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Kyla rolled over, her mouth hanging open in a ferocious yawn. Dull grey light poured in through the blinds, creating fingers across her bed. The sheets were tangled up in her legs, the comforter hanging off the edge of the bed. She had to be the least graceful sleeper in the world.
She reluctantly flicked her eyes open and found herself staring at the ceiling. She swivelled her eyes around, trying to remember what had happened last night. Memories washed over her like waves, pulling her back to reality. School. Classes. Homework. Kenny. Sex. Other girl.... It was all coming back now. She groaned and turned over onto her stomach, her arm hanging over the side of the mattress. Her eyes scaled the floor of her room and were surprised to find that she was not alone here. Someone was curled up on an air mattress next to her bed, sound asleep. She tried to remember who it was. She raked her brain, but her memory was shot in the morning.
With some effort, she reached out and poked the bundle on the air mattress. It immediately writhed and moaned, rolling over onto its back. She saw the head of messy black hair, ratty from sleep, and remembered. Stan had slept over. She'd driven him to her house after school yesterday, claiming she just wanted to "hang out". Really she had just needed a distraction from Kenny's absence.
She knew where the tall blond was. She even knew who he was with. But it didn't make her feel any better.
She focused on Stan instead of the hole in her heart. The two of them had been having sleepovers since kindergarten. Their parents had decided there was no point in putting an end to the overnight visits once they hit puberty; there was no fear of them hooking up. Still, Stan hadn't slept over in...years...since he started seeing Wendy.
Absently, she reached out to stroke his hair. It was soft, like down. Beautiful. She'd always loved his hair. Baby-fine. Raven black. Easily tousled. The most amazing thing to run her fingers through. She smiled into her pillow as her fingers stroked his bangs lazily. Her smile grew when he groaned and leaned into the touch subconsciously. Stan was so freaking cute; sometimes she just wanted to squeal at him. His wide eyes, shy shoulders and cheeks that pooled with blood so fast and when he was embarassed. He was adorable. Wendy was a lucky girl.
Ugh. Wendy. Stupid, stupid Wendy. She was too lucky. Stan deserved way better than her. He needed...someone who was focused on more than sex and seduction...he needed someone he could talk to, someone who would sit and listen lovingly as he strummed his guitar and sang in that soft voice of his. Someone like Kyla herself. A friend.
A shock passed through her body so fast she jumped, jerking her hand away from Stan's head. She sprang up in bed, almost knocking her head on the slanted dorm ceiling. Her eyes were so wide it hurt.
With Stan. With Stan. With Stan.
She realized what Kenny had meant. And, as usual, he was right.
If Kyla wasn't lucky enough to have Kenny—perfect, sweet, abundant Kenny—she would have chosen the one boy who had been by her side from the beginning. The wonder that had been right there all along.
Stan.
It was all she could do to keep from screaming.
She was horrified.
KENNY.
She jumped up from bed, careful not to step on Stan on the way out.
Enough of this celibacy.
It was time to give Kenny what he wanted.
*
Stan padded into the kitchen an hour and a half later, rubbing his bleary eyes with his fist. Gerald Broflovski was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in one hand, a newspaper in the other. He looked up as his daughter's best friend loped in, a pleasant smile on his face.
"'Morning, Stan," he greeted cheerily.
The raven-haired teen grunted sleepily in response and headed for the coffee machine. He poured himself a mug and added a generous amount of sugar before taking a seat next to Mr. Broflovski. Stan Marsh was definitely not a morning person.
Mr. Broflovski cleared his throat and folded the newspaper onto the table. "I'm afraid Kyla had to leave," he explained, taking a sip of his black coffee. "She said it was urgent. She asked me to tell you to call her when you woke up." He slid the household cordless phone across the table towards Stan, who had perked up a little bit just at the sound of Kyla's name.
He blinked, looking at Mr. Broflovski. The bearded man was like a second father to him. Then he looked down at the phone on the table. Plastic. White. Shiny. Realization hit, but barely showed on his face. Mr. Broflovski wanted to know what was going on. Using Stan to find out.
"I don't know where she went," Stan said quickly.
"I know, son. But she said to call her. So..." He gestured to the phone.
Stan sighed and picked up the phone, dialling Kyla's cell number without looking at the keys. He knew it upside down and backwards.
It rang several times before someone picked up. "'Llo?"
Stan started. "Kenny?"
"Yeah. Who's this?"
"Where's Kyla?"
"Who is this?" he demanded firmly.
Stan sighed exasperatedly, shooting a look at Gerald, who was leaning forward, his brow furrowing. "It's Stan. Where's Kyla?"
"She's...not available." He voice was tight. Strained. Angry.
