couch and manage to get tangled in beer and glass. it was easier that way.
Butters is looking at you now, still smiling sweetly, and you're not sure how to react. this kid has you nervous for some reason and you want to know why but you also want to get as far away from (or is it close to) him as possible.
hi, you say, shy, and Kenny starts laughing.
this is Butters, he says, laughter still hiccupping from him, and he places a hand on the Stotch boy's shoulder. Butters, this is my sister, Karen.
I know him, you say, and the boy – Butters, that's his name. well hopefully not his real name – looks half complacent and half confused, as if he can't quite place you but still knows exactly who you are. you correct yourself, well, i know who he is. i think.
he smiles again and you feel your heart melt, think, oh my God he is precious, and he says, i-ah hope you only know good things 'bout me.
there's only good things to know, Kenny interjects, and you tilt your head up to see he's gotten a little red, too. sto—Butters rolls his eyes but looks pleased. you smile, quiet, at their interactions, trying to check the time without drawing attention to yourself. you've still got ten minutes to class, and you've got study hall first period today.
you look down, swing your arms a bit, feel like an intruder. you feel a heavy arm over your shoulders and look up to see Kenny's blue eyes gazing at you. you working today? he asks, and you peek over to see his arm around St—Butters too. he's leading you somewhere, you're not sure where, but you go with it.
i'm off at eight, you say, and Kenny purses his lips. four hour shift?
yeah.
alright, he says, and the three of you come to stop in front of the school's library. Kenny grins at you. study hall first right?
you roll your eyes. bye Kenny. Butters.
bye, Karen!
bye kiddo.
you walk in quickly so you can turn around, and when you do, you catch a glimpse of the two, see them talk a bit more before Kenny, his arm having left St—Butters' shoulders when the other left yours, reaches out to him, gripping his arm. Butters smiles at whatever he's saying, nods, before returning the gesture and bidding goodbye. they split up, opposite directions, and you are just as confused as ever.
work is, well, work. you run into Ike there, third wheeling with Kyle and Red because the former was supposed to babysit while their parents were out on a date too. Kyle looks more embarrassed than Red or Ike, because it seems like Red is having a lot of fun. she beams when she sees you, exclaiming, Karen McCormick! i haven't seen you in, oh my god, years? is it years already? and she jumps up, hugging you in your too tight uniform until you lose your balance. you laugh, say, i think so, Red.
you met Red when you were in sixth grade and she was a freshman. you were taking art classes at the center up in North Park, once a week on Sundays, convincing Kevin to drive you in the old pick-up he'd probably jacked. Red was there too, apparently her mom worked as a part-time figure-skate instructor. Red however was taking photography lessons, and one day while you were sitting on one of the benches in the center after your class she came up to you.
hi, she said, so, i know this is kinda creepy and all but. could i take your picture?
you had blinked at her, not sure whether she was from child services or the newspaper or just crazy. um, you'd said, and then for some reason, sure?
Red had beamed, red hair pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. she was wearing a blue shirt with COWS! blazing across it in white letters, and jeans. it was springtime, March or April, and she had a white sweater thrown over her shoulder. she took it off, tossing it to her feet as she grabbed her (very fancy looking) camera. just go back to what you were doing, she had said, and you reddened a bit. you had just been looking around the inside of the center; Kevin was later than usual, that day.
you were wearing an old turquoise jacket, worn thin and scraggly at the bottom. your brown hair was just past your shoulders, with some bangs you'd given yourself the weekend before. no doubt you were wide-eyed and scared looking, like a puppy someone had just tried to drown. Red paused in adjusting her camera settings, smiled at you. you have pretty eyes, she chirped, and the blood rushed to your face. you had blue eyes, like Kenny's, but they were just a shade lighter, making you look more washed out than you already did.
for a few more minutes you did as you were told, glancing around the old building again as you tried to ignore the snaps of Red's camera. you heard the grumbling of an old car – Kevin, it had to be – and your head snapped towards the door. you heard Red's camera again, and then a pleased huff. you turned back to her. she grinned, that's exactly the shot i wanted. she turned the camera then, showed you a shot of you looking out towards the door, the area around you completely empty. it was…thoughtful, you realized, and lonely.
and pretty, of course, because Red knew her way with a camera.
she beamed at you, teeth white and straight. you wondered if she had ever had braces.
thanks! she said, and you smiled, shrugged. no problem, you said, and got up, hearing the tell-tale whimpering of Kevin's engine. Red had frowned, then stuck out her hand, i'm Rebecca, by the way. you can call me Red, though.
you had glanced at her, suspicious. would she be this kind when she realized who you were? you cautiously extended your own hand, said with a firm grip, Karen. her eyes got big, then she looked excited.
Kenny's sister?
…yeah.
she smiled again. awesome! i'll tell him i saw you, and then she waved. bye Karen! see you around!
yeah, you had said, seemingly floating out of the center, see you.
she'd kept in touch too, even after your lessons stopped by that summer, and had been nothing if not angelic when she saw you around town. but it was true, it had to have been two years since you last got the chance to talk to her – which wasn't to say either of you were avoiding the other, of course. Red's just as pretty as before, if a little taller and with hips a bit wider. she's wearing a red sweater-dress, long-sleeved, with black leggings and boots. her hair is half-up, and she's wearing big gold earrings. she, just like before, is grinning at you, you in your orange shorts and too-small tank-top. you blush again, because today is not your day and you're not sure when every little thing began embarrassing you.
how are you? you say, to distract yourself, and she laughs, says, i'm good, i'm great. how are you?
good, you lie, then nod to the boys, anything I can get for you all? Kyle stops looking embarrassed long enough to smile at you, says, hey Karen, at the same time Ike does. They glare at each other a bit as Red shakes her head, affection clear in her eyes as she covers Kyle's hand with her own. he immediately relaxes, features soft when he looks at her, and you stand awkwardly as they have a Moment. Ike looks resigned but still disgusted. he turns to you, looking a bit awkward, some cola, please, and you nod, give him a kind smile. his voice seems to have given the two redheads a jolt, and they give you their order once Ike finishes his.
gimme twenty minutes, max, you say to them, and then head back towards the kitchens to put in your order. like any other day you're there that early, it's pretty busy, and you don't get a chance to talk to either of the Broflovskis or Red until they're standing up to leave, you heading back to get more drinks for another table.
