Chapter Track: Two-Headed Boy – Neutral Milk Hotel
I'm gay.
I'm gay.
Why were those words so difficult to say? Kyle wondered. Was it because of he and his friends always throwing around the word fag? Was it because of Cartman? What was he worried about? Kenny had come out to them, finally, that morning after the party. Not like they hadn't already known that Kenny was bisexual or whatever the word he used to describe himself was. Pansexual, Kyle remembered.
Kyle was fairly certain that his parents wouldn't mind if he was gay. They seemed pretty progressive in their views, but one never could tell when you dropped the bomb on something that huge. He knew his mother wanted grandchildren. But then, there was always Ike for that, wasn't there? Ike really couldn't be any straighter.
And Kyle could take Cartman. He knew that he was generally thought of as weak (despite his place on the varsity basketball team for their school). Easy. Probably because he cared more than his friends about right and wrong, and tended to have a guilty conscience. But Kyle was from Jersey, very technically. He could throw a good punch.
There was a knock on his bedroom door.
Kyle minused his Farmville on his computer monitor and answered, "Yeah?"
"Bubula, your father and I need to have a discussion with you," Sheila opened Kyle's door. She assessed her son and queried, "Homework?"
"Uh, yeah. Summer reading essay," Kyle lied (not that he hadn't done it already, because he had. He was simply supposed to be grounded), "Look, Mom, if this is about the party, I really am sorry, and I-"
"No, no, Kyle. I think you've learned your lesson. I convinced Officer Barbrady to crack down on the underage drinking in this town. He even arrested Kenny last week, Sharon said," Sheila babbled.
"What? Kenny got arrested?"
Sheila went on, ignoring her son's question, "Anyhow, Gerald! Your son is ready to talk with us!" she called over her shoulder and then asked, "You don't mind us interrupting your study time, do you, bubula?"
"Of course not, Mom," Kyle answered. He was a little irked about having his Farmville time being cut short, however.
As soon as his father reached Kyle's bedroom, he shut the door behind him. Gerald was holding something behind his back. Kyle eyed him and asked, "Dad, what are you holding?"
"We have to talk first, Kyle," Gerald said, "Now, I want you to know that your mother and I love you no matter what, and-" Did they already know? How had they found out? Kyle hadn't even told anybody! "-we want you to know that it's okay to have sexual feelings."
"What? Sick, Dad," Kyle grimaced.
"No, no, listen to your father," said Sheila, "you're almost eighteen, bubula. We know that you want to have sex, and maybe you already have-"
"Mom!" Kyle protested. This was what his parents wanted to discuss? Sex? Maybe he wasn't as well-versed in the matter as Kenny (okay, and maybe he lied about the virginity thing. Kyle thought perhaps he was a technical virgin. He had a feeling that getting a blow job from Pip behind the elementary school didn't count).
"Kyle, bubby, we have to talk about this. We don't want you getting any girls pregnant," Sheila explained.
"That's why we brought you these," Gerald put in. From behind his back, Kyle's father whipped out a jumbo box of Trojans.
Kyle put his face in his hands. He groaned, "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it." He knew they meant well. His parents just wanted him to be safe. They were smart people, mostly. Maybe his dad was a little stagnant and maybe his mom was a little spirited, but they weren't stupid. They'd been teenagers. Hormones ran high. Plus, Kyle thought that Sharon Marsh might have told his mother about catching Stan and Wendy in the act last year. Fucking awkward.
"We just want you to be careful, bubby," Sheila leaned down and kissed Kyle on the cheek, and his father messed with his hair. He gave them both a thin, but uncomfortable smile, before they left together—looking like they felt as though they had done their son well.
Kyle turned back to his computer and clicked Farmville into the screen again. Butters had left a sign.
So they didn't know he was gay. They didn't know that he would never get any girls pregnant, ever.
And shit. Kyle exited Facebook. He'd been so distracted by the sheer gawkiness of the conversation with his parents that he'd almost forgotten what his mother had said. Kenny had been arrested. He stood so quickly that the blood rushed from his head and he tripped forward toward his shoes.
"Goddamnit,"Kyle cursed under his breath. He laced up his green converse, and, with a quick glance outside, threw on his jacket.
For whatever reason, climate change or what have you, Colorado had been getting an inordinate amount of rain that summer. Kyle thought it was nice. He didn't like warmer weather very much. It was weird to have their town actually feel muggy. Usually, it was dry as bone. Kyle traipsed through the drizzle. He didn't mind getting damp. It wasn't that bad.
The walk to Kenny's took Kyle around fifteen minutes, a little more today. When Kyle went to cross the train tracks, a massive train hauling coal was passing by at a snail's pace. Kyle heaved an exasperated sigh. He hadn't seen Kenny since the party. Once the town had heard about the incident, half of South Park's youth had been grounded indefinitely, himself included. He imagined that Kenny had gotten a free pass—his parents didn't exactly care what he got up to.
As soon as the train cleared out of the way, Kyle jogged across the track. In the drizzle, Kenny's house looked dingier than it did usually. The paint on the door was peeling, and some stuck to his jacket when he knocked.
Kenny's little sister Karen answered the door. Kyle asked, slightly out of breath, "Is Kenny home?"
"I dunno," she said, shrugging her shoulders. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called behind her, into the mess of the McCormick house, "Kenny! Kenny! Kennnnnnny!" When there was no answer, Karen retreated into the house and went up the stairs.
Kyle awkwardly stood in the doorway, waiting for her. He shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet when Stuart and Carol began to stare at him over their beers. They'd always made him feel a little off.
