South Park © Matt & Trey
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya

The shells upon the warm sands
Have taken from their own lands
The echo of their story
But all I hear are low sounds
As pillow words are weaving
And willow waves are leaving
But should I be believing
That I am only dreaming

Come morning, I wake up early and shower. After washing up, I dry off and wrap a towel around my waist before returning to my room. Kenny is still lying still in my bed. "Kenny?" I say his name aloud, but there's no answer. He's still asleep. I leaf through my closet, grabbing a pair of jeans, some shorts and a t-shirt. I drop my towel and slip them on. When I turn around, Kenny's eyes are open. "Just wake up?" I ask.

"No," he murmurs groggily, "I just wanted to watch you change."

"Perv," I comment, but I'm not all that surprised.

He gives me a hazy smile. "That ass," he sighs. "Bebe was right about you, y'know."

"So I've been told," I snort, crossing my arms. "Want to get up?"

"No," he says, letting out a long groan.

"You'll get a headache if you sleep for too long," I warn him. He emits a whiny sigh, sitting up. "I have work around noon," I continue, "but you're free to sit around here with Ike. He's not doing much today."

"I'm just going to head home," Kenny says. "I need to shower and change anyway. I work later, too. I've got the night shift."

I make a face. "That sucks."

Working the night shift in a convenient store is about as scary as you'd imagine. Kenny says he shudders every time a customer walks in after 1AM. I don't blame him. He's not particularly strong and wouldn't put up much of a fight if he got attacked. Fortunately for him, he'll bounce back… but it sucks either way.

He shrugs carelessly. "I'll gladly welcome the distraction."

"Well," I pause. "Still, be careful."

"Always am," he insists.

What a lie. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. He gets up and out of bed and I follow him downstairs. "Sure you don't want to stay and eat?" I offer.

"I'm sure," he promises. "Bye, Kyle."

I wave him off and shut the door once he's gone. In the kitchen, I make yet another tasteless sandwich before getting in the car and heading to work.

I close the store at eleven. When I'm on my way home I get a call from Kenny's brother. He sounds worried. "What's up?" I ask.

"Kenny never showed to work," he says. "His boss called a few hours ago. I've been searching around town but no one has seen him."

"Shit," I whisper.

"I'm worried he might be running around freaking out or something."

Kenny freaks out a lot. I don't know why. This is definitely not the first time it has happened and it probably won't be the last, either. Sometimes I think there's something seriously wrong in his head, but he dismisses me every time I tell him to see a doctor. They'd probably put him on pills and the pills wouldn't work because he'd just die before they started to take effect. Still, I think therapy is worth a shot… but he never seems to agree. He's been through a lot, even before Craig died. His family situation is crap, he didn't finish high school, he has a shitty job. The list goes on for miles. He has bad fortune. I don't know why, though. He's such a good person. What goes around must not come around. If it did, I think Kenny would be a lot happier.

"Where have you looked already?" I ask. "I'm getting off work now. I can check out some of the places he frequents."

"I've checked the diner, the bar, the coffee shop and the high school," Kevin starts. "I'm on my way to that crack shack on the outskirts of town. He hangs around there sometimes. Karen is waiting at home in case he returns."

"All right," I say. "I'll check Stark's Pond and then take a drive around the block."

"Thanks," Kevin says before hanging up.

I turn the car around and start driving towards the pond. I park on the side of the road and slip out, making my way to the body of water. When I get there – nothing. Still, I try calling his name a few times and I'm surprised when I hear him call back.

"Where are you?" I ask, keeping my voice raised.

I hear rustling and then he appears from behind a tree. "I was resting," he says airily.

"Out here?" I question him. "Why? You missed work."

"Oh," he doesn't sound like he cares. "I was sure I only fell asleep for a few minutes."

"It's dark…" I tell him, gesturing to the sky. "You were gone a long time. Your brother and sister are worried." He walks past me, not sparing me a glance. I grab his arm and add, "Come on, I'll take you home."

He nods, not protesting. We walk to my car and he gets in the passenger's seat. Once we're settled, I ring up Kevin. "I found him," I say. I tell him I'm taking Kenny home and not to worry because he isn't hurt. Kevin thanks me once again, sounding immensely relieved.

On the ride back, Kenny stares out the window. When we pull into his driveway, I force him to look at me. His eyes are glazed over, like he's spacing out.

"Hey," I snap my fingers in front of his face. "Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, Kyle!" he exclaims suddenly. He leans forward and kisses me quickly before leaving the car. I decide to walk him to the door in case he tries to make a run for it.

