So, this is my first proper fanfic. Idk if it's going to be a full-blown story yet, as this started as me simply writing a concept down. If I get enough reviews and heart's, I'll get the idea that people have enjoyed it so far and therefore I'll upload the next chapter and so on. This may be triggering as it mentions eating disorders, self-harm, murder, abuse and so on. It's angst after all. Enjoy, bubs.
Craig Tucker was incapable of loving another. He had realised this at the age of 14 when he had gained his first real kiss, one shared with a brunette girl named Claire. They had kissed in an alley beside a rundown pizza place and that is where she had told him she loved him. They had spent days together prior to this, and nights where they talked and cuddled and fucked, but the words "I love you," came as a shock to Craig. He remembered the moment clearly, her unwrapping her slender arms from his hickey covered neck and smiling softly as she said the words. His face had fell and for a moment he felt dizzy, throwing up on the ground before shaking his head at her, murmuring a quick apology andrunning. He was incapable of love.
This made it clear to him that he did notlovethe blond boy that sat beside him that Friday evening, but instead was merely infatuated, obsessed with the way his ocean eyes glinted as he watched the sunset, the way his soft pink lips clung on to the cigarette as he dragged the nicotine into his system, the way his golden hair perfectly captured the warmth of the setting sun.
Craig knew that the blond boy didn't feel the same way -- Kenny's obsession was much different to his own, Kenny was too attached to Craig for his own good, but Craig couldn't bring himself to drag himself away from the boy before he hurt himself. Craig wouldn't feel sympathy for him when he did, anyway.
Hurt was a recurring theme in their relationship, both sadists and masochists, driving nails into each others skin at any given moment. Craig adored this. In a sick way, he loved to kill Kenny. He didn't have to feel guilty as he knew Kenny would come back as right as rain the next day, and Craig felt that even if it was the last time, he still would not feel guilt. He was incapable of feeling guilt.
The first time was the most thrilling, the memory of Kenny kneeling before him as Craig gripped a baseball bat in his bloody fingers. He recalled Kenny's tired but happy face as Craig brought the bat down, a satisfying crunch being heard as the bat made contact with the blond boys skull. It was incredible, Craig thought as he watched Kenny lay motionless on the floor, blood leaking from his head, matting his hair together in a way that Craig found both disturbing and beautiful.
Craig turned away to leave for home, simply discarding the baseball bat and leaving Kenny's corpse to bleed out. He turned back a last time out of sheer curiosity to find that the body was gone. A chuckle left his lips and he stalked home, sleeping easy that night.
It was a ritual every Friday for the two to meet up. They would smoke and talk, Kenny often hanging on to Craig's little words, in a similar fashion to a groupie. Some Fridays would be days when Kenny would die, but others, Craig simply wasn't in the mood. Those days, they would kiss, and those were the days that Kenny loved the most. He didn't complain on killing days however -- Kenny had made it clear that he would gladly die for Craig, no matter what. He didn't really care whether he would come back or not.
Kenny had learnt a lot about Craig during the evening's they spent together. Craig had a sister, a mother and a father. His father was an alcoholic and used to beat his family, but he had gotten better, in Craig's words. Craig was mentally fucked by this; he had been diagnosed with depression when he was only 8 and his antisocial personality disorder had him sent to juvi at the age of 13. He took medication for bipolar disorder as well, and was perpetually apathetic, leading his therapist to believe that he was alexithymic too. Craig always talked about his mental health casually, as if it was as normal as snow in South Park, or addition in mathematics.
Kenny also knew about Craig's guinea pig, Stripe, who Craig had referred to as his "purpose in life". Kenny wished that he could be as important as Stripe.
The conversations about family always made something in Kenny ache. He knew his family was anything but normal. It was easy to tell as soon as you opened the door to Kenny's home that it was no place for children to be raised; drugs and broken bottles decorated the stained carpets and shouting was all that could ever be heard, and when his parents weren't shouting, it was deadly silent. Kenny preferred the shouting, because it meant his family weren't dead.
Kenny had spent a good portion of his childhood ricocheting between care homes and his birthplace as his mother fought to keep her children. Kenny was only 14 when he had killed himself the first time, only to find out that he couldn't die when he woke up the next morning in his own home. Kenny hated living. He felt that he had so many problems -- he had PTSD from the constant screaming and violence that his childhood was full of, borderline personality disorder and dissociative identity disorder from the lack of attention he received as a kid and insomnia. It was hell, but he was forced to cope.
Kenny kept a tally on his wall of how many times he had died, a different colour used for each method of death: pink for suicide, green for accidental, orange for murder and the newest, blue for Craig. Dying was the only constant in Kenny's life, and it was a comfort to him knowing that it would always be the same. He would always die and come back the next day.
