A.N: Hello again! My apologies for any inaccuracies in type II diabetic protocols and information, the source of my information is through a friend who also has type II diabetes. And FYI: I recently saw an older episode of SP and completely forgot they had already used the name Skyler for a douche baggy band member they temporarily had on the show, bearing that in mind, I refuse to change the name. (I initially chose Skyler because my cousin's name is Skyler and I always liked the name) Anywho, hope you guys enjoy the new chappy! Now that I'm settled in a routine, updates will be more frequent.
We knocked back two shots of jack, and are currently nursing a second cup of jack and coke. He pulled off finding another vacant couch, claiming it the second it was available.
As time went on, I could have sworn I sensed him scooting himself closer, however the thought could have only been my hazed state of mind, frolicking ruses. We talked about bands, him more willing on the subject than I. He slurred a hand full of bands, and severely overlapped their names that I couldn't distinguish them. It sounded like a scrambled mess of random articles, titles, and an outlandishly creative slew of nouns. I never familiarized, let alone came across hearing about any band he made known and judging from the muddled look I bared, he decides to flip the conversation and asks what kind of music I spent precious time listening to. I didn't know what to answer the question with. I already know from what he's told me and his natural character, his taste in music and what's determined as good is selective as the tedious opting of quality wine. Fuck, I'm a natural conversationalist, stimulating and chock full of effectively persuading and dissuading others as well as flourishing in heated debate, but this Goth I just started getting acquainted with, whose disposition is laced with a surge of typical cynicism, but exposes this relaxed smoothness that makes me wish I was more familiar with hinders all those primes I'm known for.
"Uh…" I slurred, drawing a blank. "Uh…How about The Raging Pussies?" I say, a bit jumbled, the answer was more of a fleeting thought and I'm sure the nervousness I stirred from his question made me say it, instantly finding myself regretting the answer. With the knit of my brows, I wished I was sober enough to effectively filter my thoughts and edit the trained flow of my tongue. I must sound mega retarded right now, Skyler only solidified my notion when he snorted at the now disbanded group.
He peered at me, eyes fixed dully. "Their lyrics sucked ass." He replies with satisfied grunt. He downs more of his drink accentuating his point.
I adjust on my seat facing more towards him. In my drunken cloud, I make a conscious effort to not at all spill my drink, I suppose he noticed my intention but didn't seemed fazed when I slightly faltered my cup, potentially spilling a generous amount of liquor and soda on his black jeans. Surprisingly, I succeeded in not doing so. I gained a new found determination to defend the band I admired during my younger and more pivotal adolescent era. It was then, that with the rare help of Cartman-the sadistic fat bastard—that I managed to land my parents in jail by saying a magical fatal word to the proper authorities. The dire want-no- need to see their concert, guaranteed without parents' consent is what encouraged me to do the act of such treachery.
"I'm gonna- I'm gonna have to differ with you on that one." I begin and I give his shoulder a poke with a free finger, prepared to prove him wrong. He seemed amused from the gesture as his eyes cast down to where I poked him for a moment then returns his full attention back to me. I noticed something peculiar that danced in his eyes, something that I wanted in. "They were one of my favorite bands." I continued. "And their lyrics did not suck ass, they were better than all that pussy shit you and Stan are so keen of."
Skyler sniggered at my last comment, further fueling his amusement.
I continued. "They were different and they separated themselves from all the typical poppy shit and I-and I identified with their music. I'll have you know- how that band- that band helped me become who I am today, their music helped mold my thought process and filtrate important choices that crossed my life." Alright, the last couple phrases were a bit exaggerated but I needed a boost to highlight my defense.
Skyler quirks a brow, and eyes me, searching, his intricate glint now intensified that it was damn near staggering. "I see...well, since I like hanging out with you... I guess they couldn't have been all that bad." He says matter-of-fact, giving the impression that his previous argument now sits void.
