South Park © Matt & Trey.

All in Stan's POV~ This is just the prologue, so there will be a time skip in the next chapter.

Warnings: mental illness, death, addiction, mentions of non-con, mentions of suicide, lotsa sloppy sex
Main pairings: Kyle/Stan & Kenny/Craig
Side pairings: Kenny/Stan, Jason/Craig, Kyle/Rebecca, Cartman/Wendy, Bebe/Clyde, Token/Nichole


Kyle drank too much and now he's going crazy. I'm home alone and I don't know what to do. He's screaming and crying and he just puked on my bedroom floor. Something happened. It's something bad but he won't tell me what. He won't tell me what's wrong and I'm scared. I'm scared for him but I'm scared for myself, too.

"K-Kyle," I try to reason with him. "Come on, talk to me… I don't know what I'm supposed to do here…"

He's kneeling on the floor staring down at the mess he made on the carpet. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" he moans miserably, clutching his head.

"Kyle, please!" I nearly shout. This isn't like him.

He stares at me from his place on the floor, giving me the most helpless look I've ever seen. "I fucked up, Stan…" he whispers, sobbing out the words. "Oh, God… I really fucked up…"

"How?" I ask weakly. The truth is, I haven't seen Kyle all week. Exams are approaching and he's usually absent around this time of year. Being the keener he is, he likes to get ahead of the game and study more than necessary… but I have a feeling this year won't be the same. I have a feeling he won't be raking in straight A's. Something happened… something really bad.

But still, he won't say a word. It's like, somehow, he can't. Maybe the reality of it all is just too much to sink in. That thought alone causes my head to hurt.

"I didn't mean to…" he sniffles before being overcome with another wave of sobs.

"Didn't mean to what?" I pry, slowly and cautiously kneeling behind him. I put a hand on his back as he continues to stare down at his puke.

Before I can try to coax out any more answers, the doorbell rings. I stand up and leave the room, running downstairs to open the door. I'm surprised to see two cops standing in front of me.

"Hello?" I ask meekly.

"We're looking for seventeen year old Kyle Broflovski," one starts. "We were told he might be hiding here."

"He's upstairs," I respond quietly, knowing it wouldn't be in my best interest to lie to the police. Apart from that I can still hear him wailing. I'm sure the cops can hear it, too. "He's not hiding. Can I ask what this is all about?"

"A body was found," they reveal.

And the rest happens in slow motion – like some dramatic and tragic scene from a film. I watch as they take Kyle away, loading him in the back of a cop car. Just like that and I'm left full of questions – some of which I have a feeling won't be answered for a long time.


By now, everyone knows the story – or at least how the newspapers told it.

Ike is dead. He drowned in Stark's Pond – a place that once held so many happy childhood memories. I doubt Kyle will be able to step foot there ever again. I don't know why Kyle blames himself. I haven't seen him since. He's been refusing company… but he can't hide forever.

"I'm freezing!" Kenny chatters, white puffs of smoke leaving his mouth. "My nipples could cut glass right now!"

I force a smile, knowing he's trying to get a laugh but all I can think about is Kyle. Cartman is silent. He hasn't been talking any shit about Kyle lately, either. Everyone has been strangely quiet. Death hits South Park quite frequently. It has even hit me before, but every single damn time it feels a hell of a lot different. If I feel this shitty, I can't even begin to imagine how Kyle feels.

Some redneck senior kids drive by in a rusty pick-up truck. "Suck my dick, McCormick!" one shouts, sticking his head out of the window and flipping the bird.

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you come out here and let me?" Kenny shouts back, twice as aggressively. "Pansies," he adds once they're gone. "Once you have my mouth around yah dick, you ain't gonna want nothin' else."

"TMI, you poor piece of shit," Cartman mumbles, but the insult is lackluster.

I roll my eyes, paying them all little mind. It's the first day of exams and Kyle nowhere in sight. Soon, the bus pulls up and we all board – without Kyle. The ride doesn't take long and soon we pull into the high school parking lot.

