"Stan, pass me a beer."
"Huh?"
Kenny's face twists in irritation as he cocks his hip to the side. "Pass me a fucking beer Stan. Are you already drunk?"
I shrug, leaning over the shoulder of the ratty couch and dipping my hand into the cooler.
We're outside, and it's three in the morning. Kenny threw an old goodwill couch out in his backyard a few months ago, and let me tell you, it's a damned good place to get drunk at. He's got empty beer cans lined up along the top of an old park bench we stole a few years back, and we're all taking turns with seeing how many we can shoot down with Karen's tiny pink red rider 22.
We being me, Kenny, Cartman, and Craig.
It's been approximately 2 weeks since I last told Kyle I was in love with him.
Technically I wasn't lying, and it's not like it was the first time I had told him. I had drunkenly confessed my love to Kyle more times than I can count on both fingers, but something about this time felt different. He was sober, and the whole thing with Craig.
Craig. I hadn't really talked to Craig about the incident, but an unspoken truce seemed to loom over the two of us. I didn't talk about face fucking him with my tongue in his kitchen and he didn't talk about it either, which was appreciated.
It had been known that him and Tweek weren't on speaking terms, and I'm trying really hard to tell myself that it isn't because of me. To be honest though, I'm not. I'm trying really hard to get drunk.
I toss the beer to Kenny and he catches it with one hand, the tiny pink 22 in the other. He opens it with his teeth, taking a sip before setting it down in the dusty dirt beside his feet and aiming as best as he can in the 3 am dark at an empty bottle of jager.
"You've got terrible fucking aim dude." Craig's voice is low and drawn out, but he hasn't had a sip of alcohol. Rumor has it that he's developing sort of a pill problem, but hey, I'm really not one to judge.
I snort at his comment, leaning forward and snatching Kenny's beer of the ground in front of me. "Like you did any better."
I throw the beer back, making eye contact with Craig as I chug half of it before setting it back down.
He shrugs, he knows he's bad aim. I, on the other hand, have terrific aim. Even if I am a few beers in.
Cartman is passed the fuck out on the opposite end of the couch from me, Craig being slouched in the middle. Someone said they invited Kyle, but I think once he heard that Craig was coming he might have taken a rain check.
I wouldn't say me and Kyle aren't on speaking terms, because that wouldn't be true, but we definitely aren't on best friend speaking terms.
I copy his homework, he comes over to play videos games, I drive Ike home from school when he stays late to tutor, but it's routine. We probably haven't held a conversation more serious than "Hey, you want a hot pocket?" ever since Craig's stupid party. I was drunk, I fucked up and said some dumb things, and the more I continue to stare Craig down on the couch beside me, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna do it again.
"Well," I stand up, stretching my limbs and dusting off my pants. "I think I'm about to head home. Craig do you, uh, need a ride?"
Kenny doesn't seem to hear me as he continues to reload the tiny gun, but Craig does, nodding and pushing himself up off the couch. "Do we need to do something about Eric?"
Eric, who calls him by his first name anymore?
I shrug. "He seems fine here."
Craig smirks and nods, following close behind me as I make my way around Kenny's house to my truck.
It's quiet out here where Kenny lives, something I've always envied about Kenny's house even if the steps are made of cinderblocks. The best part about Kenny's house was that it was far out enough to see the stars, which were ridiculously bright tonight.
Craig catches my gaze as we near my truck. "They're pretty."
I nod, looking down at Craig behind me. He's still making his way up the hill, and he stops a few feet away from me.
"I'm sorry about what I said about Kyle. It was fucked up."
Goddammit, I'm honestly way too drunk to get emotional with a strung out Craig in Kenny's driveway right now.
"Yeah uh, it's fine. I was drunk."
He laughs, and I can tell I'm giving myself away, but so is he. He's wobbly, his eyes are half lidded and he can't be still for two seconds.
"Get in the fucking truck you shit."
He nods, grin still plastered to his face, and paces across the gravel to the other side of the truck.
The drive is quiet, and I tell Craig he can crash at my place due to the fact that his house is right next to the police station. Even a stupid cop could tell that we're worse for wear, and going to jail is not in my schedule for tonight. I'm hoping that Craig's pants zipper is though.
Craig slumps against the window the entire ride back, and I can't help but steal quick glances at the way his V-neck dips perfectly across his collarbone and the way streetlights look against his olive skin. He's got his hair tucked up in a hat that Tweek bought him (it's dark blue with "fuck" embroidered in lime green on the front) but some of it is falling out, sloppily sticking against his forehead. It's hot.
I pull into my drive and tell Craig to get out, and he only nods before unbuckling and damn near falling out of the passenger seat. Dad is still awake when we both walk in, but he doesn't say anything as we climb the stairs as best we can in our current state, gripping each other for support the whole way up.
Craig enters my bedroom and rips off his hat, chunking to the floor before doing the same with his glasses and slumping himself on the bed.
"Goddammit Craig."
He's out like a light in almost seconds, and as I pick up his glasses and hat off the floor all hopes of getting lucky fly out the window.
It's probably for the best in all honesty, but something about Craig is so different than it's ever been with anyone else. With Wendy, everything felt so forced, like I was doing it because I had convinced myself I wanted it.
Memories like reruns play in the back of my head of hot afternoons in the backseat of Wendy's stupid Prius. I take the palms of my hands and press them into my eyes, trying to drive them out. It wasn't right, I don't think it would have ever felt right.
With Craig, it was always right, no matter the place or timing. Craig was as right as rain, and he flooded me like a thunderstorm. It wasn't love, and it wasn't even friendship, it was pure lust. I'm so selfish when it comes to Craig, even before this stupid party even happened.
Craig would come over all the time last year to let me copy homework when Kyle couldn't, and I couldn't help but dip gazes at his lower stomach as he stretched across my bed. It was one of the first times I realized I may not be completely straight, and so for some reason I couldn't get myself off of the idea of Craig.
I push the thought to the side as I sit down as quietly as possible on the end of the bed, trying my hardest not to wake Craig even though I knew he probably wasn't waking up any time soon. I became incredibly aware of the phone pressing against my ass in the back pocket of my discount-store jeans, and incredibly aware of Kyle's number on speed dial for the number 7. It's my lucky number.
I pull the phone out laborusly, and instead of calling I settle on a text.
"hey, what are you up to?"
I sit, phone gripped tight in my hands, and squint hard down at the phone screen. Kyle's been telling me for years to get my prescription checked, but asking my dad to go to the doctor was like asking my dad to give up beer. We weren't a doctor-going family.
The phone dings, and I tense up subconsciously.
"Sleeping u shit"
I grin, and I know it's only funny because I'm drunk.
"u wanna hang out tomorrow?"
I hold my breath, my weary eyes blinking over the dim light of my cracked phone screen.
"Well fuck I guess"
I release my breath into the air, another small grin stretching across my face. Finally, a break in our stagnancy. I say a quick prayer to whatever god is out there on my side and toss my phone to floor, collapsing on the bed, my back pressed firmly against Craig's side. I try hard not to think about the way Craig smells mixed in with the scent of my laundry detergent, and I try even harder to think about what me and Kyle are gonna do tomorrow.
Maybe Kenny will let us get fucked up on his backyard goodwill couch again. I wonder if Cartman will still be there.
