Like a broken metronome, I can feel it pulsing through me.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
That stupid machine, the clasp on his finger. I just want to... to... rip it off! The noise it makes is unbearable, like someone took a drill to my head. I want to forget it's there, I want to be able to drown it out, but I can't. Something want's me to keep listening, just so I can feel it stop, feel the resonating end.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The others are home, I'm sure. But I can't let him be alone, with all the sterile needles, and all the tongue depressors, the tubes and blood bags, no. He needs me. (And lying to myself that he needs me might just be a way to avoid admitting I need him, of course, I could be wrong. I've stopped trying to be right. It's too hard.)
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I stare far too hard at his sleeping frame, both the sheet and that crappy parka draped over him. I don't know what he keeps that ragged old thing around for, I mean, it hardly fits him anymore. Maybe I should buy him a new one, for when he gets bette...
Beep. Beep. Beep.
...Oh who am I kidding! He's not going to get better! This... this really is the end. Unlike all the falsified ends, unlike those dreams (are they really dreams? I've started to doubt everything, lately...). I could waste time thinking he'll make it, living in ignorance, like usual. But no, I have to deal with this, I have to grin, bare it, and move on.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I watch the mask over his mouth fog up and clear over and over, another repeating process that – like the beeping – kills me to regard, but refuses to be ignored. He looks so pale, and even thinner than usual, like a cadaver. I want him to just open his eyes, so I can see that shade of blue I've grown so used to, and for him to sit up and grin, making some sort of dirty joke in the process, and just... be okay.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
But I know that can't happen, can it?
I finally speak, finally step up to the bed and say something, though I know he can't here me.
"Hey... Kenny," my voice cracks, and I don't even try to hide the tears, gave up on that weeks ago. "Missed you... school's been crap, like usual."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I pretend his heartbeat changed, I pretend he heard me.
"Everyone's... everyone's doing pretty good. Kyle won this contest thing..." I didn't bother recalling the details, this was more for my own comfort, after all. "Cartman broke the trophy, though," I laughed halfheartedly, smiling at him. He remained the same expressionless corpse, I couldn't stand it.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Goddammit, Kenny! Do something!" I shouted, falling hard onto my knees. I crumpled into incomprehensible pleas and sobs, resting my head on the side of the hospital bed, and keeping my eyes pressed into my forearm. I clutched his hand, ignoring the clip on his finger. I just needed something to reassure me he still existed, that he wasn't gone yet.
I almost wanted to just give up on him, let him go and pretend he'd never existed, and most importantly, pretend I wasn't sitting in this room, crying my eyes out because because I had to go and fall for him, because I had to go and have these stupid feeling that make me care about him as more than a friend, because I fucking love him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
But, of course, I can't pretend, I can't give up, I can't forget. Because of that stupid beeping, and that stupid fog, and his stupid blue eyes that I want to see again one last time. Because of all those things I'm stuck in here, watching my friend die, and I can't leave because I care too much.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I wonder if he ever knew how I feel, or if he felt the same I doubt it, though. I mean, he only likes girls (I think). But... who knows. It's not like it matters at this point, he's basically dead. So why should I even think about it?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I can't not think about it, is why, I guess. I don't know anymore.
The rain against the windows joins the chorus of monitors and ventilators, I look up and through the window to see night creeping up in the sky. A nurse should be coming in soon, to pry me off the floor, and brush off the sheets from all undoubted wrinkles and folds I've made, and turn out the faint, buzzing light fixtures above.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I sigh and bury my face in the bend of my arm again, I was going to stay for as long as possible. Because like I said, he needs me (and like I'm trying to hide, I need him).
Finally, something interrupts the deathly chorus, and the non-silence it created.
"God, Stan, you're such a pussy..." A voice. A laugh. My head shot up, along with my heartbeat (and maybe a little hope) at the familiar sound.
I was met with blue eyes, those same blue eyes I'd been longing for, his blue eyes.
"K-... Kenny."
asdfd- Hey. Lookie. I did something. Woo.
So, this is my first South Park fic... and I probably screwed up in more ways than one. Forgive me.
I should so be working on Nano, buuuuut... instead I'm doing this... but hey, it counts! (kind of.)
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed my... endeavor. (I know, it's crap. Please don't eat me.) Faves are appreciation pancakes, reviews are love muffins, and critique is vitamin C. Any would be nice.
Until next time, Pie out! -poof-