South Park © Matt & Trey.
Let the downward spiral begin.
Also, I want to address something. I don't ask for criticism, as I state on my profile. Getting certain types of criticism for certain topics sends me into episodic depersonalization and I can't write for weeks. This story is more personal than other stories in terms of certain characterizations I've written so I'm going to be a big whiny baby and ask that you guys don't give me any crit because I'm in a very bad place mentally right now.
And naturally since this is South Park and it South Park things aren't as they're supposed to be... things are a little more lax and dramatic in terms of laws and other things like that. People get away with more. Killing happens in the show all the time. Even some of the parents and kids are murderers :o! If anyone is getting nervous about how the story will end, don't hesitate to shoot me a message 'cause I don't want anyone getting too anxious. I can give you spoilers :b.
Lastly, thanks for everyone who has been messaging me lately to chat, it's really nice to hear from you c: I might end up taking a hiatus after finishing this story so if any of you want to add me on social media just ask!
I ended up passing out from the pain and a neighbour found me. I woke up in a hospital bed and my mom was crying. It took me a moment to remember what happened, but then I started crying, too. Each sob made my stomach sting even worse, but I couldn't stop. I thought I got fucking stabbed, but I didn't. The doctors filled in the blanks for me. I wish they didn't. I could have used a few more minutes of ignorant bliss.
The asshole boys carved letters into my gut as punishment and a permanent reminder of who I am.
Slut.
That's what they carved into my skin. I guess this is my new identity. They cut me deep enough that flaps of skin were hanging loose. So, I had to get stitched back up.
Earlier, the cops came and asked me questions. It was humiliating. They probably all agree that I had it coming for stealing some nice girl's boyfriend. Ha.
The boys who did it got expelled, but that's it. They're still allowed to carry on with their lives even though they assaulted me. They're eighteen. They aren't children. They should get fucking arrested, for fuck's sake, but no one seems to care that some little fag got hurt. My mom gave the police department an earful, but they still didn't seem to care. Such is life. No "proof" and no justice. Sergeant Harrison Yates and officers like Barbrady don't exactly provide the most competent law enforcement.
I know I fucked up, but I don't think I deserved this. This won't go away. It'll scar and, no matter who I fuck, they'll see it and they'll ask questions. They'll want to know the story behind it.
"Slut? What's that all about?" people will ask.
I'll just laugh and say, "Oh, y'know, it's just who I am."
It's noon. I've been awake for a few hours and all I want is to leave, but everyone is being so cautious. Plus, my wound is infected and I have a high fever. The knife they used was probably crusty and dull.
My mom is pacing now with the tip of her thumb in her mouth. She keeps starting to ask questions, but then she cuts herself off and stays quiet. It's like she's not sure what to say or maybe she just doesn't know how to say it.
I'm lying here, staring up at the ceiling and hoping she doesn't start asking shit I don't want to answer. "Mom," I sigh. "Stop pacing. You're making me dizzy."
She pauses and stares at me. "How long has this been going on?" she asks weakly.
"Mom…" I try to get her to stop. "Don't…"
"Have they hurt you in any other ways?"
Other ways.
"No," I mumble, closing my eyes. "None of them tried to fuck me if that's what you mean. They just taunted me and groped me a bit to get me scared and then they pulled out the knife."
"I hate this town," she whispers, rubbing her temples.
"I hate America," I respond. "I hate the whole world."
I wish they shoved a cactus up my ass instead. At least that wouldn't have scarred my outsides.
Cartman and Wendy are the first to come visit me. I tell them I got stabbed and my mom doesn't call me out on fibbing. Well, it's not that much of a lie.
Wendy shakes her head in disbelief. "Why would they do that? It's so violent and cruel… It's so much harsher than any schoolyard vengeance I've seen before, that's for sure."
"Like you said a while ago," Cartman starts, "Rebecca is spiteful and fucking evil."
"It's not normal, though," Wendy murmurs.
"Nothing that happens around here is normal," Cartman snorts.
My mom sits in the corner of the room, pretending not to listen but I know she is. She'll have questions when everyone is gone.
