I honestly didn't mean to leave it this late. But life, it seems is determined to screw me over. I've been on vacation, come back, been ill a few times, had family problems, school problems, friend problems and God only knows what else. Thanks for all the reviews I got last chapter-the compliments and criticisms were much appreciated...and will be for this one too. Seriously, I love getting reviews, even negative ones, as long as they're constructive, so don't hesitate to tell me if you like it or if you don't.

I'm actually wondering about making the end bit a separate chapter. Tell me what you think, and if the majority think I should, I'll move it

South Park, it's characters and all it's glory © Matt Stone and Trey Parker

Oh fuck. This isn't going to be entirely awkward.

It's not like me and Stan have stopped being friends, exactly. It's just that something tells me that going to Stan's for dinner not even a week after he's seen his ex hugging me on my doorstep, wearing my jacket instead of her own, in the middle of the night is not exactly a tactful, or indeed a particularly wise thing to do.

Least he's stopped wearing guyliner and quoting Edgar Allan Poe every five minutes. Kyle bitched at him until he stopped, then at me, for being insensitive to Stan's feelings (I still don't understand exactly how trying to look after your family is insensitive, but whatever) and then at Fatass, for trying to steal his homework. So then we were all pissed off, and the circle of life was complete. But I digress.

The point is that Stan's still acting kind of...offhand with me, even though I've told him repeatedly why Wendy was there in the first place, and that the lightning thing was just a fluke; probably God or Damien's sick idea of a joke.

I would just not go, but, to be frank, I'm sick of waffles and pop tarts, both of which have been burnt to a crisp annoyingly often lately. The Marshes have decent food, which usually contains some form of nutrients and, if I'm honest, I miss being close to Stan. I know I'll never be equal to Kyle in the whole stupid BFF thing, but he's still one of my best friends, and I don't feel right knowing that he's still annoyed and suspicious of me. Maybe tonight will give me a chance to patch things up or something gay like that.

Not to mention my siblings wouldn't forgive me if I was the reason they had to stay home-they're as eager for food which actually COULD prevent them from contracting scurvy as I am. Plus for Kevin, the Marsh's house has another little...attraction. Shelley, to be exact. I have no idea why, but for some reason that violent, bad-tempered metal-mouth can turn him into a speechless, drooling zombie at ten paces. We've given up teasing him about it though: it's not fair to tease a man who's in love that desperately and earnestly. Plus he didn't get that we actually were ripping on him, which sucked the fun out of things.

"Kenny, c'mon, I'm HUNGRY!"

"Yeah, Kenny. I wanna go eat some food!"

"SHUT UP! I'm coming!"

I throw on a clean-ish shirt and pull my parka over it, which kind of makes the whole operation redundant. There's no real point dressing up: it's only the Marshes. This apparently hasn't occurred to my brother, who's gone and put on his suit, in an effort to impress Shelley. Aww, cute-he's done his hair and everything. Better do something about that. I jump on his back and scruff his hair back into the normal crazy spikes of dishwasher blonde. Kevin shoves me off, and aims a punch at my shoulder.

"KINNY! 'tcha do that for?! Frickin' sunuvabitch!

"You don't want her to think you like her do you?"

"But I do like 'er."

"You can't let HER know that! It'll put her off!"

"Will it???" Kevin looks worried. He might be four years older, but he still takes me at my word for everything.

"Oh yeah-trust me, take the tie and jacket off-roll the sleeves up, Kev-and she'll be all over you, honestly."

"Will I get...get laid?"

"Uh...sure."

For someone who reads as many dirty magazines as I do, he sure is clueless about these things. Not that I can blame him really. When Mom bullied our dad into telling Kevin about sex and shit, Dad's response was to hand Kevin that month's copy of Zoo, clap him on the shoulder and say, "Page 18, kiddo. Gemme a beer, will y'?"

The dog's in heat, and so is being a horny bastard and trying to fuck everything. He's already managed to knock the cinder block out from under the table, breaking the empty scotch bottles that were lying on top of it, and creating even more mess for us to be surrounded by. To try and stop Buddy (Budweiser, don't ask) breaking anything else, we try and tie him to the legs of the chair, using Kevin's abandoned tie as a leash. It doesn't work. Two minutes and one broken lamp later, we decide it'll be easier just to take the stupid mutt with us.

Considering the Marshes live right across the train tracks and are practically our next-door neighbours, it sure as hell takes long enough to get there. Godamnit.