Karen! Red says, and shoves her phone in your face; please tell me you have a cell phone. you blush, say, yeah, because that was what Kenny had bought you the year before, around the time you'd started working at Raisins. you hadn't even realized you'd already been working there a year already. you plug your number in, quick, and Red says, i'll text you later, and you say, okay, because, well, what else can you say to her?
bye, they all say, and you wave goodbye before getting back to work.
once you've finished you shift at eight, you slip into your old boots, worn leather soft, once you've pulled on some loose sweatpants, along with a sweater and a purple coat that reminds you of the one you had had as a child. your backpack is light today, because no teachers felt like teaching when they assumed everyone would be out getting lucky. you make a face, because if sex ed has taught you anything it's that you can't afford to make any sort of mistake about it. that, and Kenny would kill whoever you so much as bat an eyelash at.
you begin the walk home, hoping that it doesn't take too long as the February wind bites at your cheekbones. you make it halfway home – just in front of the elementary school – when you hear the sound of a motorcycle coming close. you ignore it for awhile, walking past the school's courtyard, when you hear the sound slow close to you, and for some reason, you go against everything you've ever taught yourself concerning unwanted attention, and look up to see who it is.
the person on the bike pulls off his helmet, and for a Moment your stunned by him. he's not good-looking by conventional means, but he's got a strong jaw and a full mouth, eyes dark and haunting. he's making you uncomfortable for two reasons, and you're not sure which is more important to pay attention to.
he stares at you for a long minute, making you decide that the fear he's incited is a bit more pressing, and just as you prepare to make a run for it, he says, eet ees rasser cold out. you had turned halfway before he said this, and turn back to stare at him.
what, you finally say, voice flat. he shrugs, pulls out a cigarette and lights it in one smooth movement. you eye him, unsure and freezing. he's halfway through the smoke by the time he looks back at you. he lets out a cloud of smoke, aims right at you. you frown, decide to take your chances and rush home, when he tells you, i could geeve you a ride home.
this, this is exactly what they used to warn you against in grade school, middle school, and sex ed class. no one would know what happened to you if you were to go with this guy, but it was cold and you were rather afraid of what would happen if you didn't accept his offer. you take a step closer to him, look around nervously. he's smirking now, and throws the half-finished cigarette on the ground and stomping it out. when you get closer he hands you the helmet, and you wordlessly take grip of it, smoothing your hair back.
where? he says, and you answer, McCormick residence. a flicker of recognition flashes in his eyes and he makes a gruff sound, nodding, and you put the helmet on. the bike takes off in a pocket of noise that seems to come back and hit you, and you hold onto the man in front of you with all your might, not sure what's going to happen. the trip seems to take seconds, and when you get off you wobble, barely catching his simpering expression as you shove the helmet into his hands. uh, you say, thanks. he nods, then sticks out a hand, pulling of his glove as he goes.
Christophe, he says, and you frown a bit, not sure why. Karen.
Karen, he repeats, as if tasting your name, and you let a shiver of – of something, you're not sure what it is, go up your back, and he says, 'ave a nice night, that smirk still present around his mouth.
thanks, you say, okay. you too. and he roars off, helmet back on, the air still freezing as you stand on your front porch.
Karen? your mother peeks her head out the door. that you? come inside, it's freezin' out. you listen, walking in, see her and your father passing an expensive looking bottle of whiskey between the two of them. your father looks guilty, for once, when you catch his eye, but you just shake your head, tell them, behave, and then head to your room. you're going to be up all night doing homework, but your used to the sleep depravity. just another constant in your life. you hear Kenny listening to music in his room, and on a whim knock on his door. he hasn't died since December, so you're going to soak in his presence as much as you still can.
it takes a second but he opens his door, suspicious it's either of your parents but he relaxes when he sees its you. he leans against the door, tall and scrawny, and says, yeah Karen?
you're not sure why you knocked, so it takes you a Moment to just say, wanted to let you know 'm home. he smiles, genuine, and reaches out to ruffle you're already ruffled hair.
thanks, ki – but he breaks off. sniffs, and then his expression hardens. you smell like smoke, he accuses, and your mouth opens a bit, but you have nothing to say. he'd been glowing like a jack-o-lantern when you'd opened the door, no doubt in a good mood after seeing – Butters, was it? – but it had dimmed now, eyes bright yet suspicious as they looked at you.
i, you start, but you're at a loss as to what to say and he reaches out, grabs your hand and sniffs at your fingers. while this is far from the weirdest thing he's ever done, you're weirded out, even when he lets your hand go and says, okay, well, maybe you weren't smoking but. who are you hanging out with that does?
oh, i, you say, and breathe, i gotta ride from someone. they lit upright next to me.
Kenny narrows his eyes, who?
um, you say, and his gaze only intensifies, i dunno if you know him, uh, Christophe?
his eyes get bigger then, a hint of surprise on his face following the flicker of uncertainty as you said the name, Christophe? and he thinks for a second. terrible French accent? you shift, unsure.
um, yeah.
he blinks. how d'you know him?
i, uh,i don't? you say, and his eyes are still getting bigger. he takes a step out of his room, and you take one back too. i ran into him on my way home. offered me a ride. it's cold out, you add, like that's going to erase the expression of bewilderment on Kenny's face.