I didn't know what to say to that, especially when heat involuntarily rose to my cheeks. I took another sip of my drink, slowly this time to veil the evidence of his inexplicable pull.
As night grew more mature, the more I lost track of it, this element of time became more of a distant memory and the thought of breaking the connection I'm forced to accommodate my life with sounds awfully appealing. To somehow be allowed to completely remove myself from its eternal relationship was nothing short of reaching the ultimate human relief. The heavy music coupled with the alcohol that coursed through me enhanced that desire.
Being in Skyler's company for the last few hours made me realize how different it was hanging out with him than it was with Stan. Their personalities are similar yet completely different. I suppose it's because Stan's Goth phase erupted when a girl broke his heart. Skyler's surfacing Goth came about through years of much more pressing circumstances. I've gotten so used to hanging out with Stan throughout the better part of my life that the thought of doing so with anyone else seemed beyond foreign and boring but that old thought now seems foiled since I'm content hanging around Skyler and I wouldn't mind doing so again after tonight. I wonder if he would even want to, once daily routine settles back in at dawn.
We were silent for a while, not that it bugged me in the least. I glance towards him, sipping more poison in doing so. I notice him staring off into nothing in particular, not caring that his black and red fringe blocked most of his vision, I caught him doing that a lot tonight, must be dreamy habit of his...I should start calling him, dreamer.
"Can I ask you something?" He asks suddenly, keeping his attention ahead.
I realized my subtle glance became more of a gaze when he finally spoke. "Uh, yeah." I manage, although I can't help but to think this will be no ordinary question. Luckily, the alcohol has eliminated most of my inhibitions, so at this rate, I really don't care what slurs out his mouth.
"Fuckers talked their shit, you know, but how much of it is true, if any at all?" He says as clearly as his speech currently allows him to. "With you?" He concludes finally looking at my now shocked state.
I've never been drunk in my life prior to this night, let alone pissed and drunk. The two emotions don't mix well, deterring my thought process of what to say next. So, I do what feels right without causing unwanted attention. I get up and stalk towards upstairs. I don't give a fuck what Stan may be up to, we're leaving now. My intoxication suddenly seemed to fly out of me; however, as I marched up the stairs my mind still carried full effects of the liquor, causing my head to spin.
"Kyle!" I hear Skyler bark, his voice more raspy than before, and realizing he was directly behind me. I land on the threshold of the second level of the house, deciding to slam open every bedroom door until I find Stan. Before I can embark on such a rash plan, Skyler grasps my wrist forcing me to turn and face him head on.
I glare, daring him to top my fury. "Is that why you decided to talk to me all the sudden?" I say through clenched teeth, yanking my wrist from his grip. "So you can get your fucking gossip fix?"
Skyler's gaze pierces a hole through me; I can almost swear his eyes are pleading for me to understand. "It's not like that; I had no intention to upset you. I give you my word on that." He says gravely.
"Yeah right, you fucking asshole. We never once talked! And you decide to finally do so tonight. I should've known that you were fucking after something!" I shout accusingly, my intoxication coming back in full force. I suddenly feel unbalanced as my anger continued to boil through me. Skyler grabs a hold of my shoulders, helping to regain my posture.
"Come here." He commanded, grabbing my wrist once again, and directed me further into the hallway. Two doors down to the left, he opens a bedroom door, and tosses me inside. He then lets himself into the room, slowly closing the door behind him, as if to not let anyone know of what just unfolded. I'm not sure whether he locked it or not. He turns and stares expectedly; eyes are more alert than before, but still glazed over proving the liquor still has primary initiative. I rest a hand on rod iron bed post, stabling myself from being shoved. I abruptly feel this shortness of breath; I concentrate on my breathing and focus on each breath, hoping it'll calm my nerves, and sort my disoriented thoughts.
The bedroom appears to be a simple guest room adorned with miscellaneous objects including a cross that hung above the door, as to ward off evil spirits. I shoot my gaze back to Skyler, he continues to stand there looking at me and I can't help but to flush a bit from his hard look.
