Author's Note: I'm not dead, have a chapter! xP I'm going to really try to update this fanfiction more often than I usually do this time! But no matter what, I want to value quality over quantity with this. And hey, shout out to my two lovely friends who're reading this shit xD Love you guys!
And now I'll address my amazing commenters:
deidaralover4evr: First of all, I love your name xD And secondly, thank you! I'm glad you liked the story so much to review twice! I plan on getting into Dip soon enough; there'll probably be quite a bit of progress there in the next chapter, actually. So that's exciting!
Shy Mittens: Oh good! I'm really glad that you're satisfied with the characters and story so far~ It means a lot to hear you say that :) I hope you continue liking the story!
NG/Amazing Guest Who Replied To My Short Deleted Chapter: *deep breath* Well, here's the Kyle chapter finally! I hope you like it; I tried to make his way of describing the events/things around him as in character as possible and different from Butters' 'voice'. Please tell me honestly how I did and if there's anything that I messed up on! I feel like he's got his shit together at this point in his life and I hope I conveyed that decently. Anyway, I'm so glad you enjoy Kenny's character! Writing his parts are always pretty enjoyable for me, so it makes me happy to hear that other people are enjoying reading them :) And it's encouraging to also hear that you like the Tweek/Clyde/Craig interactions~ Tweek gave me a really hard time at first, but I'm slowly figuring him out more xP
Callmetracy: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked the line about the service industry; I have actually had that experience before, so I had to kind of assume that'd be how someone kind like Butters would feel in that line of work. Your comment restored my confidence in his character :)
I wanted to ask: are you guys comfortable with me responding to your reviews here in the next chapter? I like to think it's more special that way, but if it bothers you, I'll respond in the more private alternative. You guys are great, and I'm so sorry I made you wait so long for this chapter. Health, school, life- you know how it is :/ But I'm already drafting the next chapter, so expect it sooner rather than later this time! (This chapter title is a song by the lovely Phildel)
CHAPTER 4: SWITCHBLADE
(A day has passed since the last chapter.)
Like any other law-abiding citizen, I never really saw myself as the 'prison type'. I won't deny that I had a bizarre interest in serial killers and psychopaths for most of my life; I was fascinated by their motives for killing and what had caused them to snap in the first place. The simple answer of "They're either mentally unstable or blinded by revenge" never quite cut it for me. There had to be more to it than just that.
In fact.
I really felt that way when the police discovered the bodies of my next-door neighbors in my walk-in freezer.
I had been screaming ever since I was dragged through those dreadful double doors in the main office, and by now my voice was raw and hoarse. A pudgy and rather sullen female officer with the ironic last name of 'Biggle' had me in a vice-grip and was dragging me into one of the washed-out hallways. Her clothes smelled like off-brand cigarettes and I heard her spit on the stark-white floor.
"Get your goddamn fucking hands off of me! I've said it before and I'll say it again- I'M INNOCENT!" I rasped, kicking my legs in the air wildly to no avail.
"Not in here you're not. The court said you're guilty, so you're guilty." Her voice sounded both catty and tired and without another word she shoved me through a door labeled 'COUNSELING' and slammed it behind me.
I had only been in prison now for maybe an hour and I had already seen plenty of oddities (to put it nicely), but this office was something else entirely. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of collections of sorts were tucked away in any and every possible space, effectively giving me a thrill of claustrophobia. The person owning this office was clearly either a hoarder or had an extreme mental condition of some sort.
Finally after gawking around at the office for a moment, I noticed the only other person in the room with me. He was younger- assumingly around his early twenties like me, and had a shock of dark hair that could probably use a trim. He had dark blue eyes that were oddly familiar, and I couldn't help but notice the light tan he had from underneath his blue prison guard outfit (which was impressive for this part of Colorado). He looked like he had the weight of the world's stress on his shoulders, and even though the sign on the desk in front of him said 'MR. MACKEY' in big bold letters, the name plate on his chest told his name was Marsh. Something Marsh.
No. No way. It couldn't be.
"Stan?"
His kind expression twisted in shock, and we both stood there with our mouths hanging open for several heavy moments.
"K-Kyle?! What the hell are you doing here?" Stan seemed like he was choking on his own words. I could hardly blame him.
"God, I haven't seen you in years!" I said quickly, temporarily evading his question. I suppressed the urge to run to him and tell him everything that had happened since I'd last seen him. But things weren't like that for us now, and I stopped myself from seeking his comfort. "How have you been?"
"I, ah, I've been fine. Been pretty distracted by work these past couple of years. What've you been up to?" Stan visibly gulped before remembering his seemingly new desk chair and decided to take a seat. I chose to do the same. My seat had teeth marks on it.
"Um, well. I've decided that becoming a lawyer was never a good fit and chose instead to become a blood spatter analyst. You can imagine how thrilled my dad was." I added sarcastically, watching Stan nervously fiddle with a fountain pen on the cluttered desk.
"Heh. Yeah, I can."
This was getting uncomfortably awkward. I had to change the course this conversation was going quickly. "So you're, uh, a counselor?"
"Um, well, for today." Stan snickered. "Mackey's attending his daughter's wedding over in New Mexico. He's the normal counselor. I'm actually the prison manager, which I guess is kind of like a counselor in a way. I regulate what's going on and inform the staff about it and start programs to help fix things in the prison. Lately, my main cause of stress has been the education system here- or rather, the lack thereof. It's been challenging trying to get my plans passed by Miss Testaburger. Mostly because of financial problems. But you, ah, probably don't want to hear me ramble about that stuff. I'm supposed to be counseling you, after all. So, how did you end up here, Kyle? You're so goddamn clever. You're like the last guy I expected to see here."
I sighed softly and crossed my arms, not missing that tone of soft disappointment in his voice while hating his professional way of addressing me, like a task that needed to be completed. "I swear to God, Stan. I'm innocent, but I'm not going to talk to you of all people about this."
"Why not?" Stan asked, a frown etching into his brow. "We used to be really close, Kyle."
"We were close, Stan. That's the problem! You know it as well as I do." I replied, feeling slightly guilty for my rising voice. "I don't want to talk to you about this!"
"Well, this time you don't have a choice whether you want to talk to me or not, Kyle. You have to. Otherwise I wouldn't be doing my job right." Stan was getting mad, but I didn't really care. I wasn't going to tell him about the horrible scene I had walked in on with the police that night. Not when there was so much more that needed to be said first; that needed to be said years ago. No, Stan was the last person that could console me right now.
"Just tell your staff that I'm not ready to open up about it yet! It's my first goddamn cocksucking day!" I stood up again in a fit of passion and slammed my hands down on the desk, knocking a collection of bobble heads to the floor in a flurry. Even so, Stan only seemed mildly surprised as a 'Surfs-Up' Obama bobblehead rolled into his lap..