Karen, he says, exasperated, you're not supposed to do that!
have you been outside? you argue, and he growls. you wilt. sorry. it. it was weird. i don't know why i said okay. Kenny side-eyes you for awhile longer before sighing. ruffles your hair.
go do your homework, he says, and go to bed. you smile a bit.
happy valentine's day, Kenny.
you too, Karen.
you almost forget about Christophe, the feel of his calloused hand in your frozen one, and life goes on.
or it should have, until you ran into him in the early days of April.
it's three forty-five and you're rushing into work, your shirt on under the sweater you borrowed from your mother's closet, but you still need to change into the shorts. a bus takes you from South Park to middle park, and you're usually rushing when you have shifts right after school. you have to go in through the back, and it's there that you realize that you're not alone. you stop, almost turn just go in through the front, when the person says, i sought you might work 'ere.
Christophe? you say, and he straightens so you can gawk – see that sharp jaw-line. he's giving you a condescending little grin, and you sneer right back.
what makes you say that? you demand and he shrugs. i 'ad a teep.
tip?
oui.
you stare at him a Moment, then say stiffly, i need to go work now.
you try to push past him but he stops you with a warm hand on your arm. when's your sheeft end? he asks, and you purse your lips. you're not sure you want him to know, but he smells like cloves and cigarette smoke and you like it, oddly. eight, you finally say, after a long Moment of staring at each other. he bobs his head.
need a ride? he rolls his r's a bit. you like that too, and it irritates you. you huff, but say, yeah.
he starts walking away from you, and you watch his coat begin to billow. adieu, he says, looking over his shoulder and grinning. and when Lizzy asks you why you're grinning, well, you just lie and say you aren't.
when you get home, neither your mother or father are around, but you can hear fighting in the back. you wince, rub a palm over your face, and wonder what you should wear on Friday. you're off, for once, and Christophe – just thinking of him makes you blush – had somehow wrangled you into going out for dessert or something. his accent was really terrible. you get even redder when you realize that it's your first real date (you think) but push the thought aside as you head to the back, where the old meth lab your parents had is now just a husk of metal and acids. what you see stops you cold.
they're arguing, sure, but it's not just your parents – it's, Jesus H. Christ, it's Kevin. Kevin, who's wild-haired as always, a few days worth of stubble over his face and mouthing off to Dad. Mom's in between them, hand on their chests as the men shout at each other.
Kevin? you say, voice sounding like it could break, and the three of them pause in their arguing to look over at you. you had never been too close to Kevin; he was six years older and always in a fight. Kenny had been your protector, so Kevin to you was just that brother – you love him, of course, but you don't know him. now though, looking at him for the first time in nearly two years, you feel your eyes well up. you stumble forward, reaching for him. oh, God, Kevin you idiot. he separates from your parents, takes a step towards you.
Karen. jeez, you're big now, he slurs, and you're laughing and crying and you jump at him, limbs spindly around him, because being sober is too much to ask but he hugs you back anyway. you can see the fuzzy outlines of your parents as you squeeze your eyes shut, but your Mom just gazes at the two of you, looking torn, as your father breathes heavily.
Kenny gets home maybe half hour later, a streak of grease over his right eyebrow, mostly obscured by his bangs. he walks in like any other day, almost heads to his room before he jerks to a stop near the kitchen. he's staring at the four of you tucked around the table, but he focuses on Kevin.
Kevin, he says, almost the same way you did earlier but it's off, less emotion behind it. he drops his stuff, mouth open, you're back. Kevin struggles stand, still drunk but a bit more sober than when you had gotten home. you stare, afraid of what might happen if anyone moves, but when Kevin tries to grab at Kenny he moves, shrugs off his hand. his gaze is hard.
Kenny, your mother says, but he's scowling, suddenly shoving at Kevin. Kenny! you shout it, too, but it's too late – it's set off the arguing, through it all Kenny the loudest.
you left you coward –
who th' fuck you think you are?
Kenny stop, your brother, just –
Kenny Kenny Kenny –
d'you have any idea how bad it –
ungrateful kids, all o' you.
stop, no, don't –
Kenny breaks off, forces your hands off him and stalks off towards the door, grabbing up his bag again like it's nothing. where you going? your mother asks, desperate, and he doesn't look at you when he says, out.
this is your home, she says. he tosses a contemptuous look back, says, is it?
and just like that, he's gone.
you get to school early, hoping you'll be able to find him before class.
you don't, because that's not your luck, but you ditch fifth-period lunch to hunt him down. you're not entirely sure what class he has but you figure you might as well wander – it's not like the poptarts you packed for lunch are all that appealing anyway. Kevin had gone and taken over Kenny's room, though they had shared before Kevin had taken off. he's twenty now, had left at eighteen after spending a year working as a stock boy somewhere in middle park instead of finishing high school.
you find him in the gym with Eric Cartman, who looks like he's going to sneer at you before Kenny gives him a dirty look. Kenny doesn't seem too interested in you however – looks off to the side when you beckon him towards you. he shouts something at the teacher, who flips a hand at him as he walks towards the door your standing at. he shakes his head to clear some of his blond hair but it doesn't really work. he only ever does the full-face hood thing when he's outside, now, and even then it's hard not to be jarred at always seeing his face now.
shouldn't you be in class? he says when he sees you, and you shrug, glance down at your shirt and brush off some fuzz from the cracked letters on your shirt – CUTIE! it spelled out but there was a stain at the bottom left corner that you covered up by wearing a hoodie over it. he stares at you a bit longer before saying, anythin' you need?
you glance up at him. why are you bein' like this?
like what? he says, eyes icy.
you barely stop yourself from blurting out 'mean,' instead settle on, difficult.