"What the hell is this about?" I ask, still trying to get my breathing under control.
"I didn't want people to start noticing." He answers simply, running a hand through his heavy chopped bang, pushing most of the hair out of his face only to have a few strands fall back into place.
My breathing becomes more ragged, and my grip on the bedpost tightens. I know this familiar feeling all too well, and I curse myself for not taking responsibility on it earlier. My blood sugar is low, and I know if I don't act fast I'll eventually pass out. I look at Skyler trying to form the words, but didn't know where to begin.
His eyes knit, growing with concern. "What's wrong?"
I continue taking in irregular breaths, "I need candy." I say, feeling retarded the moment I said it.
My feeling is confirmed since Skyler looks at me as if I lost my mind. "What?" He asks, disbelievingly.
I become aggravated at his slowness and my inflection becomes grimmer. "I need to eat something with fucking sugar." I say, further mending my brows in frustration.
Skyler looked as though he had an epiphany. "Fuck, you're a diabetic?" He asks, hastily.
I simply nod, unable to produce the strength for words to his question. My grip on the bedpost loosens, and I gingerly sit on the bed, placing each hand on either side of me, aiding my back from not hunching too harshly.
Skyler comes to my side at an instant; he places a hand gently on my shoulder, yet clasps it reassuringly, searching for my gaze. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have never made your drink that strong with alcohol."
I wanted to tell him that it didn't matter too much, but what concerned me most was the soda. Soda has sugar in it, I shouldn't be feeling this way, I know for fact my levels are low right now, not high.
"Kyle, don't pass out, alright. I'll be right back." With that final statement he left.
I wasn't sure if he was even going to come back or not. At that moment, I truly felt alone, and I may very well sit here, and wait for what God has in store. I reached this state a few times before, but I never once passed out. Bearing those thoughts in mind, I become more nervous, feeling each passing second down to my core. Gripping the comforter, I try and to filter my perilous state. I decide to lay myself on the bed, thinking it would alleviate my symptoms.
I see the door open with vigor, and a light in the hallway that I didn't know exists flashed into the room blinding my peripheral. The door shut after a beat, and I see a figure saunter near me. A head of choppy, jet black hair and a set of deep brown, nearly black eyes gazed over me. He looked even paler than everyone else I've seen tonight. His dark eyes twinkled curiously as he raised an eyebrow, intrigued with the mess unfolding before him.
"You gonna puke or something?" He asks with a wry smirk. I wasn't sure if this guy wanted to help out, or if he was just amused with the thought of someone purging their guts out.
I didn't say anything because I felt it was pointless trying to explain to this stranger how I was a diabetic suffering a potentially severe outcome since I didn't bother eating much of anything throughout the day, causing my blood sugar to plummet, and how I now needed some candy or juice to remedy the effects. Nor did I check my levels today either, fuck! Instead, I kept my gaze fixed on his, hoping to relay the message that this is much more serious than a case of nausea due to a yielding drinking binge.
The more I silently pleaded to this guy, the more familiar he looked. I know I've seen him somewhere before, that I perhaps spoken to him on more than one occasion. I don't think this guy had realized the state of my condition and at this point I just want him to move to help me, or at least leave me be. I got the impression that he was he too was drunk, but as I focused more on him, his near black eyes were dilated giving the impression that he was laced with something more scandalous.
"I know what can make you feel better." He slurs resting a hand on my shoulder, applying pressure to ease the muscle beneath.
"No-I don't…" I manage to choke. The last thing I want is this guy is to do anything funny.
"It's fine, look." The hand that rested on my shoulder moved and dug into his back pocket retrieving a prescription bottle, dangling it flirtatiously. "This will kill any stress your feeling." He assures with a shit eating smirk.
