Chapter 3
Photographs

Kenny apparently didn't tell anyone. I'm not sure if I can trust him or not. Either I make it completely obvious, or he did tell my mom... and maybe other people. All that is clear is my own mother knows. I don't know whether to feel relieved or ashamed. Does my dad now? Ike? Well. I guess I should spare Kenny his life, since I'm not quite sure about the situation.

I can't help but stare. I don't want to look away. I hadn't seen Stan all weekend, and it was now Monday. He sits silently at the end of the table, squished between Wendy and Butters. He doesn't touch his food. I stare disgustingly at his and Wendy's intertwined hand. She doesn't where the necklace. That means something. Doesn't it? He is staring across the room, looking past Kenny who sat directly in front of him. Kenny sits between Cartman and I. I mix my food around. It's dead silent. Only the sound of Cartman's obnoxious eating is made. It sounds horrible. "Stop." I let out in a hiss.
"Was that directed to me, jew?"
"Yes, fat ass." He makes sure to torment me and makes his chewing louder. I cringe. "Stop it, dick face!" He feels he needs to flip me off. I glare. Kenny sighs, nibbling at his sandwich. Butters says his overly used 'Oh, Hamburgers!'. I remain silent now, looking back to my food.
Then that high pitched voice starts. "Stan?" He looks at Wendy. Why can't you look at me? "Can we do something tonight?"
"Sure, Wendy." he answers. It's dry.
She smiles though, thanking him and clinging to his arm. God, I wanted to slap her off of him.
I inhale. "Stan?" No response. "Stan... STAN." The ass wipe still refused to answer. "DAMMIT STAN. I fucking hate you, does that make you feel any better?!" I push the tray forward, hitting against Stan and Butters' own food, both of the trays sliding into their laps, creating a mess. They both stand up. Stan shoots a glare to me. "Does it?!" I hiss.
"Kyle." he breaths angrily. He's gnawing at his bottom lip. "If I say yes, will that get you to leave me alone?"
I struggle against my eyes. Dont cry, Broflowski. "If I say no, will you let me at least try to get you to understand?" I retort. He's staring at me dangerously. Please just tell me yes. Yes, I'll try to understand.
"Understand what?" Cartman barks.
Stan stares at me. He lets out a long exhale. My mind is running wild. "Kyle." he finally says. "I can't do this. I can't."
My heart throbs. "Why not?"
He doesn't say anything. He looks to Cartman, making it clear he doesn't want to talk about it in public. I can't help but agree. "Some other time, Kyle." he hisses at me.
I glare. "You don't mean that."
He looks to Wendy, gently grabbing her arm. "Let's go."
Wendy stares at him. "What's going on, Stan?" she questions.
"Nothing." the boy responds. "Don't worry about it, Wendy."
I watch silently as they both leave, Wendy whispering to him. I inhale deeply, looking to Butters. "Sorry."
He's trying to wipe the food off his shirt. It's probably already stained. "Aw, it's all right Kyle. I know ya didn't mean to."
Cartman scoffs, looking at me. "So what was that all about?"
"Nothing." I say. "It's none of your business anyway, Cartman."
There's no response, and the bell breaks our silence. Groans are made across the cafeteria, everyone leaving to their class. I sit still, looking up as Cartman and Butters leave. Kenny sits by me.
"Are you ok, dude?" he mumbles, mouth covered by his parka.
I look at his blue eyes, frowning. "Yeah." I lie.