He doesn't, though. Kevin hugs his brother and then slaps him. "Dumbass, don't do shit like that," he scolds.

"God," Kenny laughs, rubbing his cheek. "Why does it matter? I can't stay dead."

"There are worse things than death," Kevin warns him. "Karen's in her room. Go apologize for worrying her."

Kenny sneers at his brother but nonetheless obeys and wanders up the stairs.

"Sorry," Kevin says. I don't know if he's apologizing for Kenny's behaviour of if he's apologizing for calling me in the first place. Either way, it wasn't a waste of time. I don't want anything bad to happen to Kenny. Kevin is right – there are worse things than dying… especially for someone who always comes back.

I shrug. "I don't mind. He's my friend. His safety is a priority of mine."

Kevin only nods, patting me on the shoulders. "Again, thanks."

I wave, turning around and walking back to my car. The drive is short and when I'm home, I head straight to my room and put on some comfortable clothes. Next I open my laptop and turn it on. While it boots up, I go into the kitchen and fill a glass of water. My parents are at the table chatting about their day. When they ask about mine, I tell them it was boring. It's not a complete lie. It was boring until Kevin called. Then it just got a bit stressful.

I bid them a goodnight before going back upstairs. Sitting at my desk, I start scrolling mindlessly through my Facebook feed until I see Kenny's disturbing posts. I click on his profile and read his spam of statuses, newest to oldest.

Kenneth McCormick 1 min
Someone come fuck my brains out I don't want to think
1 person likes this.

Kenneth McCormick 7 mins
Good to know I'm insaneeee!
4 people like this.

Kenneth McCormick 11 mins
I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LVOE IYUO DALDFKASLDKF LAKSJFALSK
1 person likes this.

Kenneth McCormick 19 mins
I REALLY APPRECIATE BEING ABUSED BY PEOPLE IN MY OWN HOUSE THANK YOU DADDY I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU
Eric Cartman comments: You okay, dude?
Bebe Stevens comments: Kenny, text me back right now!
Clyde Donovan comments: Call me.

Kenneth McCormick 24 mins
FUCK FUCK FUCK UFCK UFCK FUCKU FUCK FUCK FUCK YOUU
Eric Cartman and 6 others like this.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck am I reading? I shoot Kenny a text. When he doesn't reply within a few minutes, I shoot Kevin a text and he responds lazily a minute later.

KEVIN: hes freakin out don't worry ill watch him

ME: All right, don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything.

KEVIN: thanks

I plug my phone in its charger since it's almost dead. I continue scrolling through Facebook for a few minutes before checking my emails. There's nothin' interesting – just a bit of spam. I close my computer and head into the bathroom, brushing my teeth, washing my face and taking a piss.

I miss Stan. I've been missing him a lot. I guess this is a stupid thing to think about while pissing, but it comes and goes. Sometimes I feel like crying over the whole thing… and other times, I know I'll be fine.

After taking care of business, I return to my room and close the lights. I crawl into bed and get a boner, still thinking about Stan and remembering all the times I've fucked him right in this very spot. God, I'm a slapdick. I'm not even horny. I'm just upset.

I really fuckin' miss Stan. That's not to say Kenny isn't fun. He is. Kenny has all of the good qualities you'd want in a friend… but he also has some of the bad ones. Plus, like Stan, he's kind of high maintenance. Still… I guess it makes you want to protect him. I'm not usually one to romanticize the "protect me, save me" bullshit, but Kenny needs to be protected. He won't protect himself so someone else should do it.

Whatever. I need to stop thinking about things that are going to cause me to worry. I need sleep.

The next couple weeks go by unceremoniously and then it's August. Kenny is back to normal. He seems all right. We've both been working a lot, but during our off days we hang out. Cartman has been around, too.

Kenny hasn't mentioned his Facebook statuses. I tried to bring them up, but he brushed me off. He didn't want to talk. I understand that. I'll wait. Kevin went on Kenny's computer and deleted all of the posts the morning after. I don't blame him.

I still miss Stan, but I'm beginning to miss him less. I wonder if time apart is helping me get over him… but at the same time, will the feelings return when he does? I'm kind of scared to find out. I don't want the feelings to stay. I want them gone for good. I want me friendship with Stan to be the way it was before he found out how I feel.

I've been going to the gym more frequently. I like running. It helps me clear my mind. It calms me down when I'm feeling like shit and can't stop thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about.