He opens the bottle, and directs the opening above his palm giving it a quick shake, and a single pink pill comes to view. It's rather flat but round and deceitfully innocent, like a kids vitamin supplement. He takes the pill between his thumb and index finger, directing it towards my mouth. I continue to feel weaker by the second, and it takes all the strength I have to force my lips shut. He tries to pry them open by shoving the pink pill between my lips but, I'll be damned if I budge.
He signs, clearly frustrated, and probably killing whatever high he's on. "Dude, just fucking relax and take the pill...it'll make you feel good, trust me." He drags his last statement hoping to persuade me somehow.
I want to tell him no, to get the fuck away, but I'm afraid the moment I part my lips he'll shove that god forsaken pill down my throat. At this rate, I doubt Skyler will come back and save me from this lunatic. He's just as hammered as I am, and likely to forgot all about the wanna-be goth with smeared eyeliner cast on his lids. I don't blame him; we hardly knew each other, and I was tempted to kick his ass anyway.
The guy placed the pill between his lips, a bit of pink still exposed. He cups his hands on either side of my face, and leans down, a clear indication of sort of 'shot gunning' this. Horrid realization clenches my insides as I feel the last of my conscious mind slipping away. I'm so fucking scared, I've never imagined being in a dilemma such as this. Help is so close yet so far, Stan is only a couple doors down, Skyler is only downstairs. If only…if only…
"What the fuck." I hear a familiar voice seethe, almost creepily.
The boy turns his attention to the source, his eyes gleaming with familiarity. "Skyler, hey." He replies, and adds with dark undertone. "It's been a while".
Skyler is at my side in an instant, shoving the boy off me, and taking his place hovering over me. His eyes glowed with agitation with what appeared to be a hint of worry. "Here." He directs a cup to my mouth, and I freak out a bit, refusing to drink whatever he's offering. After the stunt the other guy pulled, I don't want anything I'm not sure of traveling down my throat.
"Kyle, its juice, drink it, you're about to pass out." Skyler reassures and lifts my head with his hand, and with his other hand, guides the drink to my lips. I still hesitate, but I know if I don't trust him, I'll experience passing out from diabetic complications for the first time. I part my lips, and allow the sweet liquid to coat my tongue, it tastes like pineapple.
Skyler rests the hand that helped lift my head and rests it on my forearm, he turns his gaze away from me, and instead to the boy standing with the pill bottle still clasped in hand, now at the corner of the room.
"What the fuck were you doing?" Skyler accuses, his grip on me tighten ever so slightly.
"He needs it, look at him." The boy says as he leisurely paced around the room, clearly not fazed, and uninterested in whatever threat Skyler may cast his way.
"Just get out." Skyler replies tonelessly
He shoots his dilated gaze to Skyler then briefly on to me before reverting back to the true Goth. The guy's eyes twinkled with diminutive mischief, a trait I come to be far too familiar with, courtesy of Cartman. His chest rises and falls with disturbingly even breaths. "You know we can have fun with this." He says to Skyler, voice showered with conviction
"I fucking doubt that." Skyler curtly replies, his eyes narrowing further onto the intruder.
The boy's lips draws into a frown and his head cocks to the side in obvious mockery. "Don't act like your now all the sudden a fucking-
"Get the hell out, Damian!"
What the fuck? Damian? That's where I know that face from, the near black eyes and deathly pale skin, the supposed true prince of darkness. God, I haven't seen him in about eight, perhaps nine years? He had one day stopped showing up to school almost as if he disappeared for good. The only person that seemed to have notice, and lament his departure was Pip, and even he in turn left the school a couple years later. Exactly where to? Well, none of us cared to find out.
Damian casts his black orbs to Skyler piercing through his being, he then diverts his them to me, and a form of realization seeped through. I suppose his realization and mine were somehow synced. "No fucking way…" He says, a smile that reeked creepy mischief returned back to his lips. "Kyle, I never imagined this would be your scene."
