heyo, a bit of a warning for description in this chapter. it's not HORRIFYINGLY descriptive, but a little bit, enough for me to feel the need to put a little warning.

you have been warned!

Stan's eyes burned the whole next day. Whether it was from tears, or from the sunlight bouncing off the snow, or both, he wasn't sure. It wouldn't surprise him a bit if he was becoming allergic to the sunlight.

He fiddled with his pencil anxiously during class. His heart thumped painfully in his chest every time Kyle would look over at him. The first time, he could see the shock on Kyle's face. The big thick, black cross earrings were definitely noticeable. And he hardly even needed eyeliner, due to the lack of sleep and the black bags under his eyes. And his new paleness due to the large loss of blood recently. He looked nothing like himself.

Several emotions flashed in Kyle's green eyes. Horror, disgust. Stan sighed as he tried to avoid looking at his friend. This wasn't the kind of attention he wanted from Kyle. Serves him right for wanting attention to begin with, though.

In fact, everyone in the class was peeking glances at Stan. Whispering to each other. Presumably bad things based off their body language. Stan felt himself crumbling even more. He really wanted to see Michael.

When the bell finally rang, Stan slowly stood from his chair and tiredly gathered up his things. He took his time so hopefully Kyle would be out of the room by the time he looked up. But of course when he finally tilted his chin, his dead blue eyes met Kyle's.

Fuck. He thought as he couldn't look away now. Kyle was simply in shock and Stan looked blankly back at him, his eyes threatening to water and it wasn't until his arms started to shake with exhaustion from blood loss and the weight of his books where he excused himself from the classroom, walking past the redhead with no words spoken.

He was kind of glad Kyle hadn't said anything.

Stan had been sitting alone during lunch the past couple of days. Today he finally decided to join the other goths at their location. He didn't even have a lunch, but he stopped caring. He went out to the back to be greeted by Michael and Henrietta.

"Hey Raven, grab a smoke and have a seat," Michael said, pulling an unlit cigar from his pocket and offering it to Stan.

Sighing, he took it and took a seat next to Michael against the brick wall, across from Henrietta. "Where's Pete and Firkle?"

"Ahh, they ain't here. Puking up their guts or something."

"Oh..."

"Well that's just another reason to starve yourself, isn't it?" Michael said in all seriousness.

"Disgusting," Henrietta rolled her eyes as she inhaled a bit of her pipe. "You could have just said they were sick."

"Whatever," the oldest said before blowing a puff in her direction. "So Raven. You try things out?"

Stan had just been dully staring at the cigarette as he looked up. "What?"

"What we talked about on the phone." Michael explained as he took Stan's hand and lit the cigarette for him. "You remember?"

"Oh.. that."

"Yeah. What did you think?"

"It hurt...," Stan said as he looked at the now lit cigar between his fingers, as if contemplating all his life choices in that one moment. Remembering the looks of disgust thrown his way all morning, he continued before inhaling the cigarette smoke. "But I would do it again."

Michael smiled at him. "Good boy."

At his locker, Stan was fumbling with his books uncoordinatedly. He felt weak from the blood loss and his arms were suffering from the aftermath. If he was going to do that again, he'd be more careful and not get carried away. Or at least find somewhere else to cut. Coughing the last of the smoke out of his lungs, he slammed his locker shut and was startled by the redhead who was standing behind him.

Stan backed against the metal loudly, and took a deep breath as he looked off to the side, feeling insanely uncomfortable.

"Hey Kyle...," he said in a low voice.

Kyle's eyes were angryー great, he saw that coming, his small hands fisted at his sides.

"Stan... what the hell are you doing?"

Good question, Stan thought. Kyle was starting to sound like his parents. Nothing good could come from that right now.

"What do you mean?" Stan deadpanned, his emotionless eyes staring Kyle down. "Just getting my books."

"Not that," Kyle snapped. "What are you doing with your fucking life?!"

Stan mentally flinched at the words, but he remained quiet and took the verbal beating.

"Have you looked in a damn mirror? You look horrible!" Kyle continued. "How can you do this to yourself? You really think this is helping anything?"

Stan's black bangs covered his eyes. "Do you think you're helping?"

"Excuse me?"

