Tweek's song of the day: Lykke Li - Possibility

Some Boys are Monsters
Prologue; Part Two

I thought that things were hard before Craig knew that I liked him, but I can't imagine how painful it's going to be to watch him be with someone else now that I know there's something more between us. I actually don't know for sure what we are, only that we're more than friends, but obviously not boyfriends.

The thought bothered me so much that I seriously considered skipping school today. I can't stop thinking about it, and my head hasn't been working right since I felt the texture of his chapped lips. I've replayed the scene in my mind so many times that if I close my eyes I swear I can still feel the rough pads of his fingers lingering on my cheeks.

It's horrible.

There's nothing that isn't horrible about kissing someone else's boyfriend, but I'm more concerned about the next time I see them together. I'm no good with delicate situations, and this definitely qualifies as delicate. There's no way I'm going to be able to keep myself from spontaneously combusting the moment I watch Bebe wrap her arms around Craig.

My Craig.

I know I shouldn't be so frustrated with her. She didn't do anything wrong. I did, and all I am to Craig is his awkward leech of a friend who he bummed a kiss off of while Bebe's his girlfriend; the love of his life. Shit, I need to calm down. This whole thing is seriously stressing me out, although I suppose I shouldn't be complaining.

That kiss was worth all of this confusion.

Yesterday, after I agreed to keep what we did a secret, he brought me home. The rain didn't let up, but Craig was unfazed as he held me to his chest, determined to carry me all the way there through the horrible weather. He convinced me to change into something dry as soon as we walked through my front door, but I came out of the utility room in a fresh pair of pajamas only to realize he wasn't in the living room anymore. I walked through every room in the house calling out for him, hoping that maybe he was still there somewhere. I never found him, so I just curled up on my mom's big green couch and memorized the patterns on the ceiling to distract myself from my own mind. I was so tired because I barely slept the night before, but I was helpless to get any more than an hour of rest.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with my eyes closed as I tried to decide if kissing Craig was a memory or if I really just woke up from a nap and was confusing reality with a dream

Then again, there was no other way to explain why his black jacket was left draped over the back of the sofa.

I figured that he had left it there purposefully for me, maybe as some way to compensate for leaving me alone without even telling me goodbye. I thought it was a sweet gesture, so I curled up inside of its warmth and stayed there all night as I contemplated. The dampness of the cloth under my fingers proved to me that what happened between Craig and I was real, but that came as both reassuring and horribly frightening. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to kiss me and hold me like he did at the playground, but I never wanted it to be some dirty secret. Yet, as I wrapped myself up inside his jacket, Craig's familiar smell comforted my weary mind and consoled all my horrible fears.

I treated it with such a pathetic need, holding it close to my face and nestling into it as if it was a cherished friend that could hold me back.

I missed him.

I missed somebody that belongs to someone else so much that I rolled around in their tattered old jacket as if it was more sacred than the Holy Grail.

That's why I say pathetic.

I refused to come out from under my new found treasure until my alarm rang and I realized I had school in a few hours, not that I wanted to go. My parents awoke early in the morning and left to open the coffee shop, much like they do nearly every morning, so l got up off of the couch and started getting ready for school in an empty house. My mind was numb and sleep deprived as I lazily stumbled to the bathroom to scrub at my crooked teeth.

I looked awful in the mirror this morning. I was far too exhausted to even consider getting in the tub to take a much needed shower, and I barely combed through my hair. It looked far more wild than usual as it stuck up every which way.

My horrible issue with insomnia came through clearly in my reflection as purple bags hung low under my eyes, and the disgusting pimples in my hairline definitely didn't help my appearance any. The few zits on my face is nothing compared to what I have on my arms, though.

There are dozens of humiliating little red bumps that litter the pasty skin of my scrawny upper arms and boney shoulders. I hate them because they're really ugly and I've made an uncontrollable habit of picking at them, which only leaves even more unsightly scars.

I'm pretty sure I'm sick now, too. I can't stop sniffling and hacking on top of the issues I already have every day with clearing my throat in anxiety.

At least Token took good care of my stuff while I left it in his possession. I nearly cried tears of unadulterated joy when I was reunited with my precious messenger bag no more than five minutes ago, and I have the ugly brown thing clamped tightly between my legs, swearing to never let go again. I was so panicked yesterday that I seriously just left my stuff in his car, which is something that I would have never done if I was in my right mind.

Token distracts me when he goes on a tangent about something from the driver's seat. I'm rocking back and forth in a more jittery fashion than usual, occupying myself by picking at the zipper of Craig's jacket with my trembling fingers. The black cloth is bunched up in thick clumps around my wrists because there's so much fabric I could probably get lost in this thing. Remembering how it felt when Craig slipped it on over my shoulders makes my chest bubble and my cheeks blush red.

Token's voice is still filling up my ears. I'm trying really hard to listen to what he's saying, but this zipper is unusually shiny and I like the sound it makes when I pull it up and down so I'm sort of fading in and out.

