~Kenny's POV~

I yawned and stretched my arms out over my head as I always did after waking up at the end of eighth hour English. My spine popped, sending my lower back into its usual alignment again, and the sharp pain that came with it quickly past since I was so used to it. Everyone around me was chatting and blabbering on about plans for the weekend - some chick was going to the movies with her boyfriend, some dude said something about a Call of Duty: Black Ops party with his friends - but it was all the same. Nothing ever changed around the high school, not even the death glare I was currently receiving from the English teacher as she sat behind her desk. You'd think that after me spending the first three-quarters of the semester sleeping through class, she'd get the hint that a glare wasn't going to change my sleeping habits, but no one ever said teachers had to have common sense.

As for my plans for the weekend - I smirked a bit as I laid my head on my thin black backpack, which I pulled onto the desk - I was spending some much needed time with my dear Kyle. Tonight's our six month anniversary, and though it hasn't been that long, it's definitely something I never thought I'd do.

A year ago I'd laugh at the thought of a meaningful relationship with anyone, especially beautiful Kyle, who was with Stan Marsh at the time. But something inside of me changed about seven months ago, I guess I was tired of seeing Kyle's tears and so sick of being just "that whore." Speaking of Kyle's tears, how long has it been since–

The final bell of the day rang, cutting off my train of thought. Quickly, I jumped up and held the broken strap of my backpack over my shoulder as I darted for the door. Lately the teacher had a tendency of trying to cut off my escape so that she could lecture me about sleeping in her class and so far, she's failed. And believe me, I was gonna keep it that way simply because it pissed her off so much.

After walking through a few halls and what could be considered an endless amount of people, I finally spotted Kyle's bright red hair at his locker - a green one in the changing green and black ones representing our school colors - and made my way over to him. He jumped as I wrapped one arm around his waist and held him close to me; he never seems to expect me.

"Hey babe," I greet like usual, with a teasing tone and a drop-dead smile.

Kyle looks back at me, his usual blush is there, though today I see something more, something that's been there all day: depression. It's rare that Kyle gets depressed or sad, so when he does, I worry. My smile dropped. "What's wrong? You've looked depressed all day, I'm getting worried."

He looked back into his locker as he dropped his Psychology book on top of the stack of textbooks at the bottom. Only one was missing from what I could tell, it seemed he didn't have a lot of homework this weekend. "You don't remember what today is?"

I bit my bottom lip, trying to search my mind for the significance of today but not finding it. I hated to shake my head because it was obvious that Kyle wanted me to remember, but I couldn't lie to him, not when he was like this. "No…I don't."

"…It's fine…Cartman didn't remember either."

"Well, you can expect that from the fat ass, but I'm sorry, I just don't remember…"

Kyle shut his locker door and turned to rest the palm of his hand on my left shoulder, where a large, pale scar resided beneath my orange parka. "You have a scar from the incident…but somehow," he muttered, "you've blocked it from your memory."

The scar was my hint? That didn't make much sense, that scar was inflicted when…oh. So…that is today. "Kyle," I pulled him close again, "I'm sorry I forgot…when can stop by the cemetery on our way to my house."

Kyle nodded. "If it's not too much trouble…could we also stop by the flower shop? I wanna put flowers on his grave."

I nodded and kissed his forehead. "Of course we can." I turned us so that we could walk for the doors of the high school with my arms still around his waist and him still leaning against me. Teachers yelled at us for P.D.A. as usual, but, also as usual, we ignored them. School was out for the weekend, what could they do, give us after school? (Luckily after school detention didn't run on Fridays or I'd probably be there right now for something or another.)

We made our way for the parking lot, where I had my dad's old truck parked. He had been drunk off his ass when I left this morning, so in a way, I did him a favor by taking his truck and not letting him drive - at least that's what I'd tell my parents when they got home from the bar tonight, the truth was that I didn't want to walk to school in the freezing cold and I was sure Kyle didn't want to either. I held the passenger door open for him so he could climb into the truck and then went around to the driver's side to hop in behind the wheel.

Slowly, I pulled the truck out of the parking lot and towards the flower shop.

A year ago, Stan Marsh was murdered in cold blood. I was there to witness it too. We were both taken hostage until we gave up our wallets, which neither of us had on our person at the time. When our captor didn't believe us, he stabbed me in the shoulder and then stabbed Stan, who had moved to defend me, until he finally died. The murderer has never been caught.

At least, that's the story told to Kyle, and the one I told to the police with tears streaking my face.

I stopped at the flower shop and waited as Kyle went to pick up some flowers. As I waited, I vacantly wondered if I was a bad person. Surely there were worse people than me in the world, and I couldn't be worse than Cartman…right? I sighed. I probably was.

When Kyle got back in the truck, I drove towards the cemetery. There, in one of the back rows, was where Stan was buried. I stood behind Kyle as he sat on his knees in front of the grave. I think he still loved him and that both angered and saddened me. I tried my best to get him to move on, but I knew he never would. Kyle would always love Stan, but I didn't understand how he could love that lifeless bag of bones. God, was I getting jealous of a dead man? How pathetic am I?

"Kenny," Kyle muttered, "something's been bothering you since the flower shop? What is it?"

