Chapter Track: Not About Angels by Birdy
TWEEK
Chapter 2: Not About Angels
Chapter Track: Not About Angels by Birdy
TWEEK
One of the only benefits of South Park high school, was that the band director always left the door open in eighth period despite lacking an instructional class. It was the perfect time for me to slip in to be left with all the percussion equipment and I.
I knew it would be easier to take the class period in order to access the musical instruments. However, the whole thought of a group of either good or insanely bad musicians relying on you to carry the band was way too much pressure.
Just the whole concept of an auditorium full of people staring at your general direction to play notes that make the music seethe. It was a nightmare.
I really just snuck into the room specifically to indulge in the one activity that never failed to calm me on even the worst day, playing the piano. Something about playing the musical notes emitting from the instrument never failed to make me feel powerful of creating something so beautiful.
As I peeked from the corner into the dim hallway, I slightly picked up my pace on the way to the room I was anticipating. No matter how many times I'd go on same path everyday,I never failed to get anxiety of the possibility of getting caught.
I mean sure, I knew I wasn't exactly doing anything wrong. But what if the teacher caught me and yelled at me? What if no one was allowed to be in there and I got detention? What if I someone had damaged another instrument and they blamed me because I was the last one there?
My thoughts raced, as my footsteps echoed through the unlit tile hallway, towards the room. My haunting thoughts filling my paranoid mind.
Since the high school was pretty outdated and worn out, the walls in the establishment were turned from creamy white to a muddy yellow.
Military green dented and damaged lockers littered the walls, most unusable due to their broken hinges and locks.
I habitually bit on the outer loose skin of my fingernails due to the apprehensive thoughts flooding my mind. I peeled a bit of the pale skin back with my front teeth, causing a slight sting to emit as blood slightly started to surface.
Once I neared my destination, my eyes flitted up to peek through the narrow window in the door. The room was vacant and covered in darkness as per usual.
I took my thumb, moist with saliva, out of my mouth to slowly turn the silver doorknob and slip into the dormant room.
I immediately hit the light switch beside the doorway before sauntering over towards the large piano that sat in front of the classroom with various smaller versions lined up.
It was the teacher's personal instructional instrument that she often used for performances. Which I knew by previous peeks and attempts to enter the classroom at other times.
The sounds that emitted from that one in particular were so clear and marvelous. Everything my musical dreams consisted of, so of course I had to utilize it.
I sat down on the polished black bench, and sat my hands carefully on the specific keys that began the song I was intending to play.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my unending trembling fingers to focus on the melody I had memorized in my head.
As my fingers pressed down on the five chords, I inhaled a shaky breath.
I thought about all the hours of filling mugs of espresso and of classes containing me praying to any God out there that the teacher wouldn't make us pair off into groups.
I imaged the inhale I took symbolizing me accepting my constant social anxieties, and the exhale being me finally letting every reason for my outbursts to exit my system.
During my years, I spent about all of middle school researching calming methods. Some had helped me before I learned piano. Mostly affirmations that I could repeat to myself worked as a saying to sedate my jittering.
I hesitantly shut my eyes and repeated my mantra I had submitted myself to reciting in order to settle all panic in my system.
I am Tweek. I am fine. Everything will be alright. There's no need to feel nervous. I am alone. I am safe.
And god dammit if I can only do one thing in my life well it's play the fucking piano.
In that exact moment, my fingers immediately began dancing on the keys, everything finally becoming serene in my head for once.
Calm… . happiness. No more anxiety
Most with my faith usually chose to meditate to maintain balance of emotions and peace. Whenever I'd attempt that method, it always resulted in me feeling a rise of stress in my system causing me to subconsciously feel trapped. That emotion would cause my squirming and squeaking tendencies to increase.
After the age of ten, my levels of symptoms in me for an anxiety disorder had surpassed being able to be maintained by thought of puppies and delicate ideas.
However, that tranquil feeling always came to me whenever I'd play a classical piece on the grand instrument. Well that and when I'd take the first fresh sip of my beloved warm strong beverage on a difficult day.