Suburban houses pass by us outside the car windows. Some are really nice and fixed up with flowers and pretties, while others are run down looking with tall weeds, overgrown yards, and broken windows. Nonetheless, every one of them is essentially the same cookie-cutter house with two stories and a separate garage, just different colors and in different conditions. As I gaze up over the rooftops I notice that the sky looks a lot better than it did yesterday. There's no dark clouds or signs of rain although the sun hasn't come all the way out yet. Everything is tinted a light bluish color because of where the sun is hiding behind the rooftops, and I really like the way it looks.

I like how cool this zipper looks more, though.

It's Craig's zipper.

It makes a really cool noise.

Token slows his car as we turn into the driveway of one of those cookie-cutter houses. This one is much more familiar than the others. Its siding is an egg white color, and there are really pretty potted plants on either side of the front stoop. Mrs. Tucker planted those, just one of her many creative hobbies.

I immediately begin to convulse and vibrate when I catch sight of Craig and Clyde past the seat in front of me and through the windshield. They're leaning against the garage, where they wait for us every morning.

Clyde's got his batman backpack secured around his torso as he munches on a pop-tart. Craig looks just as relaxed as always with his gray guitar case slung over his shoulder. I feel like something really warm is pressing down in my lower belly as I examine the shape of his body, his face being too far away for me to see. My left arm jerks nervously as he and Clyde push off from the garage and make their way down the driveway. Token rolls down his window to holler a hello, and when he does the smell of fresh morning dew immediately fills my nostrils.

The closer Craig gets the more I feel like my chest is being filled up with hot water. I see his big hands, the same hands he held me with. I see the thin line of his lips, the same lips that he kissed me with. I vibrate helplessly as I rock back and forth and chew on my fingernails.

I haven't spoken to him since he disappeared from my house yesterday, and I've been too tired and sick to mentally prepare myself for this.

I notice something that helps calm my anxiousness, though. A freckled, redheaded girl in pigtails and fluffy white boots is walking alongside Craig, her blue eyes looking just as dull as the giant's beside her. I must not have noticed her standing between the guys. A little white half-jacket that matches her pretty shoes hangs unzipped around her torso and a pair of old blue skinny jeans hug tightly around her thin little legs. She's one of my favorite people, and things are always a lot easier when she's around.

Her name is Ruby, and she's Craig's fourteen year old little sister. Usually she rides on the bus with her friends, but every now and then she likes to carpool with us so she can get an extra half hour of lounging around the house. She's another person that I've known since I was small, mostly because of how close I am with her brother.

In the midst of my distracted thinking, I manage to wiggle out of Craig's jacket and fold it into a neat little square in my lap. I can feel the air on my repulsive, exposed arms and it feels so foreign that I keep rubbing my hands over them. I hate how rough and bumpy they feel. It's so gross, but I don't want to move my hands. They're way too small to cover up all of my ugly blemishes, but I'll be god damned if I don't try.

I hear Token pop the trunk as our friends walk around the car to put their stuff inside. They do that to give us some leg room, considering how big Craig's guitar and everyone's bags are.

I'm the only one that refuses to put their stuff in the trunk.

I hear car doors opening so I scoot to the middle seat and fasten the belt tightly around my hips as Clyde and Ruby climb in on either side of me. They're laughing about something as they settle in and slam their car doors shut, but Craig remains emotionless as he does the same. From what I can see of his face his lips are slack and his eyes are groggy as he rubs the sleep out of them, which really surprises me. Craig is rarely tired during the day.

He's one of those people who can't stay up past a certain hour so he's always alert and responsive in the morning while I'm a groggy mess.

It seems that I'm not the only one who had a lot on his mind last night.

He's licking at his lip ring with the split in his tongue as Token pulls out of the driveway. I take the opportunity to timidly poke his side. Craig looks back at me from over his shoulder, obviously a bit sleepy as his eyes scan me curiously. The first thing I notice is that he has all of his jewelry in today instead of wearing some of those clear little bars he puts in his piercings sometimes, and I still can't believe how many he has. A ring and a stud are side by side on the right side of his bottom lip, a hoop is in his septum, three sliver bars are in his eyebrows, and god knows he has at least a dozen earrings in his ears. I was with him when he did most of his piercings.

I still remember the first time he pushed the sharp end of a thumb tack through his earlobes in seventh grade. I still cringe every time I watch him pierce his flesh with a needle.

He also did his tongue split by himself with a piece of fishing line freshmen year, but that looked ridiculously painful.

I hold out the tidy little square that I made of his jacket a bit shakily because I'm so exhausted that I can't hold my hands still, and I really don't want to give it back. I spent too much time coddling it last night and bonded with the thing. I don't really want to let it go.

"Your shirt is sleeveless," he notices aloud as he leans over his seat to retrieve the useless pile of thread I've managed to have a love affair with last night in my desperation. His comment makes both Ruby and Clyde look me over as I clamp my hands back over my breakout in horrified embarrassment.

Craig is the only person that I ever told about how ashamed I am of my arms, albeit I wasn't sure if he was actually listening to me. Talking to him most times is like talking to a brick wall, so I'm never really sure if he's absorbing my words or if they're bouncing off of his thick skull.