"Guys," I sigh. "Just drop it."
"This is a major case of slut-shaming," Wendy says quietly.
"Yeah, well, no one cares about sluts," I say bitterly. "Especially if the sluts are also homos."
"Stan, don't berate yourself," Wendy chastises. "I don't care what the hell you and Kyle were doing together. You still didn't deserve to get stabbed."
"What are people at school saying about me now?" I ask, rubbing my forehead. I feel a headache coming on.
"Most people feel pretty bad…" Wendy says, "but then Rebecca and her friends are kind of laughing it off."
"Naturally," I mutter. God, kids can be so vile. People in general just suck.
My mom can probably sense that I'm not up for visits, because she stands up and politely says, "Thanks for visiting Stanley, but he needs to get some rest. He still has a bit of a fever."
"Of course," Wendy says, smiling. "Feel better, Stan," she tells me, squeezing my shoulder lightly.
"Thanks," I mumble.
"Later, homo," Cartman adds before trailing after her.
When they leave, I can tell my mom wants to start asking questions. "I'm really tired," I tell her. "You don't have to stick around. I'm fine here. I'll just… sleep."
"All right," she relents. "I'll go run a few errands and be back with your sister and father later."
"I don't want dad to come," I whisper.
"All right," she says again. "Just me and Shelly."
"Tell them I need more painkillers on your way out," I add.
I end up falling asleep shortly after getting doped up. When I wake up, the sunlight is dimming. My mom is back, though. Shelly is sitting with her.
"Turd's awake," she says.
"Stanley," Mom smiles at me. "Do you want me to get you anything? Water? Food?"
"I could use a drink," I say, gingerly sitting up. I wince and give up halfway, slumping back.
"Who did it?" Shelly asks.
"Some guys," I mumble vaguely.
"Why?" she bites out. "Why would a bunch of random guys do that to you? Homophobia?"
I guess Mom told her what got sliced into my gut. God damn it. As if my sister didn't pity me enough already.
"I stole some girl's boyfriend," I mumble, though it's half a lie. "She found out and organized it."
Shelly remains blank faced. For a while, she says nothing. She just stares at the floor. "Why?" she finally asks.
"Because I'm a slut."
Shelly clicks her tongue. "Tsk, don't say shit like that, you stupid turd. There's nothing worse than people who constantly shut themselves down. It's annoying."
I know that, but I can't help it. I don't do it to get pity, I swear. It's just something I do without thinking. It's like second nature, as sad as it sounds.
"Mom brought your prescription," Shelly adds. "You know, you should probably start taking it again. She doesn't know you stopped, but I know. I know you've been flushing them. That's fucking stupid. You'll probably feel better when you start taking them again."
I grunt in response. I hate being like this. I hate depending on the pills. I thought I could try being normal. I felt okay for a day, and then everything came crashing down. I tried not to think about it, but that just made it all worse. Shelly is right. I guess I was being stupid. Sickness doesn't just go away.
People keep coming all throughout the evening and I don't end up getting much more sleep. Kenny comes with Craig. They seem to be getting along. Bebe, Clyde, Token and Nichole show up soon after and eventually I've got a crowd of people in my room. I try to be polite and nice but I'm so out of it I just want everyone to shut up and leave. My mom kicks them out after an hour, not wanting me to get overwhelmed.
When night approaches, Kyle comes to see me. He immediately takes the blame for what happened and no matter how many times I try to convince him otherwise, he doesn't listen. But, hey, maybe it is his fault. Then again, maybe it's just as much my fault. We're both fucking stupid.
"This is my fault," he says again and again.
"No, it's not," I say with a sigh. I don't want to have to reassure him. I feel like shit and I just don't have the energy.
Kyle starts crying and my mom puts an arm around him before escorting him out. They're gone for a while and when she returns, she returns alone. "Kyle went home," she says.
"That's fine," I whisper. "I'll see him later."
"I tried talking to him but he was out of it," she continues. "It was very unlike him… but I suppose he hasn't been around as much as he used to be. The two of you usually go off on your own when you are with one another. I haven't spoken to him in a long time. He told me to tell you he's sorry… though I'm not sure what for."
