Disclaimer: South Park and all its characters are owned by Comedy Central
A/N: This chapter contains rather strong and graphic scenes, reader discretion is advised.
EDIT: I will not be working on this story on the foreseeable future. I wrote this mainly as an outlet at a pretty bad moment of my life. I feel that I can't continue this story and make it justice as it is, because I have gotten better since then. If I ever feel inspired again, I will try and continue it. Otherwise, it is locked until further notice.
Further edit: I don't particularly recommend you read this, as it is pretty depressing and grim dark. At least you're warned, I suppose.
As Kenny felt the bitter release in his mouth, he immediately stopped bobbing his head and spat the liquid besides him. Mr. Stotch then looked down and said
"If anyone ever hears about this, you're dead. Got it?"
Kenny did not look at him and did not give any sign of acknowledgement. He just stood there, kneeling on that god-awful, barely illuminated gray dirty alley, looking down. That was an empty threat to Kenny. After all, he had figured out he couldn't die permanently several years earlier. Kenny didn't think this was a great thing, to be honest. His life was awful and he hated it. He had tried to off himself several times, only to wake up in the next morning.
Mr. Stotch threw a $50 bill at the ground and walked away, zipping up his fly. Kenny waited until he was sure Butters' dad had left and began to sob silently. He grabbed the money from the filthy ground, stuffed it in his pocket and got up. He leaned against the wall and cried harder, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his orange coat. He felt it coming. He turned around and pressed both hands against the wall, hanging his head to stare at the ground. Not a second later, he emptied his stomach contents all over the alley and his sneakers. He stayed in that position for a few more seconds, some of the tears dropping from his face and joining the vomit on the floor.
When had it all gone wrong for him? Did he ever stand a chance of not becoming what he was now? Kenny slowly walked out of the alley and headed for an old house downtown. He looked at his watch, a Christmas present he received from Stan Marsh many years ago. It was way past 11 P.M.. He lit up a cigarette on his way.
The people on the street always looked at Kenny. He was a very handsome 16 year-old. Being blond, blue-eyed and 6'4 made the difference sometimes. For most people, Kenny had what it took to become a male supermodel. However, in Kenny's life, it only meant he could get more money for the services he provided.
Being poor sucks, but Kenny was used to it, since he had always been poor. However, in the last year, he had acquired some less affordable habits that required him to do some jobs he was not at all pleased with.
Kenny arrived at the small abandoned-looking dark red apartment building. It was only five stories high, but it stood out on that neighborhood that was full of small and even more deteriorated houses. He buzzed number 35.
"Yes?" a deep and impatient voice came out of the intercom
"Hey, Trent, it's me." Kenny answered unenthusiastically
The door opened with a loud click and Kenny got in, walking on without looking at any of the people or rooms that were in there. Notwithstanding, he already knew far too well what that red building hosted. Prostitutes, drug addicts, law fugitives, drug dealers, illegal immigrants. This building was their refuge in South Park.
He reached the stairs and started climbing them quickly, two steps at a time, trying to ignore a girl sitting on the bend of the stairway shooting up and offering sex. She looked no older than 14. He finally reached the third floor and hesitantly entered room 35.
"How are you doing, Kenny?" said Trent Boyett, who was lying down on a bed with dirty looking sheets, looking vacantly at the television screen.
Trent was the kid Kenny and the boys had sent to juvenile hall for crimes he didn't commit. He had been locked up for nearly his whole childhood, and the only thing left for him to do when he finally reached freedom was a life of crime, since he knew no other. Trent had been a drug dealer since the age of 15. Despite not being tall, he was a rather wide teenager, having worked out during his whole sentence. Even if he didn't need a gun to impose himself and intimidate the junkies he handled, he had one just in case.
"You don't care" Kenny said, sitting down on an old wooden chair.
"You're right. Pretty smart for an addict." Kenny smiled coldly and Trent continued, still not looking at him. "You still owe me 20 dollars."
Kenny reached into his pocket and threw the bill he had just gotten from Mr. Stotch to Trent. "So you want the change, or would you like to put it in your account?"
"Just give me the rest in smack. And I need a new needle too."
"If you're so afraid you're gonna get AIDS, just stop whoring out."
"Well then how would I pay you?" – Kenny's tone was cynical and somewhat melancholic
"Good point. I don't have any needles, though. Go to the drug store."
"Ugh, that pharmacist rips me off, he charges like 3 dollars for a fucking plastic vial and another 2 dollars for the needle."
"So you only want 25 dollars worth, then?"
"No, give me 30, I'll see what I can do."
Trent handed him the drugs, barely looking at him. Kenny stuffed everything in the front pocket of his orange jacket and left without saying another word.
He exited the building, leaving its terrible smell behind and took a deep breath before lighting up another cigarette and heading for the drug store. It wasn't the shortest walk, but Kenny was used to walking. The handful of people still wondering the street at this late hour still glanced at him. Kenny always felt uncomfortable. He felt like everyone knew what he did. What he was. He placed his hood on his head, covering his face, and picked up pace. There were a few soft rain drops falling from the sky when Kenny finally reached the drug store.
"Good evening, Mr. Tanner." He said with a tired voice.
"Good evening, Kenny. What can I do for you today?"
"I need a syringe and a needle"
"Okay, that will be 5 dollars."
"Mr. Tan... Adam? I don't have 5 dollars." Kenny said, approaching the pharmacist
"Well, then I guess you can come back another day."
"I was thinking..." Kenny said, going behind the counter "I could do something else" He closed his eyes and reached down to meet his lips with Mr. Tanner's, who tried to kiss back instantly, but Kenny pulled away. "You want tongue, sweetie?"
"Yes" the pharmacist whispered
"Five bucks"
"Okay"
Kenny then reached down one more time and allowed the adult to stick his tongue in his mouth. After a few seconds, Kenny pulled away, grabbed the syringe and needle from the counter and started walking away.
"Wait!" Mr. Tanner said loudly, but Kenny didn't stop or look back. He exited the drug store and went to an alleyway behind it. The rain was starting to pour down harder at this point. Kenny opened his buckle and removed the belt from his jeans, tying it tightly to his left arm. He then put the heroin in the syringe and selected one of his many protuberant veins in that arm. As he stuck it through his skin and released the fluid into his bloodstream, he sighed. Kenny looked at his watch again. It was now four past midnight.
"Happy birthday, Kenny" he murmured to himself before starting to sob again.
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