Yet, he adds, "You should wear it more," with a bit of a reassuring tone. He seems genuine, and the comment leaves me absolutely awestruck.

"Yeah, looks good," Ruby agrees from beside me, a smile unfolding on her round face. "I don't know why you always wear long sleeves, you have nice arms."

Ruby, unlike Craig, doesn't know about how much I hate the very things she just complimented, so I suddenly feel beyond flattered by the sentiment. I want to thank her, but in mid-sentence I begin to hack and cough into my fist, a side effect of the adventure Craig and I embarked on yesterday.

"Aw, Teacup, are you feeling okay?" Clyde asks in an almost child-like tone of voice when he hears the disgusting noises resonating from my vocal cords. His brown eyes show real concern as he uses my chin as a handle, halting my rocking and turning my head with a gentle movement so that he can examine me. "You look really sick."

"I didn't sleep." This is the first time I've spoken since yesterday afternoon, and I'm embarrassed when my voice cracks and rasps, giving my sentence a choked and harsh sound.

Clyde doesn't care how bad I sound, how nasty I look, how much I wreak, or how sick I might be, and he proves it by pulling me into a little one armed embrace. He knows that talking won't change how bad I feel, and he knows that I wouldn't answer if he asked me if something's the matter, but he does know that keeping his arm around me as I rock back and forward will help to ease my pain.

Clyde and I tend to look out for each other in this unspoken way since he developed his own wide assortment of issues, although his issues don't make him nearly as socially stinted as mine make me.

I lean on him sometimes when I don't want to bother Craig with the metaphorical demons in my head and I need someone else who is fucked in the mind enough to actually understand me. He wasn't always on the verge of being considered a man-child riddled with mind crippling mental diseases, but that was when he was normal, before Craig's family took him in, before his father became an alcoholic, and before he found his sister hanging from a belt in their bedroom closet.

Clyde's actually very troubled, although no one would ever be able to tell unless they peeled away his happy, cheery exterior to reveal all the damaged layers underneath.

Craig wrote a song about it.

Clyde cried when he played it for him.

This slow build of pressure in my gut doesn't help my head when I see the school emerging in the distance.

I knowshe's there, and I'm not looking forward to the day ahead.

...

The beautiful twang of Craig's guitar fills the empty space around me.

I'm sitting closer to him than usual with my eyes closed and my head down on my bag, but nobody around the lunch table thinks twice about it because I'm so sick and tired today. I can feel him gently knock his knee against mine under the table as his voice rings out, joining in with Kenny's as they belt the lyrics to a song I have never heard before. I'm not sure if Craig's knee-knocking is an intentional attempt at calming me or if it's just an accident I'm seeking comfort in, but at this point it doesn't really matter to me.

Kenny's sitting on the other side of him today. He's playing in such perfect unison with Craig that their voices seem to melt into one another. Their fingers press down on the strings of their guitars and their arms loosely strum in a relaxed rhythm. I love the way it sounds when they play together, especially because of how unique and pure Kenny's voice is, but when he comes around so do Kyle Broflovski and Butters Stotch. I don't really like them.

Butters is annoying because he always wants to touch me and hug me like I'm his friend even though I barely know him. It drives me insane. I don't like it when people I consider strangers try to touch me, and Kyle's just intimidating for some reason.

They don't like being here because they don't like Craig. I can tell by the weird looks they always give him. Even Butters gets all clammed up and nervous, and he's the kind of person who likes absolutely everybody. I hate it when they look at him like that, like he's nothing but a ticking time bomb or some horrible piece of filth.

He isn't a bomb. He isn't filth. He isn't some awful person who gets off on other people's pain like everybody thinks.

He's nice, he's caring, and he's sweet, like yesterday when he came after me and kissed me in the rain, but no one else knows that side of him because when he treats everyone like they're worthless good for nothings they tend to return the favor.

I think they're afraid of him, and I can't say I blame them. Craig doesn't give them much choice. If anyone says a word to him even slightly out of turn they either get a hateful glare, a spiteful middle finger, or a prompt warning to shut the fuck up. Why wouldn't they be afraid? He's been known to punch people in the jaw before, sometimes for really no reason at all.

It's saddening.

"Excuse me?" a soft little voice asks from behind me. I look up to see who it is and what they want as Craig and Kenny's music stops.

Bebe?

This is my spot. Piss off.

She's standing behind me with a lunch tray in her hands. She looks flawless with her perfectly curled hair and cute little tan shorts, waiting as if she expects me to move so that she can sit down next to her boyfriend. That's not going to happen. She usually sits next to him at lunch, and I sit next to him during breakfast. It's part of our wartime peace treaty that obviously isn't working, because I'm refusing to give up this lunch hour. I am not in a very good state of mind right now. I swear to god if I have to sit here and watch her lean up against him one more time today my heart will either wither and die, or I'll explode.

She cannot sit here. This is my spot, and Craig is my friend.

She looks up at him with her dazzling green eyes as if she's expecting him to ask me to move. She's not frustrated, not angry. She's just patient as she stands and waits.