The sugar by this time has drastically recovered my low levels, and I'm pretty sure I'll be fine for a while, hopefully the remainder of the night. I look over at Damian, a bit shocked on how much he's hasn't changed except for his height, and the inevitable changes of his preadolescence features transcending into more defined grown up features.
"Not exactly." I reply simply.
His attention returns to Skyler, and spontaneously back to me. "So what are you Broflovski?"
Skyler's lips purse. "Damian-
"Shut up" Damian snaps "Answer the question, Kyle"
I'm not sure what the hell he's asking about. Is it my race? The clique I may be in? What? Whatever it is, I don't want give him the liberty of knowing anything about me. Dumb fucker, only a second ago he tried shoving god knows what down my throat. "What did you try giving me?" I challenge.
"Don't try and weasel your way out the question."
"I don't know what the fuck you're asking!" I retort. Wow, what a way of reacquainting with someone you haven't seen since elementary school.
"Don't play stupid, look at yourself…with him."
I can't believe he's asking me this kind of question, why does he even want to know something like that, unless he's-
"Is that why you wanted to try that stunt earlier?"
"Your one to talk, I'm not the one who was on my-."
"Damian! Get the fuck out!" Skyler seethes.
I can feel the blood drain my face, and my stomach knot with distain. Skyler shoots up from the bed, and I slightly jump, I'm not sure what the hell he's planning to do. I watch him as I try to contain the anxiety that now bubbled through the surface of my skin. He looked over to Damian, his eyes stoic, yet cold.
"What the fuck is this about?" Skyler asks evenly.
Damian's stance becomes cold, unwavering. "I can't stand to see you on another guy."
Suddenly there's a bang on the door, an incessant knocking, almost frantic. We all shoot our heads to the source. Damian rolled his eyes, his scowl deepening.
"Hey open up!" A muffled voice demands on the other end.
Damian seemed to have recognized the voice, and opened the door with rough swiftness. A couple of guys with pasty white skin were revealed. They both shot their eyes to Damian, and the three of them seemed to convey a silent message, a stare down of sorts.
"We've been looking for you." The guy to the left finally said
The guy to the right poked his head inside the room, and quirked a brow upon noticing Skyler and I. "What's going on here?" The guy's question was more of a rhetorical one.
The other guys crosses his arms over his chest looking like he's trying to exert some dominance, or some pack leader shit. "We're gonna roll. You in?"
"Let's go." Damian said minimally with pursed lips. He now seemed to have lost whatever high he was on earlier, and his friend's invitation clearly perked his interest.
Damian's attention shifts back to Skyler from the door way, and gives him a final acknowledgement before departing.
"You guys' wanna come?" One of the guys asks us with a nod towards the staircase
I shake my head no, and I couldn't cover the subtle anger that was plastered on my face, Skyler was silent, but the guy nonetheless got the message, shutting the door before leaving completely with Damian and his other friend likely already off to their next destination. From the looks of it, I pretty sure it has to do with drugs, or perhaps other acts I have no right to become aware of.
Skyler's head lowers, red fringe cascading down with the movement. "Are you good?" He asks, exhausted now replaces his previously callous tone.
"Yes." I say then added "Thank you."
"You should probably go home." Skyler suggests.
"No, I'll be fine." I say a bit too quickly. "Besides I can't leave Stan." I conclude more leisurely.
"Listen, I never meant-
"It's fine." I say with polite curtness. "Just tell me if you're in for another drink."
"Dude, you nearly passed out from it in the first place."
"No, alcohol doesn't affect me like that. What really mattered is what you mixed it with. It was coke right?"
"Yeah, but it was diet." He says
I snort at his answer too amused to care anymore. Fake, sugar is the ultimate culprit for diabetics, and a slew of other medical conditions, memory loss, weight gain, the list goes on. I shuffle off the bed, and boldly approach him.
"I trust you won't forget that I don't do diet then."
Skyler smirks and motions for me to follow him back out the door, back into a world far from my own.