"Bull," Stan snapped. "Why are you answering her phone? Let me speak to her!"
There was a muffled cry and some scuffling, and then Kenny spoke. "I'm going to hang up, now, Stan."
"Kenny, goddamit," Stan cried, forgetting where he was and who else was in the room. "Let me speak to Kyla!"
"You're never gonna speak to her again," Kenny yelled. The scuffling had started up again. "Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend, Marsh. I mean it. If you know what's good for you, fuck off now."
A muffled, "Ken—!"
"Fuck off, Kyla!" Kenny barked.
"What are you doing to her?" Stan shouted, standing up from the table so fast he knocked over his chair. "I swear, McCormick, if you touch so much as a hair on her head I will find you and...and kill you!"
Kenny scoffed. "Suck my balls, fuckface."
There was a click as he hung up.
Stan threw the phone to the floor and sprinted from the room, ignoring Mr. Broflovski's screams of protest. He grabbed his jacket and yanked it on over his bare chest, then shoved his boots on his feet before banging out the door.
Once outside, he stood in the snow, the worst sense of defeat washing over him. He had no idea where that sleazy fuck was keeping his girl. But he was going to find out. Come hell or high water.
*
"Kenny, you're being ridiculous!" Kyla cried for what seemed like the millionth time that morning. "Stan is my friend!"
The unhappy couple was standing four feet apart on the bridge over Stark's Pond, hands in fists at their respective sides, each with anger towards the other radiating off of their stiff forms.
"You're sixteen and still having sleepovers with the kid, Kyla," Kenny replied hotly. "What do you expect me to believe? That you read gossip magazines and paint each-other's toenails all night?"
"Well, excuse me, but if I remember correctly, you were the one out fucking someone else last night!" Kyla yelled. Anyone who knew her well enough knew that she only swore when she was really mad.
Kenny closed the distance between them in two strides of his long legs and gripped her upper arms in his hands. Some of the anger had melted out of his eyes; instead he looked pained. Agonized. He looked down at Kyla, whose bottom lip was trembling as she looked up at him in fear. "Kyla—" He choked on whatever else he was going to say. He shook her a little bit, instead. Then he let go of her as if she'd burned him and shoved his hands in his pockets. She toed at the ground, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He sounded ashamed.
Kyla stood stiff as a board as she glared at him. Her bottom lip trembled as she tried to fight back tears. Her wool knit hat was suddenly too hot on her head: sweat beaded on her forehead despite the biting morning chill. Her scarf was choking her, too tight around her slim neck. Her torso was bound uncomfortably tight in her brown blazer, her arms braced stiffly at her sides, her booted feet pressed together. She felt like if she moved one muscle she would lose it.
"Kyla," Kenny started again, running a hand through his tousled blond hair. "Fuck. I'm so sorry."
Kyla forced herself to move. As she had suspected, a small sob escaped her chest and several tears slipped down her cheeks. She reached out to intertwine her fingers with Kenny's. He pulled his head up to look at her. His face was pinched with sorrow, but his eyes were dry. She gazed at him, her eyes tight with pain, before she pulled herself into him and brought her lips to his.
After a moment, Kenny slowly responded, straightening to his full height, forcing Kyla onto her toes. He pulled her into his chest, holding her as close as possible as their lips meshed together like chocolate. Kyla's tears fell onto Kenny's cheek as they embraced.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were smiling weakly.
"I'm sorry," Kenny said again. "It won't happen again."
Kyla smiled and pulled herself closer to him, resting her cheek on his chest. "You bet your ass, it won't." She said quietly, smiling into the fabric of his jacket. "We're going to take care of this problem. Tonight."
Kenny pulled away abruptly. "No."
"No?" She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.
"No." He shook his head, his bangs flopping in his face. "My testosterone is my problem. If you're not ready, I'll take care of it some other way. I can see now that our little plan bothers you."
"I am ready," Kyla said quickly. She sounded far from certain, however, and Kenny saw through the facade immediately.
"No," he said again, taking her hands off of his chest and clasping them between his own. "You're not. I can see that you're not."
"It's not fair to you," Kyla protested.
"It's not any more fair to you," Kenny pointed out firmly. "And if you gave in before you're ready to, who's going to be hurt the most in the end? Your feelings or my libido?"
She giggled softly, cracking a small smile. "If that's what you want...then just forget this ever happened."
"Agreed." He sighed and leaned away from her, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Guess I'll have to just be doing a lot of jerk—" His eyes swivelled to her and he blushed. "Never mind. You don't need to know."
She shook her head. "I mean forget this whole argument happened. Do what you want to get rid of your blasphemous urges," she added in a teasing tone.
He blinked, stunned. "What? No; it bothers you."