"Fine. Is there anything else you want to say before I continue?" Stan asked, visibly calming down a little. I felt a pang of guilt yet again for yelling. Stan was a naturally gentle person, and it was pretty heart-breaking to stay mad at him for too long.
"Yes."
But I couldn't tear the words from my throat. All my questions, all my grievances, just wouldn't surface. I didn't know where to begin, and it suddenly felt like I was sinking into strangling, depriving waves of mild hysteria. Stan just looked at me oddly, with a strange mix of caution and suppressed amusement. Neither one of us seemed to know how to proceed. After some excruciating moments, Stan let out a great huff.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't of just left you like that. It was cowardly and stupid and… God, I really fucked up, Kyle."
"Why did you just disappear like that? You told your family to fucking keep me in the dark! I just wanted to talk to you, to make sure you were ALIVE!"
"...You laughed in my face when I told you I was in love with you. Of course I left." He was calm and his words didn't falter, but his face was ashen and ashamed.
"I… I thought you were joking. I mean, you dated so many girls back in highschool, there was no way you actually felt that way towards me. But after you left, I guess it finally sank in. I thought you'd at least text me or something, though." I was beginning to feel ashamed too. I truly never thought I'd see him again, and now here I was, in prison of all places, having a heart-to-heart with my oldest friend. The whole idea was both comical and disgusting.
"What would I have said? 'So, you know how you laughed at me when I confessed my feelings for you? Well, I was being totally serious and now I'm in a different state!'"
"Well, I mean, yeah! At least it would've cleared the air between us! But instead you went and got a new number and made everything impossible! And then Kenny got dragged off to jail and I never saw HIM again either! And now you have one of the shittiest jobs ever and I've been convicted of first degree murder!" I knew I was starting to get a little ridiculous again, but I certainly didn't give a fuck. I've been waiting to say this for nine entire years, after all.
"...I never got a new number, actually. I read all five hundred of your texts, I really did. Maybe it was a little, or a lot, masochistic, but I couldn't just let go of you yet. You've always been right there for me whenever I needed you the most. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to that." Stan seemed to have trouble removing his eyes from the ballpoint pen before him resting on his papers, as if it held all of the right answers to what we've gotten ourselves into. He bit his lip. "Kyle, I have to ask. Please be honest with me. Why are you here? What actually happened? Did you really kill those people?"
Now it was my turn to feel the peak of the embarrassment. Not because I was humiliated by his lack of faith in me; I currently had a lack of faith in me too. Rather, I was upset over the information I had to share. "That day I stayed home sick from work, which is obviously rare for me- I am me, after all- and mostly lounged around sleeping all day. I had a head cold, and I took some Nyquil to knock it out for a while. I woke up around 8:30 to the cops knocking on my door. I was only in my boxers, but since they were being rather rude I didn't get an opportunity to ignore them. They told me they had a search warrant and that they wanted to check my house for suspicious activity based on an anonymous call they received about screaming. They never could track the caller; the phone that was used to call in was stolen and later destroyed. I'll admit, not many blood spatter analysts have their samples at their house, but I like to keep myself busy. It didn't take long for the police to find the walk-in freezer, and I was arrested on spot as a suspect. I was in my boxers, for Christ's sake! And the bodies… I had never seen anything like it before, Stan. They were actually fermenting in their own blood. Had to of been several days old. But like I told the police, the neighbor's bodies were most certainly NOT there before I took the Nyquil, so someone had to of orchestrated all of this while I was knocked out. Nyquil can be potent, I suppose. Regardless, the judge found me guilty despite the shady caller, the order of how things supposedly played out, and the miracles of Nyquil and now I'm stuck in this hellhole sorting out my feelings and the definite life sentence I have, since everyone knows parole is bullshit."
"Well-"
"No, it is. Look, I know I'm fucked Stan. I'm probably even a candidate for death row. Hell, I'm probably going to be on it in a couple years or so. I know how the system works, so don't try to make me feel good about it." He and I both knew it. I was more than likely going to be executed sooner rather than later. I had known how shady my story was and how little supporting evidence I had, and now even I was starting to doubt what had really happened that day.
Stan looked even more torn than before. Before we started discussing my inevitable doom, he just seemed sad and sullen, but now he appeared overwhelmed and quite possibly even afraid. I suppose that was me yesterday. Right now, I only felt spiteful and somewhat numb.
"Kyle, you know I'm going to try everything I possibly fucking CAN to get you out of here. You know that, right? I'm not going to let you die for a crime you didn't even do." Stan was now trying to grab on to some ray of hope only he could find, but both of us knew it wasn't there to begin with. "Hey… I have some good news for you. Kenny was relocated to this prison too. I'd be fired if anyone found out I knew him, or you for that matter, but I've been trying to look out for him some. It'll raise his spirits to see you again."
Kenny! That's a name I haven't heard for a while. Back in the day, Kenny, Stan, and I were closer than brothers. Many nights, Stan and I would sneak out to go drink on top of Kenny's roof and spin grand schemes of what we'd do after we got out of highschool. But then there was a domestic issue and Kenny was carted away during the middle of Junior year to jail. A year later he was free to go, but another, more serious incident occurred and he was sent off to prison. The three of us had always planned on going everywhere together, and somehow in some fucked up way, we had.
"Is he still the same?"
"He's still the same." I could feel a bittersweet smile on my face. Stan appeared to gain life from my reaction and continued. "He's definitely had some rough patches, but he came out on top. He's a tougher guy than we gave him credit for. But, there's one other familiar face here too. Your, uh, brother is here."
"Ike is here?!"
My blood ran cold. I hadn't considered that he might have been relocated to this prison at some point, but since it was the Colorado federal prison, I supposed it would have only been a matter of time. When we were growing up, my little brother and I spent a lot of time together. I saw him as my responsibility even though he wasn't actually related to me. That's why it hit me so hard when he started smoking and doing other various drugs. At some point, he became a drug dealer during his high school years and secretly continued his business after he graduated. At first, it was only pot, but over time he started dealing and using heroin. He was eventually caught and arrested for it, but he must of done something else to have ended up here.
"Maybe it'll be good for you to reunite. You know… settle your differences and such." Stan supplied cautiously, watching my expression. I frowned at him pointedly.
"What did he do to end up here?"
"Uh, well... he and his friends started making their own moonshine apparently. They had been selling it for a while before experimenting with it themselves. Unfortunately, Ike must've been drunk while he was making it, because he gave them a batch of pure ethanol instead. Two of his friends died immediately and Ike was taken into extensive care. He was miraculously alright, except his eyesight deteriorated some." Stan looked me in the eyes empathetically. "According to his doctor's notes, he may go entirely blind within the next month at the latest. I'm sorry, Kyle. I thought your parents would have said something to you."
They probably would have, If they actually thought I didn't kill three people and stuff them in my freezer. They haven't said it outright, but I know they don't really think I'm innocent. That's what hurt the worst.