Kenny's trying really hard not to sneer now; you're happy to see him?
you try not to groan, 'course i am! it woulda been two years in a few months.
two years, he repeats, two years of him just – runnin' off. you know what else Karen? it wasn't like he'd been around before. him bein' here – that's nothin'. it's not, not a novelty. he's back, okay. it's not like he's gonna make a difference, make things better for us. he scowls. things aren't back to normal. they never were normal. he's done nothin' for you, Karen, and you're happy he's back.
that's. that's something you never thought you'd hear Kenny say. he's our brother, you try, voice cracking, but Kenny closes his eyes. he's a shitty one. he glances behind him. i gotta go to class, he swivels his head back to you. you're not workin' right?
you shake your head, teary.
i'll be back before dinner, he tells you, something he's never done before. your days just coincide when possible, he never tells you your plans, i'm gonna see Butters after school. okay?
okay, you repeat, nodding, unsure about a lot of things.
okay, he says back, then mostly to himself, okay. and he walks back into class.
just like he told you, he's back around seven, when Mom serves out some beans and greens from a can. Kevin's sober for once, and Dad's had a lot less to drink than usual, which should make things enjoyable but instead everything's just tenser. you and Mom are busy trying to keep up a cheery façade but from the way Kenny's scowling down at his food and the way Kevin's looking down at all of you from his nose it's obvious dinner won't be a very calm affair. you bite down on the inside of your cheek.
how was your day? Mom decides to shift the focus to you, not that any of the boys really pay attention. you decide to humor her.
good, you say, finished up some projects. essays. all that. she nods, looking awkward. you go back to scraping the canned food around on your plate.
Kevin breaks the silence, asks Kenny, where'd ya get that cologne an' shit?
everyone blinks at him, even Kenny, who's gone pink. what? he says, and Kevin rolls his eyes.
old spice, he says, says 'your grandfather used it' or somethin' i dunno. found it in your uh, stuff.
Kenny's cheeks puff out and he says, you were lookin' through my stuff?
oh God, your mother says, covering her face.
's my room, idiot, Kevin says, and Kenny shoots back, really? i haven't seen you there in awhile. Kevin's face goes purple for a second before he calms down, says, ya didn't answer my question. Kenny burns red again.
friend got it for me.
friend, huh? Kevin goads, then laughs, what girl you charm this time? was it a valentine's day present? Christmas?
you hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary with the way Kenny smelled – cheap soap or gasoline, usually, masking that forever constant brimstone scent. you flare your nostrils a bit, trying to catch a whiff of whatever cologne Kevin had said he'd found, and but can't latch onto it long enough to convince yourself he is in fact wearing it. you pay attention to the boys again.
birthday, Kenny spits out, and Kevin laughs.
ya been hidin' it that long? usin' it for special occasions? he sneers, that why you get home late today?
Kenny rolls his eyes, says, and if it is? but your brother just shrugs. makes no difference to me. he doesn't notice Kenny mutter, doubt that, and the rest of the night is tense, Butters at the forefront of your mind.
the next day passes by uneventfully, as does Friday.
until you realize, a few minutes before the bell rings for your final clay, that you've got a date with Christophe. you almost start hyperventilating right then and there, but go back to shaping the clay vase in front of you, staring at the back of Ruby Tucker's head.
Ruby Tucker is a girl you are not quite sure what to make of. you know your older brothers are friends. maybe not close friends, but on the few football games you've been to this year you've seen Kenny and Craig greet each other. Craig works yearbook, and Kenny does track, so you suppose that it provides a reason for them to interact beyond the harassment between Craig and Eric. but you can't quite say that you're friends. if anything she's a last resort – not because you don't like her, there simply isn't anything between you two viable enough to tether a friendship to. you coexist, somewhat awkwardly, but it works.
all things Tucker-related aside (her brother is a total nutcase, no matter he's never done anything to you. he just kind of lurks around and it doesn't sit well with you; gives you the creeps), you're panicked breathing is unnoticed, save for a raised eyebrow from your teacher when you can't focus long enough to correctly form the vase's texture. she clicks her tongue at you when she sees the crescent shaped press of your nails on the clay. she marks something down and you sigh. there goes the perfect score you'd had all semester.
as soon as she's done writing your mistakes down, she rounds up the class and everything is put away. you don't work today, having switched shifts with Lizzy the day before (she had given you a knowing look, but then again she'd mentioned it would soon be her one year with Tweek Tweak so really, you were in similar boats).you're antsy getting to your locker, barely thinking as you shove aside errant notebooks and papers. not sure which homework you have, you decide to just take every folder instead, and try to find time to study over the weekend, seeing as you've only got one shift on Sunday. you've got pretty good grades, mostly b's, with a's in gym and art and a c in biology.
originally you were going to see Bradley afterwards but he was seeing Ruby, and while you knew he wasn't into you anymore, you knew you'd probably be air-headed for awhile, now that you remembered you had a date. thinking back on it, it's rather surprising you found it in yourself to say yes when Christophe suggested the two of you go out.
he had, as promised, picked you up from work, that day that Kevin would show up again at home. you'd been flustered, despite knowing he was there, and it had been just your luck that Lizzy walked out at the same time, Tweek's car in neutral just behind Christophe's bike. Tweek looked twitchy, squinting at you and Christophe when he saw you walk out. your future-date, on the other hand, was finishing up a cigarette, just as predatory as the first night you'd seen him, and gave you a wolfish grin when he saw you. you'd nearly wilted right then and there, instead jumping when you heard the door behind you slam shut. when you turned you saw Lizzy giving you an incredulous look, pale eyebrows steadily attempting to join the rest of her hair at the top of her head.
