Hey! How ya'll doing? So, here's something totally new! My very first South Park fanfic! I wrote it with one of my favourite authors, scarylolita and I must say she is quite the talented writer. Not to mention, she's also very nice :) I would totally recommend reading her stories!

So enough with this Author's Note! Hope you enjoy the first chapter of Trust!

South Park belongs to Trey Parker and Matt Stone! We own nothing!

Craig's POV

Anger. That is the one thing that goes through my mind. After having a crappy day at school, I make my way home only to be greeted with the sound of silence. Typical.

"Hello to you too, Craig," I say to myself bitterly.

My family is never home. Mom is always at work, Dad is always at the bar and Ruby is always with McCormick's little sister. What's her name...? Karen?

Whatever, I couldn't give a shit.

Anyway, I make my way upstairs and into my room. I'll attempt to do my homework, but it's most likely I'll just get too lazy and copy off of Broflovski tomorrow when he isn't looking.

I toss my book bag onto the floor and turn to Stripe's cage, only to find him lying still. My voice gets caught in my throat. "Shit," I murmur to myself, turning away.

I should be used to it by now. He's a guinea pig. They don't have a long life span. I'll go to the pet store tomorrow and get another one. I'll name him the same name and pretend none of this happened because it's easier.

I go to my closet and empty a shoebox full of trinkets and old photographs. I reach into Stripe's cage and pull him out, putting him in the box and closing it. Doing this always makes me feel gross. I go downstairs and outside. In the back yard, I dig a hole. Then the deed is done. The hardest part is over… and maybe it's stupid to get so attached to a rodent, but he's the only thing waiting for me when I get home. He depends on me to live. He needs me. Well, that's how I look at it. God, I sound so sentimental and melodramatic I'm gonna throw up.

I stand up and look at the homemade grave. I can feel my eyes glaze over, but I close them and shake my head.

'He was just a guinea pig. A rodent. Don't be such a pussy.'

I've always made sure to never get too attached to things, people or pets. When you're attached to something it's just more painful when the inevitable goodbye arrives. I found that out the hard way when my grandmother died 2 years ago.

I don't want to go through that ever again, so I now refuse to interact with people – even my own family. The closest thing to communication in our house is the classic middle finger and an occasional "fuck you." It might be unhealthy, but it works for me and I don't intend on changing that.

I'm brought out of my thoughts when my phone starts to vibrate. It was my boss.

"Shit." I answer the phone and hesitantly bring it up to my ear. "Hello?" I greet in a deadpan.

"Where the hell are you Tucker?! You're 10 minutes late!"

"Sorry, sir," I say flatly. "I'm on my way."

I hang up the phone and sigh.

.

.

It doesn't take me long to walk there. I work at a convenient store. It's a simple, boring job.

When my boss spots me, he looks irritated. I don't bother apologizing again. He says, "You're here alone for the night. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes," I say flatly. It's hardly rocket science.

"I've got an appointment," he continues, "But I'll be back afterward, so sit tight."

"Okay."

He disappears in the back room, probably to grab his things. Once out, he waves to me and leaves through the front exit.

I sigh, standing behind the cash register. I pop it open. Not much inside. He must've cleared it out before leaving. I know he doesn't trust me. Not that I'd steal. That would just cause me way more trouble than it's worth. The last thing I want is trouble.

Just then, the door opens and the last person I ever want to see walks in.

"Oh shit," I whisper under my breath.

"Hey, Craig," he says, grinning.

I sneer in response. "What do you want, McCormick? You know work and home are the only places I don't have to see you. Don't ruin that for me."

Kenny pouts. "Aww, c'mon Craig, you know you like me." He wiggles his eyebrows until I grunt in disgust.

"Whatever," I brush off his advances, "Just get what you need and get out. I'm not in the mood."

He takes a step back, surprised. "Whoa, what's got you so uptight?"

"Don't wanna talk about it, now are you gonna buy something or not?"

I can tell he wants to press on, but thankfully, he doesn't. "Yeah, just give me a carton of cigarettes."

He takes his wallet out of his backpack and opens it, only to realize he's three dollars short. "Shit," he says sulking. "Oh well, looks like I won't get my nicotine fix today." His sulk turns into a smile. "I'll just talk to you till your done work."

Oh, hell no.

I toss him the cigarettes and say "Take 'em. Just give me the three dollars at school tomorrow, now get out."