I allowed my shut eyes to soften as I allowed my muscle memory of the selection to take over the movement in my fingers.
Suddenly a loud noise started me, causing my eyes to shoot up to the door. It was slammed open and figures came barging in. I immediately jumped to my feet and let a shriek emit from my throat, alarmed, thinking I was caught playing on the holy piano.
I saw a chubby football player speed in, making me assume he was going to try and beat the shit out of me. Not that I couldn't handle my own, but it was what came to mind.
It took a few seconds for me to realize it was only Clyde Donovan, one of Craig's friends and quite possibly mine as well. Although we never really conversed without the noirette around, and if we did it was just small talk.
He was a bulky brunette with a slight adoration for sports and Mexican food. He was a pretty decent guy who could be sentimental and sexual all in one sentence. Even though he was a huge softy who could crack jokes.
He wore his South Park High letterman jacket literally everywhere he went, but I never blamed him. I'd heard him complain about how much money he had to fork over to pay for the single article of clothing so many times. If I had to pay that much for a jacket, I'd expect it to have some healing or invisibility properties of some sort.
"Yo, Coffee Cup!" Craig said walking in nonchalantly, shortly after the brunette. Token walked in right beside him, giving me a slight wave in greeting.
He had a thing for calling me new nicknames every time we'd see each other, all named after coffee related titles, flavors, and brands. When he first started doing so in middle school it was flat out embarrassing. About freshman year is when I finally accepted it.
Craig Tucker was absolutely the real spectacle out of our small friend group. He had chiseled features like a freakin swimsuit model who posed for calendars, light brown skin, piercing green eyes, and wavy thick black hair he chose to hide under his poofball hat.
He was a pretty outspoken and opinionated person when he was around his specific friend group or cared enough to speak up. Otherwise, he appeared to be a stoic statue who wore a stupid hat and same blue hoodie everyday.
He was pretty cool with me though, because he never pestered me with questions or judged me.
Token was about as equally attractive. He had short black hair that was super curly. Since middle school he started cutting unique little designs into the sides of his hair and they always intrigued me. I never really said much to him about it, but I thought it was an awesome way he expressed himself.
He wore name brand t shirts that had simple designs and expensive jeans that put even Craig's skinny jean collection to shame.
His outfit that day consisted of a long knitted sweater and dark pants.
My eyes widened out of curiosity as to question why they were there. I mean sure I'd mentioned possibly twice as to where I'd go during my senior release period, but I never expected anyone to actually seek me out in the location.
"Oh Christ! W-what are you doing here," I stuttered.
My eyes shifted between the three males in confusion and curiosity, an anxious feeling poking at my chest experimentally.
"Woah dude, are you playing the piano? Hold on, let me bust out my trumpet!" Clyde announced, completely dismissing my question.
The jock ran away and my eyes switched to look at Craig in confusion.
Had something happened? Did I do something to piss them off that I didn't know about? Jesus! What if something already happened to Stripe and Craig had come to break the bad news?
I couldn't help the twitch of my eyes as I awaited to hear whatever reason as to why they were there for me.
"Dude, you wanna stay the night?" Craig finally inquired, breaking the silence.
His question finally calming my worrying thoughts of the possibilities, and creating new hypotheticals in my head.
"I-uh… Ack- I don't know," I instantly sputtered.
I had a huge problem of not full considering my words before they tumbled out my mouth whenever I was stressed. And my stuttering never helped the matter. Not that anything in my life ever actually occurred in my favor.
I waited for a response as I watched Token come over and sit on the piano bench I was previously occupying. He began to immediately play a tune that sounded oddly familiar. I recognized it as the Mario Bros theme, and groaned in frustration. He always had to one up me without even meaning to.
It only made sense that of course Token could play piano as well, but that was expected. He was practically the most talented kid in the whole school as well as one of the most intelligent. If anything he only intimidated me and made me feel very insecure.
I knew he could play the bass guitar, piano, violin, cello, trombone, and tuba. And those were the top of the list. I honestly didn't even know the difference between all of those instruments, but he knew how to play each and every of them.