"So my brother's handicapped, my parents don't trust me or tell me anything, we're weird right now, and I'm charged with murder. This is a great day so far." I ran my hand through my unruly hair, finally letting the entire weight of my stress sit on my shoulders and accumulate like an unwanted vulture. I was far beyond stressed in all honestly, and I'd most likely collapse into a fit of hysteria after I left this stuffy little room with Stan.
"We don't have to be weird right now. I mean, we've gone through a lot of shit before. Remember how awful I was after Uncle Jimbo died?"
"I was certain you'd drink yourself to death."
"Yeah, well. I probably would've if it wasn't for you. You helped me control myself and pushed me to move forward. You're not in this alone, dude. I'll look out for you as much as I can. Just stick with Kenny the rest of the time; he'll keep an eye on you, I'm sure." Stan stood suddenly. "I can't keep you in here for much longer. As much as I'd like to, I have a lot of work stacking up. I'll get Stevens to get you set up with a room. We don't have any Cubes open at the moment, but I wouldn't feel comfortable putting you in one of those anyway. The last thing someone like you wants is to be stuck with a single, lone prisoner."
"Someone like me?" I asked, feeling a little insulted.
"Well, I mean… Someone like you is probably more likely to be targeted by the others."
"What the hell are you even implying?!"
Stan looked sheepish. "Nothing! Just that you're an attractive guy and there's not really any women around here… Not that you're like a girl or anything like that! Ugh, just nevermind. You're in a room, that's what's important. Tomorrow you'll have orientation and then you'll come back here for a job assignment. Just… please promise me you'll try to control your temper a little. I don't want you starting any fights you aren't ready for."
Still rather insulted, I decided to throw Stan's concern to the wind. "I'm perfectly fine, Stan. I can take care of myself easily. I have been for years, after all."
Stan looked hurt by my comment and got out from behind his desk. "Let me at least walk you there. I don't think Stevens is here yet anyway. And the hallways can get pretty disorienting if you're not used to them."
"If it makes you feel better." I grumbled, secretly glad that Stan was going to at least guide me through the gates of Hell. I slid out of my chair and we walked for the door.
I really didn't care for these hallways. They were just entirely too white, and the fluorescent lighting made them feel dismal and draining. Nevertheless, Stan led me through the maze with a slight bounce in his step.
"It's good to see you again." He whispered to me, and I gave him a little smile. He had messed up quite a lot, and so have I, but throughout all of the years of solitude and unanswered questions he had never stopped being the most important person in my life. Perhaps our relationship ran further than I'd like to admit. "You know, you should join our new education program that I'm trying to pass. Generally it's for uneducated inmates, but I think you'd enjoy working as my assistant."
"You teach here at the prison?" I asked, trying to imagine Stan reading to a class of delinquents. For some strange reason, the notion held as much sweetness as a teacher reading to children at storytime.
"Yeah. Class is only for an hour before dinner, but I have to set up lesson plans and grade papers during the normal inmate work hours. Since I'm running so many things here at the prison, I think Miss Testaburger will agree to it. I mean, if it sounds fine with you." Stan gave me an uncertain side glance.
He really had matured over the years, and not just because he was acting more responsibly. His face was noticeably more lean than I had recalled it being, and he was much more muscular than he ever was back in high school (probably for his line of work). I'd imagined him growing into an adult before, but I never once pictured him working in a prison. He was too kind and forgiving for a job like this, and judging by the bags under his eyes he was fighting too hard for a lost cause.
But instead of asking why he was really here, I kept our general conversation flowing. "What would I be doing during the class period?"
"Ah, mostly just passing out papers and keeping an eye on the other inmates. Nothing too awful."
Since I was still somewhat angry at him, I told him I would think about it even though I was pretty certain I'd take up his offer (I'd be damned if I missed out on an opportunity to see Stan teach a class). He took me to the front office and scanned the sheets of paper taped to the heavy door.
"I don't really know who's in this room with you, but you're in Room C." Stan admitted, turning from the roster to look at me. "If you have any problems with any of your roommates, come tell me about it, okay?"
"Sure." I returned his gaze. "Where's Room C?"
"Here, come this way."
I followed Stan further into the sullen hallways, finally seeing a couple of inmates. There was a twitchy little blonde man (who seemed to be practically frothing at the mouth) discussing something in a panicked tone with a tall, mysterious man whose icy eyes pierced like daggers.
As I got closer to them, I could catch snippets of their conversation. "... Are you SURE we have enough carrots for tonight?! I could have sworn that the order was half of what it should've been!"
I rolled my eyes and continued walking after Stan, assuming that the smaller man was going through serious drug withdrawals or had a deep case of schizophrenia. He looked the type. Eventually, Stan rounded the final corner and walked me up to a plated door labeled C.
"Well, this is it. I'll back later with sundries. Until then, you might as well explore a little. I'd recommend stopping by the library so you're not bored out of you mind. Dinner will be in about four hours. And please," Stan lowered his voice. "Try not to draw too much attention to yourself. Stick close to Kenny and his group. They mostly spend time in the kitchen; I'd recommend getting in with them as soon as possible. It may look pretty peaceful, but I've heard some reports that gang activity will be stirring up pretty soon. Try not to get into the middle of it for once, okay dude?"
I gave him a wry smile. "I'll try my best, but no promises. You know how I am."
"Yeah I do." And with that, Stan gave me a parting nod and left me to my empty room.
I surveyed the area carefully. There was a single desk with a single chair at the back of the room and several drawers were lined up here and there. There seemed to be quite a few bunks that could be empty; only two had messy, slept-in sheets. Another bed that was at the base has a cluster of belongings next to it and a book by its nightstand, so I chose a bunk that seemed entirely vacant. I threw my tan jacket on the top bed, and therefore claimed it as my own. The bottom bunk was admittedly more practical, but from the top I could survey the others better, and that was my primary concern at the moment. Since I had nothing more to do in my new living quarters, I headed out.
I was almost certain I would get lost, so I decided I'd just stick to the left wall until I found the library. I was glued to the wall as if my life depended on it and avoided any passing inmate like the plague. I wasn't actually like them; I didn't DO anything wrong (at least, I was pretty certain), so I didn't want to associate with them unless I had no other choice. Or unless they happened to be Kenny or maybe even Ike. Maybe. Regardless, I kept my eyes focused straight forwards and kept a blank expression painted on. It troubled me that all the other inmates aside from a peculiar blonde man I saw were wearing tan suits instead of bright orange like mine. It was probably a sign of maturity, and I hoped there was a good number of orange suited prisoners to blend in with later on.
Eventually, I managed to make my way outside and to the library, which was apparently a separate building entirely. I pushed open the doors and proceeded inside with my guard up, still uncertain about how the prison life was supposed to work. I was expecting to get mugged at any second now. But the library seemed practically empty. It made sense; statistically speaking, not many prisoners have obtained an education. I was perfectly content with the library's morgue-like silence and confidently approached the shelves.