Kenny looks at me and grins again. Always fucking smiling. I don't know how he does it. "Thanks Craig!"

He takes out a cigarette and leaves the store. Finally.

It quiets down as it gets later and I'm standing here trying to pass time by counting ceiling tiles. After what seems like an hour, the bell rings and the door opens yet again. Prepared to let out a loud groan, I catch myself. This is when I start to panic. I've seen enough movies to understand where this is about to lead. I'm here with the cash register and he's there in a ski mask. I don't even need to put two and two together.

"Fuck," I deadpan aloud.

The guy in the ski mask comes up and points his gun to me. "Give me all the money you got, kid!"

Without any hesitation, I go to open the register. I struggle a little because of my shaking hands, but my face shows a calm demeanor. When I open the register I remember there is nothing in it except a few small bills. Fuck.

"C'mon kid! Before I blow your damn brains out!" He holds the gun to my head impatiently.

I put my hands up in defense. "Sir, there's no money in the register, I would give you what I have but I don't have any money on me."

The robber looks at me with narrow eyes and inches his face closer to mine. His breath reeks of alcohol. Sick.

Suddenly, he begins to smile slyly. "You know, you're a pretty guy."

"What're you talking about?" I ask, holding no emotion in my voice.

Slowly, his eyes begin to travel up and down as if he's surveying me.

Oh.

OH.

Oh, no...

I swallow harshly and let out a shuddery breath. I don't want to start begging, but I definitely don't want to take whatever this creep wants to dish out.

He doesn't lower the gun. I can still feel it pressing hard against my forehead. Part of me wants him to just pull the trigger, but another part of me wants to live and die on my own terms – not someone else's. Part of me wants my boss to return and save my sorry ass, but the other part wants to ensure this is a private humiliation. I close my eyes. "What do you want, then?" I ask. My voice trembles, though I try hard to keep it steady.

Truth be told, I'm a virgin and I'm definitely not looking to change that any time soon. I guess sometimes we aren't given a damn choice. People are awful and I hate them. This just gives me yet another reason for being such a misanthropist.

"Oh, I think you know," he says lowly. He reaches a hand down, hooking a finger in the rim of my pants.

"Please, don't do this in here," I whisper. I'm shaking by now no doubt. "People could come in. There's an alleyway out back."

He growls in irritation before simply saying, "Fine."

With a surge of aggression, he grabs me and I stumble on my way out from behind the counter. Once I'm in front of him, he takes my arm, forces it behind me and jabs the gun into my back.

"If you don't give me what I want, you're fucking dead, kiddo."

He pushes me out of the empty store. I am secretly hoping that someone will see me being forced into the alleyway, but much to my dismay, it is deserted outside.

Once in the alley, I'm pushed onto the ground. I place my hands in front of me before I hit the pavement. The rough impact causes the gravel to embed in my skin, no doubt causing them to bleed.

I try to zone out. We've talked about this kind of thing in health class. They offered a "rape prevention" informative course. Girls were encouraged to take it, but boys weren't. I guess that says something about the shitty world we live in.

I didn't think much about the whole thing. I just thought that it was a pile of fear-mongering bull, but maybe I should've gone anyway. I wonder, if I did, would it have helped? Would I have acquired a magical skill that would've allowed me to talk my way out of this? Probably not.

I take a deep, quiet breath and hold it in for a minute before letting it out. I can do this. No one will ever know. I'll take it with an empty mind.

I close my eyes as his hands slide beneath the rim of my pants and I immediately start to shake.

This is humiliating.

And my boss is going to kill me if he finds out I left the store alone.

He flips me over and pins my wrists above my head. I let out a small whimper as he straddles me. The meek sound leaves my throat without permission and I can feel my entire body burning.

"Don't worry," the criminal says. "I'm sure you're going to enjoy this, just as much as I am."

Using one hand to restrain me, my attacker launches for my mouth. His other hand begins to tear at my shirt, ripping the buttons off in no time. He begins to touch my skin, occasionally pinching at it. Without warning, nails begin to dig into my flesh, causing me to gasp. I feel his tongue in my mouth, his spit searing down my throat. I want to bite off the invasive muscle, but I force myself to remain still.

Slowly I can feel my own body betray me. I think that is the worst part.

"See," my masked attacker points out. "You like it."

I feel absolutely disgusted in myself. I know I don't have a lot of respect for myself, but this? This is an all-time low, even for me.