I turned my gaze back to the chullo wearing boy for him to say, "Well you can come home with me tonight, we can watch Stripe, and then Saturday you can come with us to Token's."
I didn't mind the first idea, but I always felt weird when I was invited to Token's. It felt like a big deal to me to go over to the rich boy's mansion, and everything about his life made me feel so forgotten. I knew he was a great person who was really passive and kind, but we'd never been real close.
Not that I was super close with anyone at school at all though.
I wasn't like the three guys who could be chill with whomever they hung around. It'd take me two weeks to try and recover from one sleepover.
The uncertainties of sleeping at a new location only caused my mind to worry more than usual about possible negative scenarios. Not to mention the fact that if anything were to happen, the odds would be stacked against me since I had no clear indication as to be fully aware of all my surroundings.
There were so many reasons as to why I had such apprehensive thoughts about the invite.
I thought about if I had any plans over the weekend that I could have used as an excuse to get out, but he was aware that I only had to work Mondays through Thursdays after school unless my parents requested otherwise. I was too bad of a liar to say anything besides the truth .
"Uh, sure." I answered, instantly feeling bad if I were to reject the offer. I usually always did, so what would be so bad about accepting this time?
Craig only nodded in response before walking over the wall to lean on. He pulled out his device and began to focus his attention on it, making me feel awkward watching Token then begin to play the Mii Channel song.
Clyde came barging again only moments later, carrying a medium sized dark instrument case holding only presumingly his trumpet. He sat it down beside the gifted boy who was still playing famous songs, by memory, if I may add.
He took out the brass instrument quickly, grabbing the small silver mouthpiece as well. He slid the smaller piece within the trumpet, raised to set, took a huge gulp of air, and began playing his rendition of a loud version of All Star.
We remained like that for the rest of the period. At one point I'd wandered over to Craig to talk behind the loud notes coming from both the other two boys.
"Anything interesting happen at work this week?" He had asked me as he did every week.
Tweek Bros usually had a lot of interesting stories to tell, because maybe the fact my family was half bat shit crazy. My father could never shut up with the coffee metaphors and my mom was basically an angel who had a gift of creating the most detailed cappuccino art in the world.
"M-my dad has been complaining about a- uh. Um a new drink competition going on in the coffee business."
With each stutter or pause I did, I involuntarily cringed at my actions. Usually I wasn't so nervous talking with Craig.
"So he's been working hard to try and create- ack -new flavor or something," I said, my eyes shifting between his green ones and the others playing in the front of the room.
The noriette hummed in understandment, "That's dumb if he's doing that just for a competition. What flavors has he come up with so far?"
I blinked in thought to try and remember exactly which. All week he'd been mixing flavors, some stranger than the rest. I'd know because he made me try each one myself, and some caused me to literally choke on the amount of cinnamon or other ingredients.
"There's been maple bacon, crispy bacon, waffle swirl, and morning wood." I said, confident that I hadn't stuttered.
Until Craig's eyes widened and then a loud chuckle erupted from his throat, and he was literally wheezing for breath. It was amusing to see him smile or laugh at anytime, since he usually wore a blank face with an occasional forced smirk.
However, in that moment, I'd never seen the teen laugh so genuinely that I couldn't help my own lips tug up. Even though I was slightly scared that he was laughing directly at me.
"What the actual fuck are those coffee names? I feel bad for whoever had to try those." He said after his laughter died down, a small smile still evident on his face.
I realized thinking back on my words, perhaps there were a sexual innuendos attached to one meaning. I couldn't help but instantly heat up with a blush.
I was definitely not going to be the one to admit that a few of the new creations actually tasted pretty good, so I diverted the subject and we continued talking.
After awhile of being interrupted by the blaring music, the noirette had begun to repeatedly yell at Clyde to stop playing halfway through his third round of an out of tune version of the Jurassic Park theme.
Only for the brunette to whine how Craig was just jealous that he was the best trumpet at school. However, I was pretty sure he was third chair in junior varsity band.
