South Park © Matt and Trey.

General Warning:

This story includes slash pairings, as well as heavy eating disorder content and may be triggering to some viewers. Please take care while reading. I would also like to add that this work is not pro mia in anyway, whatsoever. If you personally are struggling, please feel free to contact me at any time and I will be happy to direct you to support resources.

Clyde's POV:

He's been the only thing I can think about lately.

My classes have been even more of a mess than usual. I failed a history test Tuesday because I couldn't focus enough Monday night to crack open the text book. My grades are never very good, but this is the first time I didn't even try. Craig has been openly avoiding me and the rest of our gang—I know he's assuming that I have already let Token and Tweek in on what's been going on.

I thought about telling my parents—I thought about telling our friends—but in all honestly, I have told no one.

At this point, I'm unsure about whether or not it would be helpful. Craig takes his privacy seriously, and I know he would see me speaking up as ratting him out.

Wednesday morning, I'm exhausted. I stayed up all night researching the causes, signs, and symptoms of bulimia. The only reason I know the term is because of the nutrition segment of our health class the year previous, although they had never directed the information at us. I feel lied to. Our teacher told us it was a problem only girls had.

Even after hours of googling, I don't feel any closer to understanding what my best friend is experiencing. There are a few things I feel comfortable checking Craig off on: social isolation, need to be in control, difficulty expressing feelings—but the more I read the harder the time I have figuring it all out.

The first thing I can't wrap my mind around is his weight. Craig looks fine, and always has. He looks a little tired, but nothing beyond that. He's always been tired anyway. I read that sometimes people with bulimia don't really gain or lose weight at all, which in and of itself it confusing. Several articles explained to me that purging, which apparently is what the throwing up part of bulimia is called, rarely helps someone to get out all of what they've eaten—but if that's the case I don't understand why Craig started at all in the first place. The entire subject doesn't make sense to me.

I'm also having a hard time with the idea that every time Craig seemed reluctant to eat with me, and then eventually gave in, he was experiencing a very large part of the illness. It had been so easy for me to dismiss the overeating as simply 'teenage boy appetite', and I feel a pang in my chest every time I think about how oblivious I was.

As difficult as both those are, however, the continuously hardest parts of the whole situation are that I don't know what caused it, I don't know how long it's been going on, and I don't know how to fix it—especially on my own.

Craig has never once mentioned to me that he was concerned about his body, and I don't feel as though he has particularly low self-esteem. I've known him forever and if there was any trauma I would know about it by now, wouldn't I? Life in South Park is pretty stagnant, and I can't imagine that he's been going through any major life changes without telling me.

But with every explanation I read and explain away, I know that what I'm really doing is making excuses for being a horrible, unobservant friend.

I should have known. He was working out so diligently and going to the bathroom after every meal. I can't believe I didn't notice that he was throwing up at parties without even drinking.

I wish I had handled it differently. I wouldn't have barged in on him like that. I should have kept quiet and sat with him, holding his hands like we usually did when we got drunk together and discretely checked his nails for discoloration or his knuckles for scars. I ought to have noticed when his cheeks starting getting puffy or his eyes were turning red. It's unbelievable that I asked him if he was just high not even four days ago.

The more I read, the more pissed off I was at myself.

You've been too caught up in your own business. You need to pay more attention to all the shit that's going on around you. I tell myself angrily.

I feel guilty—like the entire situation is my fault.

I should have noticed.

I should have been there.

I should have stopped it all sooner.

I'm shaken free of my thoughts as I open the doors to the school and Red pushes past me, and turns around winking as a thanks for holding the entrance open for her. I can only scowl.

The next person I focus in on is Craig. He's standing at his locker, getting his books out for first period.

"Hey!" I shout, and he throws an apathetic glance at me over his shoulder.

"What?" He says unenergetically.

"We need to talk."

"There's nothing for us to talk about. I already told you." He slams his locker, bending to shove his books into his backpack.

"You've been ignoring my texts."

"You weren't saying anything important."

"That's not true." I lower my voice, "There's something real going on here and you know it."

"Nothing is wrong. Let it go." Craig hisses, "If you're so worried, I'll eat lunch with you today, okay? I'll prove to you that I'm alright. I told you—I was just feeling sick that day."

"That's not what I'm worried about." I say, matching his tone, "Look, I'm sorry that I didn't realize sooner, I—"

"Just leave it alone!" Craig shouts suddenly, and driving a finger into my chest he adds "It's none of your fucking business."

I take a step back, startled from his sudden outburst.

"I don't want you to be a part of this. Just fucking back off." He spits out poisonously, before picking up his bag and turning abruptly down the hall.

I stand there by the lockers, dumbfounded, before following dangerously closely behind him.

"I'm your best friend! How can you just tell me to leave it alone?" I had been hoping to have our conversation discretely, but Craig was making that all but impossible.

When he doesn't respond, I add in a short but strong emotional outburst, "I care about you!"

To this, Craig spins around, and our bodies slam into each other. "I didn't ask you to!" he shouts, shoving me off of him, "I never asked you to get involved!"

He turns into his geometry classroom, leaving me in the hallway. I know that I can't follow him; it would just make more of a scene than we already have, and people at Park High School always talk.

But this is just the reality check I need to realize that it can't be my solely my job to take care of Craig, and I pull out my cellphone, tapping "Laura Tucker" into my contact search.