Forgetting is a really stupid concept. It's impossible to make yourself forget something. At least really hard. Especially when said thing is having sex with a guy, your best friend, when you're both straight. I'm really dwelling on that subject. I wish I could get punched in the head and contract amnesia. If you contract amnesia. Get it? Fuck it. I would like to forget even if I never will.
I am grateful, sitting at my usual lunch table, in my usual spot next to Cartman, across from Kyle and Butters because Kenny doesn't have this lunch. That little mistake could have been the funeral of my friendship with Kyle. Okay. Admittedly, it kind of stabbed it in the kidney. Every time I look at Kyle, I get this sort of stomach flop and I want to touch him, his face or fingers or neck. Other places too but no, I don't. What really sucks is that Kyle has the habit of chewing on pens, which is both disgusting and arousing.
Right. Forgetting. Not thinking about. Good in theory, horrible in practice.
Kyle and Eric are involved in some sort of argument about Jews or blacks or marine biologists - whatever Eric is targeting this week. I steal a fry off Kyle's tray and look at Butters. He's reading. Not school related reading either. Dork. If only he hadn't been such a good friend in elementary school, we would have gotten rid of him long ago. Alright. He's not so bad. He's good for laughs. He's pretty smart. He's bicurious. Which isn't good, really. Just there.
"Stan!" Oh. Wendy is gliding her way through the classroom, sometimes twisting sideways to avoid hitting pushed out chairs. I halfway stand up then sit down. I don't want to get pulled into a hug.
"Wendy!" I don't mean to mock her but I inflect my voice the same way as she does. If she notices, she doesn't say anything. She just bends over my shoulder. Kisses my cheek. More like the corner of my mouth. She stays bent down and curls her arms around my neck, smiling around at my friends. I look up now. Kyle looks like he want to cut her stomach open and pull her organs out and then skin her and make a stew out of her carcass. Okay. I don't know how that looks. He looks pissed. I can say that. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm kind of wanting Wendy to get the fuck off me.
"Stan, you know the Sadie Hawkins dance is coming up." Right. This Saturday. First Saturday of November. "Want to go together?" Not really. We broke up. You're dumb as fuck in public. Those are my only reasons. The only reasons I'll admit to myself.
"Hey, hey! Stan already had his chance. Why don't you ask a real man?" I'm not sure whether I should be amused or disgusted at Cartman's outburst. Wendy snorts.
"Get real, fat ass. I'm asking Stan," she says. Only it's more like Staaaaaaaaaaaaan and her arms tighten around my neck and I can feel her eyelashes on my cheek. It's not like it doesn't feel good for her to touch me. It does. Doesn't mean I want her to. Doesn't mean I want her. But I don't know how to say no. If she'd asked me Friday, I would have accepted without question. For the hell of it. On the off chance I'd get drunk and lucky, with some other girl. I'm done with Wendy's vag. So I know why I don't want to say yes and I don't like it.
"Sure, Wendy. I'll pick you up at 8," I say and do not look anywhere near Kyle. She squeals and squeezes even tighter around me. Her boobs are uncomfortable lumps against my shoulder blade. I can remember easily when she used to hug me from behind and I thought it was the hottest fucking thing in the world. Too bad life changes. And shit.
I expect her to go away but instead she slides into the seat next to me. I'm pretty sure she's just being friendly but I don't like it. I'm not liking a lot of things these days. I should lighten up. To amuse myself, I smash a fist into my empty drink cartoon. Which actually isn't empty and it explodes, spraying everyone at our table with chocolate milk. I drag my hand across my eyes as Cartman lurches to his feet and throws out every dirty word he knows. Would be an impressive amount if he hadn't taught me all those words before. I yawn, theatrically, to drown out his curses. Kyle laughs a little, not making a move to wipe away any of the milk. It drips steadily from his chin, sliding out of his curls and onto his face. I'm not watching that. Wendy isn't as bugged out as I would have expected her to be. I judge her too harshly. Maybe. I'm feeling bad about that. Then her hand slides down to my knee.
"Hey Wendy, want to go somewhere?" I ask. Thinking of the best way to tell her that I'm not interested in her. Not thinking of what that question could suggest, not until I see her glossed lips curving into a smile and Kyle scowling down at his styrofoam tray. Fuck that noise. We agreed it didn't mean shit. I could go bone Wendy in the remaining ten minutes of lunch. If I wanted.
Why was I suddenly so angry? He wasn't jumping across the table to stop me from leaving. He hadn't said or done anything. Don't think about it. Especially not when Wendy is pulling me into the hallway, leaning against the wall, running her thumb against the back of my hand.
"Wendy..."
"Stan, I'm really glad we're reconnecting. I needed some time off to reevaluate my life and my goals, you know. All that senior year talk scared me, then." What? Why was she scared about senior year? She'd already been accepted with a 75% scholarship to some private place in Nebraska. And if that didn't work, she had great grades. She was getting out of this shitty town, while me and my friends stayed losers in the community college. "But I know now, that my future has a place for you." Well isn't that fucking nice. Glad I can be here whenever your future has a place for me.
"I'm sorry," I say. Untangle my hand. Plan the best way to say what has to be said. I really don't want to hurt her. As irritated as I am right now. "You're a good friend but I think our time as boyfriend and girlfriend is over." Has been over for, um, six months. When you texted me and told me you were done with dating a toddler. When you got me fired so we wouldn't have to see each other at work. When you threw out all your Breast Cancer Run and Humane Society and Other Nice Shit shirts and filled your closet with cleavage tops. No, I'm not bitter.
"Are you breaking up with me?" She's shocked. Offended. Angry. Nothing she has a right to be.
"Uh, Wends, we've been broken up," I say.
"Don't Wends me! There's someone else, isn't there?" Uhhhh no. Sarcastic.
"Uh. No?" Uncertain. Shit! Now she's striding back to the lunchroom and throwing open the door. Now she's looking around the room, eyes narrowed, trying to locate the sluttish cretin. I almost want to laugh. By almost I mean not at all.
The bell rings and I take that as my cue to get the fuck away. I don't need to wait for her to fling names at me. Especially when there's no one else. No one at all. There has to be a first person for there to be an "else." But damn if Wendy isn't going to crucify me the moment she sees me again.
A/N: Okay, I swear I won't be putting notes in every single chapter. But I just wanted to make it clear this isn't really a plot-oriented story. The 100_situations I mentioned before is a list of 100 words where the author is supposed to take one couple and write 100 drabbles/oneshots/whatever using those words. Mine is a BIT more connected than that, but there's really nothing other than some Style.
Also my Cartman is a fail. Sorry about that!