Once the boys finally got bored, Token motioned for us to leave since he was ready to depart and drop us all off. We trudged our way towards his fancy car that I always felt nervous to be in, because it was so clean and I was a very accident prone person.
Clyde and Craig took the backseat, and I stood there in the parking lot very hesitant. Making decisions was always such a hassle for me, and I was very bad at it.
I knew why they always took their specific seats, but I had no clue whether to sit with them or in the vacant passenger seat.
Would Token mind me sitting beside him? Would he rather me sit in the back and out of the way? Would it be weird if I sat squished with the boys in the back.
I didn't exactly take up that much space as far as my size went, I was a bit bigger than Craig but way smaller than Clyde. My height constantly made me feel a bit cramped in the car in general, but not as much as the noirette since who was a few inches taller than me.
The driver looked at me questionably, waiting for my decision. I finally resolved to scrambling into the almighty shotgun seat since only the middle seat in the back was open.
It would have been pretty uncomfortable for me to make them scoot over or have to slip in between them. That would be way too much pressure.
The conversation on the way to my house was pretty light hearted. The rest of the company in the car, excluding me, were laughing about dumb shit as always, earning a chuckle from me a few times.
Clyde's passionate rants about the most miniscule things could never cease to make the other teen boys irritated, and Craig in such mood was quite a hilarious one.
Once we stopped by my house I hastily opened the door and ran inside. I reached into my backpack and digged around for my keys, feeling uncertainty as if they were wondering why I was taking too long. I knew they were my friends, but I didn't want to be a bother.
I ran up the stairs and emptied my school bag to throw a random selection of clothes in my bag. I'd spent the night at Craig's numerous times before, but it'd never been like a regular occurance.
I never understood how some close friends could practically live out of each other's houses. I mean I considered a lot of kids at school nice since elementary, and I had Craig, Clyde, Token, and Jimmy as friends.
I wasn't really a big fan of sleeping in places other than the comfort of my own bed though. I'd have some awkward sleepovers with Stan and his crew, the douche quartet, as Craig would say. But I only ever recently went over to the noirette's house nowadays or rarely Token's or Clyde's.
Once I had my bag of clothes, I grabbed my charger, most likely forgetting something as always. But my mind was clouded and I rushed out so they wouldn't have to wait long.
When I got back, I scurried into the seat and sat quietly as we left once again, this time to drop us off at Craig's house. I didn't really mind since I was the one to agree to come over, and I was slightly ecstatic to see our new baby.
However, I couldn't help the impending nerves clenching my heart and telling my pulse to speed up. It was just something about Craig's parents.
Don't get me wrong, they weren't bad people at all, but they were the exact opposite of what I was accustomed to.
His mom was a gorgeous women with bright green eyes like her son, and I guess she was the kind of women some guys would call attractive? I never really thought hard about it, because thinking of her like that would be disgusting to me. She was like in her forties or something.
She was a very opinionated woman who liked to stay home and tend to the house rather than go to a physical job.
Craig told me before that she used to work at our local bank until her husband got a raise to cover both their incomes. She then quit as soon as she possibly could to spend her days in relaxation under the title of house wife.
She did the cleaning, cooking, and other necessities but she was more of the, "man of the house." But I don't really like saying that because it sounds pretty sexist, so I'll say she didn't take anyone's bullshit.
Thankfully she was always nice to me when ever I'd visit or see her in public. She wasn't very affectionate like the others in the household, but she wasn't a bad person.
His father on the other hand was the complete opposite of mine. Even though the whole family down to the youngest had always had a habit of being vulgar with their diction, Mr. Tucker was the only one who could swear and automatically sound utterly pissed all the time.
To me he'd always seen like an old fashioned type of man who wanted to go to work, come home to dinner, and expected his kids to be orderly. I think that's why he expected more out of Craig than the boy offered the family.
He was the very definition of bulky, being the opposite of his scrawnier son. And he had a voice that wasn't necessarily deep, but more booming. Sure, I'd been a bit frightened by Craig's demeanor way back in elementary, but his father was the very reason I had constant anxiety in the Tucker household.