Craig answers her gaze with silence before looking down at me. He frowns as if he just knows how bad I'm hurting inside right now. He probably does know. It's weird how Craig and I can sit in a short silence and feel as though we've just had an hours' worth of conversation, and sometimes I think we're secretly telepathic because we always just know.

He wouldn't abandon me like she's asking him to.

He wouldn't.

"Move over, Tweek," he demands, not a shred of compassion on his face. I feel my heart shrivel and sink deep down into my guts once Craig's order registers in my head. I thought that maybe because I'm sick he would let me stay beside him, and he usually lets me stay here if I sit down first. This should be my spot, but Craig doesn't want me here.

He wants her instead.

I'm hesitant to move, but after a few moments of uncomfortable silence I sigh and begin to pack up my things, including a little packed lunch that I've yet to touch. I begrudgingly get up and stand off to the side of the table so that Bebe can steal my spot, which she does after thanking me very politely for giving up my seat.

There aren't any more chairs left, but Token gladly offers his so that I can have a place to sit before going off to find another for himself. Token's seat just happens to be between Clyde and my spot that isn't my spot anymore, leaving me trapped beside Bebe. I lay my head down on my messenger bag, using the hard thing as a pillow after adjusting the textbooks inside. I feel rejected and sad. I don't know if I can stop my tear ducts from overflowing, so I hide my face in my arms and pretend like I'm somewhere else.

I can feel someone drape their arm over my shoulders and lay their head down against one of my arms. I know it's Clyde, and I melt immediately when I feel him rub my back. I'm barely hanging onto consciousness as my eyelids grow heavy, and my heart doesn't ache as bad now that it knows someone's trying to make me feel better.

I've already fallen asleep in class twice today. Once during second period on my desk, and another time during art on Clyde's lap.

I'm still so tired.

I want my spot back.

"Hey, Tweek, are you feeling alright?" I hear a very feminine voice ask me from the seat that should be mine but isn't.

She didn't ask that during breakfast when she gave me my morning hug, but I think that's because she was so worried about getting her homework done before first period that she wasn't paying attention.

I groan out in response, and cool air wafts over my back when Clyde pulls away to sit up in his chair. I peek out from over my acne ridden arm to see her pretty face looking down at me in worry. A red headband is pulling her curly hair away from her forehead and a matching jacket that's too big for her is wrapped around her chest. I can't help but wonder why she sits here. Sure, this is where her boyfriend sits, but she's a pretty cheerleader who looks like a Barbie and we're nothing but a bunch of freaks. I think Token and Kyle are the only two at our table who even remotely fit in around here. Well, besides Kenny, but I think he tends to annoy people more than anything.

"Uh, J-Jesus Christ! Yeah, I'm just sick and it makes me look horrible."

"Hmm," she lets out. One perfectly manicured finger presses against her chin in contemplation. "I think I might be able to help, if you want."

"GAH! Really?" I sputter in disbelief. All my friends asked if I'm not feeling well today, but she is the only one who took the time to actually offer me any help.

I don't know why somebody who's so above me would waste her time trying to make me feel better. I'm nothing compared to her. I'm just the midget weirdo who's addicted to coffee, shakes uncontrollably, and rocks back and forth in the special education room with all the other mentally challenged kids. She's a popular cheerleader with well-to-do parents and the body of a supermodel. She hangs out with football players, takes advanced classes, and absolutely everyone knows her name.

Why does she waste kindness on me?

"Well sure! A little foundation can do wonders, you know," she explains happily as she digs through her pretty pink purse.

She pulls a little tan bottle out of her bag, and Craig and Kenny stop playing so that they can indulge their curiosities with what Bebe and I are doing. I tremble and twitch when I realize everyone is watching us, even Butters and Kyle are glancing our way. Clyde leans over his lunch so that he can watch too, as Token distracts himself with a sandwich and some homework.

It's the heels incident all over again!

"I'm a guy, I d-don't wear makeup," I remind her with my nose scrunched up in displeasure. I wish I could just sit still for two fucking seconds. I'm embarrassing myself because I can't stop trembling.

She lets out a happy giggle as if my massive issue with convulsing doesn't bother her in the slightest. "It's just foundation. It'll make your skin tone even and make the purple under your eyes go away."

I stiffen immediately when she squirts some of the solution on her thumb and leans into me. Her face is too close for comfort, but her fingers are smooth and soft as she spreads the makeup under my eyes. Her fingertips are nothing like her boyfriend's, which are hard and calloused from years of pushing on guitar strings. I'm quivering because such close contact makes me feel ridged and afraid, but Bebe has such a calming air about her that I don't throw a fit about it.

Before I know it she's already got out a sparkly red brush, and she's using it to comb out my wild mane. It's weird being this close with her, watching as Craig keeps an attentive eye on us. She runs her long and slender fingers through my hair as she smooths it out, occasionally swooping the brush down over my unmanageable bangs to keep them in place. The feeling makes me shiver.

"Mind if I use hairspray?" She asks, giving me the goofiest look I have ever seen as if a derp face will somehow persuade me.

I can't hold in a little bout of laughter before I nod my head in agreement.