I made my way from the RELIGION section over to the LANGUAGE section, deciding to brush up on my Hebrew. My mother had insisted that I learned it growing up as a part of our religious background, and I had really took to it. I was thumbing through a lengthy text when suddenly a voice addressed me.
"What the actual SHIT are you doing here?!"
I let out a startled yell as arms embraced me from behind. I whirled around to face my attacker and was face-to-face with the most welcome sight I could've seen.
"Kenny! My God, it's so good to see you!" I cried, returning the embrace with my old friend. He looked good. Better actually, than he had back when he was still in high school. There was more meat on his bones, more color in his face, and more strength in his eyes. He seemed truly healthy for once, and that thought nearly brought tears to my eyes.
"What are you doing here, Kyle?!" He repeated, smiling despite himself.
"It's a pretty long story Ken. I was wrongly convicted of murder. And now… God! How have you been?"
Kenny and I migrated outside, talking animatedly about our lives over the many late years. We sat down together at a bench.
"A blood spatter analyst, huh? You realize you're basically Dexter Morgan right now, right?" Kenny laughed, shaking my shoulder good-naturedly.
"That thought did occur to me, yes." I snickered back, glad I could finally laugh over my situation. Unlike Stan, Kenny and I just fell right back into the friendship we had lost track of so many years ago. Stan and I just seemed frozen in paralysis now. "So, you haven't asked about… I mean, I kept in pretty close contact with them. If you're ready, I could tell you how they are."
Kenny was silent for a long time."I'm not. I'm not ready. Could you… just tell me how Karen is doing? Is she… Is she okay?"
I was so grateful I didn't have to give him any bad news. "Karen's doing fine. Actually, she finally became a therapist last year. Did she tell you that? She seems to really be enjoying her work, though it takes a toll on her sometimes."
The transformation from great anxiety to great relief was written all over Kenny's face. Stan hadn't kept in touch with the former McCormick family like I had, so he probably didn't know anything about the situation as of late. Maybe it was for the better.
"So, you have seen Stan around, yeah? He's going to want to talk to you at some point."
"Yeah. We talked a little. He was filling in for the counselor, actually. It was… pretty awkward." I admitted, feeling glad I could talk about this with someone competent and who could understand the full situation.
"What did he say to you?" Kenny asked with an intense glint in his eyes.
"He told me that he had been serious about… what he had said before and that he ran off like the stupid pussy he is. And also that he read but didn't reply to my texts and voicemails. I'm clearly not very happy with him right now." I said plainly, glaring at the tall fences surrounding us.
"Try not to be too harsh on him. It took a lot for him to say what he did and his pride was pretty hurt for… Oh, how long has it been? A long ass time." He let out a snort. "I KNEW you two had a thing for each other. -Didn't I say I always knew? But ever since there's been some kind of progression between you two, I've been stuck here rotting away behind bars unable to rub it in your faces. Life is too cruel sometimes."
"I never said that I had any kind of feelings like that towards him."
"No? Well, at least you used to. I remember you telling me so once when we were both drunk! But come on. Give him a chance! It's been a long time; you two aren't used to each other anymore. I have faith that once this whole thing blows over, you'll be perfectly fine." After he spoke, Kenny stood up and gestured for me to follow him. "I want to introduce you to someone."
Without another word, he turned and started walking through the prison's yellowing lawn to another building. Curious, I followed close behind.
"I think you're going to like it here eventually. It takes a while to get used to, but since you're a lifer like me you'll have plenty of time!" Like usual, Kenny seemed confident in his predictions, but I wasn't so sure. I deeply missed my structured and softer life on the outside. Saying goodbye to that forever was something I wasn't capable of yet. "Tomorrow you can talk to your family if you like on one of the phones. The guards don't want us making any calls on Mondays anymore."
He led me all through the cafeteria to the door leading into the kitchen. Inside were an odd collection of inmates. The twitchy blond and the serious man I had seen before were here- the latter dutifully cutting up carrots into neat little circles while the former quivered by a large assortment of canned meats. There was another blonde I vaguely remembered passing in the halls too; he had an orange suit like mine and a kind, rounder face with glittering blue eyes. Yet another blonde was there, looking much more straight-laced and wimpy, who was pulling out loafs of bread. And finally, a man with light brown hair and an actual eyepatch was washing dishes in the back with a strange sort of aloof concentration. All in all, I felt like I had walked into the setup of a bad joke.
Kenny cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the inmates, and introduced me to the odd assortment as an old friend of his. There was a cluster of murmured greetings while they continued preparing dinner. Kenny took me over to the orange suited man who smiled at me warmly.
"Hello. It's n-nice ta meet you, Kyle! I'm Stotch. So, you know Kenny from before?" He asked, and I offered him my hand in greeting. After a moment's hesitation we shook hands.
"Yeah, he and I have been close friends since preschool. He's practically a brother to me." It felt wrong leaving out a description of Stan, but for the sake of his job I had no choice. "Are you and he close too?"
Stotch seemed remarkably uncomfortable by my innocent question, and he worried his fists together. "I-I suppose you could s-say that." Kenny snickered loudly and smacked him on the ass.
"Hell yeah, we are!"
I decided to change the topic before the conversation spiralled out of control. "So, what were you convicted of?"
In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have asked him such a question so plainly, but Stotch didn't miss a beat with his reply. "Theft. I robbed a bank and some jewelry stores. What are you in for?"
I also shouldn't ask questions I wouldn't want to answer myself. "Nothing. I was wrongly accused."
"So was I!" The brown-haired man washing dishes piped up, laughing. "That wasn't ACTUALLY me running around naked! It was just somebody that looked like me."
"Don't be silly, Donovan. We all know you broke the law. I, on the other hand, was only trying to save the environment. Hell, I'm probably the only guilt-free person here!" The straight-laced wimp added, slicing bread solemnly as if he thought he was being matyrous.
Sensing that I had somehow opened Pandora's Box, I quickly said my goodbyes to the odd group and backed out of the kitchen, hoping my abrupt departure wasn't very rude. I felt somewhat better about my situation here after meeting some of the other inmates, but I still had my guard up, especially since Kenny hadn't followed me out. It'd probably be in my best interest to get physically stronger as soon as possible so I wasn't forced to depend on him.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a single idea where the weight training room might be. I surveyed the campus and spotted another inmate a couple yards away leaning up against a wall with crossed arms. He was certainly frightening; muscle was practically dripping off of him. He resembled a hulking creature of sorts, with light brown hair that had been recently shaved and glinting eyes. There were scars dancing all up his shoulders and bruises decorating his face with a matching busted lip. He was a pretty jarring sight, and my common sense told me to turn and run before he got any closer.
