There is a huge CRASH! And Bebe startles awake suddenly, eyes struggling to comprehend her bearings in the inky black darkness of early morning.
Stumbling out of bed she can hear muffled curse words permeating the dark, and comes to two realizations. The first is that Kenny is back, standing outside her house, swearing and calling her name. The second - more painful realisation - is that she has stepped on a shard of what was once her bedroom window. In the dim illumination of moonlight she sees the floor is littered with glass, dull hunks of diamonds glinting cruelly up at her.
She winces at the brief flash of pain, more annoyed that Kenny is here than at the prospect of having to clean up his mess. Her dad isn't home – he's off at another convention, too busy throwing himself into his horror stories to pursue any romantic relationships. Her father calls writing an outlet. Bebe calls it an excuse. Her mother is living with her third husband now in sunny California - some hot pool boy who enjoys spending her second husband's divorce settlement - and they talk over the phone but have nothing to say to each other.
"Bebe? Babe? You awake up there? I broke your window." No shit she thinks. "Can we talk? Can I come inside?"
She wants to be strong and say 'No Kenneth, you cannot come into my life as you damn well please now stop treating me like a fucking revolving door', but his voice breaks on the last syllable and it's all she can do not to hurl herself out of the broken window and latch onto him, sloth-like.
Instead she lets out a deep sigh, turns on her light and trudges down the stairs stiffly, a spotty trail of blood staining the polished floors in her wake. When she opens the door he is already there waiting, anxiously sheepish but still looking at her like she can fart sunshine. She finds this absurd: her hair is a frizzy, knotted mess and her morning breath could knock Cartman's armpit odor flat.
He wants to hug her – she can read it in those damn expressive, blue eyes – but she restrains herself from embracing him and belting Mariah Carey love ballads into his ear by reminding herself that she is still mad. And also possibly crippled by his impromptu rock throwing practice.
"I'm really fucking sorry."
Kenny's admission seems more like an old ritual than a sincere statement, so she sighs again – unwilling to cave at the slightest apology. They stare at each other for a while, Bebe looking drained and Kenny wearing a mask of almost comical contrition. She is painfully aware that she still hasn't said anything to him, unable to shake an acute sense of déjà vu about this whole thing.
Opening her mouth to chastise him, she subconsciously shifts her weight onto her bleeding limb, releasing a breathless 'ouch!' instead. Humorlessly she ponders the prospect of amputation, over dramatizing what is obviously just a flesh wound.
Kenny's reception to her pain spurs him into sudden action. He starts talking at a million miles a minute, a stress habit he's developed over the past few years. She thinks it has something to do with his silence as a kid – he has no hood now to filter what he says.
"Fucking… shit, Bebe honey, are you alright? No you're not, you cut yourself on the glass. Oh god, I'm such a fucking idiot. I thought it was a bad idea, but I was trying to be romantic like an eighties movie and it was just stupid. Jesus, Bebe, I'm sorry."
He's doing that thing again. He always blames himself when things go wrong, like he has to be her constant protector. In this instance, the smashed window actually is his fault, but he's not the one who stepped on it. She stands in the doorframe dumbly, feeling vaguely annoyed by his hero complex, yet also flushed by the sweet terms of endearment in his apology.
Still rambling he crosses the threshold and scoops her into his arms bridal style, carrying her into the house without even bothering to check if her dad might be home to witness this. His hands are freezing against her exposed flesh, but they're a welcome comfort – one she misses a little more every time he goes away.
Kenny is so enamored by his remorseful soliloquy and his proclamation to make things better that he knocks Bebe's legs hard into the staircase balustrade. Before he can launch into another ten-minute monologue of regret, Bebe begins to laugh. The laughter is honest and bawdy and seems to resonate from a deep place inside her. With tears streaming from her eyes she says:
"Kenny put me down, and stop saying sorry because I can't hear it another time."
He sets her down gently at the bottom of the stairs, shoulders bouncing as he shares her mirth. They climb up side-by-side – though the staircase isn't wide – arms draped around each other's waists.
As Bebe enters the bathroom Kenny reluctantly lets his hand drop from his hold on her. Before her mother left, this was the impenetrable 'guest bathroom', but she and her dad have since ditched formalities. The space is unmistakably marked by Bebe: littered with perfume bottles, body lotions, lipsticks and an army of hair conditioners.
She bends over to rummage through the cabinet under the sink for disinfectant, pliers and cotton balls, hardly feeling sexy in her threadbare cotton pjs, but hyper aware that Kenny's eyes are trained to her ass anyway. She makes a mental note to brush her teeth later.
Throwing these items onto the floor, Bebe plunks down onto the edge of the tub, raises her damaged foot and looks at Kenny imploringly. He seizes the unspoken invitation immediately, kneeling before her and gently taking her foot into his hands. Nodding once to himself, Kenny lifts the pliers and concentrates his attention on the work before him.