'C'mon, just allow him to do what he wants and it'll all be over.'

But my disgust becomes too much for me and I forcefully sink my teeth into his tongue. He screams and jerks his head back.

"You little fucker!" He yells, holding his mouth. He brings his fist down and hits me square in the eye. I bite my lip, refusing to scream out in pain. No doubt I'm gonna have a shiner the next morning.

Grabbing my face, he brings it close to his and says. "Do that again and I'll do more damage to your pretty little face. Or maybe, someplace lower…"

His hand travels down south. I'm tempted to try to kick him off of me, but I know there really is no point. So I just lay still as this sick fuck continues to violate me.

After unbuttoning my jeans, he slowly slides the zipper down. I can still hear it in my mind. The long, undeniable sound of the little, metal trail being undone. Without hesitation, his hand begins to move further, my breath begins to quicken and my heart accelerates to an unbelievable speed.

My skin feels clammy as it's forced to greet the cool air. Hands push and feel and pry. I bite the inside of my cheek, staring far away from my attacker. Attacker… I keep saying that, but is it even the right word for this? I'm lying here letting it happen. If I don't, I'll only be making things harder for myself.

My eyes are burning. I'm not a crier, but fuck, I want nothing more than to cry right now. I won't, though. Not here, not now.

My legs are pried apart and I continue to stare into empty space - into the dark sky, up at the moon, the stars. I want nothing more than for them to just... take me away.

I'm brought out of my daze when I hear the sick fuck undo his belt and zip his fly down.

The water in my eyes begins to well up even more, blurring my vision. This isn't okay. This isn't okay. This isn't o-fucking-kay.

"This is gonna be fun," my attacker says sinisterly.

I glance away as he exposes and position himself. I take a deep breath and brace myself for the immense pain I'm about to endure. 'Mind over matter Craig,' I think to myself, staring at the blurry stars above me. 'It'll all be over soon.'

I'm too scared to move, to breath, to blink. I nearly choke as the pain takes over - a sharp, burning sensation makes its way through every inch of my body. I let out a sharp gasp, only to have a hand pressed over my mouth. I let out a muffled, pained moan, followed by a sob. It hurts. It fucking hurts. Everything fucking hurts and I'm getting nauseous.

I said I wasn't going to cry, but fuck it. What do I have left?

"Don't whine like a bitch," he hisses. "Take it like a man."

But I'm not a man. I'm a scared kid who got his ass into something he couldn't handle.

He continues moving above me, grunting, thrusting, making sounds I don't want to hear. His other hand rakes across my stomach and I'm beginning to realize that everything is ruined. It won't be the same after this. When this is over, I'll be another victim to the world's most heinous crime. I'll be part of a statistic that's far too large.

Then again, maybe everything has been ruined long before now. This is just the whipped cream on my sundae of shit.

I wonder if there's blood. I wonder if I'll get sick or diseased or infected. These thoughts make me even more nauseous.

"Ugh...so tight..."

Disgusting.

I feel disgusting.

I continue to scream into his hand as more tears fall down my face.

His thrusting becomes rougher, faster, and harder. I can feel him pulsating, throbbing inside me.

Fuck, I think I'm gonna be sick.

The pain becomes too unbearable. I feel like I'm going to fucking pass out. No, I feel like I'm going to die.

Without warning, I feel a warm sensation make its way into me.

"Wow..." the pervert whispers. "That was amazing..."

As he pulls out, I can feel something wet leaking out of me. I can tell I'm on the verge of unconsciousness. 'I'm going to fucking die like this,' I can't help but think.

But suddenly, there's a huge crash, like the sound of garbage cans toppling over. The pervert on top of me looks over quickly and stands up, making himself modest. A second later, I hear him snort, "Heh, the fuck is this?"

I can hear footsteps from the opposite direction approaching. Someone else is coming.

"G-get out of here!" the pervert shouts. "Who the fuck are you!"

Soon, I can hear the start of a fight but I can't bring myself to budge an inch. After what feels like a minute I hear a thud.

The unknown person walks up to me and kneels down. He's mumbling something but I can't tell what it is. He takes my hat and puts it back on my head, making sure it's secure.

After he's done, he takes what appears to be his sweater and puts it around my shoulders.

The last thing I remember before succumbing to unconsciousness is my unknown savior saying, "You're going to be okay."

Ha…