"He's changed a lot since we were kids, Mom," I mumble. Ha, that barely begins to describe it.
"That boy is a mess," my mom adds.
"I know," I agree begrudgingly.
"Why did he blame himself?"
"Dunno," I mumble.
She lets out a quiet breath. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Stan?" she asks.
I close my eyes and let out a shuddery breath. I don't want to see the look on her face when I tell her what I've been doing. "We're fucking," I confess. "We've been fucking for the past year." I feel like that is all me and Kyle do these days. We fuck and I always feel like shit when it's over. From start to finish, I tell my mom everything. I tell her how it started. I tell her about Kyle's drinking. I tell her about Kyle's mood swings and strange behaviour. I tell her that he's either friendly and fun or spiteful and upset. I tell her I never have enough self-esteem to say no. I tell her about Rebecca. I tell her about the taunts from other kids. I tell her about last night. I top it all off by telling her how much I fucking hate myself. The entire time I'm sobbing and Shelly is here listening to it all and I don't even have it in me to be humiliated. I should be, though. Shouldn't I?
The whole time, Mom listens with this look of immense pity on her face, like she can't believe what her once proud son has been reduced to. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. I've never been proud. It was all just an act to get people to fuck off once I was diagnosed with childhood depression. I think my parents got scared I was going to off myself. I wouldn't. I don't want to die. I want to live. I just get stuck in ruts and forget it sometimes.
"Stanley," she whispers weakly. "I can take you to a hospital… an institution. We can get you help."
"No," I murmur.
"Then…" she pauses. "Then how about you start seeing your therapist again?"
"No," I repeat myself.
"Are you still taking your prescription?"
"No," I admit. "I just flush them down the toilet."
"Why?" she asks with a sigh.
"I hate the fact that I need to take those stupid pills," I bite out.
"Sweetie, you can't just stop taking your medication, especially not so suddenly. You'll only feel worse."
"I know that!" I say sharply. I bring an arm over my eyes and sniffle. "Ugh," I moan, not wanting to keep crying but it's too late. God, I must be such a disappointment. It's no wonder my dad thinks I'm shit.
I'm allowed to leave in time for exams and as soon as I'm home, my dad starts complaining about the hospital bill. It makes me feel like shit. Like… Sorry I basically got stabbed. Sorry your son is a dirty piece of trash. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
My stitches hurt, but the wound is no longer infected. It's healing. When the bandages got changed for the first time, I wanted to start screaming when I saw the damage. The nurse told me to look away, but I just snapped at her. How the hell would that do any good? I can't just ignore it. I can't just ignore something that is now a part of my body. I can't just ignore something I'll be forced to see all the fucking time – every time I take off my clothes and every time I'm with a guy.
On the bright side, today is the last day of exams. As soon as I walk into the school, I see Rebecca. There's a smile on her face as she takes in my pathetic appearance. "Wow, Stan," she cackles. "You look so different with clothes on."
"Fuck off, Rebecca," I retort without even thinking.
"I'm gonna rape your ass with a pole, skank!" she shrieks at me. She really is as mental as Cartman says she is. Maybe we all are.
I force myself to ignore her. I find my seat and soon the exams start. Kyle doesn't end up coming. I half expected it. I guess he won't be graduating this year.
I didn't study at all, but I'm confident I'll at least pass. That's all I want. I won't be going to university. I won't be leaving home. I won't be doing anything exciting with my life. When I'm less stressed out, I'll get a job. I'll get a mundane boring job. Maybe I'll work at the book store. Maybe I'll work at the corner store. Maybe I'll work at the pet store. Maybe I'll work at a restaurant. I don't know. I don't care as long as it's boring. Ha, I sound like Craig Tucker now.
The school board said I could do my exams at a later date, but I want to get them over with now. I want it over with so I can move on with my life.
So, I rush things and bullshit the answers I don't know. I write fast and messily. I don't care. When I'm finished, I leave the school. It's warmer outside.