Sighing, Stan turned his head. "Nothing."

"I don't understand you, Stan. You have no fucking clue how good you have it compared to other kids. Just think aboutー" Kyle cut himself off when he noticed an odd smell in the air. An odd smell, but easily recognizable. His brows furrowed suspiciously as he glared daggers at his friend.

"Stan... have you... been smoking?" He asked quietly, the disapproval clear in his voice.

Stan said nothing as he only continued to look down at the floor tiredly. His lack of response confirmed his suspicion.

"Oh my God." Kyle said, shaking his head and taking a step back. "Un-believable. Don't you have any idea how sick this is...?" He asked. He wasn't yelling. But his tone was dripping in disgust. Stan wasn't sure which one was worse.

If Kyle thought this lowly of him now, he didn't even want to know how he'd react to the cutting if he found out.

Kyle's voice was slowly being tuned out by more voices in his head.

Disgusting. Pathetic. Horrible.

Yeah. That's all he was now.

As much as he was missing his razor blade. Kyle could never find out about the cutting. Never.

At some point class had started and Kyle and Stan had to go their separate ways for the day. Stan didn't say a word the whole rest of the conversation, much to Kyle's dismay. Part of the redhead's mind nagged him for being so harsh, but as far as he was concerned it was the only way to get the stupid idea out of Stan's damn head.

Little did he know he was only pushing Stan further into a pit of despair and was definitely not helping.

Walking home from school in the cold winter air hours later, he looked up at his home and saw Shelley in her bedroom window. Still terrified of facing the wrath of his abusive older sister, He sat by the edge of the house outside until he sees her leave. His family liked to disappear a lot, and lately Stan basked in their absence. Being alone was much more appealing nowadays, nobody could hurt you that way, after all.

Part of him hoped he'd get a call from Kyle. But he knew he wouldn't. He gave up on calling Kyle, too. He would probably just hang up instantly.

He couldn't entirely blame Kyle for what he said, it was all true. Stan knew he shouldn't be doing what he was doing but he wasn't strong enough to pull himself out of it, not on his own. But there was nobody to hear his screams. Nobody to take his hand and pull him out of the black pit that was slowly consuming his soul.

He wouldn't be surprised if Kyle ended up disowning him altogether. Kyle was popular, he was smart and had good looks. But Stan was becoming something nobody would want to be seen with. He was surprised Kyle even spoke to him at all today, even if it was harsh.

Hearing the back door open and close, Stan paced himself into the warm house. Stupidly enough he hadn't worn a jacket and he hadn't realized how cold he was until he got inside. Had he sat there any longer he might've froze to death without even realizing it. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten up...

But he did, because he had to use his razor again. He just had to. He didn't care if it hurt, or made him weak. He was becoming addicted to what seemed like an escape. He stumbled to the bathroom and rolled up his sleeves, pressing the razor to his upper arm again and pressing down.

And he did it again to his other arm. He could hear Michael's voice in his head.

"Don't be a bitch. Man up, you little pussy. Just deal with it the way we're supposed to."

When he eventually stopped, he took a deep breath and sat down on the floor in exhaustion. His blood was painting the floor as he ran down his pale, skinny arms. He reached for a cloth to clean it up, but instead paused and pulled out his phone. He snapped a picture of the horrifying scene, along with the new fresh cuts on his arm. He sent them to Michael.

Are you proud of me? He texted him.

A few minutes later, Michael wrote back.

Very proud Raven. Good boy.

The morbid praise made Stan smile only a bit as he proceeded to clean the bathroom and delete the images from his phone. He wrapped himself up in gauze and then headed for his bedroom, flopping down onto the bed. Peeking over at his nightstand, he stared sadly at the frame that contained a picture of him and Kyle at SeaWorld. He smiled at the memory but it slowly faded as he recalled their last conversation.

Quirking his lip, Stan turned his head. He should get a picture of him and Michael and put it there instead.

yeah this is fucked up and tbh its only gonna get worse before it gets better

I only advise you to keep reading if you're like me and like dark stories with happy endings

but thank you for the reviews, Southparkreader873, angeliesrrn, untitled1234 and Dukali I'm glad you guys are liking my story :D

tbc!