To put it simply, he was a ginger man with a weird ass haircut and funky side burns.
He'd never said or done against me personally, but it was just the idea of him perhaps that had always made me panicked. As if he could kill me by the glare of his eyes.
Craig's little sister was my favorite of the family. It had taken me awhile to get used to her sweet gestures and inclination to put bows in my hair as a child, but since then we'd grown a bit close.
Her and the noirette had a fake dislike relationship where they'd mock each other all the time and acted like they didn't care for each other. Although, I knew that they honestly did have a lot of love for each other.
Since I was an only child, I think I kinda clenched onto the thought of a younger sibling. That's why I really kind of latched onto the idea of being on good terms with the young blonde.
She was a cute teen with long hair she usually wore in a high ponytail or braids. She had fairly light skin like her father, and soft features that made her seem happy despite her sassiness tendencies.
She wasn't so much like other teen girls to my knowledge, wearing mostly leggings and sweaters wherever she went. Being a girl with simple taste in both clothing and interests.
Overall, I didn't have much of a problem with them besides the fact that I always felt Craig's dad was judging me from afar.
I knew a lot of people did daily; at school, customers, and people in public. It felt different with his father though, as for some reason I had to meet his expectations.
I couldn't even tell my friend how I felt though, because it was just my over exaggerated thoughts as usual. I've been told my whole life to keep them in, and I was always constantly battling to.
However, that's a whole other long boring story titled "my insecurities," and people's willingness to shut me down more often than help me.
When we arrived at Craig's brown two story house, we got out and I gave the other guys a quick "thanks," and wave before leaving. I held onto my bag and stayed a few feet behind the chullo wearing boy as we neared his front door.
I assumed he was too lazy to reach for his key or didn't care to, because he went straight to knocking on the front door of his own house.
After a few moments of an awkward silence, the door finally unlocked to reveal a petite strawberry blonde girl. Her eyes met her brother's green one's at first, causing a slight scowl to engulf her features as she threw open the door.
"Hey, douchebag. Mom said she wants her skinny jeans back."
He only rolled his eyes at her before retorting, "I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and shit out a better insult than that, you fucking leech."
She only scoffed in turn before Tricia's gaze shifted behind the tall teen to glance into my vivid blue ones. In doing so, her porcelain facial expression did a one eighty.
"Hello, Tweek! My favorite person in this shitty town!"
She practically squealed, shoving the taller teen aside in order to hug me. She wrapped her smaller palms around my back, pulling me into her small figure and smacking her face straight into my chest.
I stumbled backwards a bit at the sudden contact, surprised at first. I wasn't big on embracing others, because it always felt quite foreign to me.
However, I couldn't help but lightly rest my arms around her small back in return.
She always seemed so precious to me, even though Craig constantly claimed she was the actual satan reincarnate around him.
"H-hi," I squeaked at the sudden contact.
She let out a small giggle before releasing me and walking back into their quaint little domicile.
"Mom got me out of school to take me to eat today. We got McDonalds, and you didn't asshole," Tricia announced targeted at her brother who ignored her.
Her body bounced up and down, as she walked pretty gracefully on the tips of her feet. She led us into the living room, where she paused to toss Craig a dirty look before retiring to sit upon the couch to resume her television show.
I gripped harder onto my bag, to calm the uneasiness swirling at my palms urging me to squirm uncomfortably. However, the panic didn't prevent my eyes from exploring the semi familiar household.
Most houses in the town of South Park were quite similar excluding the lower income families private homes, such as the McCormick's.
The Tucker household was two story like the neighborhood except with three bedrooms and one bathroom. It was a quaint home, with the walls adorned of family portraits of each of the diverse members.
There held awkward looking family pictures with their children occasionally smiling in each frame, but more often not. As well as paintings and renditions of Jesus plastered around the walls.
The Christian figure could practically stare into my soul, and never failed to make me feel out of place as a non Catholic. I never questioned the abundant crosses, because of course I respected their religion and had no issue.