I'm at the gym now. I've been running for an hour, but I'm done now. When I turn around, I spot Kenny behind the glass doors. He holds up a hand before entering.

"Hey," he greets.

"Hey," I echo.

"I was watching you."

"Yeah?" I ask. "What did you think?"

"You looked determined," he says. "And you also looked like you were running away from something instead of just running."

"Clever," I say with a little smile.

He follows me to the locker room and I can tell he's not going to let this go. "So," he urges. "What were you running away from?"

"Thoughts," I admit.

"Stan?" he assumes.

"No," I murmur, but who am I kidding?

"You're an awful liar," he says with a laugh. "You know, I can always tell when you're lying. You do this thing with your left eyebrow. I think it's unconscious. It kind of tilts up while your right one tilts down."

I try to blank my face. "I wasn't thinking about Stan," I insist.

He snorts. "Sure, Kyle. If you say so." I just wrinkle my nose at him. I always thought I was a good liar. I guess not. I unlock my locker and grab a towel from my gym bag. Kenny sits on a bunch and says, "I'll wait here. Let's do something after."

"You don't work?" I ask, undressing and shoving my sweaty clothes in my bag.

He shakes his head. "Not today."

"All right," I agree. I turn away and round the corner, moving towards the showers. I turn on the taps and rinse off quickly, wrapping the towel around my waist.

Kenny is still sitting on the bench in front of the lockers. He's playing with his phone. When he spots me, he shoves it in his pocket and smiles.

"Want to talk?" I ask him.

"What about?"

"Facebook," is all I say.

He only laughs. "No big deal. I just needed to let out some anger. I deleted the posts in the morning."

"Kevin deleted them," I correct.

He pouts. "How do you know?"

"He told me."

"I didn't know you guys were such good friends," he says sourly.

"We're on good terms," I tell him vaguely. The reason me and Kevin talk so much these days is because of Kenny. He's worried Kenny will screw himself over worse than he already has. He's worried Kenny will get hurt or hurt himself. He's already been hurt more than words can say. He doesn't need anymore, but sadly there are times when people get stuck in dangerous cycles.

Kenny smiles bitterly. "Maybe this would stop if I prayed and went to church. Maybe I'm just… bad to the bone."

"What would stop?" I ask.

"Death," he says. "I die… other people die…"

Oh. Stage three – bargaining. What if this, what if that.

"You're not bad," I tell him sincerely. "You're one of the best people I know. Shit happens and sometimes it happens to people who don't deserve it. That's life."

"No sympathy from Kyle," he murmurs.

"I didn't think you'd want any," I admit. "Most people don't."

He stands up, sighing. "You're right," he says. "I don't want sympathy."

"What do you want, then?" I ask. There's something in the tone of his voice that tells me he knows exactly what he wants.

"Fuck me," he says nonchalantly. "Right here, right now. Fuck me."

I give him a strange look. "What?"

"Do it, Kyle," he demands, standing in front of me. "Take care of me, Kyle. That's what you want, right? You want to take care of me." He moves closer and closer until our chests are pressed together. "Do it," he says again. "Take care of me."

"Not like this," I tell him, putting my hands on his shoulders to keep him at a distance.

"Liar," he continues, staring up at me. "You like me like this, don't you?" He raises his arms, knocking my hands away. I let them fall to my sides and I simply stare at him. He's not himself. I know that, but what can I do?

"What happened?" I ask.

He wraps his arms around my neck and hangs off of me. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he says. "Daddy yelled at me. He had friends over and they all thought it was funny because I'm a bratty little ho-bag. I got angry."

"Your dad is a dick," I tell him.

"When he drinks," Kenny corrects me quickly.

"Alcohol doesn't excuse shit," I growl. "Your dad is still a dick."

Kenny rubs his forehead against my shoulder and lets out a long whine. "Stop."

Kenny's family value rears its ugly head again. Many people believe you should always love your family. I don't. I think that's just shit. Parents can be abusers. Siblings can be just as bad. There are times when you're allowed to dislike your family. Kenny's dad is a fucking dick and I don't understand how Kenny can still love him so much. Sure, his parents say they love him back and I know they do… but they still do so much wrong. It can't really be excused.

"Let go," I say softly. "Let me get dressed and we'll go do something."

"Fuck me," he says again, tightening his grip.

"Not here," I murmur. "And not like this." Kenny deserves way better than a quickie in a public locker room. Apart from that, someone could walk in at any time and I'm not into exhibitionism.

"Fuck you," he whispers this time.