Graduation is at the end of the month. I won't be going. I know my mom wants me to, but I literally can't. I've grown so fucking nervous and anxious lately, I wouldn't be able to handle walking across the stage and knowing I'm being stared at by so many people. I won't go to prom either. I hate that kind of shit. Plus, I have no one to go with so it kind of defeats the purpose of it. Everyone else will be coupled up. I'll just end up being a wallflower.
I shove my hands in my pocket and leave the school grounds, making my way onto the main road. It doesn't take me long to arrive at Kyle's place. I let myself in and go straight to his room, hoping that's where he'll be. I don't like when he plays hide and seek.
Fortunately, I see him sitting on his bed, wrapped in his duvet. His shoulders are bare. It doesn't look like he's wearing any clothes. I don't know why.
"Kyle," I say his name.
"Staann…" he responds in a long, slow slur.
"Are you drunk?" I ask him.
"Mm…" he mumbles, eyebrows drawn together. "Things are simpler when you're disoriented. Then you don't have to think. You don't have to cope. You don't have to remember."
"What do you mean?" I question. I don't understand what he's going on about. There's something not quite right about this scenario. It's written on his face and it's written on the way he's sitting. He's hiding something; I'm just not sure what. "Is this about Ike?"
"Sometimes… it's like I step out of my body," he says hazily, dismissing my questions. "It's like I'm staring at myself from across the room. I see this guy… He has red hair. He's tall. He's pale. He has green eyes and thick eyebrows. He has a big nose. He's not awful looking… but he's not me. It's like… I don't know who he is. Who is that guy I'm staring at? I don't know. It's like a mirror but it's not because I don't know who it is I'm staring at. I don't know myself." He pauses, glancing at me. "Who am I, Stan? What am I?"
"Kyle, what the fuck?" I whisper in a deadpan. He's scaring the hell out of me right now. I have goose bumps on my arms and I just want him to stop and be normal. I take a step back, not wanting to be in the same room as him.
"Stop," he murmurs, staring down at the sheets on his bed. "Stop doing that…" he whispers. "I'm not trying to scare you, so stop being scared!" he pleads loudly, raising his head and staring at me accusingly. "I'm the one that's scared! Me!"
I'm taken aback. "What do you want from me, Kyle?" I ask hoarsely.
"This is blood, right?" he wonders offhandedly, pushing the blankets away and holding out his wrists. There is a plethora of cuts, some shallow and some deep. The blood is trailing down his arms, onto his bare legs and staining his yellow bed sheets. "This blood is mine?"
"Kyle…!" I gasp, nearly choking on my own breath. "God, what did you do?" I almost shout. I move close, grabbing his wrists. "Oh, fuck…"
"Don't be mad," he pleads softly.
I hold his arms gently and force him to stand and follow me to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet seat lid and I place a towel on his lap, partly to cover himself and partly to help with all the blood. With shaky hands, I dig out the first aid kit and begin cleaning his cuts.
"Why'd you do this?" I whisper.
"Because I deserved it!" he retorts sharply and I don't need to ask him to know that he's talking about my trip to the hospital.
"No, you didn't," I murmur. "You're lucky you don't need stitches…" I add. "The bleeding all stopped." He only grunts in response, staring off into empty space. I take a roll of gauze and wrap his wrists. "Make sure you change the bandages tomorrow," I tell him. I take the towel, running it under the sink taps and then washing the caked blood off his legs.
Kyle looks like he lost weight. Less muscle, more bones.
He stands up and walks back to his room in a daze. I follow and hand him a pair of sweatpants to put on, then a long-sleeved shirt. Once modest, he sits on his bed.
"Kyle, what the fucking hell is wrong with you?" I ask, standing in front of him.
"Dunno," he admits.
"When did this all start?"
"Dunno," he repeats.
"Was it Ike?"
"Dunno," he says for a third time. "Sometimes I think it was, but no… I've been feeling off for years."