I walk home by myself. Usually, Stan is the one to accompany me, usually hanging out at my house after school, or vise versa. But this time I'm alone. At least the weather cleared up some. The snow stopped falling, just leaving everything wet and cold.
I pay no attention to where I'm going, I'm just walking mindlessly. I feel so empty, so betrayed. I should probably stop silently complaining, but I can't help it. My heart is in pieces. I'd rather not have one all in all. At least I'd know someone didn't break it for me. The thought of him is glued to my mind. I can't get rid of it. The looks he gave me. The depressed and yet angry look. He managed to look terrified. What, was he scared of me? He acted like I only saw him as a piece of ass. Like I just wanted sex. But that's not what I want. I don't need or want any of that as much as I flat out want him to be i mine /i . If that makes any sense at all. But it's completely clear to me. If only I can get him to understand me. I only doubt he'll even want to talk to me again. I can tell he just wants me to leave him alone. He wouldn't even look at me. He just told me that we could never be. He didn't love me more than a friend. He would refuse to look into my eyes.
Wait.. Maybe he refused to look into my eyes and tell me he didn't love me because he was lying? But Stan never lies to me. Either I'm right, dragging myself into a hopeless, love sick world that I only wish was true; or he lied to me for the first time in our lives. But that's so unlike him. I can't see him lying to me. Especially about something that is so important! Deep down, maybe he knows he loves me. He knows we wants to be mine, and I his. But he thinks it can't be. He thinks too much about his stupid reputation, what people will think about him dating the same gender. God, sometimes I hate Stan! For making me feel so hopeless, so incomplete, so... nothing.
I feel so lifeless. I miss him so badly. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't want to. I need a chance to convince him, to help him see what I think, but he doesn't want to give me that time. He'd rather ignore me and shun me as a friend. Is that how he'd rather live his life? Without me? I know that sounds dramatic, but it's true, isn't it? How come something so stupid have to break our friendship? We've been friends for what.. 17 years? Was Stan really going to let this ruin all that? All those years? How could he?
I allow a sigh out of my mouth, pulling my hands from pockets and running a hand through my auburn hair. I decide I need to focus on things other than Stan and his retarded thoughts. I realize I wasn't even going to my house. I had passed it a while ago. I suppose I was just so deep in thought. My eyes glance up. Fuck. I'm such an idiot. I had brought myself to his house. Great. I quickly turn on my heal. I gasp, beginning to lose balance on the iced sidewalk. I allow a yelp come from inside of me before collapsing on the ground after I struggle to stop from sliding. I land hardly on the ground, hearing something crack loudly, sending a surge of pain through my body as I begin to slip into unconsciousness.
My eyes slowly open. I jerk slightly, sitting up quickly. I'm covered by a blue blanket. It takes me a short time to realize where I am; Stan's bedroom. I inhale, breathing in the familiar scent of him. I breath it out slowly. With a long stretch, I place a hand against my back, feeling the bony structure. A large bulge is near the top of my back, throbbing once it is touched. I hiss in pain, cursing out the knot. I pick myself up though, standing weakly. I really took a hard fall, didn't I? Whatever, I've been through worse. Like when that stupid home schooled kid beat the shit out of me because I taught Rebecca about kissing. But that doesn't matter.
I'm in Stan's room.
I stare around the room. It's just like it always had been. Pictures are hung on the wall, most of them either with him and his family, or me. There are hardly of him with Wendy or Kenny. No Cartman is to be seen, obviously. His room is a bit of a mess, clothes randomly thrown in places, garments piled up in his hamper. I look next to the night stand, staring at the carefully placed guitar. It's a normal one, nothing quite special about it. It's pretty old though, a few scratches on it. The pick is placed carefully between two chords. I look at the table, a folded paper on it. A glanc to the door, and I grab it, unfolding it gently and then beginning to read. Everything is scribbled out. I narrow my eyes, as if doing that will remove them and see the text that was written there before. I sigh, folding it and placing it back on the table. I stare silently at the instrument. I remember when Stan first got the guitar. It was a year after our stupid Guitar Hero phase. He figured it was easy like the fake guitar, and ended up getting one for his Birthday that year. He was wrong. Months later he came to me, telling me he gave up. I remember when he shoved it in the case and hid it in his closet. "I told you you wouldn't like it, dude." I had told him.