In a linear fashion, everyone piles into the gymnasium and the teachers seat us alphabetically. Kyle shows up in the last minute looking like road kill. He's usually so put together in khakis and sweaters, but not now. He looks like he just rolled out of bed and didn't bother changing out of his pajamas.

Kenny nudges me as a teacher sits Kyle behind Token. "Look at his eyes," he whispers. "He's been crying again."

"No fucking shit," I mutter. "Wouldn't you?"

"It wasn't even his damn fault…" Kenny murmurs.

I just shrug. "We don't know that, dude."

"He turns eighteen in May," Kenny mentions. "If he fucked up this bad, he wouldn't be sitting here about to take an exam. He'd be in jail for murder and tried as an adult."

I wrinkle my nose at that. In reality, it doesn't matter that it was or wasn't Kyle's fault. His little brother is dead and he blames himself. That blame has a pretty strong hold on him and it doesn't seem like it'll be letting go any time soon. It's a shame, really.

The principal gets up on the podium, reading out the examination rules. Everyone listens with dull interest until we're told we can begin.


Kyle manages to finish first. I wonder if it's because he knew the material or if he just didn't care. Honestly, it could be either at this point.

After I finish, I find Kyle outside smoking a cigarette – an ugly habit he picked up when we were twelve. No matter how many times I've told him to stop, he won't. Now I'm sure he's even less inclined to quit.

"Hey, dude…" I greet him gently. He grunts some kind of response, nodding at me. "Where've you been?" I ask after a moment's pause.

"Home," he says, sounding hoarser than usual. Kyle fucked up his vocal cords. I don't know if it's because of all the screaming he did when he was a kid or what. The cigarettes probably don't help, either. He takes another puff, closing his eyes as he inhales. He turns his head as the smoke escapes, knowing I hate when it gets in my face.

"I tried seeing you…" I mention, staring at him.

"I know," he says simply.

I guess he just doesn't care.


On Friday, Jason has a party in celebration of the end of the school year. The only reason I'm here is because Kyle is. He gets very drunk very fast. I can't help but see myself when I look at him. I used to be the one with the alcohol problem, but I try not to indulge myself these days since, on top of having depression, I'm also prone to addiction. I hope he doesn't make this a habit.

I spot him on the sofa making out with Bebe. She's always had a soft spot for him and his backside. Right now, she's all hands. I guess it's nothing new. Kyle has had lots of sex. He's had more than me and Cartman put together, but probably not more than Kenny.

Kyle still has a Jewfro, but it's not as big and messy as it was when we were kids. He keeps his curls short and neat these days. He's tall and pale and slender and good looking, with a nice jaw. Girls seem to like that.

When they part, Kyle starts sobbing openly. For a moment, Bebe looks taken aback. Then she simply wraps her arms around him, pulling him close. I watch them dully, wishing he'd allow me to be the one to comfort him. I'm his best fuckin' friend and I seem to be the one person he won't cry on.

I shake it off and walk away. Wendy and Cartman are smooching in the hallway, much to my dismay. My breakup with Wendy was hardly a surprise. It's no secret these days that I'm a huge fag. It was unfair of me to make her act as my beard for all those years.

When we were fourteen a group of seniors made me and Kyle do it. The gay test. So, Kyle lied down and I draped myself over him and obviously we both got boners when we started grinding on each other. With the right stimulation, you can't really help it. So, we failed. They laughed. That was that. It wasn't overly traumatic. "It don't mean shit," Kenny had tried to reassure me. "Obviously if you're being rubbed there's a chance you're gonna get hard." A week later I admitted to the guys that I was actually a homo. They were all fine with it. That story is infamous. I think every kid in the damn school knows it by now, embarrassingly enough.