Stan's mom opens the door. She looks slightly confused, but I suppose opening the door to a small child yelling, "Stop trying to rape the fucking mailbox!!" to a dog that's almost as big as she is will have that effect on people.

"Oh. Uh...you kids are here for dinner, right?"

I nod. Mrs Marsh eyes Buddy wearily, but, to her credit, is a good sport about it,

"Come on in then. Shelley and Stan are in the living room if you all want to go through."

I don't know if it's just me, but I always feel kind of strange when I go to any of the guys' houses, especially Stan's. Not for any bad reason, but just because their houses are so different to mine. Stan's is practically next door to us, yet while my house is filthy, cramped and falling to pieces Stan's is clean, comfortable and open plan. It's funny to think that, if things had been different, it could've been me living here, living the good life with my x-box and floorboards that don't give way under foot, and him living in a clubhouse, eating frozen waffles and having Kyle's mom keeping one eye fixed on him constantly.

Not that I want to trade. While I don't exactly love my house to death, I've grown accustomed to it. Kind of like Stockoholm Syndrome.

From the doorstep, I hear the faint strains of Mirror People by Love and Rockets. It was the first song Stan mastered on Guitar Hero 5. If he's stressed, or pissed off, he plays the ones he's already good at. Don't know why. I guess attempting a new one would drive him over the edge of insanity or something.

We step inside, as Shelley whacks Stan over the head with the spare guitar,

"SHUT UP TURD!!"

Stan clutches his head (I'm pretty sure the guitar now has a crack right up the middle now),

"The hell!? What was that for?"

Shelley inhales deeply through her nose as though Stan has said something incredibly offensive and/or stupid, and grabs hold of Stan's ears, twisting them. He winces, and tries to move away, but his sister keeps hold of him,

"Now, turd. What time is it?"

"I...just-"

"I THAID WHAT TIME IS IT!!!"

"8:15, ma'am."

"And what happens at 8:15 every Tuesday and Wednesday?!"

"T-The Russell Crowe show?"

Shelley lets go of Stan's ears (which have turned a pretty painful-looking shade of red) and shoves him to the floor.

"That'th right. Now be a good little turd an-" Shelley cuts herself off, as she sees us, "Oh hey Kevin. You with your turdish thiblings?"

"Y-yes ma'am."

"Poor you. But it gets better-you jutht have to know how to deal with them. Like this."

Shelley gives Stan a kick in the ribs, causing him to groan with pain. Poor kid. Just hope I'm never on the receiving end of-

Kevin shoves me to the floor, and kicks me. In the ribs. The fucking betraying douchebag. I must remember to do the same for him some time-

Holy God that's painful. Why did my dad have to decide it was about time Kevin got some proper boots? As in combat boots? Ow, fuck.

As Stan and I are lying, sprawled out and groaning in pain on the floor, Shelley motions for Kevin to follow her, and the pair of them leave the room. Teenagers are fucking weird. Hope I never become one (I do look forward enormously to the sex part of adolescence but that seems to be all that puberty has going for it if I'm honest).

Well, time to start getting back on Stan's good side,

"Hey Stan-How's it going?"

"I think I may have some form of concussion."

"Well, 'least you're not dead. That's gotta be something, huh?"

Stan rolls onto his side to face me and gives me a Look. I raise my eyebrows apologetically (not like he can see much else of my face). He sighs, and props himself up onto his elbows.

"So what do you want to do then, now you're here?"

I decide to avoid mentioning Guitar Hero. "Uh...you got any new games?"

"Nah...I've been saving up for other stuff..." He looks away from me, "I was thinking about maybe asking Wendy if I can take her out some place. Movies or something." He laughs humourlessly, "She'd probably want to go and see that piece of shit, New Moon. I mean, I'd even sit through it and bear it, if she were with me. But I don't think she's interested in me anymore. I mean, what happened the other day..."

"Stan. The other day. You know why she was there. You know why I was hugging her. I would...I would never do that to you. Only complete scumbags mess around with the girl that one of their best friends likes."

My stomach clenches as I say this. I don't know why I even feel guilty. As I said, nothing happened. Must just be a result of eating nothing but breakfast products for nearly a whole week. Yeah, that'll be it. The carbon (from them being burnt so often)'s probably done something to my stomach. Which will most likely be fatal. Perfect.

Stan just looks at me. His eyes stare straight into mine, trying to figure me out. I look straight back at him. He looks away first. I stand up, and offer him my hand,

"Bros before hoes then?"

