Alright, I know that some of you are probably wondering why in the fucking hell I'm writing new stuff when I should be working on Tension and Bloodbath, but.....I'm kinda...(sheepish grin) distracted?

*hit with many rotten tomatoes*

Ahh!!! Alright, alright! I get it! I'll work on them!! It's just...I've kinda hit writer's block. Well, not really, I mean I know what I want to write and everything, but I've been hit with a great laziness when it comes to those two stories! It's like they're not so important anymore! And whenever I go onto the computer, the internet is RIGHT THERE AND CALLING TO ME TO GO ON IT FOR HOURS!!! Sooo, I do. yeah, I know, bad me. Whatever. Um, this is a oneshot? I don't know. Anyway, this is Tweek's P.O.V.

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know, I don't own it. Whatever. *raspberry*

*

There are too many things wrong with me.

I wake up, and the first thing I'm aware of is the craving. The need that assaults me every morning as soon as my brain is functional. It's nothing exceptionally horrible, I don't crave drugs or anything like that. But it's left me off just as bad, so I can't really say anything.

As I get out of bed, I take some time to be grateful. It's not usually that I get to fall asleep, and not wake up fifteen times during the night. Maybe I should starve myself of coffee more often.

I change out of my wrinkled clothes, the ones I pretty much passed out in, exchanging them for ones of a shade and hue so similar it's like I'm wearing the same thing. But I can't seem to vary from it, even if I've been wearing them for years. This is familiar, safe, known and trusted.

Making my way from my messy bedroom, ironically messy considering the fears that plague me, I enter the bathroom, making sure to check every nook and cranny for any hidden dangers. There are none, so I approach the sink, taking in my reflection.

There are massive bags under my eyes, something that even a night of rested sleep could not cure. As I am now, I don't think they'll ever go away. My hair is everywhere, tangled and resembling something like a lion's mane. It used to be a nice blond, bright and spiked up in lightning points, but time and fear have dirtied it, and it hangs limply in front of my face. I should probably take a bath soon. I would do so, if I wasn't so scared of drowning in my own bathtub. I'm pale, thanks to never going anywhere and staying inside all day, and the tone of my skin seems to fit a corpse better than it does me. I see hallowed cheeks, a thin neck, the way my small shirt hangs off of smaller, thin shoulders. All the result of a bad diet and too many years of caffeine. Can you call me anorexic? Probably.

But all of that is forgotten as I catch sight of my eyes. There was a time when they were lively, shining back at you so prettily, even when clouded by my usual paranoia. I wish I could say they were still the same, I used to think they were my best feature. But my mirror does not lie, and neither will I.

Their lovely emerald tone has faded, turning a flat, dead dark green. Almost a muddy color. They are lifeless, reflecting a deep defeat, and I can almost cry. All in all, I draw my usual conclusion.

I'm hideous.

I can feel my twitching start; I need to sate my addiction. I bend down, brushing the morning breath from my mouth before leaving the bathroom. As I face the stairs, I can feel my heart speeding up in panic. Why do I have to have a room on the second floor anyway? My hands grip the railing tightly, but not too tight as to put too much pressure on it and cause it to crack and break and send me plummeting to my death. I take my time walking down, one foot, one step at a time.

Finally I reach the bottom, and I almost run to the kitchen, just before my craving makes me go absolutely insane. The automatic coffeemaker has already got a steaming pot of the precious hot elixir and I almost whimper in relief. My hands are shaking, quivering along with the rest of me as I hurriedly prepare a cup, the warm curls of steam telling me to go faster. As I take my first gulp, I relax somewhat, feeling the hot liquid slide down my throat. The glorious caffeine spreads through me, calming my craving, sending it back into its hole for a while. I know it'll be back, but I've dealt with it for so long, I don't know what I'll do if it ever leaves.

'Coffee is my crack', I remember reading once on a shirt, when I was a kid. I had laughed, because I thought it was funny, and sort of my kind of thing to say, but now I realize that might actually be true. I need it like an addict needs a drug; the time has long, long gone when I could even try to quit. It's dangerous; multiple doctors have already told me the damage that it's doing to my body, but what can I do? I'm already too far gone to stop.

I stand at the counter, taking gulps every so often, listening to a silent house. My parents are still asleep, untouched by my paranoia or craving, still perfectly normal. They won't wake for another hour, then they'll leave for work and not come back until late, where they'll go to sleep, to repeat their ritual the next day. I don't get to see them that often anymore. Sometimes, I forget I have parents, and that I'm not living alone.

Maybe it would be better if I was. I don't have that many people in my life anymore, not that I can say it isn't my fault. If I stopped drinking so much coffee, I wouldn't twitch and scream so much. Then maybe people would stand me better. But again, I'm not quitting my addiction anytime soon. Still though, I have friends, very few, but people I can hang out with when they invite me.

It isn't often, but the chance is there nonetheless.

I have one friend that sticks around me more than the others. He's nice to me. But I try not to bother him with my problems too much. I don't want to burden him, don't want him to see how far I've fallen from any semblance of 'normality'.

He'd probably run away screaming if he knew how screwed up I really was.

I fill up my cup again with more coffee, drowning my mind in caffeinated bliss. After my fifth cup, I glance at the clock. It's time to leave.

I pull my backpack out of the hallway closet, fill my two big thermoses with my craving, as well as my cup again for on the go. I contemplate going to say goodbye to my parents, but I decide not to. That would mean going up and down the stairs again.

My heart speeds up, as always, as I walk to the front door. I'm scared of what lies outside. Every day it's the same, always the fear, always the paranoia. And like always, I just take another gulp of coffee and open the door. Bright morning sunlight attacks my eyes, and I blink it away. My heart is beating a mile a minute, and I tell myself and my heart that there's nothing out there, just like always.

It doesn't listen and I don't bother saying it again; I'm going to be late and this'll only repeat itself tomorrow. I step outside carefully, braced for anything that could randomly attack me. But nothing does and I let the door close behind me as I shuffle off toward the bus stop.

It's just another day in my pathetic life.

*

A/N: Alright, um...this was meant to be a oneshot, and it's listed as complete, but when I gave it to my sister to proofread and everything, she said I should make it a chapter fic. Sooo.....I honestly don't know if I should or not. So, decision time!!!

Do you think I should continue on this? If you think so, here a few things to know:

1) It will be all in Tweek's P.O.V.
2) Yes, it will be Creek.
3) I don't know about the smex though.
4) If I do put up another chapter, the rating, genre, and people involved will change, probably to M, angst/romance, and Tweek T. and Craig T.

Anyway, if you want me to continue it, Story Alert this, please! You don't even have to review (although I would love you forever if you did!), all you have to do is Story Alert this, even if it says it's complete, alright?

It's all up to you, people!