At the end of the hallway, there's an open door. I can hear whiny sounds of pleasure coming from inside. I near it, half expecting to see Kenny… but I don't. Instead, I see Craig on his back being fucked missionary style by Jason… Jason, of all people! I didn't even think he liked boys. Then again maybe he's just shallow – the kind of guy who will go after anyone he deems cute enough. "Nnn… more…" Craig moans. He has his arms carelessly tossed over his head as he writhes around. The room is dim and the both of them look completely oblivious to my presence. Nonetheless I mutter an awkward apology and leave. What a disturbing sight.

Rumor has it Craig can have multiple orgasms. Maybe Jason sees him as a conquest.

I move into the basement where another crowd of kids are hanging. There's a cloud of smoke wafting around the room and the smell of weed is strong. Here, I spot Kenny. Lola is sitting on his lap and everyone in the room is passing around a bong.

I want to leave. None of this is my scene. I'm not one for pointless hook ups or drugs or too much alcohol. I find these kinds of parties intimidating. I'm not extroverted like Kenny. I've only had two drinks tonight. I'm not quite sober, but I'm not smashed either like most of the kids here. Still... I want to be. I want to keep drinking. I want to drink 'til I'm numb. But I won't. I need to control myself.

"Stan!" Kenny calls me over when he sees me. He pats the leg Lola isn't sitting on and winks at me. "Saved you a spot."

Horny pervert. He's been offering me a roll on the sack since Wendy dumped me. I always say no, but maybe it doesn't really matter. I probably need someone to remove the stick from my ass. I'm sourer than Craig Tucker these days… but clearly he's getting laid. I'm not.

Fuck it. I move into the room and sit on Kenny's lap. "Look at all my bitches," he says, pinching my ass and then grabbing one of Lola's tits. She gives him a tight smile, cupping a hand over his crotch and giving it a particularly rough looking squeeze.

"Aw, fuck!" he grunts. "Don't be like that, babe, I was just playin'!"

She rolls her eyes. "Are we going to get this show on the road, or what?"

Kenny smirks at her before glancing at me. "What do yah say, Stan? You up for a threesome?"

I could say no. Kenny wouldn't be surprised. He'd just nod and wander off with Lola. Or… I could say yes. Kenny would be surprised. He'd take us both into the nearest empty room and I'd get laid for the first time in two years. So, I say, "All right."

Lola chuckles at that, pinching one of my cheeks and cooing, "You're the cutest!"

So, the three of us stand up. Kenny tosses an arm around Lola and an arm around me, escorting us to the nearest vacant room. It looks like a guest bedroom. There's a double sized bed in the center, a nightstand with a lamp and a dresser along with a closet. There's a painting of an ocean above the bedframe. It's pretty lifeless. Kenny turns off the lights, turning the lamp on instead.

I feel like at least half of the student body has seen this side of Kenny. Soon enough, I'll be no different. I'll be a name on his list of fucks.

Lola and Kenny begin undressing unceremoniously. I can't help but wonder if they've slept together before. Probably. I shrug it off and follow their lead, shedding my clothes. Part of me feels incredibly self-conscious. I've only ever slept with two people – Wendy and some random senior at a party when I was fourteen. It was mere days after Wendy dumped me. It's yet another reason I don't like to drink heavily and partake in random hook ups. It was a bad night and I still regret it.

But I guess this isn't so random. It's just Kenny… well, and Lola.

Lola is the first in bed. She lies on her back, her head resting against a pillow. Kenny winks at her before turning to me. "Lie next to her," he instructs. I do so, praying to God I'm not blushing.

"You up for the challenge, McCormick?" Lola teases. "Gonna get us both off?"

"Oh, babe," he simpers. "You know I will." When he joins us, he doesn't hesitate to let his hands start roaming. I rest my arm over my face, closing my eyes and trying to get lost in it. I try to forget that there's a girl lying next to me and that she's probably watching me.