"I'll pretend you didn't just say something as corny and unoriginal as that. But in essence, yeah. Bros before hoes."

He takes my hand and pulls himself up. If this were one of those cheesy, feel-good, irritating-as-hell romance/friendship movies that always seem to be showing around mid-October, there'd be some kind of soft music playing, with soft-focus camera work. As it happens, we have to make do with Stan's dad's phone conversation in the background, and quite a bit of banging around upstairs. Ah well.

Ew, gross. Shelley and Kevin went upstairs. Oh God, that's sick! The same thought must've occurred to Stan, since he's turned quite pale, and seems to be having respiratory problems.

Stan's mom comes into the room, and shouts up the stairs, "Guys, Lasagne's ready!"

There's some more scuffling and banging, and then my brother and Stan's sister come downstairs. Kev's shirt's buttoned up wrongly, and Shelley's hair's all messed up. Ew.

Wait, that's odd. There's more weird noises, yet everyone else is down here. What's makin-?

Oh.

That would explain things...

Sparky and Buddy come out onto the landing. Buddy mounts Sparky and proceeds to hump him like a fucking gorilla. Alrighty then, we now have a gay dog. Excellent. Funny, since I saw him screwing Lola's prissy beagle, Daisy, the other day...Guess we just have a slutty dog. Even better.

We sit down, all of us trying to avoid looking at our two dogs. Grandpa Marsh wheels himself in, takes in the pair of them and scowls,

"Everyone's a fucking fag these days..."

Mr Marsh shoots him a disapproving look, as his wife sets the plates on the table. Stan's family don't pray before meals, so we just dive right in. I'm aware that my family tend to eat like starving people, but that's just 'cause we are. If eating large amounts of actual food isn't something that you get to do every day, then you don't eat it neatly when you have to opportunity to-you just stuff it in your mouth, as fast as you can.

There's a knock at the door. For a second, no one reacts, intending to leave it. Then there's another knock. And another. Whoever it is isn't going to go away any time soon. Mrs Marsh sighs, stands up, and walks back through the living room to the front door.

For a minute, we all just carry on eating, as we hear Stan's mom unlocking the door. And then,

"Oh hello, Wendy. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Hi, Mrs Marsh. Is Stan home?"

Fuck. This is just what I need right now, when I've finally managed to clear the air with Stan.

"Well, he's just eating dinner, Wendy. But if you want to wait, then I'm sure he'd be glad to see you. "

"Thanks."

Karen glances at me, and opens her mouth to say something. I give her a quick kick under the table. I don't need her saying anything stupid right now.

By the time we've finished, I feel even more pissed off. I have no idea why, but something tells me this isn't going to end well for someone.

I can't really stay at the table when everyone else's gone back into the living room. So I drag myself to my feet and walk slowly to the armchair and watch the scene between Stan and Wendy (who're both on the couch) unfold.

"Stan. We need to talk."

"O-okay."

"About us."

"Sure."

Wendy sighs, "Stan, I want you to be happy. You know that, right?" She presses on without waiting to hear his answer, "But I really think it's time you and I stopped all this...all these stupid games with each other."

"You're taking me back?"

She shakes her head, "No, Stan. I think it's best we just start again, with a clean slate. We've become so focused on the relationship that was between us that we're letting it cloud our judgement. If we spend more time apart from each other and then start afresh when we're ready, then we both can grow as people, and then if we decide to make another go of things, then things between us will be stronger, yes?"

The girl's got a way with words. She wants to be a senator. She told us back in third grade, when we all had to give speeches on what career we hoped to have in the future. She'll be damn good at it, that's for sure. Here she is basically telling Stan that she'll be avoiding him for the foreseeable future, and he's nodding like an idiot. My fists clench involuntarily. I stand up,

"Hey Stan, dude, It's getting late now. I think it's best if we started back home."

"Okay, Kenny."

"Kevin, Karen, C'mon. We've stayed too long a'eady."

My siblings make their way into the room, Kevin still with Shelley wrapped around him. They proceed to make out for a further five minutes and then disentangle themselves. As we're about to walk out the door, I hear Wendy say, from behind us,

"Oh it is late. I think it'd be better if I left, myself. Bye Stan."

"My Dad'll give you a ride if you hang on a sec-"

"Oh no, no. I don't want to be a bother. I'm heading the same way as Kenny anyway."