"Let go," I tell him once more. He doesn't. I relent for a minute and that's when I notice the dampness of his breath. He's crying. "Kenny…" I say his name piteously, rubbing his back. "Come on, let me get dressed and we can do something – anything you want."

He draws back a split second later, sniffling and wiping his eyes. He takes a quick breath and then laughs. "No, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Liar," I call him out. I grab my change of clothes – jeans and a tee – and zip up my bag when I'm dressed. I offer Kenny the hand that isn't currently holding my bag. He accepts and we leave the building.

"I'm upset," he decides to admit.

"I can tell," I say. "Want to talk about it?"

"I miss Craig," he murmurs. His eyes glaze over at the mention of his ex-boyfriend's name. "He knew how to deal with me and I never scared him away."

"You don't need to be dealt with," I sigh. "You're not a child. You're a man."

"I'm a fucking baby," he argues bitterly.

"No, you're not." I let go of his hand when we reach my car. He gets in the passenger seat while I stick my bag in the trunk before getting in the driver's seat.

"I can't even think straight," he murmurs. "I feel like shit all the time and I wanna fucking die but I can't. All I can do is sit and think about all the worst things until I finally snap and I need to go distract myself so I have sex with the first person who is interested."

I click my tongue. "Tsk, Kenny… you really shouldn't do shit like that. You'll get yourself into trouble."

"What's more trouble?" he snorts. "I'd gladly welcome it. Distractions! Distractions are good, even if they're bad!"

"Sh," I hush him as his voice starts rising. "We're supposed to be falling out of love," I remind him. "We're not supposed to be hurting ourselves. We're supposed to be doing this in a healthy, safe way."

"I know," he laughs bitterly, "and here I am fuckin' sleeping with Craig's sweatshirt… It doesn't even smell like him anymore. It just smells like me and all the strangers I roll around with."

"Then stop," I say, though I know it's not that simple. It never is. It reminds me of the things kids used to say about Kenny when we were younger – before Craig entered the picture.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a dog?
A: The dog learns quicker.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a dead-end job?
A: Nothing. They both suck mad dick.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a penny whore?
A: The whore is more expensive.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a foldable chair?
A: You don't need to pry his legs open.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a dead horse?
A: The dead horse smells better.

I could go on… but I won't. It's too fucking cruel. Kids are awful. He always laughed it off, but I knew it hurt him more than he let on. It stopped after Craig and Kenny started to date. I don't know if it's because people were scared of Craig or if it was because Kenny finally settled down.

"It's hard for me, Kyle," he reminds me tartly. "Maybe it's easy for you… but it's not for me." A pause. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.

"Well… you seem to be doing fine," he says. "What's your trick?"

"No trick," I admit. "I guess I'm just a determined person. Healthy distractions help. I'm just trying to focus on myself. Sure, Stan crosses my mind every so often but… I'm finding myself missing him less now. It takes effort, though, believe me…"

"Do you think it's just because you're used to him being gone?" Kenny wonders. "Will you start fawning over him again when he gets back?"

"I don't know," I laugh. "I was thinking about that earlier today and… shit, I really don't know. I hope not. I don't want to go back to that place. It's not a good idea and it's not fair to Stan."

"Yeah," Kenny whispers in agreement. "I can't help but think what I could have done differently to prevent Craig dying. If I paid more attention… maybe I would have noticed and we could have resuscitated him and he would still be here…"

"Don't, Kenny," I warn gently. "It's a bad idea to go there. You'll drive yourself crazy with all these damn possibilities."

He laughs at me. "Don't you know, Kyle? I'm already craaaaazy."

"You're not," I promise him. "You've just got a lot of shit going on. It's no wonder you lose it every so often. We all lose it. I lost it at the beginning of summer and beat up my best friend." I glance at Kenny briefly before staring back at the street. He looks thoughtful… and miserable. I decide to change the subject. "Want to go to my place?"

"Sure," he says carelessly.

A few minutes later, we're parking the car. Inside, we sit in front of the television and I turn on the PlayStation. We play Tekken. Kenny sucks at this game, but I think it'll be a healthier distraction than musical fuck-chairs.

He lets out a frustrated shriek. "Shitting cunt-fuck!"

"Impressive," I say with light sarcasm. We play a few rounds and then he gets too worked up, so I offer to make him something.

"No, thanks," he says. "You suck at cooking. I'll make something instead."

"You're the guest," I start, but he cuts me off with a loud scoff.

"How long have we known each other?" he asks before answering, "Almost all of our eighteen years. Trust me, I am not a guest in your house, dude."