Clearly, Kenny can multitask. He has no problem fingering a girl while jerking me off. I wonder how many people he has slept with. Probably at least thirty. By just his hands, I can tell he's experienced… but he's never had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. He's never been in a relationship. I wonder if he wants one, or if he just enjoys this more. The person who Kenny is willing to settle down for… would probably have to be pretty damn special. Rumor has it, Kenny McCormick never settles.

However many minutes later, Lola's moans grow frantic and I can feel her squirming around next to me. Mere seconds later, I can hear sloppy kissing sounds. Part of me hopes she leaves after because I think I'm having performance anxiety. I'm hard, but nowhere close to cumming. I open my eyes. The fingers that were in Lola are now in Kenny's mouth. "Mm," he says, staring down at her.

She stares up at him in return before nodding towards his neglected erection. "Want me to…?" she offers vaguely.

"Nah," he says with a smile. "Run along." She shrugs it off, getting out of bed a moment later and throwing on her clothes. When she's gone, it's just me and Kenny. "Relax, Stan," he says in a strangely gentle tone. "Wanna have sex?" he asks a split second later. "I've got a condom in my pocket."

I guess Kenny is the kind of guy who travels prepared. "All right," I murmur. Fuck it. I've already gone this far. I may as well try to at least get a good orgasm out of it.

So, he gets out of bed and digs through his discarded clothes. When he's back in bed, he rolls on the condom, kneeling between my legs. He plays with my ass for a few minutes, touching me in ways no one has ever touched me. For fuck's sake, I've never even touched myself like this… but it feels good. Really good. Clearly Kenny knows exactly what he's doing. He touches all the right spots.

After lubing up, he plows in. It doesn't hurt like I thought it would. "Shit," he laughs in near disbelief, "I've been wanting to fuck you for years."

"I know," I say simply.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks.

"Of course," I tell him.

He bends down and I feel his lips on mine and his tongue in my mouth. We kiss sloppily and it feels good to be close to someone. I haven't been this close to anyone in a long time. I've missed it. I've missed everything about it.

And just when I'm about to cum, the door opens. Kyle, Wendy and Cartman all pile inside. Kyle is crying again.

Is this what orgasm denial feels like? Christ!

"Oh, shit!" Wendy exclaims, putting her palms over her eyes when she sees the state I'm in. Meanwhile, Cartman just cackles at us, digging out his phone and taking a picture. Kenny joins him, laughing shamelessly and striking a peace sign.

Click.

"For fuck's sake!" I snap angrily at our most recent visitors. "Get the hell out!" I try to sit up, but Kenny puts a hand on my chest, keeping me in place.

Kyle looks completely unaware of what I'm currently in the middle of doing. Instead of heeding my advice, he wanders to the bedside and hovers over me. "Stan, I wanna leave…" he whines.

"He won't stop crying," Wendy says, palms still covering her eyes. "We've been looking for you…"

"Why me?" I ask, seething and burning with shame.

"You're his best friend," she says.

I let out an impatient sigh. "Fine, just get the hell out. Leave him here. I'll take him home after I'm done."

Kenny is smiling. He looks thoroughly humored. He shoes Cartman and Wendy out before turning to Kyle. "Hey, pal," he says in a somewhat patronizing tone. "Look, I'm gonna finish fucking your super best friend in the ass and then he'll take you home. Okay?"

"Okay," Kyle whimpers, pressing his face into my chest. I'm pretty sure the words flew right over his head. I can feel his curly hair tickling my skin and I shudder. The entire experience just got weirder – as if it wasn't weird enough already. Kenny laughs, grabbing my hips. It's strange seeing him like this. It's strange letting him… well… dominate me. And the fact that I'm a bit drunk is just making this seem like a surreal experience.

"Shit, shit…" I moan, stroking myself frantically as Kenny quickens his pace. So, it happens like this: I end up cumming with Kyle crying all over me and I'm pretty sure some of my jizz hits his face. This has probably been the most awkward orgasm of my life.

Kyle sobs and sniffles and Kenny continues fucking me for a few minutes. God, what a scene.