Karen returned, and shrugged her shoulders again, "He's not here." Before Kyle could inquire as to where Kenny might be, Karen closed the door. He stood there for a moment, going over Kenny's usual hotspots.
Could you get jail time for being drunk and disorderly? Kyle wondered. He took his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text off, knowing that he probably wouldn't get answer. Kenny didn't use his phone much, since it was a pay by month. God, what if Kenny had fucking gotten thrown in jail? His parents wouldn't have noticed. Kyle didn't think you got time for public drinking, but he couldn't be sure, especially since Kenny had a few prior misdemeanors under his belt already. Kyle's own record was spotless, despite all the trouble he seemed to find himself in when he was with his friends.
On this thought, Kyle slowly retreated from the McCormick house. He stopped at the edge of the curb and sent a "You seen Kenny?" text to Stan, just in case.
Then Kyle heard it.
Whistling?
"What the fuck?" Kyle murmured to himself. Strange noises were never a good sign in South Park. He followed the sound between Kenny's house and his neighbors, toward the sparse woods that decorated the bases of the mountains. Against his better judgment, his feet moved of their own accord, toward the sound, and probably something really fucked up.
As Kyle got closer, the whistling became clearer. It was that "I Will Be (500 Miles)" song from the eighties. His mom loved that song.
"Hey, hello?" Kyle tried.
The whistling stopped.
A few seconds later, "Dude, is that you, Kyle?"
"Kenny?"
Kyle strode forward and pushed through a thicket of scratchy brush. Kenny was in the clearing, wearing his usually, slightly soiled orange hoodie. He'd arranged a stool under one of the firs with higher branches. As Kyle approached, he noticed Kenny had fastened two belts together and attached the contraption to the tree.
"What the fuck are you doing, Kenny?" demanded Kyle.
"Killing myself," Kenny said, nonchalant.
"Shit, no, please, Kenny. Whatever it is, we can fix it, dude. You don't have to kill yourself, man," Kyle prattled. He staggered forward and whacked the belts out of Kenny's grip.
Kenny rolled his eyes as the belts swung back and forth like a tire swing, caught them, and began to buckle the lower belt around his neck. He said, "I've told you already, dude. I can't die. No fuckin' worries. I'll wake up in about an hour in bed. And you'll forget."
"What are you fucking talking about, Kenny? This isn't fucking funny!" Kyle cried, "Why are you doing this?"
That gave Kenny pause. He answered, "I dunno, man. I was bored. This is much more interesting with you here. You wanna smoke?" Kenny extracted a pack of Marlboros out from the back pocket of his jeans and offered it to Kyle.
"You know I don't smoke," Kyle said, "Seriously, dude, please. Just take off the belts. We'll hang out. We can do whatever you want to. C'mon, Kenny."
"Your loss," Kenny said, evidently ignoring Kyle's pleas for Kenny not to end his life. Kenny pulled out a cigarette and lit with his favorite lighter- it was decorated with a topless woman with tattoos down her arms. He took a drag in and spoke as he exhaled through his nostrils, "Look, Kyle, chill the fuck out. I'll come back after I do this. I just haven't tried hanging in a while, you know?"
"You haven't what?" Kyle repeated stupidly.
"Now, how about a goodbye kiss?" Kenny winked at Kyle and leaned down slightly. He couldn't lean much. The belts prevented that.
"Holy shit, dude! Don't!" Kyle gave Kenny a push back so that he stood straight on the stepstool.
Kenny took advantage of the position and pressed his lips to Kyle's. They stood like that for a moment, with Kyle standing up on his tip toes, and Kenny barely facing down, belts still fastened around his neck. The blonde slid his tongue across Kyle's lower lip. He flicked his half-finished cigarette off to the side and knocked Kyle's hat off of his head, so he could tangle his hands in his red curls. Kenny explored the inside of Kyle's mouth, running his tongue over his teeth.
Kyle didn't know what to do, other than to submit to the attention. Kenny tasted strangely good, like cigarette smoke and spearmint gum. What the hell was happening? This was his best friend. This was Kenny fucking McCormick, for God's sake. It should have been like kissing his brother, but it wasn't. Kyle had kissed before, on plenty of occasions, but none of those kisses had felt like this. So good.
But then, Kenny McCormick was fairly experienced, wasn't he?
Kenny separated their mouths and pressed a damp kiss to Kyle's throat. He sucked and nipped at one spot until Kyle released a small, helpless moan.
Then, Kenny pulled back completely. He flicked his eyes over Kyle, who was now thoroughly disheveled, and remarked, "Nice hickey."
Kyle, though still trying to catch his breath, and his brain, managed, "Kenny, get down from there."
"Aye, sir!" Kenny grinned, and leapt from the stool.
o.o.o.o
Urgent knocking sounded on Kenny McCormick's bedroom door, before it burst open, and his two best friends barreled in.
He yawned and stretched from side to side, testing out his new organs, and greeted, "Hey guys."
"Hey dude, we're going over to Clyde's for some hookah," Stan said, "You down?"
Just as usual. Kenny glanced at the clock beside his bed. Seven thirty-two. His friends didn't remember that he'd died just over an hour ago.
But then, he noticed the shadow-like, round bruise on Kyle's neck.
Kenny smiled, "Totally down."
o.o.o.o
Here, have chapter four. :) Another thanks to TheNerds, and also to caffeineswing9, whose K2 story is *really* fucking good, and you should go read it now, I say. Reviews are nice, they make me write more. But not obligatory! I hope you enjoyed, and constructive crit is always welcome. Also, please tell me when there are typos.