The pain is not great and Bebe admires his tenderness, marveling at his natural intuition with healing injuries. She remembers in freshman year Butters would go to Kenny instead of the school nurse if he'd been hurt during one of Cartman's nutjob schemes or if everyone had been ragging on him. The other guys – and Red – would call him a pussy, but Kenny had just patched him up good as new, and told him not to let anybody dampen his spirit.
She suspects Butters has a little crush on Kenny which sort of bothers her, but respects his unwavering optimism in the face of adversity. He is much stronger than anyone gives him credit for, herself included.
"Where are the Band-Aids?"
"I don't know, in there somewhere" she supplies, gesturing with her head towards the cabinet. Kenny relinquishes his hold on her ankle to turn and rifle for the bandages, but her foot stays hovering in place. She's surprised to find he's already removed the glass and cleaned the cut, more so because she didn't feel anything.
"I could have done it myself you know." Bebe is aware of the note of petulance in that sentence, how borderline cranky she sounds but she can't help it.
"I know" he responds soothingly, a tone of voice that irks her. She doesn't want to be babied; she wants to yell.
"Don't pander to me like I'm a child Kenny! I wouldn't have had to do it if you hadn't broken my window!" His blonde head whips around in surprised defense.
"I know! That's why I'm trying to fix it!"
"I don't need you to fix it! I can fix it by myself! I can just keep fixing everything that you break! We can be like my window Kenny. We can be whole, and then you can break us and I'll put it all back together again as best I can, but I'll lose pieces in the process and it'll never be the same! How many times can you break the same window before it becomes irreparable!?"
She hears the cliché as it leaves her mouth, god she sounds so high school, but the sentiment is out now, so whatever.
"I don't want you to do it by yourself Bebe, I don't want you to have to fix me. I don't want to be something that you have to fix." He looks lost, the light in his downcast eyes floating away from her as he clutches the box of Band-Aids uncertainly.
She puts her foot down and leans forward, tilting his face up to meet hers.
"Where do you go?"
Kenny's eyes brim with tears and his expression is torn. She knows he wants to tell her something, but doesn't know how to do it. Still she presses him.
"Where do you go when you leave?"
He swallows and settles on something, the closest thing to the truth.
"I'm in hell when I'm not with you."
That shocks something in her subconscious – a spray of red and a flash of something a CRASH! – And she pushes him away halfheartedly shaking her head. "Dammit Kenny, that's not an answer." Every part of her feels dejected.
He resists the motion, pulling her off the tub and into his arms on the floor. Bebe presses into him, shifting to rest her back against his chest and Kenny rocks her soothingly on the cold bathroom tiles.
"Nikki says I shouldn't have to put up with this."
He sighs, planting a kiss on her temple. "She's right."
Nichole is Bebe's closest girl friend, level headed and quietly passionate. Kenny knows she doesn't fill the gap Wendy left when her family moved to Denver in the ninth grade, but in a lot of ways she's a better fit for Bebe. Supportive rather than competitive.
"I don't understand how you can be so awesome, and sweet, and caring like you are now and then just disappear without a real explanation. You could be doing anything from taking drugs, to earning money to support Karen, to having sex with someone else and I don't know because you don't tell me." Her tone is no longer accusatory, just soft. Factual.
"I don't know how Bebe. I don't know how to say it without sounding like a fucking psycho." His voice is husky, throaty, primal. Searching.
"I already know you're a fucking psycho."
Kenny laughs breathily into her ear, but she can feel the stinging bitterness emanating out of him in waves.
He's pressing into her back now, all parts of him, and she gets that roiling thrill low in her stomach. She already knew he wanted her from the intensity in his eyes, but it still pleases her to know she can make him feel as desperate as she does. They won't screw around tonight – they never do when he comes back – but she likes the comfort of his presence there, a welcome confirmation that he's come home.
"I don't want to go. Sometimes I leave because I've taken the fall for someone else, and like, other times I'll have an accident."
Bebe wants to shower his speech with burning questions – what accident? Who are you protecting? – But she's surprised that Kenny, usually so stoic on this matter is opening up. She's afraid to talk for freezing the words on his tongue, but she's also irrationally scared to hear the rest. He continues:
"The place I go… they know me there. It's not nice exactly but the people there are. Most of them have made mistakes in life, and like, they just want to sort their shit out. The guy running the show… he's all right. I like him."
Bebe interrupts hesitantly "…is it a rehabilitation clinic?" If this is the case, she thinks she can handle it.
Kenny laughs.
"Rehab? Yeah shit. I mean, I never thought of it like that, but. Yeah. Rehab."
"So are you a patient there?" Her tone is quietly inquisitive, polite. Kenny notices her hands have gone clammy and gives them a reassuring squeeze.
"Kind of. I go there a lot. Like, since I was a kid. It's like a kind of therapy my parents got me into through weird circumstances. I visited that place all the time in grade school – you remember how I was always out of class –"
"-Yeah, Stan and Kyle used to joke and say you'd died."