Goodbye manhood. Hello Bebe's beauty bag.

"Yay!" she gasps with delight before digging in her big purse.

With her sparkly brush and a few sprays from a can, she somehow manages to tame my unruly hair. When she hands me her mirror I'm amazed.

The person staring back at me is barely recognizable as Tweek. I mean, he looks the same as me. He's got the same huge green eyes, little nose, and lopsided mouth, but with the makeup on my face my dark bags are virtually gone, and with the spray my hair actually looks presentable for the first time in my life.

"You look so good!" Bebe compliments excitedly. Everyone is either nodding or shaking their heads as Craig watches me from over his girlfriend's shoulder. His eyes are scanning my face curiously as if he isn't quite sure what to think, but when I give him a nervous little smile he grins almost mischievously back. It's the same weird look that he gave me when Kenny was trying to make me get in Bebe's heels, and the sight makes me shutter down to my bones.

"You like it?" Bebe asks.

I nod much more shyly than I intended to.

"You can keep the foundation if you want it," Bebe offers, holding out the little bottle for me. I'm genuinely dumbfounded by her kindness and generosity as I shake my head. Suddenly I don't feel mad or frustrated with her anymore.

I just feel guilty.

"I didn't know your ears were pierced," I almost whisper timidly to distract her from the offer as I tug on the hem of my beige shirt.

My voice is trembling and small as I speak, it's usually that way when I'm talking to someone I'm not particularly close with. Little white bars are sticking through fresh holes in her perfectly shaped earlobes, and for a moment she feels one of them as if she's making sure it's still there.

Her lightly glossed lips fold into a smile and her eyes light up fondly as she puts away her brush. "Oh! Craig just did them for me last night. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would." Craig beams with pride as he leans forward to look at his work. She falls back against him with a cute little grin on her face.

So that's where he disappeared to yesterday.

Bebe, I really wish I could be your friend because you're one of the only people in this god forsaken place who's actually nice to me, but I'm not your friend. Before Craig came to see you he was kissing me. Friends aren't supposed to kiss each other's boyfriends, and I'm really sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I wish could really tell her that, but I'm the kind of monster that has two faces.

It's horrible.

I'm horrible.

He abandons his guitar to wrap his arm loosely around her shoulder, and I can't help but think how good they look together. He's so strong and masculine while she's so dainty and beautiful. Her lovely curves and sweet face just look like they belong where they are now, wrapped comfortably against Craig's muscular side as his sharp features contrast with her soft ones. They're absolutely flawless, a beautiful mesh of ferociousness and grace.

My leg begins to bounce uncontrollably.

"Craig, will you go to the bathroom with me?" I choke out. It's a simple question, but that doesn't make it any less awkward to ask, especially since everyone's staring at me with their brows raised.

Maybe it wouldn't seem so odd if I was a girl. Girls are the ones who congregate in the bathroom, I imagine to put on makeup or gossip like they do in the movies. Guys aren't supposed to do that sort of thing.

I really do have to piss, though, and I'm too tired and wobbly to go alone. I'm afraid I'll finally crash with my fly down and my junk hanging out, leaning against the urinal or sprawled out on the floor. Plus, I just really need to pull Craig aside. I'm not sure what I'll say or do once I get him alone, but we haven't had a chance to talk about what's going on yet. Suffering through this without knowing what he really wants from me is tearing me apart.

Craig gives me a weird look over his girlfriend's shoulder at first, at least until we stare at one another for a few seconds. Our Craig-Tweek telepathy automatically sets in, and when his face changes I know he understands. He doesn't really say anything back, just pops open his guitar case before tucking his most prized possession delicately inside.

"If this is moved so much as an inch when I come back, so help me God I will break all of your fingers off," Craig warns harshly to everyone around the table. Butters and Kyle shutter in nervousness, Bebe sighs disapprovingly, Token and Clyde disregard the threat because it doesn't pertain to them, and Kenny pretends to poke it in rebellion.

Craig smacks him upside the back of the head. Not hard, just as a way to tell Kenny to knock it the fuck off.

I shuffle to the bathroom with my bag in hand. I can hear Craig's heavy footed steps behind me. He's walking incredibly close, just as he does every day when we walk down the halls. I always thought he walked so close just because he doesn't like when hurried students bump me into lockers, but I second guess myself when I feel the cloth of his jacket rub against my exposed arm.

We end up walking past the cafeteria bathroom, down the halls with white tiled floors, past the Home Economics class, and into the senior's bathroom.

I don't know why they call it that. Nobody has to be a senior to use it.

Nonetheless, I know no one else will be there while everyone is in the cafeteria or in class. It's pretty small with only three stalls and two sinks, but it's my favorite bathroom because of how few people use it. It's a lot cleaner than the one in the cafeteria. The walls are a spotless white, and only a few crude insults are scribbled on the insides of the stall doors rather than the mass amounts of graffiti scrawled on the other bathroom's walls. Plus, there's a window nestled high up under the ceiling, letting in streams of real light so that the school can save money on their electric bill. I only like windows in the day time because they let real light from the sun in.