But I was already growing tired of being afraid of this place. Nothing had happened to me yet, and someone like this man would probably leave me alone if I acted like he didn't frighten me. So I mustered up every ounce of my confidence and approached him.
"Where's the weight training room?" I asked him as flippantly as I could.
"You new?" He replied, a malicious smirk stretching across his face.
"Perhaps I am. Where is the weight training room?" I repeated, not even amusing the idea of holding a long conversation with a man like him.
"Let me show you. I was headed that way anyway." He gathered himself off of the wall and expectantly walked off, no doubt assuming that I'd follow. I truly was tempted to just bolt off in another direction, but I swallowed my fears and followed suit, focusing only on the new task I had assigned myself moments before.
"Normally I don't talk to faggy gingers, but you seem different. How long are you in for?" The man asked me, seemingly trying to hide his obviously evil nature.
With him, I felt a thrill of pride responding. "Life."
"No you aren't."
"I am."
"No way! What the fuck did you do?" He asked, snapping his head around to look me in the eye.
"I killed my neighbors and stuffed them in my fridge." Okay, I hadn't, probably, but this guy didn't need to know that.
"Did you really?"
His innocently curious tone threw me off, but I kept up my poker face. "I did. They let their kids play basketball in the parking lot at night. They were making too much noise."
"Holy shit. We finally have another badass in this goddamn vanilla hellhole." The bulky man laughed, shaking like a house would during an earthquake. He led me to where the gym apparently was and we went in. Inside, there was a moderately sized basketball court where several black prisoners were playing a match. The bulky inquisitive man took me to a door in the back that opened up another room; this one entirely dedicated to weight training. Several inmates were using the bench press while others were using hand-held weights or goblets. It was all too manly and foreign to me, but I swept aside my uncomfort and went over to select some weights.
Perhaps an hour and a half or so passed and by then I was feeling more than slightly exhausted. I hadn't had the need or remote desire to get fit in several years, especially since I mostly worked with samples of blood all day. Throughout all of this time, the burly man from before had stayed with me, working primarily on the bench press (which I couldn't even properly attempt yet). He didn't say much, but he observed me intently which certainly made me feel wary and not entirely comfortable. Even more alarming, when I put away my weights and gave him a nod in farewell, he did the same and followed me out of the weight room and outside several paces behind. I was beginning to understand what it was like to be stalked; I turned my head just enough to see past my shoulder and he would be there, yards in the distance. Panicked and feeling not very safe, I had to pick between retreating back to my room or back to Kenny. Deciding that I didn't want him to know which room was mine, I sought out Kenny, assuming he was back in the cafeteria still. I began to head that way when suddenly, I noticed yet another familiar face.
Ike had certainly looked better. He had cuts and scars and appeared to have aged too much too quickly, like Stan. But even more, his eyes seemed somewhat vacant and he was perpetually squinting. I felt like crying. Deciding it would be better to face him rather than ignore him like some stranger, I slowly approached him.
"Kyle! Is that really you?!" Ike yelled as I got within his circle of vision (only six feet it would seem). "Holy shit! Holy shit! What the hell are you doing here?!"
How many times have I been asked that today? I found myself embracing him instead of replying and after a startled pause, he returned the gesture.
"What… are you doing here, Kyle?"
Telling him how I wound up with a life sentence was harder than telling Kenny; even harder than telling Stan. I had been, at least for a short time, Ike's role model. What hope did he allow himself to have if his older brother was in here with him? And now that he's going blind, was he going to need my protection? Would he even let me protect him?
After I told him my reasons for being in prison, he was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "Mom must be so, so freaked out. I mean, it was bad when I got in here and started going blind, but now that it's you too… You were her only hope for anything, after all."
"That's not even remotely true. You were always smarter than I was, even while you were doing drugs."
"Well, duh. I'm talking about since I got stuck in here." Ike snickered.
"How are you doing here? Did you have any problems with any of the prisoners?" I asked, feeling slightly overprotective despite myself.
"Ehh, not really. I had a few hiccups early on, but I found some alright people to hang with. Plus, your old boyfriend relocated here to keep an eye on me and Kenny. He's made it a lot easier on us."
I almost forgave Stan for the years of abysmal absence right then and there, and a part of me couldn't understand why I didn't. "So he started working here after you came?"
"Yeah, that's right. Kenny was practically in tears to see us both. I think he was starting to lose it, being in here all by himself. He seemed almost suicidal at first, and definitely pretty crazy; he was talking to people only he could see and casually discussing how the afterlife is to other inmates. It was quite a fiasco, but he talked to a therapist for a while and seems okay now I guess." Ike shrugged.
Well, this was certainly terrifying. Kenny was either recovering from insanity or was just getting better at hiding it. But for some reason, I wasn't very surprised. In my youth, I recalled sometimes having strange dreams involving Kenny dying in some gruesome, horrid way. Talking to imaginary people and thinking of death just seemed so… him.
Ike asked me questions about Mom and Dad, questions about how my job had been before coming here, and asked me if Karen was still single or not (he had dated her for a brief period of time in high school and never fully got over their break up). Eventually, he told me he had some medication issues to sort out at the front office. I walked with him until we got to the corridor of rooms. I parted ways with him and looked around. I had forgotten about the burly man who had been following me. With a thrill of panic, I found myself unable to locate him. Surely he had tired of my trivial life. I swallowed my fears and entered Room C.
Immediately, I noticed several things were different from before. There was a bundle of sundries at the foot of my bunk. There was also another person in here with me, who was lounging on a bed reading a book. It was the tall, serious man from before. His mouth seemed to have a natural resting frown, but even so he was quite beautiful.
He noticed and addressed me in a smooth, unimpressed voice. "So. You're here now too, huh? That's nice."
From the way he said it, it didn't seem even remotely nice. "Yes, ah, who else is in this room?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." He sighed and dogeared his page, closing the book with unnecessary firmness. "There's two others. Tweek and Cartman. I don't suppose you remember Tweek; the twitchy little man who was also in the kitchen."
"I do remember him." I stated, beginning to really dislike his sense of superiority. "Who's Cartman?"
"The asshole who's trying to get rid of me." He replied simply. "He's want me dead for a while now."
"Why doesn't he just shiv you in the middle of the night?" I asked, wondering if this 'Cartman' was a full-on retard for not coming up with this himself. "And, hang on, aren't you supposed to be in the kitchen?"
"No. Stotch has been more than useful lately and since I'm in charge, I decided that it was getting too insanely brain-dead in there and excused myself. But as for Cartman, Tweek and I are pretty close, and he has a sleeping problem. If Cartman so much as stirs in the middle of the night, Tweek'll notice."
Well, great. This was apparently going to be terrible. I was just about to say as much when suddenly a polite rapping came from the door. I went to pull it open and was surprised to see Stan.