"Talk to me," I whisper, sitting with him. "Please…"
Kyle takes out a cigarette, lighting it. His eyes are bloodshot by now. "I was an idiot," he whispers, taking a drag. "We cut through the pond to get home. I told Ike to hurry. He hesitated. He said it didn't look safe. I went first to show him it was fine… but when I was on the other side waiting for him, I guess he hit a soft patch. He went right through…" Kyle pauses, closing his eyes, which begin to leak. I watch fresh tears swim down his face. Apart from this, he looks calm. Miserable, but calm. "He was screaming for me. I tried to help him… but then he went under. I kept trying but minutes past and I am smart enough to know optimism wasn't going to do me any good. So don't bother telling me it's not my fault because it is. I'm the one who urged him to cross the lake. I'm the reason he fell through. I called the cops and I ran. I ran to you. I couldn't fucking be there when they pulled his body out… I didn't want to see."
"I'm sorry," I say quietly, since it's really all I can offer at this point. It was an accident. The entire thing was an unfortunate accident... but I see now why he holds the blame.
Kyle just shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. "When my mom first slapped me, I was stunned. I mean, she slapped the shit out of me and told me it was my fault. She kept smacking me and I was on the floor crying like a baby. I just took it… because, I mean, I could have easily overpowered her and stood up for myself but I didn't. I knew I deserved it. My dad eventually came in and stopped her, but the damage was done. That was the first time but it wasn't the last. She can't even fucking look at me now."
"I know," I whisper.
"I get jealous," Kyle says with a bitter laugh. "I get jealous when I see you and Shelly bickering. I get jealous when I see Kenny walking down the street with Karen and Kevin, even though their relationship is kind of strained. I just get fucking jealous… because I used to have that. I used to have all that and now I don't because he's dead… and I feel dead, too." He lets out a sharp breath. "I feel like I'm dissolving."
"W-what can I do to help?" I ask, stuttering the question.
"Come here," he whispers. "Just, like… Just hold me."
So I do. I hold him tight, feeling like I'm trying to hold him together. Maybe that's what it's all about – Kyle wants me to hold him together. Unfortunately, it's not something I can do.
The following day, Kenny shows at my house with a big grin on his face. "Guess what?" he asks.
"Craig let you take him out on a date?" I assume automatically, letting him in.
He pouts at the fact that I guessed so easily. "How did you know?"
"It was an obvious guess," I snort. "So, when did this happen?"
"A little over a week ago," he says, grinning again. "I was going to tell you, but you seemed preoccupied and I felt bad giving you good news about my life when you were lying in the hospital with a stab wound."
I snort. "It's fine. Some good news probably would have made me feel better."
He smiles sympathetically. "Sorry, dude."
I just shrug. "We all have some shit. It's okay."
We go up into my room and settle on my bed. He's probably dying to tell me all about what's been going on in his life. Kenny likes to talk, but he doesn't have very many people he trusts enough to talk to. I guess we're all like that. I feel like everything got so strained after Ike died. Kyle is never emotionally available. He's always emotionally preoccupied.
"It was scary," Kenny murmurs out of the blue. "I've been spending nights at his house and my second night there, he had a seizure and bit the tip of his tongue. Man, I had no idea what to do. We were just sitting on his bed one second and the next… I just started screaming for his parents. It was probably stupid of me to start freaking out like that, but it really caught me off guard. Apparently there are lots of things that trigger seizures for him. Even stuff like the way light shines through his drapes."
"Jesus fucking Christ," I say with a wince.
Kenny nods, frown in place. "So, I've been trying to, like, learn about it and stuff. Plus, he's told me what I can do to help when it happens. I have to help bring him onto a flat surface, put something soft under his head, make sure there's nothing in the way so he doesn't hit himself. If it lasts more than five minutes, he says I have to call 911."
"That's scary…" I say softly.
Kenny nods his head again. "It's weird. I've never really thought about epilepsy much until seeing Craig have that seizure at school a couple months back. I mean, everyone knows he's epileptic but… I dunno, no one really talks about it or knows how to handle it and help him."
"Yeah," I sympathize. It's not really something I can imagine. I've never had any sort of physical disorder before. I guess, in that sense, I'm lucky.