However, I knew the specific religious influence was based on his mother's beliefs more than the rest of the family. Craig had privately disclosed to me that he personally had questions as to all the details of his own beliefs.
"I believe that there is some higher power out there. How else could the world containing such beauty and art in the stars and nature have been created? Who's saying that a god doesn't exist."
Those were the exact words that had stuck in my mind for me to always recall upon seeing the symbols around the living room.
The Tuckers never missed a sunday morning mass for anything, and maybe something about the amount of dedication also intimidated me. Because my family didn't care for anything as much as the Tuckers did for their religion.
They had their own quotes and beliefs that revolved around basically only coffee, business, and family matters. I was the one to find my own Buddhist beliefs due to the my yearning for peace in the world.
My eyes glanced between the light pastel wallpaper and the big dinner table we were passing by to enter the kitchen. I could tell the noirette was aware of my uneasiness as per usual, but he never really seemed to mind. He continued his path, with his shoulders back.
"Hey, mom." He greeted.
"Hi, dear."
As we entered the doorway to the basic themed kitchen, there revealed Laura Tucker seated at the breakfast table in the middle of the room. Her attention was trained onto her device in her hand, with a book upon the tabletop under her elbows.
She had a listless expression on her face and in her tone, as her eyes glimpsed at us walking towards the pantry.
I gave her a timid wave, feeling a twitch shudder through my body involuntarily in nervousness as her gaze met mine. She responded with a warm smile and greeting.
"How was your day?" She inquired, returning to look at her smartphone in hand.
"It was fine, same old." Craig responded.
He threw open the cabinet beside the refrigerator to scavenge for presumingly snacks. My assumptions were answered as he retrieved a previously opened package of double stuffed oreos and a family size bag of doritos.
"Why are you getting snacks? You still have food in your room." Mrs. Tucker stated, catching our attention.
Craig raised a curious eyebrow, evidently confused as to what she meant.
"What do you mean?" He asked, passing me the chip bag to hold for him.
"The guinea pig," She said, a smirk pressing her features.
My eyes immediately widened at her answer. What did she mean? Stripe and food… Was she planning on eating him? Was that an actual thing?
"Mom, what the fuck!" Craig instantly hollered in protest, "Why would you even say that."
I flinched at the use of cuss words he included while speaking to his mother, but I knew she never really minded. It made me feel awkward overhearing.
She stared at him with intense eyes before a laughter erupted from her throat. Her reaction only seemed to irritate Craig only more.
"Sweetie, I'm only joking, even though guinea pigs are pretty good to eat." She said, in attempt to calm the fuming boy beside me.
Even though he wasn't completely acting upset, it was clearly shown through his eyes and eyebrow expression.
I remember reading that Peruvians eat guinea pig, or something related to that back in freshman world geography. However, that had been four years ago and I hadn't remember the specific spanish country that did eat the delicacy.
I didn't have a clear opinion on how I felt about his mother's comment, because I didn't want to be racist. Although I truly feared for the life of our new pet which I dumped five months of tips into.
He let out a low growl from his throat, before grabbing the oreos and turning to depart the room. His other hand held up a specific finger intended for his mother, as he stormed away. She returned the favor, stifling a giggle from her seat.
I gave a small squeak, before scurrying to follow behind him.
It's not that I couldn't function without him, but as long as I was in the presence of one of his parent's I felt comfort with him beside me. It lowered the chance of awkward questions and forced small talk.
I stumbled through the living room, anxiety bubbling in my chest as I walked between the young girl and her sight of the television. I muttered an apology out of habit, before turning the corner to the staircase.
Craig had already ran into his room in front of me, leaving me to bound upstairs after him quickly. His room was the last one on the right of the miniscule hallway.
When I finally reach my destination, I saw that he left his bedroom door slightly cracked open for me. I slowly pushed open the door, nervous as to what image would appear before me.
I knew that I'd spent the night the previous day in his room and what his bedroom appeared like. It was just another instance of nerves I couldn't prevent.