"It doesn't." She thought again. "Not enough to risk your sanity."
"Kyla..."
"It's fine, Kenny."
"I probably won't be able to anymore, anyway."
"Well, just in case you are able to...you have my...permission, I guess. Okay?" She put a hand on his cheek and looked affectionately into his eyes. "Okay?"
He read her eyes for a few moments, searching for any kind of doubt. Finding none, he nodded. "Thanks."
She smiled and pulled him close for a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. Behind his back, she crossed her fingers.
*
Stan was waiting for her when she returned. He jumped up from the front porch step and bound down the driveway, scooping her into a bear hug that knocked the breath out of her. "Where were you?" he exclaimed, pulling away and shaking her by the upper arms. "That call scared the shit out of me. Where is he? What did he do to you?"
"Stan, Stan," Kyla protested, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Stop it. I'm fine. He didn't do anything."
"But the phone—"
"We were having a little argument, okay, Stan?" She pulled away from him and straightened her jacket. "And besides, it's really none of your business. Butt out."
Stan crossed his arms. "What I've been trying to tell you for the past year and a half," he snapped.
Kyla glared at him. "This is different."
He threw his hands in the air. "No it isn't! You pry into my personal things all the time. Well, now you know how annoying it is. Only this time I was scared for your life. I spent all morning looking for you!"
"Stan, you're being melodramatic. Cut it out." She pushed past him and headed for her house. "Is there still coffee left?"
Stan caught her arm; his hold was gentle, however, as he looked at her pleadingly. "What happened?" he asked. "Do you need to talk about it?"
"We've made up," she explained, her anger ebbing away. "Don't worry."
I'm not worrying, Stan thought bitterly. "Did he hurt you?"
She sighed. "He grabbed me a few times. But it's okay. I'm alright. Please don't tell my Mom; she'd flip."
He hesitated, and then gave in. "Okay. I'm glad you're okay."
"Thanks."
They headed into the house, where Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski were waiting.
Mrs. Broflovski jumped up from the couch and threw herself onto her daughter. Tears were making her mascara run. Mr. Broflovski looked at Stan, his eyes pinched with worry. "The police are on their way."
"You called the police?" Kyla cried, gaping at her father over her mom's shoulder. "Why!"
"Stan told me it sounded like Kenny was holding you hostage or something," Gerald explained, holding out his hands helplessly. "He took off to look for you and I called the cops."
"You're not to see that boy ever again," Mrs. Broflovski was sobbing, clutching her daughter so hard Kyla thought she'd stop breathing.
"Mom—"
"I mean it this time!" Sheila pulled away, wiping at her tears. Her brow was furrowed at a sharp angle over her beady little eyes. "I don't want you to see him anymore!"
"Mom, nothing happened!" Kyla cried, her hands balling into fists. "Really! I'm fine!"
"Tell her what Kenny said to Stan, Gerald," Sheila snapped, folding her arms across the broad bosom.
"Sheila, this is ridiculous. Obviously, Kyla's okay."
Sheila turned to Stan, her expression vicious. "Tell her, Stanley!"
"Uh..." Kyla was looking at him pleadingly. Lie, she mouthed desperately. Lie!
He bit his lip. Everyone was waiting for him to answer. Kyla's lip was trembling the way it did when she was trying not to cry. He looked at Mrs. Broflovski, who was like a second mother to him. He contemplated the consequences of both actions and decided to...
...Lie.
"I was probably just overreacting," he explained slowly to Sheila. "It...it sounded as if Kenny was mad, but...Kyla said everything was okay." He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets sheepishly. "Sorry if I freaked you out. I myself was just...worried." He met Kyla's eyes then, and she saw just how scared he had been.
Sheila's eyes were practically bugging out of her head. She stammered a few indecipherable syllables before turning tightly on her heel and storming up the stairs. "I mean it, Kyla Broflovski!" she screamed from upstairs. "You're not to see that boy anymore!"
Kyla gave Stan a big smile that melted away any doubts he had about lying. He would do...anything for her. He was a slave to her smile. His own smile faltered a little when he remembered that she would never be his.
The cops showed up soon after that, and after a lot of explaining and apologies they left. Mrs. Broflovski had come down and forced the officer to take down Kenny's name, description and home address, much to Kyla's distress. Once Sheila had stormed away Gerald got the officer to scratch it all out, claiming his wife was just a worried mother and they didn't want to press any charges against Kenny.
Stan was a little disappointed. Boy, what he would give to see Kenny towed away in the back of a cop car. And whose shoulder would be right there for Kyla to cry on?
His.
Stan Marsh's.
And the fun begins! I reached my goal again :-)
Reviews are welcome and appreciated!