Kenny just shrugs. "He won't let me fuck him," he adds out of the blue, changing the subject.
"Well, you haven't been dating long," I point out. "A week isn't much."
"I know," he relents, "but fuck… I really wanna fuck him."
"Eloquent as ever." I roll my eyes. "Good things come to those who wait," I offer.
Kenny just shrugs yet again. "I dunno. I mean, we do stuff, he just hasn't let me stick my dick in him yet."
"What do you do if you don't have sex?" I pry.
"Suck each other off," he says with another shrug. "Sometimes we just jack off together or jack each other off. I have a double ended dildo… We used that a couple times."
"Hm," I muse. "Maybe he just wants to make sure it's real with you. Maybe he's worried you'll fuck him and chuck him."
Kenny softens. "I wouldn't… I mean, I like him. I know my reputation is pretty... impressive, but I really like him. I've never really been into anyone before. I just like sex… but this is new. He told me about his first boyfriend. He said he got used."
"He told me that, too," I say. "I was surprised he told me something so personal."
Kenny nods in agreement. "He seems to be more open these days…"
"Unlike the rest of us," I snort.
He smiles a small and sad smile. "Anyway, enough about me! What's going on with you and Kyle?"
"I don't mind if you talk about Craig," I say with a chuckle before admitting, "But about Kyle… I saw him yesterday. I went to see him after my exams. He was really out of it. Like… really out of it. He kind of scared me."
Kenny winces. "He's not safe anywhere, especially not in his head. He can't be left alone."
"Don't remind me," I mumble.
"Nonetheless," Kenny adds, "it's not your responsibility."
"Mm…" I muse, letting out a whiny sigh. "I just don't want him to do anything bad. Christ, this is fucking depressing me even more than I already am."
"Sorry," Kenny sympathizes.
"Tell me more about you and Craig," I say, lying down against my pillow.
Kenny lies down next to me. "Fuck," he lets out a sigh. "I'm really happy, dude. It's weird. I've never really had a boyfriend or girlfriend before. I never really imagined I'd want to settle down with anyone. I never really imagined anyone would want to settle down with me, either. I think when I kept asking Craig out, part of me honestly thought he'd never reciprocate my feelings. I was just being an annoying chode. But now here we are. I mean, I don't know how long it'll last but I'll enjoy it for as much time as I can. He's so fucking fine and he's nice to be around. He's comforting and calm and I like listening to him talk. His voice is deep and soothing…"
"Sounds like you're in looove," I tease.
He nudges me, snickering. "Yeah, maybe I'm getting there."
"Have you told him about what happened… to you…?" I say vaguely and cautiously. I turn my head to glance at Kenny. He's staring up at the ceiling. He wrinkles his nose and lets out a long breath.
"Yeah…" he says with a frown. "We tried staying at my house a couple nights ago. My dad ended up having his friends over and I got really sad and really drunk. The guy that did it wasn't there 'cause my dad doesn't let him come 'round anymore… but still, I guess I got triggered. I pretty much spent the night crying on Craig's lap. Of course, he asked questions. So, I told him what I told you. He immediately called his dad, who came to pick us up. So, I've been at his house most nights since then. It's actually, like, really nice… His parents are nice. I think they like me. His sister seems to like me, too."
"Well… That's good," I tell him. "Isn't it?"
"Yeah," he agrees, "but I don't want to put them out. I know they don't mind it… but still. I guess I have a hard time accepting help from people."
"What did Craig tell them?" I pry.
"He told them someone hurt me," Kenny murmurs. "It was vague, but I think they understood what that meant. I guess that's why they've been so gracious. I mean… most people wouldn't leave a kid to suffer in a house where something so fucking shitty happened." His tone gets angrier as he speaks.
"Yeah," I whisper when he's silent.
Kenny lets out a sharp sigh. "Fucking fuck," he mutters, putting a hand over his face. He lets out a string of breaths and I can tell he's trying to will away tears. "God damn it… I get so fucking disgusting with myself when I think about it…"
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "You're allowed to be angry, Kenny. You're allowed to be sad. You're allowed to feel the way you feel and most of all you're allowed to express it."