Once I could peek into the room, I was welcomed with seeing Craig's lanky body thrown across his bed with his legs hanging off the edge. His hand were stuffed into the open slot of the oreo package, as he shoveled out cookies to stuff in his mouth.
Even though he snacks like his life depended on it while he was home, he never seemed to gain weight. He was blessed with a metabolism only Clyde dreamed about.
I noticed the new addition to the bedroom at first glance, momentarily forgetting about our new pet.
His bedroom contained a dark blue space that a young elementary age Craig had established, but never seemed to have wanted to change. He had dark navy blue painted walls and light carpet.
A bed of baby blue sheets and a galaxy comforter was placed in the middle of the room with the headboard against one of walls beside his sliding door closet. For a fairly large room his only other furniture included a large black plastic desk on the opposite side of the room shoved against the corner and a tall dresser filled with wooden drawers for his clothing.
Well those and his mini foldable dinner table he had beside his bed as a makeshift nightstand.
An average sized thin tv and multiple gaming systems sat upon the dresser, which he usually utilized. Upon the desk is where we had set up Stripe's large cage and the rest of the creature's necessities sat beside the metal housing.
That left a lot of space in the center and sides of the room left for open carpet space, giving the room a really open aspect.
Old posters of spaceships, stars, and movies littered the wall, majority from elementary book fairs. Craig's old paper mache and cheap action figures hung from the ceiling by strings duct taped to the ceiling by his younger self.
The room basically screamed childlike, especially for a seventeen year old boy. However, it felt like I knew him pretty closely by seeing this side of him.
The part of Craig that said, "fuck society's view of how mature I should act and what I should be interested in."
His room screamed that he was just really a big dork with a love for finding something bigger and more beautiful than life already discovered on earth.
I wandered over to the animal's cage and called Craig over so we could feed the animal and spend time with him so the guinea pig could become accustomed to his new owners. Even though I was hesitant about the also squeamish animal, I knew Stripe and I both needed to warm up to each other.
The feeding and examining of the pet took us awhile, but afterwards we left Stripe run around the carpet as we sat against the bed watching and talking calmly.
We sat there for a few hours, chatting and playing with the guinea pig before his mother called us down to eat dinner after Mr. Tucker arrived home.
It took a lot of mental preparation as my heart raced, walking down the stairs to join their family dinner.
Once I reached the bottom of the stairs to enter through the living room, my eyes immediately caught sight of the large figure of Thomas Tucker. He was seated at the head of the wooden dinner table with the same stoic expression Craig usually wore, except when his father wore the look it seemed more stern.
I flinched when I saw Tricia motion us over with a jovial smile on her face upon seeing me. It was honestly heartwarming seeing someone that seemed actually happy to see me. I wasn't usually that important to many people.
Mr. Tucker gazed up to look at Craig walk into the living room and gave us a look of boredom. No greeting or any amount of acknowledgement for that matter. A man of little words unless he gave a shit, much like his son.
We took our seats at the six seater dining table, with me beside the youngest of the family and Craig across from me. The seat between him and his father's was usually reserved for their mother.
There was a basket of rolls, a dish of green beans, bowl of mashed potatoes, and a container of butter with a knife. The table was set with a plate and silverware upon all but one of the placemats.
It was so beautiful to see the family have such a picture perfect dining area in which they spent time with another. My parent's and I usually ate together a couple times a week, if we had the time after work or if either of them even had the motivation to cook.
After I pulled my chair out and sat down, Mrs. Tucker walked in with a large plate of sliced ham for the family to eat. I personally wasn't a huge eater, but my tongue couldn't help but water at the sight and smell of the fresh meal.
She placed the china with the meat in the center of the table and sat between the boys of the family. We sat silently, watching her take a small glass of one of the waters she layed around the table. Once she finished she clasped her hands hands together in preparation to pray before the meal.
The other family members followed suit upon instinct, and I did so hesitantly. I didn't actually pray in which way the Tuckers did, but I was more afraid of being singled out for not doing the same.
