Chapter 4
The Next Stage of the Game
Author's Note: I'll be honest with this. I've had a Humongous dose of writers block regarding this chapter and it's refused to go away throughout. So sorry if this isn't as good as the others. Also, due to boredom, I keep scene changing like a maniac, hence all the random paragraphs then -woops- onto the next scene… I think it still makes sense though…anyways, enjoy!
N.b yup this chapter's LONG lol, as is the next one.
Ownership: Yeah yeah Trey and Matt did this, not me. Don't rub it in.
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One hour to go until the party…
And I'm stuck in front of the mirror.
Goddamnit how faggy does that sound? But it's true; apart from a pair of battered jeans and an ancient Greenday hoodie everything I've got is either anti-Semitic (who doesn't love swastikas?) or has…erm…shrunk mysteriously in the wash...(cough)…since I last wore it.
I'll bet Jew-boy's going to look fantastic…
Emerald eyes the colour of summer…crimson curls like fire against alabaster skin…
Drool…
AYE! Snap out of it your stupid faggy fatass!
Now where's the hair gel?
…
o0o
Half an hour later, I give up. Even an evil genius has to have his fair share of crappy days. If people (namely Jews) don't like it, then it's their own damn problem.
--! BEEEP !--
Thank Hitler; that would be my reprieve.
I waddle to the window and wave a burly arm down at Kenny. He's sitting in his new car, this beat up piece of shit he managed to 'earn' over the summer. (I didn't really want to ask but apparently he came to my mum beforehand for…tips) Unaware of the unsavoury images flashing through my skull, the penniless blonde gives the horn one last honk before flipping me off and turning up the stereo. Ugh, poor trash gets scummier every year.
"Give me a damn second, dustbin-spawn!" I bawl through the glass, grabbing my keys and running another despairing hand through my badly spiked hair. I got it buzz cut about two months ago and it still makes me look like I'm going bald.
Guess which sneering redhead was the first to point this out.
But I guess it doesn't matter;
All will be avenged tonight…
o0o
"How's it going, podge?" Kenny greets me with his familiar lop-sided leer, jabbing a bony finger in my gut for good measure.
"Great until you got here…and stop feeling me up, fag!" I mutter, trying and failing to get the seatbelt round my paunch.
"Oh, so I'm the fag now?" I whip round, eyes widening despite myself. What! How did he know?
And they say blondes are dumb!
"WH-?" I bluster "WhatmakesyouthinkI'm a-"
He cracks up "Huh? You? Jesus, Eric I was talking about Tweek! Remember you said yesterday that there was one blonde fag in every school and ours was addicted to caffeine?" I breathe a sigh of relief and try not to flop back into the chair too hard. The asshole really had me scared there.
There'd better be some kickass alcohol at this party.
I must've said as much because Kenny gives me another grin, jerking his thumb behind him into what was left of the back seat. I squint over and see at least ten crates of beer and some skinny bottles of vodka tucked back in the shadows.
"You're helping me carry it in remember? Why else would I have given you a lift to my own party!"
South park's most famous slut smirks at my flabbergasted face (I had hoped he'd've forgotten about that end of the bargain) and stamps on the accelerator.
We're at his house in minutes. It's still as much of a wreck as it's always been, but he and his older brother built this massive extension in the back about a year ago, making it the ideal place for parties. The lights are all off when we pull up outside; nobody else is here yet… more's the pity.
o0o
I swear some of those crates were heavier then Kenny himself! By the time the last one is safely stowed in the kitchen, my hoodie's showing sweat marks and I'm ready to drop. I collapse on the sofa (breaking all four legs) and exhale loudly, eyelids already beginning to close… That's definitely my calorie burn done for the week.
"Tired already?" Kenny asks brightly. The hyperactive asshole. How can he be cheerful after all that work at this time of night? I start as he leans over the back of the sofa and drops a slim black can into my lap.
"Some kind of Red Bull spoof." He says, pointing at the drink's lurid green label (the title's illegible, in Swedish or something equally stupid). "But it's got a hell of a kick. Try some; it'll really get you going."
At that moment, there's an unenthusiastic rapping on the door and our perverted blonde leaps off to get it. I crane my ears for a second but realise it's only a group of girls and crack open the Swedish crap instead.
Tell you the truth; I hate bloody parties with a passion. This has got to be the first I've been to since the one in seventh grade where I tried to drown Craig in the punch bowl.
Fatass fags aren't the most social species in the animal kingdom. Get over it.