"Oh, hey. You're in here. Good. Um, I just wanted to say that dinner's in a couple minutes, so I'd recommend heading that way soon. And also… don't forget to put away your sundries before anyone else gets in here. It'd suck to have them get stolen." Stan said, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him. He seemed like he wanted to say something more.
"Ah, thanks." I replied, sensing discomfort at having the other inmate in the room with us. I looked over at him in the corner of my eye and noticed that he was blatantly staring at us with intentional apathy. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
"Uh, also…" Stan lowered his voice and brought his mouth closer to my ear. "After dinner, meet me behind the cafeteria. This prison doesn't actually have any security cameras on the inside."
Excluding my outrage at this new knowledge (no cameras around proven criminals? REALLY?), his words sent a chill down my spine. I kind of expected something like this eventually, but even so a strange thrill of excitement surged through me. I gave him a slight nod as a response and he stepped back.
"Okay, I'll see you two later then. Keep an eye on him, Tucker." And with that, Stan opened the door and left as quickly as he had come.
"I heard that." The man, apparently 'Tucker', stated flately. I froze. "You haven't even been here a day, and you're already fucking one of the guards?"
"We're not fucking." I snapped, grabbing my collection of sundries and throwing myself up onto the bunk I had claimed. I rifled through my new belongings: a toothbrush with toothpaste, a set of two shampoos and conditioners (I suspected Stan of snagging me extra, since he knew my hair was practically untameable), and sheets for my naked mattress and pillow. As I peeled apart the sheets, I noticed a peculiar weight to them. Curious, I searched for the source and stumbled onto a book that I immediately recognized. The Hobbit had been a favorite of mine growing up (The whole Lord of the Rings series, really, but this one especially) and I knew right away why Stan had given it to me.
"What are you even saying?! How could you not of read The Hobbit?! I've reread it at least five times!"
"I don't know. Just never got around to it, I guess." Stan shrugged, closing his Algebra 1-2 book in defeat.
"Would you read it if I gave it to you?"
"Probably not dude. Look, I've tried reading it before. I just get stuck after a while."
"Well, what if I read it to you?"
He laughed. "You'd actually read me a book out loud? We're almost in high school, you know."
"So?! All the more reason for you to read The Hobbit now before it starts to get REALLY embarrassing!" I cried, throwing my arms about dramatically. "I can't even believe this! My own best friend!"
"Alright, alright. Read me the goddamn book, then. If it makes you happy." Stan chuckled, sprawling out on my bed.
I cleared my throat and began. "'In the hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…"
I smiled, opening the book to inspect it. There, in the corner of the inside cover, was 'Kyle Broflovski' in my own handwriting. He had kept it, after all these years.
I quickly hid the book in my pillowcase, made up my bed, and slipped out the door for dinner. I probably could've eaten in the kitchen, but I felt it would be intrusive and instead got my food from Stotch and sat at a quiet table by myself. In hindsight, I should've thought to of brought The Hobbit with me. Instead, I focused solely on the food before me. Bread and a serving of vegetable and meat soup. It wasn't much, but at least the soup was decent enough.
A cough behind me broke me of my concentration. I turned to see Kenny and Stotch, who were both carrying trays. "Mind if we sit here?" Kenny asked, already setting down his tray. "It gets pretty isolating in the kitchen sometimes."
"Of course." I replied, feeling more than a little thankful for the extra numbers.
"How are you adjusting so far?" Kenny asked me.
"Can't tell yet. I'll get back to you on that." I answered truthfully.
"Have you seen your brother yet?"
"His brother's here?" Stotch interjected, looking surprised. I didn't miss the small smile Kenny gave him and the hand that was resting on his thigh. A lot of things must've happened over the years, indeed.
"Yeah, his younger brother's Ike Broflovski."
"Oh! He seems… F-Friendly." Stotch stuttered, looking down in embarrassment. 'Friendly' must've been his polite way of saying 'perverted'.
"Yes, well, I talked to him some. We caught up. But his sight… My God, Kenny. I can't even tell if he cares or not. He was so matter-of-fact about it." Truthfully, we both were, but that's just because I was hiding how upset I was. Perhaps so was he.
"He cares. Trust me." Kenny said softly, looking down at his food pensively.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the kitchen. "I TOLD you. Back the fuck off."
"Come on, Craig! You don't have to act like that with me!"
The was a crash and a flurry of cusses before the kitchen door crashed open and Tucker flew out with a deep scowl, an apron on, and a swirl of some kind of white powder trailing out from behind. The brown-haired dishwashing man from before came out after him, white powder in his hair and dotting his clothing, and attempted to grab his shoulder, only to have his hand slapped away.
"You had one job. ONE job. To keep an eye on Tweek and make sure he didn't flip out. I was gone for five minutes and now there's flour all over my kitchen."
"I just turned my back for a second! I didn't think he'd be able to do anything in a single moment!"
"Well, Donovan, I guess now you know." Tucker's frigid tone seemed to cut the other man like a knife and his steps faltered some. They strange pair made their way over to my table and 'Donovan' let out a sigh.
"So you're sitting out here now, huh? Well, it's more social than the kitchen at least." Donovan said somberly as Tucker slid in to the seat next to Stotch without a single word. At first glance, he seemed stressed and annoyed but it seemed rather forced like he was purely choosing to act that way without much prompt.
A moment after they sat down, another figure emerged from the kitchen door. It was Tweak, who was covered head to toe in flour. His spiky blonde hair looked like a shock of fiery white now, and he had a nervous, almost petrified look that was nearly concealed by a thin layer of flour. He seemed unsure of himself for a long pause, but after Donovan gestured for him to approach us, he finally did, slipping into the chair next to him.
"So- Kyle, was it? Are there any good songs out lately? I mean, I've only been in here for like a week, but they let me bring my iPod in and I wanted to download some new music." Donovan spoke up, apparently the source of conversation in their little group.
"Well, what sort of music do you like?" I asked with an air of clipped politeness. I didn't mind conversing usually, but here in prison I felt like I was in a cage of solitude. Additionally, I was more interested to hear what Stan wanted to say than any casual conversation Donovan could offer.
"Oh, this and that. Rock, rap… Other stuff…" His attention was broken suddenly; Tucker was attempting to rid Tweek's hair of flour.
"I think you'd probably not enjoy my type of music then. I like peaceful, urban music. You'd have more luck talking to Stan about rock or rap music. He has a bizarre affliction for music like that."
"Who's Stan?" Donovan asked, rekindling his interest in our discussion.
Oh. Oh fuck. "I-I'm sorry, you don't know him. I forgot we're in prison." At least that part was true. "He's an old friend of mine. We grew up together."
Kenny raised his eyebrows. I was starting to get worried, but Donovan's smile assured me that he had bought my bullshit story. "I have a friend like that too. His name's Kevin. But we have pretty different taste in stuff. He's all about Star Trek and I'm… well, I'm just not. He likes lots of stuff I don't."
