Bebe's POV

I sit in the cafeteria and watch them in annoyance. Wendy and Stan, the childhood sweethearts who have managed to stay together for nearly a decade. I sit and watch them with growing irritation, my cheek resting on my hand. I try not to look too angry and I fight back the tears that nearly well themselves up in my eyes. I resist the urge to hit the table with my fist in frustration. How did my life come to this?

My oblivious boyfriend, Clyde Donovan sits next to me, chatting with his friends. Craig, the asshole, Tweek, the paranoid crack addict, and Token, one of the few relatively normal people at our school. These are Clyde's friends. Do I like Clyde? Yes. Do I love him? No. Does he love me? Yes, and it just breaks my heart more that he does. My situation was already tragic enough.

You see, my heart belongs to Wendy Testaburger. It has since I went through puberty. I must be bisexual. Or pansexual. Or some other odd thing. My sexuality is like a Rubik's Cube and I'm attracted to different shit every day, but it doesn't matter because no matter how many different people, bodies, or faces I like, I will only ever love Wendy Testaburger. But she will only ever love Stan Marsh and worse yet, I fear too much for our friendship to speak of my feelings. The only person I have trusted to hear such musings of mine is Red.

Red is so sweet and kind. She would be my other best friend besides Wendy. I tell her everything that I can't tell Wendy, which would basically be all the feelings I have for Wendy. Red has actually fallen in and out of love with me a few times over the years. And I like her a lot. Like, not love. We really connect on a lot of things. Our sexualities also appear to be nearly identical. Fancy that. And Red is very attractive, not just in a sexual way, but I would go as far as to call her beautiful. But she does not have the world-consuming beauty of Wendy. Ultimately, Red is very similar to Clyde in terms of the role she plays in my life. She loves me, I like her, and I love Wendy. None of these relationships can ever be because no one reciprocates the love!

I resist the urge again to bang my fist on the table, to scream, or to cuss. It all hurts so much.

Every day after school, I come to Stark's Pond to watch the winter sunset and see the stars come out. I sit and watch, I gaze towards the heavens and ask God why I can't have Wendy Testaburger. Why can't I kiss her? Why can't I know her body? Why can this love never be reciprocated? Why can this love never be consummated? When the sun goes down and the stars come out, every evening I gaze up again to the heavens and hope to feel my spirit sucked up into them, to transcend the state of being a human. I want to immortally flow through the vacuum of space, taking in its beauty forever, free from my emotional prison, free from sexual desires, free from romantic yearnings. But then the harsh bite of South Park's winter winds rips through my body and brings me back to reality, reminds me who I am. I am Bebe Stevens, and I will never have Wendy Testaburger. So I come to Stark's Pond every evening and I release my dreams. I let them die, hoping that one day I can die with them. It's the only time and the only place where I can ever feel calm within.

Because when I leave Stark's Pond, I remember again the only thing in life that can equal my love for Wendy. My pure hatred for Stan Marsh. I fucking hate him. For stealing Wendy, who is my world. I know my hatred is unjustified and he can't possibly know how I feel, but I still wish him dead. And the only person who knows, as with Wendy, is Red. I spend most of the evenings at her house. Cool, dark evenings with the only person I can trust with everything.

On my ten minute walk to her house, with my hands snugly in the pockets of my red sweater and the wind gently ruffling my blonde hair, I think again of the eventual tragedies of my breaking of Red's and Clyde's hearts. They are both incredibly sensitive people. Hell, Red cries more for me than I cry for myself. When Red falls in love with me again and realizes again that I still don't feel the same, I'll have to deal with the guilt of breaking her heart again. And I still have yet to let Clyde realize that I'm only dating him passively, to get through a phase of my life. He loves me and wants us to marry one day. I care for him, but I do not love him. I dread the day that I have to hurt him so and watch him cry like a baby when he realizes that my heart belongs to another (not that I'll tell him who, lest word gets out and Wendy finds out).

With the thoughts still swirling in my head, I knock on Red's door. It's answered by her mother as usual and she tells me Red is waiting for me in her room as usual. I walk into Red's room and greet her with a hug.

"So, what's up?" Red asks me brightly and intently. She always tries to be cheery at first even though she knows I'll eventually bring the mood down.

"Just business as usual," I say with a sigh.

"Oh," Red says with her usual disappointment in my tone, "Well, what have you been thinking about."

"Killing myself," I reply nonchalantly, immediately regretting it.

"Bebe!" Red exclaims angrily, an emotion that she rarely shows, "How can you say that? People love you."

"Wendy doesn't," I reply.

"She loves you as a friend," Red retorts, "Your death would devastate her."

"Not if I do it the way I plan to leave this world," I tell her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Red asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing, look I'm sorry," I tell her, "I won't kill myself, I just… I'm giving up on ever being happy."

Red grabs me by the collar of my sweater, she's slightly shorter than me, leaving me to look down into the tears welling in her eyes. I start to feel the guilt of upsetting her again as I have so many times in the past.

"You scare the hell out of me when you talk like that," she sobs in frustration, "Please don't give up. Be with me, we can be happy together. You know I love you, right?"

I feel dread again. Here I am, hurting someone again with my misery. I'm lucky if that only happens once in a day.

"Red, Wendy is everything to me."

"You're so selfish!" She cries more and hugs me tight. I run my fingers through her majestic, thick burgundy hair. I wish one of us could be happy, I think to myself. I wish she didn't need me.

And that is the oddly morbid moment at which I had my inspiration.

"Red," I tell her soothingly, "I'm going to set everything straight. Then you won't have to be hurt by me anymore."

"I want you in my life, Bebe," she begs and it stings my heart to see someone I care for in this kind of pain.

"I know you do," I tell her, "Let me do a few things over the next few days and everything will become clear."

That night, in my room, I feel the weight of my father's gun in my hands. I don't know guns, so I can't say exactly what kind it is. Some sort of pistol. But it will get the job done, there's no doubt about that. The only way to consummate the love I have for Wendy is with a bullet through the skull of Stan Marsh.