I hold up my hands innocently. "All right, go for it."

We move into the kitchen and Kenny begins looking through cupboards, gathering things onto the counter. I give him free reign, making idle chat as I sit at the table and watch. One thing I've learned through the years is that Kenny has many hidden talents he doesn't show off – cooking is one of them. If he cares about you, he'll share his talents with you. That's how you know you mean something to him.

He ends up making a fancy pasta dish. When he sets the plate in front of me it looks like a picture you might find in a cook book.

"Wow," I say. "Looks good."

"You have a lot of interesting ingredients and things in your cupboards," he comments, sitting across from me.

"How did you learn how to cook?" I wonder. I've never bothered asking before.

He shrugs. "Craig taught me how. He was a good cook… and I basically lived at his house so we had a lot of time."

"Oh," I say softly.

Dinner is silent and I feel like I've made things awkward for Kenny. Then again, maybe it's okay to talk about Craig. Better out than in, right?

When Ike comes home, Kenny gets him a plate and we put the leftovers in the fridge. After eating, I take Kenny upstairs. "Can I use your shower?" he asks. "I haven't showered in a couple days… I probably smell."

"You don't," I assure him.

"Everything about Craig dying is hard," he murmurs. "It sounds selfish when I say it like this… but I got used to the resources we didn't have at my own house. I'd just go to his place and I could eat, shower… sleep on a nice bed. We never have warm water at my house. I hate taking cold showers. They hurt. We never have food in the fridge – just beer and cold cuts… and my bed is a stiff, old mattress sitting on the floor. Strangers come and go. Sometimes they're in my room… I fucking hate that. I hate it."

Yet again, I say, "Well, you're always welcome here… even when I'm not. My parents love you. So does Ike."

"I know," he says with a faint smile. "Thanks."

I grab him a towel and wait for him in my room. I surf the net a bit, reading the news. I stare at an article about the Syrian conflict. Again, it reminds me of Stan. He and Wendy are still in the Middle East, but they'll be flying back near the end of the month.

I decide to quit reading depressing news and log onto Facebook instead, which is at least a little bit less depressing. As soon as I log on, I am greeted with photos of Stan and Wendy's vacation. I click on the album. There are photos of cities, there are photos of skylines, and there are photos of people I've never seen before. I'm assuming they're Wendy's relatives. It looks like they're having a nice time. Good for them…

"Kyle." I jump, turning around. Kenny is standing in a towel, with arms crossed. "Stop looking at pictures of Stan," he commands.

I close the window before closing my laptop. "Sorry…"

He only shrugs. "Can I borrow clothes?"

I nod, standing up and moving towards my closet. I dig out a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. They'll be a bit baggy on him, but I doubt he'll mind. He takes them graciously and I avert my eyes while he dresses. He laughs at me for it.

"Why so shy, Kyle?" he asks in a simper. "It's nothing you haven't seen and explored quite thoroughly."

"I'm being polite," I tell him tartly.

He stands in front of me once modest and I can't help but admire him wearing my clothes – baggy as they are. He looks cute as hell. "What do you want to do now?" he asks, crossing his arms again.

"I don't know," I say. I dig out my cellphone and look at the time. It's only seven. It's still early. "We can do whatever you want."

"Ugh," he scoffs, moving away and flopping onto my bed. "That's the most annoying answer ever. This is your house. You decide."

"You're the guest," I say.

"I'm not a guest," he insists. "I already told you that."

"Right, right," I murmur dismissively.

"So…?"

I lie down next to him and he immediately shifts closer. "What?"

"Sleep with me."

I let out a sigh, not wanting to consider the request. "Why?"

"I'm a sexual person," he says simply. "I want to have sex."

"There's a difference between being a sexual person and using sex as a weapon against yourself," I tell him flatly.

"What are you getting at?" he asks, eyes narrowing as he leans over me.

"I am saying that you're using sex to hurt yourself," I explain.

"Oh," is all he says. "Well… yeah. Some pain is better than other pain."

I don't understand that. I really don't fucking understand. He drapes himself over me and sighs. "C'mon, Kyle," he urges. "Let's fuck. We've already done it once. What's the harm?"

"Ike is here," I mention.

"Ike is downstairs," Kenny reminds me. "And apart from that, he doesn't care what we do. You know that. I don't want to think anymore. Let's fuck."

"Why?" I ask. "Why me?"

"Maybe I like you," he says, "and sleeping with someone you like is nicer than doing it with a stranger. Maybe I'm in the mood for something nice."