she gave Christophe the side eye and then said, have a good one, McCormick, which was odd because the only reasons she ever spoke to you usually dealt with making fun of you – not cruelly, but because that was simply Lizzy's way. you'd nodded, and she gave a bit of a huff when she turned to Tweek, who'd gotten out of the silver Sedan to open the passenger door for her. she smiled up at him, shy almost, but they both had a pleased expression. they exchanged a few words quickly before sharing a short kiss, and you turned to Christophe with a crooked smile.
hey, you said, and he ground out his cigarette. 'ello. he nodded at his bike, sparing a glance to Tweek and Lizzy as they climbed back into the car. ready? God but that rolling r. you nod, climbing on as you adjust the helmet he passes back to you, and he peels out of there with a roar. this time you let out a trilling whoop, tightening your grip on his waist. a tremble went through him, and you stared at the hair exposed at the nape of his neck, straining to catch the dying sound of his chuckle as you sped by.
for a heart stopping second you wanted everything he could ever offer you.
the smile was still on your face when you slowed to a stop in front of your haggard home, and you let out a soft laugh when you stepped off the bike, hair covering your eyes once you'd pulled off the helmet. he smiled at you, warm, and those dark eyes threatened to swallow you up. you quieted, said, thank you, handing the helmet over. his hand came to close around your wrist, grip warm and heavy and strong.
are you beesy Friday ?he'd asked. you'd floundered Momentarily before saying, rushed, no, even though you were. he showed another sharp smile, all teeth.
care for some deener wees moi? this boy was too much.
okay, you said, quiet at first, and when he raised an eyebrow you said with conviction, yes, that would be nice. six?
his amusement was evident; oui.
now, though, you've got to rush down to the school lobby and meet Kenny. Friday's he gives you a ride to work or home before heading off to the garage. anything he gets up to after that, well, that's a mystery. freshman year he would go and try to serenade Bebe from her yard, but despite the playboy-esque curves she had she was off limits. she went on few dates, and those she did were usually at the top of the class. funnily enough, she was seeing Jimmy now, who no longer needed the arm braces to walk (having replaced them with back and leg ones) – at least not always. Bebe was pretty in a star-struck way, and you almost wish it were easy to dislike her, but she was all around a very kind if somewhat conniving person. she was friends with Cartman too, apparently, which while odd wasn't really all surprising.
sometimes he comes home right after work, other times at varying times in the evening or night. or he just wouldn't come home at all, not showing up until after one of his weekend shifts at the shop. you worried about him then, but then again you always worried about him, always had. it was just a habit you never outgrew that had somehow morphed into a comfort for you. it was Kenny; he was just the best you could ask for most days.
you find him in the lobby with Clyde Donavan, who receives a punch to the shoulder when Kenny catches him giving you a once-over. later, Clyde, he sneers, one hand settling between your shoulder blades. as you walk out of hearing range you say, hey i coulda worked a new pair of boots outta him, and he gives you a little shove.
if we're late i'm blamin' you, he warns, but you just roll your eyes, yeah, yeah, Kenny, and you drive home in (comfortable) silence.
your closet is absolutely ransacked. you've decided that your dark pants are acceptable, but you can't rightly leave the house in that ratty old sweater you've made into you safety blanket. it's the same you wore to work Tuesday, and in reality you wear it at least once a week, usually more. but considering this is your first official date – not that anyone knows – it will not be acceptable to wear it.
especially not if he's taking you to a decent place. you gnaw on your lip, patting your back pocket to make sure you've got the twenty dollars that you hadn't deposited the day before. you made most of your money from tips, of course, with barely seven dollars an hour as your official pay. not quite sure it's legal, but you had little choice unless you wanted to cave into the rumors and try and find clientele in middle park – South Park was little, and few were willing to hire McCormicks anymore.
the nicest shirt you've got is a red blouse, clinging to your waif body. it's pretty, light, but there's a hole in the collar just bit too big for you to hide with your hair. you stare at it a few seconds longer before pulling it back on. it's hard to look in the mirror most days, when you've usually got dark bags under your eyes, and today is no different. you let out a puff of breath, before rubbing some cream over them – a birthday present from Dougie, who'd bought you make-up, fed up with your little sighs in class when you would glare at your phone for giving the startlingly accurate reflection of yourself.
it doesn't look bad, you realize with dismay, but your light blue eyes carry a note of desperation. that hole in the collar, exposing more of that neckline, it's driving you nuts. you take the pins out of your hair, parting it on the opposite side of the ruined shirt, and hastily run a brush through it. it's nearly five 'o'clock now, and you're vaguely disgusted that you spent so much time worrying over your clothes.
the other part of you wants desperately for the date to go alright but you're fifteen, what else is surprising?
the new hairstyle, meanwhile, seems to do the trick, the snag only noticeable if you move your hair. you smile. you spend the rest of the hour in your room, Kevin bumbling around in the kitchen. your parents are out, doing who knows what, so you try and get some English homework done, finishing up some chapters of the odyssey. you get it done easily, with fifteen minutes left before Christophe shows up. you tuck your homework away, stand up and stretch before smoothing out your shirt and fixing your hair. you add a bit of eyeliner, so your features don't fade too badly, and then grab your nicest brown sweater, still thick due to your never wearing it.