"K-Kyle…?" I say his name, stuttering as Kenny quickens his pace severely. He lets out a groan, refusing to raise his head. "Dude…" I start awkwardly. "You need to stand up." He groans again, but does as I ask. When Kenny finally nuts, he pulls out and disposes of the condom, dropping it in the garbage bin sitting in the corner of the room. I sit up and Kyle lies on the floor.

"Try not to pass out," I mutter. "You're a lot taller than me and I doubt I could carry you back."

"Shut up, Stan!" he whines in a high pitched slur.

I click my tongue at him, not bothering to wipe myself off before I get redressed. Kenny does the same and then helps me force Kyle onto his feet. I grimace when I see a patch of spooge on his cheek. I wipe it off with my shirt sleeve and Kenny snickers. "Oh, shit…" I say with a sigh.

"Want me to walk you guys home?" he offers.

"Nah," I murmur. "Go have more fun. It's not even midnight yet. I'll take this asshole back to my house."

"Be nice to him," Kenny says humbly. "He's in a lot of pain."

"I'm always nice," I insist, taking Kyle's hand in mine as the three of us leave the room. We part ways with Kenny when we go upstairs, throwing our coats and shoes back on. I help Kyle tie his laces and then we leave.

He starts crying again during the walk home and he doesn't stop. He's so fucking loud all I can do is thank God my parents aren't asleep. He definitely would've woken them up. As soon as we stroll through my front door, my parents glance our way. My mom looks sympathetic. Just like everyone else in this damn town, they know Ike drowned. Fortunately, they don't ask questions, but I can feel their eyes as I take Kyle upstairs.

He kicks off his shoes when we're in my bedroom. I do the same, placing them in the corner so no one will trip. I hang our coats off my desk chair and say, "I'll get you some water."

"I want a shower," he decides in that same, high pitched voice he's been using all night. I guess it shows how fucking drunk he is. I doubt he'll remember any of this tomorrow. That's probably for the best. I don't enjoy exhibitionism and I don't want him to have the memory of me cleaning my jizz off his cheek. He'd probably be disgusted by me and I don't want that to happen.

"All right," I sigh, walking him to the bathroom. I turn on the taps and go fetch him some water while the shower gets hot.

When I return, he's naked and hunched over the toilet bowl. Not a pretty sight. Shelly is standing in the doorway, gritting her teeth at him. No sympathy. "Control your stupid turd of a friend!" she demands, seething. "I know he's grieving, he's being too loud and I need to sleep! I work tomorrow morning!"

"Sorry," I mutter and she walks back to her own room with a scoff. I set the glass down next to the sink and grab a towel from the linen closet, draping it over him. "Dude… you good?" I ask slowly, shutting the door and locking it for good measure.

"No!" he exclaims, as if the answer should be obvious. He starts sobbing harshly, staring at me with confusion. "Why did I drink that much, Stan?" His voice is high pitched and really whiny.

"Because you're hurting," I tell him.

"No, I'm not!" he yells. "I'm just drunk!" He stands up and the towel pools at his feet. I sigh, picking it up.

I haven't seen Kyle naked since we were prepubescent. He's definitely grown up in all the right places. I know now isn't the time for perverted observations, but I can't help but take note of Kyle's ass – nice and firm. Bebe was onto something. Though… he'd probably hate for his faggy best friend to be thinking this kind of shit.

I check the taps and say, "Kyle, get in. It's hot." I offer him my hands and help him inside.

"It's too hot, Stan!" he whines, moving into the corner of the shower where the water can't reach him.

I try not to get impatient. I simply adjust the taps and ask, "Better?"

"Now it's too cold!" he shouts.

"Fucking hell, Kyle, I don't care!" I retort coldly before I can help it.

He looks at me with a hurt expression. "Why do you hate me so much?" he asks wetly. "Why are you so mad?"