I shove my heavy bag into a corner, and Craig leans up against the white brick wall as I position myself in front of a urinal. It's awkward peeing in front of people. I usually opt for a stall and just piss in the toilet like I do at home, but Craig is the only one in here so I don't really mind.

My fly comes down and I let out a sigh of relief when I feel my bladder empty.

"What the fuck, man. Stop staring," I demand, noticing Craig purposefully sneaking a peek from high over my shoulder.

"Why?" He asks, as if he seriously doesn't understand that staring at my cock as I take a leak isn't a normal thing. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

I feel my face flush a red hot color.

He has seen it before. That's just because we change in the same room when he spends the night with me, and sometimes we share the bathroom in ways that teenage boys shouldn't. When one of us strips nude and climbs into fresh tub water the other tends to sit on the toilet only a few feet away. I know that's really weird because Token and Clyde said so.

"Gah! This is different! I'm taking a piss man! You don't just stare at other dude's dicks while they're doing their business," I snap, but it's just because I'm tired, sad, sick, and really hungry.

"Well then." He looks away, seemingly otherwise unfazed.

He digs around in his pockets like he does when he's looking for his cigarettes. He knows better than to smoke on school grounds. Well, he actually used to smoke at school a lot, but he forced himself to stop after he got caught and suspended over it.

"Erh, you don't have those cancer sticks here again do you?" I ask as I tuck myself back in my jeans.

"No. Digging for them is habit." He explains. I knew that already, but digging in his pockets is something he only does when he gets anxious. Craig rarely ever gets that way, but he knows that I've got something on my mind. It's making him antsy.

I turn to one of the sinks to scrub my hands clean, but I don't realize how bad they're shaking until I grip the faucet. Fuck, I'm all out of whack today. I look up to see a mirror hanging before me. Craig's massive form is towering above me in said mirror. He's standing right behind me, motionless like a granite statue as I marvel at how much bigger he is than I am. He's so tall that the top of his blue hat gets cut off in his reflection, and he completely overshadows my little frame. I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't want to talk. He rarely has real conversations, and when he does he isn't any good at it. We both know that, and we usually get by just fine with me doing all the talking and him just listening. Today, though, I need him to talk back.

"I'm gonna talk first," I start off shakily, swallowing the pressure in my throat as I explain to the massive man beside me how a conversation works. "And then when I'm done you're going to talk, okay?"

I watch his face in the mirror as he nods solemnly. He actually sort of looks restless and timid, as if he's afraid of what I have to say. He's the only person I consider a best friend, so we need to handle this situation as delicately as possible.

"Eh, Jesus! ... When I told you my secret yesterday I didn't plan to leave with a new one," I start of. I'm rubbing my palms together, feeling the soap suds between my fingers as I stutter and shake. I'm whispering now, so quiet that I'm sure he can barely hear me. "And... nrg, I'm just really confused because I know you don't like guys."

I've never seen him so nervous before in my life, not even when he stood by Bebe's locker and asked her out for the first time. He can't look me in the eyes, and his Adam's apple keeps bobbing like he's swallowing spit in nervousness. I can understand that, there's a lot more at stake when someone plans to cheat on their girlfriend with another guy than there is with just asking a girl out.

"I'm straight," he grumbles while digging deep into his pockets. His voice trickles off into a low murmur as he continues. "But I like you..."

I honestly never expected to hear those words fall out of his beautifully pierced mouth. It takes a whole lot for Craig to confess he even has feelings, let alone for other people.

"Gah! Oh god... Um..." I start to stutter, and my whole body engages in one huge convulsion as all of this really begins to set in. "I like you too- I just... Bebe."

I can see his wavering and conflicted expression still looking down at me in the mirror, and I know he can see me staring up at him timidly. For some reason it's so much easier facing this mess without really having to look at him.

"We already went over this," he grumbles although he's trying to remain tight-lipped. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"B-but what if she finds out?"

"She won't find out if you don't tell anybody." He's getting increasingly restless. I can tell by the tense look on his reflection's face. I don't want him to be uncomfortable or afraid of consequences, because the more uneasy he is about perusing me the less likely it is that he'll want to do things like kiss me again.

And I definitely want him to kiss me again.

"I'm asking too much of you," he sighs out, his face finally turning away from the reflective surface before us. "If you can't even handle a kiss maybe we should forget about this."

"W-what? No! I can handle it." I'm feeling myself panic deep inside. I'm so close to having him. So fucking close, I can't let that slip through my fingers.

Not now, not ever.

"Tweek, look how bad you're shaking..." He warns quietly. "It's not because you're sick."

I swing around to face him, but nearly face-plant into his ribs as I do so. Fuck, why does he have to be so tall?

"Gah! Craig, I promise. No one will ever know." I'm trying not to sound like a desperate freak, but it's hard not to sound like one when I really am. "Not Clyde, or Token, or Bebe, or anybody, I swear."

His hard eyes soften again, just like they always do when he looks down at me. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he exhales, and he runs his fingers up under this hat and through his hair as if he can't make up his mind.

If he can't decide I'll decide for him.