Kevin's on the couch now, mostly out of it as he stares at the infomercials blazing with low volume. he looks up at you, slurs out, where y'goin'? but it's quiet enough and hard enough to understand that you walk out the front door without him commenting further. your watch says it's five to six, so you decide to check if perhaps he's early, and just as you're exiting Christophe comes roaring up. he pulls off his helmet with a grin, one you return easily as he slips it into your hands. the exchange from there to the restaurant he drives to is mostly wordless, and he slips a hand to the small of your back as the two of you walk into a little Italian place, halfway between south and middle park.
the shyness is evident on your part when you two are seated and you're torn between browsing the menu and staring at Christophe. he keeps his eyes mostly on you, asks, 'ow are you? with that lovely trill. you find yourself smiling despite the spinning sensation of your stomach, say, i've been good, you?, which he responds to with your same answer.
you try not to wince when you look at the prices; most of the dishes are ten dollars and up, and you're still not sure if he's going to pay for it all. it's common practice, of course, but you're not going to be the girl to just assume things. you decide on some little rigatoni dish, with chicken. it's hard to remember the last time you had real meat, not from a can.
he sets down his own menu when you do, and you spend the next few Moments smiling shyly at each other.
it's sad, almost, that that's how nervous you are throughout the date, careful not to eat all of your food but also in awe of its richness. Christophe doesn't say anything, doesn't make it seem as if he realizes what inner turmoil is making you wish you weren't a hormone-filled mess, just reroutes your conversation around school and what you want to do as an adult. both of you are careful in avoiding saying anything about family. the McCormicks are known for a lot, and you've got a hunch that he's lived with just his mother for most of his life.
apparently he goes to some private school in Denver, lives in one of the suburbs between the city and South Park. you ask what he's been doing back in town. he shrugs, dark eyes smoldering when he says, i 'ad some bees'nes to settle, and zen saw you. you blush, bright, but when he covers your hand with his own you try your hardest not to scare him off with a too-wide smile.
he foots the bill though, which is fine – you'd chosen the cheapest meal you could stomach, a habit that's been in existence since you first started going out to eat. you walk out the way you walked in, his hand at the small of your back, the pressure from his fingertips driving you crazy.
the ride home is quiet, comfortable, and you dig your fingers into his leather jacket. he's not like anyone you know, which you know is stereotypical of you to think, but between the private education, accent and fearless attitude – he's a Godsend. there's something gentler there when he drops you off this time, reaching out to you and taking off the helmet himself instead of waiting. you blink at him, brush the stray strands of hair out of your face as you simultaneously adjust your sweater. he gives you a smile you've come far too accustomed to, somehow, small and sharp and so simply Christophe.
zees was nice, he says, and you let out a huff of a giggle, yeah, i had a lot of fun.
he peeks up at you from beneath his eyelashes, and you feel your bones nearly liquefy. care for a repeat? that smile curling into a bit of a smirk. you raise an eyebrow, take half a step back, smiling.
Saturday works better, you tell him, and he nods, serious.
i weel see you next Saturday, zen, and in the time it takes you to blink he's snagged you by your wrist, pulling you tight to his sitting form to press his – wonderful warm full – mouth against yours. you tense for a moment, caught off guard, but relax into the pressure, not quite a peck but no exactly a full-on make-out session either. you pull back, feeling warm, and Christophe grins at you.
adieu, he says, and you lean in to give him another kiss before you extricating yourself from his arms. bye, you say, giving him a look of your own, and the shock on his face is worth it. he watches you walk into the little house before leaving, the loudness of his bike a sharp contrast to the bubbling warmth still lingering in your body.
where've you been? your mother asks, but you ignore her like you did Kevin, instead on cloud nine as you head back to your room.
Kenny gets back around midnight, faded orange hoodie pulled over his eyes. he loves orange, for whatever reason, and while he also has a gray sweater in much better shape, he prefers the hoodie he's had since middle school. he peeks in on you, but you're lying down, trying to relax long enough to go to sleep. he knows you, of course, mock-whispers, you okay kiddo?
you roll onto your back, glance at him and try to say, airy, yeah i'm fine. your voice unfortunately is a bit high, strangled, and you silently curse the still-present butterflies in your stomach. Kenny notices, misconstrues your discomfort, and steps in, door open to let in some light. he squats down by your bed, which like his is just a mattress on the ground, albeit in your case it's just a twin, one that you have a bit of trouble fitting into now. he puts his hand to your forehead, you sure?
you swat at him, cough a little to clear your throat, and say, yeah of course. he hums a little, before starting to stand. alright, he says, and then in a swift movement moves down to brush a kiss onto your forehead, too. g'night, Karen, he says, and you respond, you too.
then, of course, you realize that you got a kiss from both your favorite boys in the same day, making you blush harder than ever, feeling hot, and you can't go to sleep for another hour, torn between laughing and groaning at your idiocy.
you wake up around nine, the house quiet. Kenny no doubt has already gone to work – his shift starts at eight, and he's supposed to get out around four or five. you lie in bed for a little while, smiling at yourself and at the cracked ceiling, before a little ping grasps your attention. you get up then, stretching and wincing as the bones of your ankles and feet pop as you move towards the other side of your room, where you'd put your phone to charge. the screen stands out in the still dreary light of your room, and you squint to make out the letters.
Red, it blares out, and you open the message: Hey u busy today? We should grab breakfast! :D
you smile then, tap out a quick: Sure, where?
she sent back an immediate, Little diner called mickey's, i'll swing by ur place in half hour! you send back a quick, k, and then meander over to the bathroom. it smells like whiskey and cheap soap, reminding you painfully of your parents, though there was usually a mix of cigarette smoke with them. you scrub at your face quickly, brush your teeth, before heading back to your room to pull on the same jeans as the day before. you hate going into town for the laundromat, and it's cheaper to wear your jeans two or three times. they don't wear down as quickly.
you're tempted to pull on your sweater again but you wore it as a shirt for half the day before, which even grosses you out a bit. with a sigh you dig through your closet, much like yesterday, and pull out yet another sweater, this one picked up from the salvation army for some maritime academy on the east coast. once you've pulled on some socks, you tie your hair up, into a tight bun. you avoid looking at the mirror, merely run your hands over your head to make sure there are no bumps. when you decide it's good enough, you head out into the hall way, slip on your shoes from where they're haphazardly thrown around. no doubt Kenny couldn't find his shoes in the morning and just tore through the house. your father's in the living room, snoring, and Mom's in the kitchen boiling water to make instant coffee.