"No… I don't hate you and I'm not mad," I say calmly. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

When I turn away to grab the towel I hear a squeak followed by a yelp and a bang. I don't need to piece it together. Kyle fell. I peel back the curtains again and see him lying in the tub.

I turn off the taps. "Dude…" I say, shaking him. "Get up or I'll have to take you to the hospital. Seriously, Kyle, I will. You might have fuckin' alcohol poisoning…"

"Nooo…" he moans.

I grab one of his arms, forcing him to sit up. Grabbing the glass of water from the counter, I make him to sip on it. As he does, I dry his hair before wrapping the towel around his shoulders.

I guess I got my wish. Kyle came to me for comfort… though this is hardly what I had in mind. I guess I shouldn't complain. I don't want other people to see him like this. As possessive as it sounds, it makes me jealous when other people see him vulnerable. I want to take care of him and do all the shit a best friend is supposed to do.

"Dude, I fuckin' swear to God if you don't stand up in five seconds I'm gonna get my dad to come up here and carry you out," I warn. It's an empty threat, though. Me and my father don't really talk.

So, I manage to pull Kyle to his feet and help him out of the tub. I dry him off like one would a child and walk him across the hall. Back in my room, he forgets clothes all together and immediately crawls onto my bed. I kill the lights, removing my jeans and sweater before doing the same. As soon as I lie down next to him, he shifts towards me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers wetly, putting his arms around me and hugging me like a fuckin' stuffed animal. "Sorry, Stan… I'm sorry…"

"It's fine, dude," I say with a sigh, forcing myself to relax in his hold.

Come morning, I hope things will be back to normal.


I wake up free of headaches. Kyle, I'm sure, won't be as lucky. He's still thoroughly unconscious and his arms are still locked around me. He's warm. For a few minutes I stay still in his hold and pretend this is something we do all the time. Fuck, I wish it was. I want this to be the kind of thing he does sober. Some moments later, I force myself out of bed as gently as I can, trying not to wake him up. In my t-shirt and boxers, I go downstairs and grab a banana. My parents are sitting at the table drinking coffee.

"How is Kyle?" Mom asks.

I wrinkle my nose, peeling the fruit. "He's still asleep… but he's probably gonna be in a lotta pain when he wakes. I don't think he's ever been that drunk before."

"Shame," she whispers. "What a sin."

"Keep an eye on him, yeah?" Dad suggests, probably pretending to care. "That kid isn't made of the sternest shit."

"I know," I murmur. I eat slowly and grab an ice pack, some more water and a tablet of Tylenol before going back upstairs. By now, Kyle is awake. His eyes are still closed, but he's rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead. "Here," I say. "Sit up. I brought medicine."

He does so, opening wet eyes. He downs the pill with ease and sips on the water for a minute before handing the glass back to me. I set it on the nightstand as he lies back down. I lie down with him and press the ice pack to his forehead.

"Feels good…" he murmurs hazily.

And this is how I spend the rest of the day: tending to Kyle's hangover. When he needs to puke, I hand him the mop bucket. Rinse and repeat. If this isn't true friendship, I don't know what is.


Around 9PM, his hangover starts to wane. He gets up and finally puts his clothes back on before leaving the room to take a piss. When he returns, he looks like he has something to say. "What's up?" I decide to be the first to speak.

"I got naked last night, huh?" he asks, hovering in the doorway.

"Yeah," I say.

He murmurs a sheepish apology and adds, "Hope I wasn't too much trouble." He wrinkles his nose. "Fuck it, I know I was. I don't remember much… I just remember crying a lot and puking and taking off my clothes."

"Shelly saw your dick and ass," I decide to tell him. "You were bent over the toilet giving her quite a view."

He grimaces. "Great…"

"She probably didn't mind," I say with a snort. We all know my sister is a fuckin' pervert.

Kyle finally steps into the room, getting back into bed with me. "Dude…" he murmurs. "Did you have sex with Kenny last night or was I just hallucinating?"