Craig would dream of Kenny most nights. Kenny and Craig's agreement had brought order to Craig's life, and he felt as if he finally was content -- not happy, he was incapable of that too, but content. He would wake up every Friday, skip all of his lessons and then wait for Kenny outside of his English Literature class. They would walk to the park, smoke and talk and then depending on Craig's mood, Kenny would die. If that was the case, Craig would then go home, glad to have the tension out of his mind. He would eat, throw up and then shower, washing away the blood and vomit from his skin. He would lay in bed, mindlessly gazing at his phone and then fall asleep.
Kenny often wouldn't see Craig until at least Wednesday after that; Craig made it a habit to disappear from Kenny's life for a good few days before showing up again, only sharing so much as a glance as they passed each other in the corridors, Craig giving the other boy the silent treatment until their next meeting. This hurt Kenny, but Kenny was willing to hurt for Craig.
It was a Friday in late June when the order in the boys life was ruined. Kenny sat beside Craig on an old swing set in the park, rocking gently as the two smoked. Craig was being silent, even quieter than usual and this confused Kenny. He felt afraid. A good hour and a half passed of them simply sitting on the swings, no words being exchanged as Kenny observed the boy, gazing lovingly at the way his black hair scruffily surrounded his face. His sapphire eyes were fascinatingly empty yet vivid, and his pale skin juxtaposed his harsh features. A scar decorated the left side of his face, rested on his jawline. His lip ring caught the sun's light prettily, and the dark haired boy would occasionally lick his lips, exposing braces and a tongue piercing, both suiting him perfectly. Kenny loved that feeling of metal grazing his lips when they kiss. Craig looked tranquil and at war at the same time and Kenny wondered how the cogs behind his glass eyes worked.
"What's wrong?" Kenny had asked, desperate to break the silence between them. Craig looked at Kenny for a second before turning away, simply making Kenny wonder further what that mask of apathy way hiding beneath it. "Craig..."
When Kenny and Craig had began meeting up, a promise Craig had forced Kenny to make was that Kenny wouldn't ask him any questions. Craig would tell Kenny what he felt like telling him, and Kenny would listen if he felt like it. But as Craig sat, a stoney look on his face, Kenny gave little care for the rules Craig had so carefully laid out.
"Nothing. I just forgot to take my meds." Craig snapped back at Kenny, before signing. "I've told you not to ask me things. He watched as Kenny nodded and mumbled an apology before he turned back to face the sun.
Kenny kept his eyes on the dark haired boy however, a painful feeling in his chest as he watched Craig stomp out his fag. He spoke again. "You... You can talk to me Craig, you know that. I lo- I always want you to know that I'm here for you to take things out on."
Craig ignored this and stood up. He had heard Kenny's slip up and a tight feeling in his chest had become apparent in fear that Kenny was about to ruin everything. "Ken, come on."
Kenny nodded and followed, feeling heavy. He had slipped up and he prayed that Craig wouldn't feel unhappy about it. Well, he hoped that he hadn't heard. Of course Craig would be upset, at least.
The pair walked to their usual spot, a patch of thick trees in the park. Kenny sat down on the grass, knowing all too well what Craig had in mind. Craig watched the blond boy with tired eyes as he pulled out the bat concealed casually in a bush. Kenny opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Of course, he was used to this, but it didn't stop him feeling close to terrified every time they did it. It was funny to him -- the term friends with benefits often referred to a platonic relationship mixed with frequent sex, but to Kenny, the meaning was completely different. Instead, Kenny would allow the black haired boy to get a kick out of killing him, and Kenny would receive the attention and validation he craved. It was toxic, but it kept them both almost happy.
This time, Kenny had a recurring word in his mind as he watched Craig prepare. It was agonizing to sit there in silence, tension filling the air. He knew Craig could feel it too. "Craig," he spoke in a half whimper, half whisper. "Do you care about me?" The word love was too intense, and so was the word care, but at this point, Kenny couldn't bare the uncertainty.
Craig frowned ever so slightly as he held the baseball bat in his slender hands. He stood over the blond boy now, a lump in his throat as the words rang in his ears. "No." He said simply before he brought the bat down hard on Kenny's skull. He was harsher than usual -- how could he be soft following those words? Craig had warned Kenny, and Kenny had still fallen for his lies and manipulation, and that carelessness and naivety repulsed Craig.
He gazed at Kenny's still body for a minute or so before he pulled his hoodie up and left for his home. That night was spent mostly in front of his toilet, every piece of food that Craig had consumed that day ending up in a churned mess in the loo. Then Craig slept, and didn't bother to get out of bed at all that weekend.