hi hon, she says to you when she notices you standing at the doorway, watching. she puts her chipped yellow mug down, looks right back at you. where were you last night?
you answer honestly, i had a date.
oh, she says, and seems to wilt before you, oh. he a good boy?
you think about his motorcycle and Indonesian cigarettes, his accent and how his hands felt on your skin as you kissed. yeah, you say, and she nods, still looking sad.
be better than your momma, Karen, is all she says, and then Red's out front honking. you wave goodbye to your mother awkwardly and then run out, hopping into Red's Montecarlo, some model from 2005 you think. all you knew about cars was absorbed from Kenny, which was fine you supposed. it's painted white and she grins at you when you slide into the passenger seat.
morning, Karen, she says, and you answer the same.
the family car's an old Dodge pickup truck, and with Kevin's ratty old 1998 Cavalier you're no longer solely on relying for someone to take you to the grocery store. the family stopped getting government assistance back in middle school, when they finally caught wind that there was in fact a meth lab in the backyard.
all it did was make you even hungrier, Kenny giving up his already meager portions to make sure you got enough to eat. but you're a little older, now, a little more capable of skipping a meal or two on any given day. just this past Christmas you came down with what you were sure was strep, but all you did was suck it up and slurp down enough Nyquil to knock out a hippo. that's what was required of you and you were going to be able to do it, no matter what.
Red is all smiles at the diner you pull up to, chattering a mile a minute about Kyle and Stan and whatever shenanigans they were still getting up to. something about the state of the atmosphere, she says, but it might have to do with magnetism too.
you laugh, remembering the orca thing, and then she asks, so i heard some news about you. your breath catches in your throat, and she continues, something about a boy, and she drawls out the last word, lets the vowels curl in her mouth. you turn bright pink, face burning, and red smiles at you kindly.
i have a story for you, she says, and you squeak, what. she says, i made out with Bebe at Token's party last June. you blink, not entirely sure what she's trying to say.
so you're lesbian?
she laughs, no, what i'm saying is that it didn't mean anything. it was a joke. and then her gaze turns serious. a lot of things can be jokes, even if not everyone thinks so. even if you think it's serious.
you stare at her for a moment before blurting, my God it was a date, not a prenuptial agreement.
Karen, it would be in his best interests to use one with you.
oh God, you say after thinking on it, please don't tell me that was a euphemism for 'use a condom.'
Lizzy's been seeing you with him, Red says, and i don't remember much but he's been sketch since the beginning. he can't be any good for you.
no one is good for anyone, you respond, but sometimes they can be for a little.
don't speak to me in riddles, kiddo, she scolds, mouth lifting at the corners. her hair is loose, wild, and she's wearing a pink band-tee – blink182. i remember what it's like to be fifteen and filled with hormones. she grimaces; i had to go on deprovera because the cramps would knock me out for at least two days.
the two of you share a wince, but you repeat, it was just a date.
keep it that way, she warns, but the both of you know it's futile. she changes the subject, says, heard Kevin was back, too. you wrinkle your nose and her expression remains sympathetic. i take it it's not going too hot, huh?
it never is, you say, even with Kevin gone. the shame that used to flow through you when you talked about home had gradually faded as you rekindled your friendship with Red. there was just something about the red-headed girl that made it easy to talk to her. she sighs, long and wistful, and says, honey i'm sorry.
don't be, you tell her, it's nothing new.
it's not, and it doesn't get any easier.
it's May, now, and Kevin brings home Tammy Warner like it's nothing. her hair is bleached completely now, not just highlighted, and her makeup is heavier around her mouth rather than her eyes. she smiles shyly at Kenny, says, hello, in a quiet voice. Kenny's finishing up finals in a few weeks, done the sixteenth of the month and then a summer free before heading off to college in Denver.
oh, your mother says, eyebrows pinching together, nice to meet ya, how are—?
Tammy, she introduces herself, hi.
Carol, your mother responds cautiously, Kevin, help me with the groceries?
he raises an eyebrow, i never help.
Kevin, she stresses. he tosses his head at you, says, there's Karen, Karen help her out.
i can help, Tammy says hurriedly, but your mother is quick to interrupt. no, no, you're a guest, 's alright, and then she pulls you towards the back of the kitchen, backs to the two of them.
is this a girlfriend? she hisses, and you shrug, shift, because her fingers are digging into the back of your neck. you had a bad feeling about Tammy – she wasn't known for the best of reasons.
beats me.
she groans, i dunno what to do with this boy. you don't comment.
when you all sit down to dinner it's awkward, rightfully so. Kenny looks suspicious yet bemused, takes a bite of his ravioli without waiting for Kevin to sit down. they share a brief, bitter look, before Kevin is absorbed by Tammy, who sits primly as if she were in the fancy restaurant Christophe had taken you. you smile, thinking about it, before quickly wiping your expression clean when your mother notices.
so Tammy, she says, can't say i know much 'bout ya!
tammy blushes, making the bottom half of her face seem red. she's got a scar on the right side of her forehead, a thin line, just barely noticeable. you stare at it as they speak.
what's going on? you finally say, after they've been speaking about insignificant matters concerning Tammy (she's the next Liane Cartman, everyone knows) for a good twenty minutes. your mother stops, looks up at you.
what? she says, and you answer, obviously there's something someone needs to tell us. and you fix your gaze on Kevin. you see Kenny smirk out of the corner of your eye.