The majority of South Park was Catholic with the occasional few of us who stood out. Such as Jimmy, Kyle, and I. But I don't think many of the adults knew about any other family's religions in town besides the Broflovski's and their Jewish beliefs.
"Tweek, would you like to lead the prayer today?" The blonde woman's called out gently.
My eyes raced up to look at her in surprise as all the family members looked at me for my response.
That request was way too much fucking pressure. What the fuck would I even say? Am I supposed to give thanks to something or just for food? I had no clue how things like that worked, and what if I offended them? What if they didn't want me to come over ever again if I messed up? What would I do then!
I looked over at Craig in a plead for help. He knew I had no clue as to what to do or say, and he knew I wasn't Catholic or anything.
He looked at me with furrowed eyebrows, hopefully contemplating how he could help me. Since I was freaking the fuck out.
"Hey, Mom. I'll do it today since he's a guest." He said with a straight face, calming my spiked nerves immediately.
I mouthed a subtle thanks to him from across the table. His pursed his lips before taking a deep huff. I knew he probably disliked praying before meals, so it was probably taking a toll on his character to do it. I was honestly grateful that he offered and his mom allowed it.
"Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive. From thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen." He droned in his monotone voice, more void of emotion than normal.
I only watched feeling an awkward silence rest on my shoulders as we all began to dig into our food. We took turns shovelling helpings of each of the variety of the food choices onto our plates and digging in.
Most of the small talk during the meal was focused between Mrs. Tucker and asking her two children about their day. I was thankfully saved from even more stressful confrontations.
After the meal, I excused myself along beside Craig after saying thanks for the meal, and were on the way to make a break to retreat back to his bedroom when his mother called out.
"Hey, Craig. Come do the dishes."
He halted in his steps towards the staircase causing me to run into his back. I took a few steps backwards as he called back to his mom.
"Why mom, I'm not the one who decided to cook and use glass plates."
"Craig Tucker, get your ass back in this kitchen and don't give me attitude."
I only stared between the two family members in surprise at his responses to his mother. It made me feel very uncomfortable by being between them. I would do them myself if it got me out of the way of the tension between the two.
"You're the one who wanted to be a stay at home mom," he retorted with a whine.
His mother only stood in the dining room with her hands on her hips. She had a dark glare on her features intended for him, but it still made even me shiver in fear.
"You know what, fuck you. Go away," she called, stomping her way back into the kitchen.
He raised his middle finger in her direction, despite her no longer being able to see it. He then turned back towards his bedroom with me following suite.
As soon as Craig and I started running upstairs is when we heard the doorbell sound radiate through the house. It sounded repeatedly pushed, because the ring seemed to frantically go off.
Mr. Tucker called from the couch for Craig to see who it was, sounding obviously disturbed by the mysterious person's persistence to get in. The teen only groaned before backing up once again to throw open the front door of the house.
I slowly crept downstairs after him, curious as well as to see who their visitor was at the hour. It was around seven in the afternoon, if memory served me correctly, which meant it was already dark outside.
Once I reached the entrance of the house I saw the figure on the other side of the doorway. It was a panting blonde boy, bent over with his hands on his knees obviously out of breath.
His choice of a light blue jacket and his hair cut of shaved sides but with long tufts on the top revealed who it was immediately.
Butters Stotch.
He leaned his slim body against the door frame, looking up to meet our faces with his bright cerulean eyes. His facial expression practically had the expression of concern written on it. The poor guy seemed like he was chased by zombies to Craig's house.
"Fellas… it's Ken… he needs help."
He panted through heaves of breath. Upon his comment both Craig and I shared a look of utter confusion. What the fuck was going on and why did Butters come to get us of all people?
Feedback would be greatly appreciated, bad or good. I hope you're enjoying this fic, even if it's just a couple of you. If at least one person enjoys this story like I do, then I'm happy to make at least one person's day.
This chapter is less edited than the previous cause my amiga is busy, so sorry for any mistakes. Thanks to the few of you who followed or favorites, I appreciate you. And thanks so much for the one review! :D