"I guess I should listen to you more often." he answered. Yes Stan, you should listen to me more often, you asshole.
I tear my eyes away from the guitar, slapping my hands over my eyes as I sit back down on the bed. Why. Why. Why. Why can't you just love me back?!
I jump at the sound of the door opening, looking up as someone entered the room. I wiped my eyes quickly, putting them onto my knees and staring. It's Stan. He looks the same as he did at school while he drifts in, arms folded. He takes a seat next to me, making sure to keep his distance at the foot of the mattress. I can't help but mutter angered words, looking down at the carpet. He is rubbing the back of his neck, then looks to me. "You ok?"
I shrug. "What do you mean by ok?"
"You know, you hurt yourself pretty bad."
"I didn't hurt myself." I hiss. "I had some help."
He frowns, soon realizing what I mean by that. Stan doesn't look away though. "Hear me out, Kyle-"
"Hear me out!" I instantly bark. "You're being such an asshole about this."
"Can you blame me?"
"Yes." I say bitterly. "I would think my best friend would understand, or at least try to."
Stan leans forward, trying to see my eyes as I stare at the floor angrily. His grimace is deep. "Be reasonable, Kyle." he begins. "I think I have a right to be.. a bit.. awkward about this. How would you feel if I suddenly confessed my love for you?"
I chuckle. "You know my answer."
"You know what I mean." he replies quickly.
I look at him. His eyes instantly lock with mine, and I feel angered for allowing this. "I guess I wouldn't know." I tell him. "I don't remember a time when I, well, wasn't feeling like this."
The boy sighs. "Why do you love me?"
He's broken my heart twice in only two days. Is that even possible when it was already torn out?
"I don't know," my voice turns into a whisper. "I've just known you for so long. There's nothing I don't know about you." I let a small laugh enter my throat. "Besides you taking guitar up again." He smiles. But both of our grins fade instantly. I look away now. "You don't realize how perfect you are, Stan."
"Perfect?" Stan questions, eyes narrowing. "Nobodies perfect, Kyle."
I snort. "Then you're the first to break that theory."
I look back to him, watching as he rubs at his thighs with his palms, staring forward. He shoots a glance. "I just don't get it."
"Oh please," I inhale. "I think I know that by now."
He makes an odd face, but it vanishes, gazing back at the floor. We remain silent. What is he thinking? I want to know so bad. I want to pry his mind open and read his thoughts. Why must he be so stubborn? With a sigh, Stan speaks two simple words; "I'm sorry."
"Apologizing won't pick up the pieces." He nods. He knows what he's done to me. Yet why don't I feel sincerity? Silence is deafening me as we just sit there. I finally look to him. "Stan. Why can't you at least try?"
Stan shuts his eyes, putting his fingers again the brim of his nose, holding his hand there like he had always done when in a situation like such. "Kyle, please."
"Stan..." I whine. I feel tears choking me. "Please, Stan.. Please. It's not as bad as you make it seem! You may be wrong. You may be surprised and want it just as bad as I do. You just have to trust me, you have to at least try."
"I trust you," he admits quickly. "What if you're wrong though? What if it's not something I want? You'll just go the rest of your life wanting something you can't have and moping to me. It'll ruin our friendship."
"Like it isn't now?" I snarl. "I remember you're the one that ran out like a little bitch. I remember begging you not to let it come between us. You simply said there is no us. Remember?"
He looks at me. "Kyle. I just can't." I don't reply. I feel tears roll down my face. He frowns, wiping one of the tears off. I glare at him, completely angry. He just has to do these things. Stan just has to show affection yet won't fess up to it. "Don't cry." Stan sighs. "I just can't-MMPH!" It's too late. I crushed our lips together. I'm not surprised when he shoves me away, standing up immediately. "LEAVE!" he shouts.
I stand too, face completely red. "Don't tell me you didn't think anything of that."
"Oh, trust me, I did!" he exclaims. "Now get out!" he walks to the door, swinging it open.
"Stan-"
"God dammit, Kyle! I don't want to see your fucking face right now!" Stan yells. I stare at him, tears pouring down my face.
I walk to the door, stopping and glaring up at him before leaving. "You might as well of left me dying outside." I whisper to him, then storm out and down the stairs in a rush. I swing the door open, slamming it behind me.
I walk furiously on the sidewalk, folding my arms and walking forward. I feel so dead. We could have been friends again, I could have dropped it. We could have set this beside us. But no. I just had to keep urging him on. I wipe at my eyes, trying to stop them from wetting my cheeks. But I can't. I can't control my despair.
I find myself walking no where. I'm walking through town, trying to collect myself before going home. I don't want to go home. There's just too much memories there. I don't want to think about him at all. I never want to see Stan Marsh again.