"I know," he says wetly. He sits up and sighs with finality. "All right," he decides, reaching for a tissue. "I'm okay again."
"Ever think you'll go to therapy?" I ask him.
"Nah," he snorts, lying back down. "I could never afford it… and even if I could, I don't know if I would want it. I mean, I'm all right. I get really fucking sad and humiliated sometimes and angry, too… but I feel like that's normal. Plus, I have a good support system now. I've got you and Craig. Even his fuckin' mom told me if I ever needed an ear, she'd listen. It's easier to talk about now. I think getting it out the first time was the hardest part, but you helped me with that."
"I'll always be here to listen, too," I promise him. "I'm not going anywhere."
He glances at me and smiles. "I know."
Kenny is so strong, but of course I always knew that. I try to think about who my support system is. I've got Kenny. I've got Wendy. I've got my mom and I even have Shelly. Unfortunately I don't have the one person I do want: Kyle.
Kyle, Kyle, Kyle! He consumes all of my thoughts even when he shouldn't. I love him so much. Too much. It won't ever go away, I already know that. I'll love him 'til the day I die.
"What are you thinking about?" Kenny asks me. "I can practically feel your anxiety, dude."
"Sorry," I snort.
"Don't apologize," he says. "What's up? What's on your mind?"
"I'm just thinking about things I want but will never have," I mutter bitterly.
"Ah, yeah," Kenny sympathizes. "Kyle... I love the bastard, but he's got some stuff he needs to work through. Right now… he wouldn't make a good boyfriend even if he wanted to be yours. I'd tell you to move on, but I know it would be hard. You've loved him for a long time, right? Since you were both little kids. Love like that doesn't just disappear or fade. You'll probably always feel something for him and when you think it's finally gone, something will trigger an old memory of him – one you tried to keep packed in a hard to reach place in your mind. Then it all comes flooding back. You're in love again. Feelings suck."
"Yeah," I force a chuckle. "That's pretty much it."
"I hope something good happens soon," Kenny offers. It's an innocent sentiment.
"Me, too," I tell him.
We continue to chatter. He tells me more about what him and Craig get up to – he even gives me a few of the dirty details. After another hour, Kenny announces his departure and I walk him to the door.
"I fucking love you, man," he says, pulling me into his chest and slapping me on the back.
"I love you, too," I tell him before watching him go.
Everyone is home for supper and my mom makes us sit at the table together. I fucking hate when she does that. I dig a half empty bottle of vodka out from under my bed and pour it in a glass before going downstairs. I sip casually, pretending its water. It tastes like turpentine, but I try not to cringe.
When I join everyone at the table, my mom makes small talk and my dad chats about his work. He's still a geologist, though he's quit about fifty times in the past. He always ends up back in his office.
Shelly grabs it and takes a whiff. "Vodka?" she mouths, staring at me. There's a look of disbelief on her face, but my parents don't seem to notice. They're busy paying attention to each other. At least they're getting along.
I don't bother responding to her. I simply take the glass back and take a long sip. She won't say anything to my parents about it. Not unless it becomes a habit.
Around 9PM, I decide to go see Kyle. There are some things I need to get off my chest… if I can. I always lack the courage to say the things I want to him. When I arrive at the Broflovski residence, Gerald opens the door.
"Uh, hi," I greet tentatively. "Is Kyle home?"
He shakes his head. "He hasn't been here all day. He said he wanted to get some air a couple hours ago."
"Do you know where he might be?" I ask.
"Hm," Gerald pauses. "You can try the synagogue… and if you find him, could you please walk him home? It's getting late."
I offer a smile. "Sure, Gerald."
As I'm about to turn away, he stops me. "Stanley," he says my name. "Does Kyle seem a bit… off to you?"
"You should have him tested," I say quietly. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel guilty. I feel like I'm betraying Kyle. I know it's not something he'd want. I know it's not something he's ready for. He's eighteen. There's no way he'll say yes. There's no way he'll agree and there's no way his parents can force him unless he's proven to be a danger to himself or those around him.