Like Hell she is. I feel Stan's look on the back of my neck. I force myself not to show any outward signs of surprise. A moment, which seems like eternity passes before Stan sighs slightly,

"Alright then. Night Wendy, Night Ken."

We both smile and nod and thank Stan's parents for having us. I wait until I'm outside, and the door is shut. I turn to Kevin,

"You take Karen and head on, I'll be there in a minute."

"Well, we kin, we kin wait-"

"Just go on. This won't take long."

My brother looks at me strangely for a second, then shrugs his shoulders, and walks back in the direction of our house, holding our sister's hand in his. I turn back to Wendy.

"What the Hell was that all about?!"

She frowns, "Excuse me?"

"That, in there? Why the fuck d'you have to come over and say all that t'Stan?! While I'm there! He's not been talking to me properly in a week, cause he thinks I'm fuckin' around with you. Tonight, I'd just managed to get things straight, and then you have to come and mess it all up again!"

"Kenny, what on Earth are you talking abou-?"

"Why tonight, huh, Wendy? You trying to use me to get Stan to leave you alone?"

"No! Look, Kenny, I don't know what's going through your head right now, but I've been meaning to talk to Stan for a while now. The fact that you were there is purely coincidental."

"The Hell it was!"

She looks at me straight, with fire blazing in her eyes, "Kenny. Believe it or not, I am not that kind of person. I would not use someone else as an excuse to get someone to stay away from me. If you honestly think that little of me, then I see no point in continuing this conversation." She turns on her heel, her long silky hair hitting me in the face with a blast of Sea Chi Organics Shampoo, and walks away.

The feeling of being an asshole seems to occur pretty often when in the company of Wendy Testaburger, it seems.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

That night, I lay in bed, trying to figure it out. What it means, this Dream.

Understand that I'm not one of those people who think everything is symbolic and who analyse their dreams to death (Like Kyle-he spent three quarters of an hour trying to figure out what his dream of Bebe having a crush on him meant, for fuck's sake). I mean, I rarely even HAVE dreams-I'm usually dead when I should be sleeping- but when I do have them, they're never of the deep and meaningful kind. They usually mirror the cartoons in Playboy magazines: a vague sort of storyline, drifting towards a climax where someone gets their boobs out (In glorious Technicolor).

But for the last few days, I've had the same dream over and over.

It always starts with a castle with a broken door. It's permanently raining in this dream, and everything surrounding it is in shades of black, grey and white.

Then the dream changes scenes, to a girl, whose face I've never seen in all of the time I've been having these dreams. I only ever see her from behind, and all I ever know about her is that she's a princess. In her hands, she's holding a tin, with the lid on (It's padlocked shut-I have no idea why).

She clings onto it for a few seconds and then shoves it roughly into the bundle she's carrying on her back. She signs her name (which I can never make out) on a piece of paper, maybe a letter or something, and goes to look out of the window. She sees the rain, goes to pick up her coat, but then leaves it, and starts to walk out the door, only to be stopped by a pair of guards, who are dragging someone along by the front of his clothes. Strangely enough they look like Kyle and Stan's dads, but whatever. The girl (who I still only have a rear view of-quite a nice rear view but still) has a silent but fierce argument with them, and gestures towards their prisoner. The guard who looks like Mr Marsh drags the guy up to look her in the eyes by yanking on his hair forcefully. He looks up. And...it's me.

I'm begging and pleading with the woman, gesturing like a maniac, screaming stuff that the real me can't hear, because my stupid self has to dream in the silent-movie genre. I pull out a pouch, and throw it at her feet. The Kyle's dad guard says something to the girl, who shakes her head and turns to leave. I still don't see her face, and I'm dragged away, still yelling the whole way.

And then I wake up.

As per usual. God, I'm thinking way too much about this. I curl up on my side, and try and sleep some more. Wish I had some new bed sheets. The rats have started gnawing on the ends of these ones.

Takes a few minutes, but eventually, I'm back in dream land. Let's see what fun the dream makers have in store for Kenny this evening...Damnit. Same dream again. Everything happens as it's meant to: girl shakes head, turns to leave, I get yanked away...but wait. Tonight's different. When I scream, she turns around. I see her face for a split second. Actually, that's not right. I don't see her face. Not all of it. Just the eyes. But it's enough. They're full of fear and anger and regret, almost to a point where they're unrecognisable. But I'd know those eyes anywhere.

Why am I dreaming about Wendy's eyes?