I always thought you were a model of perfection.
You, with your straight A grades. Your great athletic ability—you were the captain of the basketball team and the best track runner—and your friends. You knew everyone, and everyone loved you. I knew everyone too, but they didn't love me as they did you. I was just an acquaintance, and anyone you'd ask would tell you so.
Your home life, so stable and right. You had a loving mother and father, ones who weren't broke, like mine. You had a genius brother, a good-willed boy. My brother had a selfish air around him and he used everyone like a tool—and my sister was like naïve doll. Your family was bright, and alive. Mine was just broken, but they're still my family.
Your flawless personality; playful, smart, sarcastic, fiery, caring, considerate—and most of all, modest. I loved your personality most of all.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous of what you have.
In fact, I like my life perfectly fine. It's you that I really loathe.
You, the one with the perfect life, the one with the closely-knit friendship with the star of the football team, the one with the excellent grades, the one with the bright future ahead of them—you, Kyle Broflovski. The one who let that wonderful person inside of you go.
I'm not exactly sure when you underwent this change. Only now, when it's too late, I notice the warning signs. They were like fluorescent lights. They demanded attention, and I just ignored them. And I hate myself for it.
It was mid-way through junior year in our last years of school, and we were hanging out a lot more than usual. It was usually just you and Stan, but you had recently grown apart. I was your back-up friend—I always have been. That's what we've always been, our whole group. The two best friends, the back-up friend, and the enemy.
I grew to know you. I knew all your little kicks, your habits—what you liked, what you hated, just what to say to get a little blush going. I loved your blush, too. You were always so cute when you got embarrassed, especially when you didn't know how to respond.
Anyway, I came over one night, and something—something just wasn't right. It was in your eyes, really. I knew it as soon as you opened the door to let me in. Your eyes, your beautiful, emerald eyes—they were dull.
But you acted like normal Kyle, so I let it slide. I didn't say anything. That was my first mistake.
The second thing that tipped me off came a couple weeks later—your smile. You didn't smile anymore. You didn't laugh when anyone joked around or did something stupid, you didn't even smile for Stan. You were always either busying yourself with a book or staring off into nothing.
I brushed it off as nervousness for the upcoming exams. I should've known better.
The third and final thing, the one thing that bugs me the most, the thing that makes me want to shake you and slap you and just panic until you'd just snap out of it, was when you just completely shut down.
You just stopped being you. It was like you just stopped existing on the inside. It was like the Kyle I loved just died.
You just haunted the halls during the day, looking down and flitting from class to class, keeping so quiet no one even knew you were there. You stopped talking to anyone, you skipped lunch, and worst of all—you avoided me.
I tried to get you to snap out of it, but no—you were too far gone for me to reach at this point. You were gone, from the moment your beautiful smile stopped gracing your face.
I was too heartbroken to realize you weren't coming back.
I kept trying and trying, something new every day. Every little thing I did, you didn't even smile for me. Not even an empty smile. Nothing.
After a while, I grew to hate you. I hated seeing you, I hated talking to you, I hated your voice, I hated your presence. You, that empty shell of the one I loved. You took him away.
I put up with the agony of seeing you empty, all in hopes that you'd come back some day. Eventually, you dragged me down with you.
And suddenly I realized, there's no cure for this disease.