With nothing more, I turn away and run back down the driveway before running down the street. Gerald is so much kinder than Sheila is these days.
Just like Gerald said, I find Kyle in the synagogue. He's the only person there and it's dark. He's sitting in the front pew. "Dude," I murmur, moving closer. "Kyle…?"
His eyes are closed. I don't know why he's here. Maybe he's seeking religious guidance. Maybe he's trying to talk to his God. I don't know. I stay quiet until he's finished whatever it is he's doing. Soon enough, his eyes open. "There's something wrong with me," he says. "I feel like everything I am… everything I was is disintegrating," he continues in a murmur. "All my relationships are disappearing. I feel empty all the time. It's hard to feel things, good things. You make me feel things… but I'm always worried you'll leave me. That's why I'm keep you on a string… because I need you near me. If you're not… then maybe I'll stop feeling things completely. I don't know what to do with the way I feel… I feel sad and angry and anxious all the time… and then when I don't feel those things I don't feel much of anything." His voice is groggy and mechanical, like he's not even registering the things coming from his mouth.
I sit down next to him in the pew and place my clammy hands on my knees. "How long have you felt like this?"
"I can't even remember," he whispers. He stares off into space for many more long minutes before turning to me. "Don't leave," he pleads wetly.
"Okay," I say quietly.
"Promise me you won't leave me," he urges, sounding desperate.
"I promise," I say, feeling claustrophobic. He's suffocating me and, as always, I'm unable to tell him what I planned on telling him. "Come on," I say softly. "Let's go outside."
I offer him my hand, which he accepts, and the two of us leave the building.
"Your dad wants me to walk you home," I say.
He holds my hand tightly as we walk. "Oh," is all he responds with.
"He cares about you, y'know," I offer.
Kyle nods slowly. "I know he does. He always stops my mom when she hits me. He feels guilty, but he loves her. He loves us both and then he feels conflicted."
"I'm sorry," I sympathize.
Soon enough, we're back at the bottom of his driveway. Kyle lets go of my hand and stands in front of me, slowly leaning down and pressing his mouth against mine. I've missed this. I've missed it more than I want to admit. It's simple. Just lips and innocent touching.
When we part, he wraps his arms around me and keeps me close for many long minutes. From over his shoulder, I can see Gerald in the window watching us. It puts knots in my stomach, but there's no anger on his face. Just sympathy. Lots of it. Too much. Everyone is so sympathetic. Everyone throws pity in my direction and in Kyle's direction. I hate it. I fucking hate it, but I know they're right. This is bad.
"Goodnight," Kyle says moments later, releasing me.
"Goodnight," I echo.
I watch him walk up his driveway and enter his house. Only then do I begin to walk home. I take my time, kicking a pebble the entire way and trying not to think about anything in particular.
I return home a little past ten and hover on the porch step. I stare up at the sky and up at the moon, wasting more time because I know as soon as I'm inside my mom is going to ask questions. She'll want to know where I was. She'll want to know who I was with. She'll want to know why I was out so late. When she finds out, she'll tell me things I know and she'll tell me things I don't want to keep hearing.
With a sigh, I turn and open the door. There's no point in putting off the inevitable. As soon as I step inside, my mom is there. She doesn't look angry, but she does look like she is ready to drill me. "Where were you?" she starts off.
"With Kyle," I admit. She shifts in response, looking like she wants to ask me what we were doing but at the same time she's afraid to find out. "We weren't doing anything," I tell her before she can stutter out the words. "We were just… talking… He says there's something wrong with him."
"If he isn't ready to get help, there's nothing you can do," she says.
"I know," I murmur.
She emits a sigh. "Stanley, I think you and Kyle should spend some time apart from one another," she suggests with caution.
"Yeah," I agree miserably. "I know. I'm trying."
And it's true. I have been. I know it's for the best, but they're words I choke on. Love is a fucking sickness, I swear. It makes people like me weak, which sucks because I'm already weak enough as it is. I don't need anything making it worse.