Kevin sputters, Tammy blushes, and you remain stony. Mom scolds, Karen, that's rude! what are ya –
and then Tammy interrupts, i'm pregnant. everyone's head snaps towards her, save Kevin's, who cradles it with his hands, stained from God-knows-what. we're pregnant, she repeats, and places her hand on Kevin's shoulder, we're having a baby.
wow, Kenny says after a bewildered moment, wow. well, congrats bro. always knew you had it in you, and he stands, smacks Kevin's shoulder, and heads back to their shared room. you stare at the remaining people at the table before you for a moment before standing up and marching out the front door.
Christophe is there in record time, maybe fifteen minutes at most. he looks vaguely worried, says, what 'appened? but you just shake your head at him, say, can we get outta here? he nods, pulls you to him, and within minutes your sitting on the far side of Stark's pond, where the grass is high and where you used to hide when you were a child.
the two of you sit down, shoulder to shoulder, and you say, Kevin's girl is having a baby. Christophe remains silent for a moment.
'e just came back, non? you shrug. two months, already got a kid on the way. he chews on his lower lip for a moment, distracting you. i do not know 'ow i might 'elp you, he says, then turns to look at you. you lean forward, quick, capture him in a kiss that he returns with fervor. then, somehow, the two of you are lying in the grass, hidden, and he says, are you sure? are you sure? and you just say, yes, yes, because it doesn't really matter anymore if you aren't.
after that everything is a quick blur, Christophe's burning kisses and finals consuming you in increasingly difficult ways. he wants you to go to his graduation but you tell him you don't want him to have to pick you up and then drop you off, tell him that you want to take him out to dinner, celebrate. his eyes go dark at that, heady, and he kisses you with force, sharp teeth and pressure against your mouth, before pulling back with a nip, promising, i weel see you ze day after, oui? and you just nod, press your forehead to his chest, overwhelmed.
Kenny is leaving soon, and you don't know what to do with that. he's been your everything your entire life, and all of a sudden you're faced with the fact that he will be in Denver, making a name for himself along with the rest of his class, who are scattering around the nation. Red is going to Sanfran, Lizzy to somewhere in Washington with Tweek. Butters, well, you're not entirely sure, but from the way that Kenny is coming home later and later it seems that he'll be somewhere too significant for the two of them to ignore.
you still haven't figured out the deal with the two of them, but one day you're sure you'll understand. maybe. Christophe, meanwhile, is heading to New York, claims he'll fly you out to see him every month or so but you're not entirely sure what that would entail for you. his finals were the week before last and he took you to his prom, but if you're being honest – and today, you are – you're starting to lose interest. it's terrible, because you have given him everything you could have, but you are young and you don't know what you want, just what you've already had.
he is good to you but he is dangerous, and you can sense it in the way his fingers press against your skin that there is something lingering within him that you need to get away from before it's too late. Red had been disappointed to say the least when she realized that you had continued seeing him, and Tweek had actually managed to corner you one day after class had let out, you running late in putting away your clay and project.
er, Karen? he had said, and you had looked up, confused. uh. hi Tweek.
he twitched; hi. Li-izzy wanted me to talk to you. you had swallowed, asked, about? in as suspicious a tone as you could manage, considering the worry that was crawling up your throat. he sighed, rubbed his temple. there was a thermos in his left hand. you remembered that he was left-handed, suddenly, and tried not the laugh. you felt nauseous.
are you still seeing that – ergh – French kid? he asked, and you sucked in your cheeks.
that's no one's business but mine.
does Kenny know? he tried next, and you glowered. he spasmed again, said, taking that as a no. Lizzy's worried.
why? you said, exasperated, and he told you, because you're young and he's not.
i know what i'm doing.
but do you know what he is? and that brought you up short. you said, don't worry about me, and then left, leaving Tweek and a thousand doubts in your wake.
the exchange – and your damned hormones – had affected you, and now you're stuck pondering just what course of action to take. you'd heard the rumors; you didn't believe them but most rumors had some sense of reasoning behind it. the only problem was what to do with the information, and how to go about it.
but that you could deal with another day, Kenny always most central to you no matter the issues at hand. he was your big brother; what else could be said? the day he leaves though, you stay stony-faced, try not to cry in the August sun as he packs up his stuff, double-checking he has all his underwear. you sure you don't wanna wait just a li'l for Tammy to get back? you ask him. he rolls his eyes at you.
why do i need to know what gender my brother and ex-girlfriend's baby is? he says, and you stick your tongue out, blinking back tears. don't be that way, you were kids.
he reaches out a hand to you, ruffles your hair. you're a kid, he counters, and you swat at him.
stop, you say, and want to continue with 'just stop, i need you here,' but don't. you watch him pack, and when Bebe and Stan honk twenty minutes later, follow him carry his stuff out to the door. he pauses before opening it, looks at you for a while. the others had given their goodbyes earlier, wanting to find out the baby's sex, but you had stayed, wanting a little extra time with your favorite brother. you stare up into those crazy blue eyes of his.
what are you gonna do? you say, what am i gonna do?
get outta here, he says simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world, that's all you ever gotta do. and then he reaches to you and just holds you in his arms for a long moment. you rub your face against his shoulder, hide your tears in the baggy old shirt he wears. don't forget it, kiddo, he says as he pulls away, brushing your hair away from your eyes, you're somethin' special a'right?
that's why the next week you cut off all contact with Christophe, tell him it's too hard, ignore his anger and his disbelief.
you are doing zees? he says, looking more shocked than anything. you realize you were a prize more than anything, something warm and easy to have.
yes, you say.
a meestake, he says, repeats himself; a meestake.
but just like that you're free – you're just not sure what that really means for you.
a/n: several things: for those who don't know, don't share helmets! each helmet is specific to the wearer, due to the foam on the inside reshaping to fit them. /public announcement.
this has one or two more chapters, and i hope you enjoyed this (or not! that's okay too) and will leave some feedback :) also found at ao3 where i am laratoncita.