"I know everyone thinks I have a problem with pressure and that I can't keep secrets, and I guess that's sort of true sometimes, but I really can handle this, I promise. No one will ever have to know." I'm rambling, but I don't care.

Craig nods stiffly. He's finally been persuaded as he brings his knuckles to my cheek again, where he hesitantly strokes my face. My bowlegs immediately become jelly when I feel his hesitant show of affection.

He inhales sharply before asking, "Can I come over Friday night?"

...

He kicks some brown and orange leaves off the bottoms of his boots before slipping them off and setting his guitar beside my door. The big oak slab is still cracked open behind him, letting the light from my dining room seep out and penetrate the darkness on my porch. I can't stop smiling, and I'm so happy and excited that I'm shaking in my froggy pajamas.

"Were you waiting for me?" he asks as he pushes the door closed. He sounds somewhat surprised to have found me standing in the middle of the room staring at the back door. I've been waiting for him since Token dropped me off from school this afternoon, and I'm so happy he's finally here with me.

"Yeah," I say with a tremble and a squeak before scurrying over to him and throwing my arms around his middle. I can feel the chilly night air he just walked in from on my cheek as I press my face into his ribs, and I swear I can smell autumn leaves lingering on the front of his jacket.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologizes quietly. The cold from his big hands seeps through my clothes as he runs them along my shoulder blades.

When he told me he wanted to come over this Friday he said he'd be here around eight because he had some things that he had to do beforehand, but it's nine now. I would ask why he managed to get here an hour later than he promised, but I already know he came from Bebe's house.

I can tell he just saw her because through the disguise of autumn's lovely scents I catch a whiff of her shampoo that smells like morning time. It used to bother me really bad when her stench polluted Craig's smell, but for some reason I don't really care tonight. I think it's because I'm feeling some euphoric sense of accomplishment now that he's here with me instead of there with her. He's not just here to hang out like all the weekends before, either. He's here because he feels for me like he does for his girlfriend, and that makes up for the fact that he just came from her house.

I rub up against him so next time Bebe goes to greet him at her door she'll smell my coffee beans like I smell her shampoo.

"I have the coffee machine going. Um, if you want some," I offer as I look up at him, my arms still snug around his belly. I don't know why I'm so excited and nervous. It's just Craig, after all. He's been here thousands of times before, just never with such scandalous intentions.

"Sure." Craig doesn't really like coffee, but he never says no when I offer it to him.

He follows me into the kitchen, where a freshly brewed pot is waiting for us. He stands in the doorway just looking around as if he had never been here before, despite the fact that he's stood in that same spot more times than I can count.

Our kitchen is actually really pretty. It looks like something straight out of a home improvement magazine with a big shiny fridge and matching appliances. The cabinets are all a dark wooden color, just like the sides of the counters, and the tile floor and the counter tops are all a smooth white marble. There's a little island in the middle of the kitchen where we eat sometimes when we're not in the dining room, and pretty white flowers are positioned all around the room in antique glass vases. Everything in my house stays absolutely spotless because my mom has an uncontrollable urge to clean everything until it sparkles.

She gets really irate and frustrated if anything is out of place, so I have to be careful to make sure everything is exactly as she left it when they get home from work. That's why I never let more than one friend spend the night at a time.

I have to climb up onto the marble countertops because I'm too small to reach the cabinets, and my stepping stool has mysteriously gone missing. This is something I can only do when my parents aren't around because they would flip their shit if they saw me squatting on the counter. When I finally hoist myself up I immediately begin to sift through my family's wide variety of coffee mugs. We have all sorts of them because of my parent's work and my obsession with the beverage, but I usually end up using the ones with my favorite Disney characters on them.

The Lion King ones with Timon and Pumbaa on them are my favorites.

Even though Craig doesn't really like coffee I have a special cup that's just for him. It's his favorite so I don't ever let anybody else use it, even though every now and then I drink out of it when I'm sad. It's a novelty mug that says fuck you across the front in big blue letters. It's vulgar, but I really expected nothing less from Craig.

"Where are your parents?" he asks as he watches me dig through my coffee mug collection. He's never really asked that so nervously before, but I can understand with the circumstances we've found ourselves in. We've been talking about what we're going to do tonight over the last couple days, although they were really small and cryptic conversations over text. He essentially said that he wants to take this nice and slow with another kiss, but a different kind of kiss than we had at the playground. I'm not sure what he meant by that, but the anticipation is killing me.

"They're asleep now," I assure him with a small smile. "We can't be too loud or we'll wake them up."

Somehow I have actually accomplished the impossible task of making my nearly seven foot monster blush, and as soon as I realize why I feel my body convulse and my face go red like a tomato.

"Oh! I... GAH! I didn't mean it like that, pervert!"

The both of us just stare at one another with crimson cheeks as our imaginations suddenly go wild. I hurriedly scramble to find our favorite mugs, and then hop down off the counter before my mind can wander too far into the gutter. I fill mine up to the brim, but I only fill Craig's halfway because I know he won't drink all of it.