I don't go to school the next day. My mom insists I rest, but my back is perfectly fine.. I just don't recommend touching the knot. So all day, I'm stuck on the couch flipping through channels lazily. I'm home alone. Thank god. I want time to myself, instead of my mom being fucking annoying and in my face as always, and Ike there to bother me and poke at my injury like some sort of animal. All though I wish my mom didn't make me stay home today, I can't help but thank her enough.
I scratch at my head, flipping the television off once I find nothing. There has to be something to do...
I trudge upstairs, finding my way into my room and opening the closet. I stare up at a large box for a while, before finally reaching up and pulling it down. I kick the door shut with my heel, sitting down in the middle of the room and dumping all the shit on the carpet. I stare at everything for a long period of time. So many memories in one little box. There are plenty of pictures. Old toys, old hobbies, passed fads (I especially take a time to laugh at Chinpokomon). I look through the photographs. I don't understand why I put these in here. They weren't shameful pictures. I study each one, but one really catches my eye. We're eleven. It's a summer day, the sun beating in the picture. It's me, Stan and Kenny. We all have our board shorts on, Stan and I shooting Kenny carelessly with water guns, both laughing hysterically as we stay dry, Kenny completely drenched. He's laughing as well though, his bangs covering his eyes. I smile. Those were the good old days. I flip to the next picture; it's the same day. This time, Kenny and I stand together, our arms around each others necks and flipping the camera off, our mouths open wide to allow our tounges to stick out. Only the side of Stan is seen is this picture, an odd look on his face, as if having a serious conversation with someone to the side. I don't recall anyone else being there besides the three of us and Stan's dad, whom took the pictures. Bewildered, I put it to the side. I blink, staring at the next picture. This one means something to me. It was after the last picture, yet Stan seemed to have tripped and clung to my waist, both of us beginning to topple to the ground in a blur, apparently ready to land atop Kenny. I study it carefully... No. I can't be right. The only thing that pops in my mind is that he was jealous. Was he jealous that Kenny had been giving me attention? Maybe a little too much? No, it can't be.
I decide to keep the pictures though, setting them aside. I continue rummaging through more, none out of the ordinary. Class photos, double copies, friends, family. I toss the pictures back into the box, now looking at everything else. I pick up a hat. I can't help but smile at it, wiping at the foe-fur that covers the insides. I study the green fabric. It's so small now. Good times with that that. I set it gently on top of the pictures, looking back to everything else. There are a few CD's that Stan had made for me whenever I felt down. He's such a douche, I swear... I set them on my desk. Anyway; nothing else is quite of interest, so I put everything back inside and place the holder back inside the top of my closet. I take the pictures and set them on my bed, now on a search to find them homes.
My hunt is caught short as my phone begins to ring. I catch it, answering and putting it to my ear. "Hello?" I greet.
"Hey," Kenny's voice comes out smooth. "Wanna come meet us at the park?"
"The park?" I chuckle. "With who?"
"Me," he says. "Thomas, Craig, Butters and Stan."
I sigh, moving the phone to my other ear. "Does Stan know?"
There was a small pause. Someone was talking to Kenny, I could hear him place his hand over the phone. Then it's back to his mouth. "It was his idea in the first place."
Despite the many mixed emotions that Stan is sending me, I can't help but let a rush of joy burst through my skin. "Yeah, yeah!" I say eagerly. "I'll be right over." I hang up the phone. I remove my pajamas, pulling on my jeans, a simple white tee and then slipping my green jacket over it. I push my feet in my shoes, now running out the door after grabbing my hat.

I don't know what's suddenly come over Stan, but I can only hope he's changed his mind. I can only hope he's giving me a chance.

To be continued..


Sorry for taking so god damn long XD I actually managed to get all the chapters done and now working on chapter two for the sequal. Heehee, I got too preoccopied of posting it on DA, and just got too lost to post it here. But I'm posting them all up now, so no worries (:

Ahh, don't you just love teen angst in the.. er... night for me.