"What do you like?" Tucker grumbled, staring menacingly into his soup. "Seems like you don't like anything."
"I like lots of stuff! I like YOU, after all!" Donovan replied indignantly, not ashamed of his declaration in the slightest. I was rather appalled and impressed as I watched Tucker's stoic face heat up.
"Don't say it like that!" He retorted.
"Well how else am I supposed to say it? It's the truth!"
Tucker went silent and Donovan sighed and pulled out from the table to stand. As he was about to leave, a hand reached out suddenly and clasped his wrist.
"Come with me." Tucker said, and he dragged the confused man out of the cafeteria and back into the kitchen. I let my gaze fall on their abandoned trays in astonishment and accepted the antics that had just occurred. Kenny was snickering with Stotch about the two and suddenly I felt like an enormously awkward fifth wheel. I looked over to Tweek and found him struggling over a spoon that wouldn't still. His jittery nerves seemed to be causing him a good amount of grief, and know that I knew his companions a little better, I could understand why.
Kenny and Stotch kept up friendly conversation with me throughout the rest of the dinner and occasionally Tweek would put in his two cents. Half of the time I expected Tucker or Donovan to come storming out from the kitchen like before (there were crashing sounds coming from the kitchen every so often), but after thirty minutes it became pretty clear that they weren't going to. Right when dinner was over and trays were being put away, I bolted for the door. On my way out, I heard Kenny (who had also gotten up rather quickly) exclaim from the kitchen, "Holy shit! I should've known that's what you were doing in here!" and he then proceeded to cackle mischieviously. I would've stuck around to see what all the commotion was about, but I was reaching the end of my patience and wanted to hear what Stan had to say already.
I crept behind the cafeteria as quietly as I could and was preparing to wait in the shadows for him, but Stan had beaten me already. He was leaning up against one of the food trucks with his hands in his guard jacket and had a sheepish grin on his face when he spotted me. I immediately felt a surge of anxious anticipation.
"Hey." He said simply, looking as nervous as I felt. It was probably because we haven't seen each other for so long. It's hard to know where to begin.
"Hey. Uh, so you wanted to see me?" I asked, shuffling my feet. He got off of the truck but kept his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah. I, ah, wanted to say some things. But before all that, I wanted to ask you something." There was a long pause. "I know you said I thought I was joking, but… Did you ever really think I was serious?"
Of course he had wanted to talk about that. I felt utterly retarded. "Like I said before, after you ran away with your tail between your legs I got a pretty good idea that you were serious. Why?"
"Well, I mean, I'm pretty sure I deserve by now to know how you felt about that, once you had figured it all out." Stan replied with failed indifference.
"I… well, I-I was flattered." I choked out, suddenly incapable of speech. "But you were gone. Anything I had or hadn't felt didn't matter by then."
"It matters now." Stan insisted. "Really. What did you think? Were you surprised, or did you always peg me as a gay? Were you disgusted? Talk to me, Kyle."
"You want to know what I thought?!" I began fervidly. "I thought 'Well shit! It's about fucking time!' I mean, come on! You'd blow me off for girls all of the fucking time! And I just had to sit there and pretend it didn't get to me as bad as it did. Well, guess what! IT REALLY FUCKING GOT TO ME. Okay?! Are you happy now?! I didn't like seeing you with other people- girls especially. It ruined my chances at anything. So no, I'm not disgusted in your pansy-ass confession and I'm not disgusted that you're gay. How could I be?! Here, I never thought I had a chance- not a remote fucking CHANCE- and then you go running off the next day! How fucked up is that?!"
Drained, I fell down to my knees on the cold, hard concrete below. Stan, who was certainly taken aback by my impassioned response, carefully replied. "Then why did you pretend like it was a joke?"
"Because if I had said anything, ANYTHING, to imply that I had feelings for you only to find out that you were joking, our positions would be reversed right now." I felt gross for saying it, but it was the truth. I had feared rejection from Stan more than anything else.
"Why didn't you text me any of this?" He asked.
"I wasn't about to pour out my feelings over a goddamn phone, Stan. That's entirely distasteful." He chuckled softly and offered me his hand, which I took gratefully and stood up once again. But instead of letting me go, he drew me closer and wrapped his other arm around me.
"I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?" He said in a more hushed tone, and a thrill of goosebumps ran across my neck.
I was tired of waiting for him. I had been waiting for him nearly all of our friendship. As a response, I tilted my head up and met his lips with mine. We kissed like that for a brief while, and after all of these years, I was finally feeling like a more whole version of myself. There were no fireworks or anything of the sort, but I felt warm, safe, and an overwhelming and somewhat foreign sense of happiness. Stan was back. He was finally back. And, for this moment at least, everything was how it should be.
Finally we parted, and Stan seemed to understand how I was feeling. He grinned at me. "Holy shit."
"Yeah." I responded, my tone much more humbly hushed than before. "That… That needed to happen about a decade ago."
Realizing that it was dark and that I needed to get back before I got written up, Stan offered to walk me back to my room. I was more than a little disappointed to say goodbye, but I held on to the thought that The Hobbit was back on my bed waiting to be read. He led me once again to Room C.
Once we were in front of the door to the room, Stan looked around and leaned in to whisper, "I'll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself tonight and don't trust anyone." He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading off down the hallway.
I sighed, both relishing and feeling a little afraid of what was transforming between us, and turned to click open the door. It creaked open and I was face-to-face with someone I had all but forgotten about.
I don't know why he was standing right in front of the door like that, but he was only a few feet away and was staring right at me as the door opened. It was the massive man before who had stalked me.
"How do you know that little runt?" He bluntly asked.
"Who are you talking about?"
"Broflovski. How do you know him?"
It took me a moment to understand who he was talking about. "What's it to you?"
I moved around him and headed towards my bed, noticing that neither Tweek nor Tucker were back yet.
"Answer me. How do you know Ike Broflovski?"
I weighed my options and finally decided to tell him some of the truth. "He's my brother. Fuck off already."
"BullSHIT. He doesn't look anything like you! You're a fucking ginger and he's Canadian!" The man, who I recalled Tucker referring to as 'Cartman' rumbled. "There's no such thing as a ginger Canadian!"
There was so much wrong with his statement, I didn't even know where to begin. "Look. I don't really give a shit about what you think is possible or not, but if you must know he's adopted. I would appreciate it in the future if you didn't follow me around everywhere."
Cartman ignored my response and went over to his own bed. "If you're telling me the truth, I could really use you in the future. You see, your brother is pretty into the drug cartel around here and I'd appreciate it if you could get him to do some 'fair business' with me, if you catch my drift."
"I don't." I said flatly. "And I have nothing to do with Ike's business, as it were. Fuck off."