"Like me how?" I pry, feeling conflicted.

"You know," he says, "in the way where I want to suck your dick."

"Liar," I murmur. "You still love Craig."

"And I always will," Kenny says surely. "He was the first person I fell in love with who loved me back… but I can like you like this. It's possible to feel this way, you know."

All I can do is sigh aloud. I don't know what to make of it. It's too soon for something like this. "You… you don't have to try so hard."

"I'm not trying," he insists impatiently. He's growing short with me, I can tell. "Do you remember when you asked me if I fell in love more than once? Of course I have! I used to fall in love all the time. At one point, I even fell in love with you. It was that whimsical kind that comes and goes. In a way it was different than what I felt for Craig and maybe it's because he felt it back. I was no longer searching. So, my feelings just grew and grew and grew."

"You loved me?" I ask flatly. I never knew.

"I loved you, but I knew you loved Stan," he says with a shrug. "There wasn't room for me in that picture, even if I tried to squeeze my way in. I knew I wasn't wanted. You had to figure it out on your own… and you did."

"What now, then?" I feel like it's far too late for us to make anything of it. It isn't fair of me to even ask. I'd just be using him worse than I already have been.

"Nothing," he answers simply. "We can sleep together."

"It's not fair…" I murmur. I still feel guilty about the first time we did it. It was nice, yeah. I mean, Kenny sure knows how to work a guy up… but I don't want to use him like this. It's not right, is it?

"For who?"

"For you," I say pointedly.

He laughs and laughs and laughs. "I'm giving you an out, Kyle. Take it. Use me. I want you to. I don't mind."

"I do mind!" I exclaim.

"Mr. Morality, you're making this harder than it has to be." He sounds annoyed. "If you don't sleep with me right now, I'm going to go out and kill myself." After a moment of silence, he gets off of me and begins to move towards the door. I don't hesitate to stand up and grab his arm, stopping him.

"Don't," I say. "Please…"

"Too late, Kyle," he sing-songs. "The offer has expired. Let me go."

I do and he turns around, giving me a sombre look. "What is it?" I ask.

"Hit me," he challenges suddenly, shoving me.

Where the fuck is this coming from? "No," I nearly choke out the word.

"Hit me!" he raises his voice.

"No," I say again.

"HIT ME!" he screams desperately.

"No!"

"HIT ME, HIT ME, HIT ME, HIT ME!" he continues. He starts slapping himself in the face and for a minute, all I can do is stare.

"Jesus Christ! Stop!" I shout when the initial shock wears off. I grab both of his hands and stare at him in disbelief. I feel nauseous and my hands are clammy. There are red palm prints on his face. He looks so fucking lost. A split second later, he rips himself out of my grip and makes a run for it. He doesn't even bother putting his shoes back on before leaving the house. The door swings open, slamming against the wall. Ike shouts something akin to what the fuck, but I ignore him, I follow Kenny outside and we're both running down the street bare-footed. "Kenny, stop!" I plead with him once I catch up. It doesn't take me long. I run regularly. He doesn't.

Soon enough we reach the outskirts of town and we're near the bridge. This is where Kenny stops. He climbs over the guard rail and then stares at me. His eyes are wet and angry – the anger is directed at me. I still don't understand.

"Don't," I whisper.

"I'm gonna jump," he declares. "I'm gonna fucking jump!"

"Don't!" I shout. "Seriously, Kenny. This isn't funny!"

"Fuck you, Kyle!" he sobs. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…! It isn't supposed to be funny, you asshole!"

"All right," I murmur calmly. "I'm sorry."

I don't know what I did and I don't know how to fix it… but I still feel sorry. Is it even possible to feel sorry for a reason you aren't sure of? Maybe it's not guilt I'm feeling, but pity.

I inch closer and closer and soon we're standing face to face. He stares at me for another minute before throwing his hands up and letting go. With every reflex I have, I grab him and pull him back to safety before he can fall. My heart is beating so damn fast I feel like I might puke it out.

"Fucker," he says. "I knew you'd do that."

"Is that why you let go?" I ask.

"Maybe."

At least he's calmed down now. In silence, we walk back into town. I keep him close the entire time, not wanting to let him go. I walk him home and he asks me inside. We move to his room and when he makes the first move, I don't dare push him away. I'm being as gentle as my horniness will allow.

I'm the worst. I'm a bad person for doing this. I know it yet I don't know what else to do. I feel bad. I still feel nauseous.