I blow on the piping hot liquid as I lead him through the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom. We move quietly through the dark hall and tiptoe past my parent's room so that we won't wake them, and then slip past my vibrantly decorated bedroom door undetected. I love my bedroom. It's really small with nothing but a bed, a dresser, and a little T.V, but my bed is big and covered with fluffy comforters with little green frogs on them. I really like frogs, so I have stuffed animals of them hanging from my ceiling fan by their long, Velcro legs.

Purple Chinese lanterns hang on the ceiling above my headboard to calm my fears of the dark, locks are on about everything that can open, and a bulletin board with pictures of my friends and other paper keepsakes tacked onto it sits atop the white dresser I've had since I was little.

Everything in my room besides my bed is small, including the room itself, so everything a bit cramped. Still, this is the only place in the world that belongs to me, and it's the only place I ever feel completely comfortable.

I believe that looking into someone's bedroom is like looking into their soul, so I guess my soul is really colorful and cozy even though there are a lot of locks on it.

Craig sets his coffee in the little cubby in my headboard before climbing into my bed. I slurp down nearly half of my drink before setting it down beside Craig's. He looks so comfortable under my bed sheets as he pulls open the covers, inviting me to crawl into bed and cuddle up to him. I don't hesitate to slip underneath them. I'm not really sure what's going to happen or what I should even expect, but all of my thought processes come to a slow when I feel his arms wrap me up. Our body heat gets trapped inside of our thick fabric cocoon as one of his big hands finds my fingers under the cloth of my froggy blankets. We lay here for a long time just feeling each other. I like Craig's hands even though they're rough to the touch and a bit cold from his walk to my house in the chilly autumn air. They're really big and warn, and when I press my palms against his I can't help but notice the massive size difference.

Despite my distaste for my teeny size, I don't really mind feeling small when Craig is with me. I curl my little fingers around his hands and puff on each digit to warm them up. His eyes grow heavy and half lidded in the dim purple light of my lanterns as he watches me.

So far we aren't doing anything that we don't usually do. It's weird when I think about it, because we've always held hands and cuddled with each other in bed. It's different tonight, though. Everything's different because I know I don't have to pretend anymore.

"Craig?" I ask, my tiny hands still cupped around his giant fingers. "Do you think... It'd be okay if I kissed you again?"

We sit in silence. He knows that he shouldn't be here, wrapped up with me so intimately like this, and I can tell he's second guessing himself as his eyes turn away from me in a small show of uneasy shame. I feel my unwavering smile slowly die down as my chest fills up with a painful pressure.

Please, don't do this to me.

"You'd look good with a piercing, you know?"

He answers my nervous question with another question, and I'm embarrassed to realize he's changed his mind.

"I... don't like needles," I almost whisper in an obviously heartbroken murmur.

"That's too bad," he mumbles, his gaze suddenly getting heavier as he scoots his body underneath the covers until his chest is pressed up against mine. My eyes widen with confusion when he grazes my face with his knuckles.

"I'd love to give you one."

I part my lips to reply, but I'm left red and speechless as I run my fingers along his jaw, feeling the coarse stubble on his chin.

"Maybe your eyebrow," he breathes out, his voice soft and quiet as he moves forward to press his lips gently against the edge of my brow. I tremble in surprise, and accidentally let out an embarrassing little squeak.

"No? Maybe your earlobes." He moves his mouth to my ear, where he gives me a playful little nip. I can feel the delicious warmth of his wet lips as his teeth gnaw gently at the skin. I gasp quietly as I feel all of my heat shoot to my groin.

"Septum?" He questions in a low and gravelly voice, running the calloused pad of this index finger down the bridge of my nose until it lingers on the little piece of cartilage between my nostrils. I feel the metal of one of his lip rings press softly against the tip of my nose as he plants a small peck there.

"Your lip?" I let out a whimper when his finger moves from my septum to my mouth, where it trails along the soft skin of my lower lip. My entire body trembles as he replaces his finger with a warm, wet, forked tongue.

"Oh, still no?" he asks, his raspy voice seemingly disappointed as he exhales warm puffs of breath on my face. He smells like spearmint gum, and I absolutely fucking love it. He gently coaxes my jaw to go slack by rubbing his lovely bottom lip against mine.

"How about your tongue?" he murmurs. I immediately whimper in desperation as I feel his tongue slip past my quivering lips. It's slick with saliva as the split muscle explores every inch of my mouth, and I can't contain an embarrassing groan as his big hands slide up and down my sides, accidentally pulling up my pajama shirt as he does so. I twist and writhe in his arms as I hungrily push back on his tongue with my own, and I refuse to allow our lips to part as he lifts himself up off the mattress to slide my petite frame underneath of his heavy body.

We spend the rest of the night entangled in each other, moaning and grinding as he teaches me how to use my tongue. As he sucks and nips at my bottom lip I moan out in ecstasy, and his blue hat gets exiled to the edge of my bed so that I can tangle my little fingers in his hair. I don't ever want this to end, but deep inside I know that there's no guarantee that I'll ever feel the warmth of his body so intimately again after this night is over.

Still, I take comfort in knowing he is finally mine, even if it really is just for tonight.