I swill the Swedish gunk around for a bit then down half the can in one. Tastes like cat piss but I really couldn't care, as long at it passes the time until Kyle gets here.
Then, and only then, will things start to get that little bit more interesting…
o0o
Quarter past eleven and the party's in full swing. There must be the entire student population of South Park here and at least half of Middle park mixed in too.
And they're all at it like drunken rabbits.
…very drunken rabbits.
The whole room seethes with booze, smoke and body spray, sweaty bodies writhing together like animals to a thumping baseline. From here they could be one single being, joined by arms, hips and stomachs, sharing a thousand delirious heartbeats and a hundred thousand shots.
The alcohol's got everyone on a high
So Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls
Will you dance to this beat
And hold a lover close?
Not bloody likely.
I think I'm the only one sober enough to see the after effects.
o0o
I let out a groan of disgust as a couple stagger past me in the direction of the bathroom, eyes closed, hands and lips everywhere but where but where they're supposed to be. I recognise the girl as Bebe but haven't got a clue who the guy is, but it looks like neither of them will remember in the morning anyway. The hickeys he's leaving all over her chest and neck aren't going to fade quite so swiftly though.
Kenny's working just as fast; I can see him backed up against the wall with a pair of slim white arms tangled in his matted hair, bodies rocking to a rhythm just out of sync with the DJ.
I would say lucky bastard but…
There's only one person I want to be twined around tonight, and he's nowhere near drunk enough.
I sidle into the living room and lean against the doorframe, my eyes drinking in his beautiful body from across the room. The curl of his spine, the contours of his muscled shoulders, the supple curve of his waist…He's so perfect. Like a sculpture, a masterpiece, too perfect to be real.
Except for one tiny flaw…a shadow in his faultless radiance.
A shadow kissing her way across his face at this very moment.
That damn grade grabbing bitch-whore has worked her way into the scene again, wrapping her skinny limbs around my Jew-fag like she'll never let him go. I even see Stan's smile freeze in revulsion as she shimmies into his best friend's embrace, purring what she no doubt hopes qualify as sweet nothings into the redhead's ear.
I watch, chest tight, as he closes her grasping hand within his and smiles into her eyes, planting a tiny kiss on her crooked nose and miming something that looks like a request for a drink.
Zit-Zillah pouts and nods sulkily before striding off towards the kitchen, swaying her hips so deliberately it looks like she's gone bow legged.
As always my gaze boomerangs back to Kyle, my entire body tensing as he smiles at something Stan said, lighting up the whole room.
He just looks so happy….
I feel something crumple inside of me. A tiny little crack appearing in the veneer of my fundamental Jew-beating master-plan. Suddenly my ultimate goal of Kyle-annihilation doesn't seem all that fantastic anymore…
Could I really hurt him? Do I truly want to break his heart, as he has broken mine? Why do I need so badly to make him suffer for nothing?
…
--BANG!--
"Gee Mr Cartman, I'm sorry! I didn't see you there. Shucks, I'm so so-sorry." Butters staggers past me with a tray of drinks, almost knocking me into the wall. Everything spins for a moment and by the time I right myself, the Retard's gone and I see Kyle looking my way. It's only momentary but long enough to ensure I notice the sadistic smirk on his angel features, the ugly twist of pride that I'd strive my entire life to see removed.
God how I hate him.
The questions from seconds before try to resurface and I feel my stomach flip in horror at how preposterous they sound
OF COURSE I WANT TO HURT HIM! OF COURSE I WANT TO SEE HIM SUFFER! I WANT HIS WHOLE WORLD TO COME CRASHING DOWN AROUND HIM AS I WATCH AND LAUGH!
How could I ever have thought otherwise? Must be the damned alcohol, I told Kenny to buy something decent but oh no…he has to get the stuff that's got so much shit in it, it fucks up your mind before you've even drunk a full can.
Someone sneezes loudly and my eyes fall to the sofa to my left, widening as they recognise its sole occupant. She's sitting hunched and hawk-like on the cushions as though expecting them to bite her, her frumpy black dress draped prissily over her knees as she sips resolutely on her Diet Coke.
You'll never guess.
The famous Samantha.
She must've given the drinks to Jew-boy then come over here for a sit-down.
A slow, shark-like grin splits my monstrous jowls. Perfect.
All that dithering over morals has wasted valuable time, but this glimpse of pizza-features gives me the start I need;
The next stage of the game in is motion…
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uh oh...lol
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