He didn't strangely didn't respond and instead began changing his clothes for the night with his back to me. I chose that moment to get up on my own bed and do the same. When I looked back at Cartman, I was both surprised and alarmed by what I saw.
He had a bullet wound on his left shoulder and a colorful array of scars all up and down his back, much like both his arms. But what caught my eye and chilled my blood the most was his one tattoo. It was placed in the very center of his back and stretched across most of it menacingly. The design was unmistakable; a Swastika. I was rooming with a neonazi.
It was no secret in my old life that I was of Jewish descent; I proudly celebrated all of our traditions with my family, upheld our religion as faithfully as I could, and as I have mentioned before, my mother had even had me learn Hebrew at a young age along with Ike, despite him being Canadian. All of my friends had known about my heritage, and I had never been given any real grief over it. I certainly had never met a nazi before. Until now that is.
I truly couldn't think of anything to say other than the obvious. "So, you're a nazi?"
Cartman turned to me. "That's right. Why, is there a problem with it?"
I didn't reply to him either. "What sorts of things do nazis even do nowadays?"
"Pah! You're so ignorant! We believe in white supremacy, of course. None of those other lowly races will be tolerated. 100% Arab is the only way to go. Actually, you want to hear a secret?"
No, I really didn't. "Sure."
He lowered his voice dramatically. "Before I was thrown in this shithole, I lit a Synagogue on fire with my old friend Thorn. A bunch of kikes went up in flames while they were worshipping the death of Jesus or some shit like that. It was pretty funny, man! You shoulda been there. I think you, a fellow murderer, would've appreciated it."
As a normal, everyday white male, I haven't been on the butt-end of a racist assault before, so I had nothing to compare this hatred burning in my chest to. This ridiculous, stupid excuse of a man was claiming to have killed a bunch of regular people like me and then treating it like it was something to laugh about. In a split-second, I accepted the hell that was about to come.
I don't recall flying off of the top of my bed and charging Cartman, but a moment later my fist contacted his nose with a satisfying crunch. He howled in surprised and swung at my stomach. I grimaced and brought an upper-hook to his jaw, and we both watched in amazement as he bit down on his tongue and started bleeding out ungodly portions of thick blood. He fell like a great wall to the ground in a heap, and I congratulated myself on temporarily collapsing his enormous tree-trunk of a body. Despite a broken nose and an alarming bleeding tongue, he seemed like he still had quite a fight left in him so I leapt on him and straddled him, landing blow after blow to his face. I was certain I wasn't as strong as he was and I was pretty sure he would get the upper hand sooner rather than later, but there wasn't much else I could do short of killing him. I punched him until his face was a mess of red until he finally landed another blow- this time, directly to my ear.
I withdrew as the clot to my ear began to cause a wretched ringing noise that spun me into a pained haze. Cartman threw me off and managed to stand, kicking me squarely in the stomach. He ripped me off the floor and kneed me there once, twice, thrice until I doubled over in pain. I had to end this quickly.
In a panic, my eyes scoured the room for something I could use. I finally spotted the single blocky wooden chair that was pressed up against the lone desk. I snatched up the chair desperately and wielded it against my feral opponent. He barreled after me in a blind rage and when he was within range, I cracked it down onto his head before he could attack. He fell once again in a heap and I lashed out once again. I think we were both surprised by the ease in which I brought my foot down to his throat, and my mind didn't have to think twice about applying a little extra weight; just enough not to crush anything too important.
"Alright, alright. Truce. Truce! Let me go! I won't hit you if you won't hit me, okay?" He gasped, spitting out a bloody tooth onto the floor. He wasn't as much of a fighter as he first appeared; he was a wimp, a coward.
"You piece of shit," I snarled, letting up and kicking his massive stomach with unyielding wrath. "How does it feel getting a beating from a kike?" I spat on him, not waiting for a response. "Get up. A guard should be coming in soon."
He did just that, seeming to comply to what I requested. But there was something untrustworthy in his actions, as if he were going through the actions just to prove a point to me. A minute or two later, Tweek and Tucker slipped in. Neither Cartman nor I had bothered to clean up the blood or to retrieve his missing tooth (let alone clean our faces of blood), so both were appalled by the scene they walked in on.
"Holy fucking shit!" Tweek cried out and scrambled over to his bed as if it were a protective sanctuary from the madness before him.
Tucker just simply asked, "What the hell happened?"
"Cartman here was explaining to me his views on white supremacy." I said behind gritted teeth.
"Well, at least clean this shit up before one of the guards gets here. Otherwise you're both getting thrown in the hole."
I did not know or care to know what the hole was, but I listened to him regardless and used one of my few spare socks as a rag. Cartman scrubbed off his face and moaned when he felt his nose. I smiled.
Somehow we had managed to cleanse the gruesome crime scene before the guard came. This time, it was a blond one I had seen wandering the halls before. She was rather attractive, and I wondered whether or not Stan found her to be pretty. After she clicked us in and left, I crawled up to my bed and reached under my pillow to grasp Stan's and my book firmly. It was too late for reading; the light's out signal had just been called. So instead I cradled it to my chest as if it were the most precious belonging I owned (actually, right now it was).
All that had happened today had finally settled on my shoulders and I cried soundless, secret tears after the lights went off. I didn't feel safe right now- not with Cartman the neonazi, Tweek the insomniac, and Tucker the emotionless drone. Not even with myself, who was growing colder by the minute. This wasn't my family; these weren't the people I belonged with. I wanted to be with Stan, even with Kenny right now, and return back to those golden days of childhood. But I simply couldn't. And suddenly, like all things do, my problems seemed much heavier in the dark.
And that's all she wrote. For now, at least. HOLY SHIT that chapter was so much longer than I anticipated! Sorry again for such the long wait! The next chapter will be in Butters' perspective again and then the one after that will be a special chapter in Kenny's perspective. :3 I'm pretty excited to write it all for you guys 3 Tell me what you thought of Kyle, Stan, Cartman, and other shenanigans! I tried to make Kyle's narrations seem more refined than Butters', so please tell me if that worked or not xP I've gotten a request for more Damien and Pip stuff, so I'll try to incorporate more of them in the next chapter! (I've also gotten a lot of requests for Butters and Kenny stuff, so expect more cuteness from them as well) If there's anyone else you want more of, anything you're particularly interested in, let me know! (Also, no one has said anything to me about it yet, but I just wanted to say this anyway: I apologize if you're someone who doesn't like reading stuff with a lot of commas in it. I insert commas whenever I feel there should be a natural pause, but I know that not all writers do this. If it irks, I'm sorry, that's just my writing style xP) Also, this is kind of irrelevant, but during summer break I'll be visiting the famous abandoned prison in San Francisco, Alcatraz. Needless to say, I'm pretty excited ;) Anyway, I love you guys and hope you'll be patient as I riddle through the next chapter! I'll try to be a lot quicker this time!