A pause. "Yes… I had sex with Kenny."

He looks thoughtful. "I remember being in the room," he admits with a bitter laugh. "I remember feeling jealous that you were paying more attention to Kenny than to me. I got really irritated with the both of you, so I kind of wormed my way between you guys."

I snort at that. "Well, his dick was in my ass. I had to at least pay a little attention to him."

"Why did you do it?" Kyle asks. "Sleep with him, I mean. Do you like him?"

"No, I just did it because he asked," I admit nonchalantly. "I know he's asked before, but I guess I was never in the mood for it. Last night, I was. Sorry if this is too much information, but… I'm really horny lately and it's slim pickings for a shy faggy guy like me. Since Kenny swings both ways, I guess I decided I'd let him have me."

It's basically true. Kenny is really good looking. I'd be blind not to notice it. He's slim, tall, tanned and fit with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes that mirror my own. I am thirsty as hell and I feel like I'm always surrounded by good looking guys – Kenny, Kyle, Clyde, Token… Sadly, they all appear to be straight apart from Kenny, but I could never date Kenny. I say this for a number of reasons. Firstly, I can't see him as anything but my friend. Secondly, he's bad at relationships. Thirdly, I'm gay for Kyle and have been for a damn long time. Apart from all that, Kenny keeps too many secrets.

"Don't berate yourself," Kyle murmurs before wondering, "Why didn't you come to me?" The words surprise me. He's never expressed interest in guys before.

"I didn't think you'd want me to…" I say slowly. "You like girls."

"You're my best friend," he starts, "and… I wouldn't mind sleeping with you. So, next time you want it, come to me. I want you to."

"All right," I agree softly. I won't ask why. I think I know. I just don't think I want to hear him say it. Some guys just want a convenient and willing hole to fuck. That makes it easy. Guys like Jason, Kenny… maybe Kyle is like that, too. I guess it doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl. "Kyle?" I say his name. "Don't get that drunk ever again. I'm not saying it because I'm mad, I'm just saying it for your own health."

He mumbles a, "Hm," and nothing more. He rolls over so his back is facing me. I guess he's not in the mood to talk about important things.

"Look," I continue, "I know you're hurting… but you can't just run away from these things. Trust me when I say drinking doesn't help. Neither does denial. You're not supposed to deny your issues. You're supposed to deal with them. Cope. That's the only way you'll get better." I hear him sniffle a moment later. I let out a quiet sigh and start rubbing his back. "Don't you want to get better?" I ask, but he doesn't respond. Maybe it's not a matter of what he wants. Maybe it's a matter of what he thinks he deserves. So, I don't say anything else. I juts wrap an arm around him and we lie here silently.

"Ugh," he moans, sniffling some more. "Am I a bad person?"

"No," I promise. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Because…" he starts, letting out a wet sigh as he trails off. "I don't know. I'm all over the place lately. I just feel like I'm a bad person. I need reassurance."

"If you care about being a bad person you're not a bad person," I tell him. "I mean… why would a bad person want to be good? Sometimes people do shitty things. I mean, we all do. Everyone makes mistakes. It's just part of life. We have to forgive ourselves and each other and then just try our best to move on. That's what it's all about Kyle – moving on and finding that desired happiness." I press my face into the back of his shoulders. I want him to let all this shit sink in, but I know he won't. He's not ready. Maybe he won't be ready for a long time.

I don't really understand it. My grandpa died a few years ago and I moved on from it. Sure, I was sad for a long time, but I made it through. I'm okay now… but I guess, at the same time, I never felt like I played any part in his death. Kyle feels like he played a part in Ike's death and maybe that's why he's full of blame.

It's weird. Kyle was never a crier. That was me. Crybaby Stanley Marsh. Kyle is the one who always kept it together in times of crisis while I was the one to always lose it. It's weird seeing him like this. I wish I could do something more to help him, but I can't. I can't do a damn thing and it fucking sucks.