I looked down at him as he turned back to look at me. The sadness in those eyes, the want for Stan's killer to be killed himself, something there telling me it was okay to be honest. Even now I don't know what possessed me to say the next words that came from my mouth:

"The night Stan was killed."

Kyle's eyes softened. "That wasn't your fault."

"…It was."

"No, it–"

"Listen to me Kyle. That night…was entirely my fault. What was told to you wasn't the truth, it was a lie I fabricated…so I could be with you."

His eyes widened. "W-What?"

…

I was standing against a building with a cigarette between my lips; waiting for the friend I had called to meet me. It was the middle of the night; no one would notice him leaving his house.

When I finally I saw him running towards me, I dropped my cigarette on the sidewalk and ground it out with the heel of my boot. About time. "Hey Stan. What took so long?"

"Had to take the window route since my parents were up late," he said quickly. "So is it you needed to talk about so urgently?"

I gestured to the alley next to me. "Let's talk back here."

"Why?"

"More private."

After a moment of hesitation, Stan followed me into the alley. He leaned against a wall next to the dumpster with his arms crossed over his chest. "Okay, so what is this about?"

"Kyle."

"Did something happen?"

"…You don't deserve him."

Stan's eyes narrowed. "What're you talking about?"

"You. Don't. Deserve him," I said slowly. "That's what I'm talking about."

"Why are you saying this?"

"Because he belongs with me, not you."

His eyes widened for a moment and then began to grind his teeth together, that statement must've angered him. "And what would make you think that? You've been with more people since starting high school than me and Kyle combined. You're a whore Kenny, and Kyle doesn't need that."

Now my eyes narrowed. "What makes you think you know what's best for him?"

"I don't! I just know that he shouldn't be with you! If we ever broke up, I wouldn't mind if he was with Craig, or Clyde, or even Tweek! It's you I don't want him to be with! Kyle doesn't need to date some slut who'll only break his heart! And you've done plenty of that already, haven't you, whore?"

Infuriated, I grabbed onto the neck of Stan's jacket and shoved him back against the alley wall he had been leaning against. I was shaking with anger down to my very core. Those words Stan had said, they were all true. I'd broken so many hearts just to get a one-night stand out of someone, so maybe I wasn't the best choice for Kyle, but I loved him. I wouldn't use him and then toss him aside like jock boy here eventually would. All the jocks did, so it was only a matter of time.

"I'M NOT LIKE YOU!" I screamed. I pulled my pocket knife out of my back pocket; seeing his eyes fill with fear was the most satisfying thing ever. "I'm not a jock; I won't toss him aside when I get bored, like a child with an old toy. I think I'll get rid of the problem before it can come to the surface." I drove the blade into his chest and then covered his mouth when he screamed.

The feeling of the blade plunging into the skin and drawing forth my victim's crimson blood was absolutely magnificent. It was such a rush, overcoming a stronger person and making him feel such pain…! I stabbed him again…and again…and again.

Finally, he went limp and sank to the ground. Stan was dead. His eyes, full of horror, stared at my feet as his blood pooled around him and began to spread. Around his neck I could see the golden locket Kyle gave him for his birthday last week splashed with his blood.

Before someone came to investigate the noise, I stabbed myself in my left shoulder deep enough to leave a scar and then dropped the pocket knife in a sewer pipe nearby. I collapsed into the puddle of blood holding onto my bleeding shoulder. By the time someone came by and called the police, I was on the verge of passing out.

…

When I finished telling Kyle what had happened that night, I crouched down and held my knees to my chest. After I had said I wouldn't break Kyle's heart, I was the reason he had cried and mourned for so long. I killed the one person he will ever truly love.

A long moment of shocked silence past before I heard Kyle softly say, "You killed him…you killed my Stan…out of jealousy, out of envy and lust… How could you? …Dammit Kenny, how could you?" He screamed at me.

"I'm sorry Kyle," I muttered.

"Sorry? You killed the man I loved more than life, but at least you're fucking sorry!"

I looked up at him. "Kyle, I–" I was cut off as his fist connected with my jaw, sending me back onto my ass. Okay, I deserved that. He sat on my chest and punched my nose in. And I deserved that. He punched me in the eye. Maybe I deserved that.

"You bastard!" Kyle sobbed as he punched me again and again. Come on, I only killed the guy, I didn't torture him! He could stop punching me! "Murderer!"

I caught Kyle's wrist before the punch he was throwing could connect. "Kyle, stop it! Hitting me won't bring him back!"

He started shaking with each sob and slipped his wrist out of my hand. "But you killed him! You took away my Stan! You!"

I nodded. "Yes, I did it." And it was only now that I heard Kyle's sobs and felt him hit me repeatedly that I felt any regret over it.

With eyes still full of tears, he glared at me. "You'll pay," he reached into my pocket and grabbed the pocket knife I carried there, "I'll be sure of it."

My eyes widened. "Kyle, wa–AH!" He just stabbed me right next to my fucking heart! Godammit, that fucking hurts!

"A life for a life, you bastard!" He screamed as he brought the knife down again.

Before he could stab me a third time, someone pulled him off of me and told him to just calm down. The last thing I heard before the black took me was Kyle screaming, "He did it! He killed Stan! He's a murderer!"

Death… I deserved death.