Kenny stiffens behind her but manages a forced laugh that sounds both strangled and hollow. He swallows down a sob and continues in a pseudo cheerful tone:
"Yeah well, most of the time that's where I was. I started out as a… patient I guess but now I support others. I go if someone needs my help, and I come back as soon as I can, and in the meantime I think of home and that's like therapy too."
Bebe smiles sadly, stroking the back of his hand lightly. "What do you picture?"
"Karen. I think of how happy I want her life to be, and I hope she isn't messing around with the wrong guys or going hungry or anything."
"You know Karen comes here Kenny? We eat dinner or like, study together and talk about you. She's a good kid, you raised her well." She turns to smile at him, faltering when she notices the stunned expression on his face. "You didn't know that?"
"No." But he beams and hugs her tighter.
"Anyone else on your mind while you're away?' She prompts wickedly.
"Stan and Kyle." Kenny grins, knowing this isn't what she was fishing for.
"Well fuck you too Ken!" Bebe laughs in mock outrage.
"I just know that I'm missing all these awesome, awkward moments in the build up to whatever it is they are. I feel someone should be around to document that all that magical gay stuff so Kyle can have the shit embarrassed out of him at their eventual, like, Himalayan whistle ceremony or something."
"Oh Jesus, most of that is burned into everyone's minds anyway. Kyle makes sure it is."
"And I missed the pep rally for Stan's game," Kenny pouts.
"Everyone missed the pep rally for Stan's game. We were all too busy watching the theatrical rollercoaster that is Kyle's daily struggle." She chuckles a little at the memory.
"See? That's what I mean – I miss this stuff. What happened?"
"I don't know the exact details, but Queen Kyle got all pissy and sanctimonious with the cheerleaders for 'having the audacity to distract the members of the team with a repertoire of crowd pleasing moves better left in the whorehouse they came from'."
"Wow."
"Yeah, so, Stan comes rushing to his side like the prince he is, and Kyle asks if he'd been staring at Heidi's butt during the routine. And when poor Stan says he hadn't, Kyle cries and says he had been and accused Stan of liking Heidi's 'spanx clad booty' – that's a direct quote – because it was small and round. So Stan had to take him away and calm him down, or protect his meltdown from Craig's soul crushing scrutiny or some bullshit like that. I think he – Stan, not Craig – was starting to cry because Kyle was… Anyway, they came back later when the rally was basically over, and Kyle was wearing Stan's jersey – again! And he had that smug expression on his face – you know the one he reserves for Stan flaunting. And Stan is so oblivious to it."
Kenny adopts an exaggerated version of this expression, which is less a caricature than it is an accurate imitation, sending them both into a fit of hysterics.
"They've so gone past third base." Bebe smiles broadly as she says this, melting into Kenny happily.
"You think so?" He's toying with her hair now, tugging on a kinky strand. She appreciates the gesture but wishes he wouldn't – it really needs to be washed.
"You think so too Ken."
He snorts. They sit entwined on the unyielding floor, content and comfortable in each other's embrace, until Bebe's ass begins to ache. She's just about to complain when Kenny breathes:
"You Bebe. I think about you."
Part of her wants to find this ridiculously hysterical because Kenny's delivery of this line comes out in a hokey stage whisper, yet she's honestly moved by the way it makes her feel. Like she's been winded but is also so full of air she could float.
"You… fuck. What am I trying to say? You make sure I don't miss anything when I'm gone. But it's like, more than that. You don't write me off, or forget about me."
"How could I –"
" – Wait, this is important and I have to say it. It's like you make sure nobody else forgets or gives up on me."
"Why would –"
"You keep me alive Bebe." Kenny's voice has a powerful weight to it, a gentle authority. "You keep me alive."
A hot, horrible feeling wrenches Bebe's stomach, drowning her in momentary nausea. It lasts maybe two seconds only, but she moans, unable to correlate image with emotion. She sees pulsing, feels red, tastes broken. Somehow she knows this pain relates to Kenny, yet is hers to bear – which is unnerving because it is totally illogical. She is harbored safely in his arms, far removed from that agonizing trauma of loss. But god, she thinks, it feels so real.
And then she is sobbing, gasping, screaming into him, silently blessing god for the solidity of his physical presence. He is crying now too, peppering kisses onto her face, hair, neck and murmuring something she doesn't hear, but understands, over and over and over again.
"Every… one." She gets out through mangled breaths. "Everyone leaves. Wendy. Mom. Dad! You!" They're hugged so tight they're practically one, clawing at each other in a desperate bid to be closer.
Kenny places his palms on either side of her face, and Bebe can feel his whole body shaking through them. It's almost magic – the depth of his emotion, she thinks subconsciously. He lifts her head from his chest, forcing her to meet his gaze and she can see tear tracks streaking down his cheeks like well travelled roads on a golden highway.
"But I always come back."
He looks calmer she notes, as though the universe has suddenly gifted him with the certitude of his life's purpose. A random metaphor, Bebe thinks, unsure of why she's thought it.
"I'll always come back for you Bebe." And she knows that's true.
Because in a way, he never really leaves.