Major trigger warnings for this chapter: rape, violence, homophobic language. I wanted to make this part longer but once I finished I decided I needed a minute before I moved onto the next part. The next chapter will be filled with revenge, so it'll be easier to write (I think), but this part was difficult for me. One might ask, "well, why did you write it, then?" To those hypothetical questions I'd have to reply that catharsis comes in a myriad of forms...mine just comes through writing dark fanfiction, lol. Anyway, I will say that writing backstories for more obscure characters is interesting, so there's that. Once again, please read with discretion. :)
PS: Hopefully, it goes without saying that I don't condone any of the actions or language used in this chapter. Not at all.
Hell has a name — "satan's den"
got the lock on the trailer, got the tape recorder in
he's gonna strap her to the bed, spread apart her legs
and pull the soul out of the body that its in
and when he's done he will give her to the earth
a starving animal will always feed
- In the Land, Nicole Dollanganger
The skin parted like petals on blossoming flowers
We pressed the cuts together, became one and another
Now we're blood brothers
A part of me will always live in you
I'll love all your demons because
Now they're my demons too
- Blood Brothers, Nicole Dollanganger
TRENT
Trent still enjoyed watching things burn.
It didn't really matter what it was as long as he could watch it ignite and smolder: paper, fabric, wood. If he could set a match to it, he'd burn it, gladly, and relish in the way it broke down until it became nothing but ash that eventually disappeared into nothing. He had aspirations of eventually burning down a building, but he was working his way up to that; everything in its own time.
It wasn't until he saw the dumb-looking kid with the blonde hair walking alone at night that he realized he didn't just want to burn objects. No, he wanted to set fire to people too, maybe not with actual flames, but he was smart enough to know that destruction could take a myriad of forms, all of them satisfying. The boy had a doe-eyed, animal quality about him, almost like he was meant to be small and kept in a cage; handled delicately. It was enough to make Trent clench his cigarette just a little bit tighter, all of his muscles tensing with a strange anticipation that took him off guard.
He'd almost decided to let the boy pass him by when he noticed the umbrella tucked under his arm, bright pink, practically taunting him. Before he could stop himself, not that he'd really wanted to, he was calling out to him, calling him princess...wanting to make sure he was alone. He hadn't recognized him at first, but then the realization dawned on him. This was a kept boy, almost always surrounded by his friends...but they weren't just friends, were they? Anyone with eyes could see that, not to mention the fact that he'd been stupid enough to out himself to everyone at school; him and that faggot Broflovski.
The creature hadn't been receptive, though, his demeanor and posture had suggested fear, which had only excited Trent more. He'd been swift when he'd tripped him, and when Tweek had looked up at him his large eyes had been full of slow-growing terror. Trent had almost shuddered, almost like the boy was already catching fire on the inside, even before he'd touched him. When he'd stomped on the tiny bottle and splattered its contents all over the pavement, he'd already made up his mind about what should, no, what needed to be done. The boy had said something about needing to get back to his parents, that he'd be expected. Trent had ignored this, had taken him by the arm and dragged him to his feet; it was so fragile, little bird bones sliding under his grip.
He'd promised Tweek that he'd take care of him and he'd meant it...and the boy hadn't fought him when he'd started leading him toward the woods circling Stark's pond, where no one could see them; no interruptions. When Trent had looked back, he'd smirked to see the pink umbrella laying on the sidewalk, resembling a crushed flower.
To say that the years Trent spent in juvie had institutionalized him was an understatement. On some level, though he couldn't articulate it, he knew that he'd been broken down and rewired to obey the system, even though he hated it. He'd been taught to eat when told, bathe when instructed, line up when ordered, but his metamorphosis hadn't stopped there, not by a long shot.
He supposed he would never forget the first time he'd been accosted in the bathroom, by boys that were bigger and older than him. He'd been outnumbered, and though he'd fought it hadn't been enough, because they'd made sure to stack the deck in their favor. The night staff were occupied, it was late...bed checks and rounds had already taken place, and all Trent wanted to do was empty his bladder. He'd been wearing the Spongebob pajamas his mother had sent him in his monthly care package, and even though he hated them for their babyish leanings, he'd loved them, too. She'd sent them, after all, and she was an oasis in a world that didn't seem to want him. Trent was almost positive that it would break her heart if she ever realized his forced sexual initiation had taken place while he was clothed in the articles she'd sent with love...he could even imagine her kissing the little card she'd tucked into the box before closing it up. Her ghostly aroma, talcum power and rose sachets, clung to every package he'd received, and these aromas were all he needed to transport him back to his true childhood; before he'd been locked away.
He hadn't been warned that innocence was something that could be stripped away without a thought, and that it could happen before you were aware of it. As he'd been held down by the other boys and taken against his will on the white tiles that smelled of strong, industrial cleaner, something inside of him had died, but something else, something darker and almost impossible to control, had been born. Like the need to burn, it consumed him; the hatred, the rage. Somewhere in the tangle was a loathing of himself, but he only understood that part vaguely; he didn't dwell on it.
Trent's childhood had been complicated, but he supposed everyone's was, in one way or another. His parents had been high school sweethearts, a real Jack and Diane situation, but he'd always been of a mind that she was too good for him. Alona Jean Boyett had had potential at one point, if her yearbooks were to be believed. She'd won speech contests, had been on the honor roll and in the National Honor's Society, had cared about going to college. She'd cared so much that she'd worked two jobs to put herself through Mesa State. She had wanted to escape her family, her circumstances: an alcoholic father and an indifferent mother. She'd been put in foster care at one point because her mother hadn't wanted her anymore, even though her siblings had stayed at home. In short, she'd wanted to make something of herself despite the naysayers, and she did; almost.
But Jake Boyett hadn't harbored the same aspirations. He'd been a D- student with an obvious disdain for academia and authority. The only things he'd cared about in school were Alona Jean and working on his car (a 1967 red mustang) while getting blasted in the yard of his parent's dilapidated Grand Junction double wide. He'd always been a forthright man, open about everything because he had no shame, so he hadn't even batted an eyelash when he'd told Trent that he'd been conceived in the back of that car one starlit night. He and Alona Jean had gone up to the overlook on the Grand Mesa and parked, and she'd cried softly against his shoulder when she'd come; whispering words of love in Jake's ear.
"Nine months later our entire world changed," he'd added while cracking open another Coors. "You came along and your mama finally became a proper wife, stayin' home and tending to things."
Trent's father had been proud to have a son but that didn't mean he was a good father. His goal was to make a man out of his boy, and his methods were usually brutal, because according to him, life was brutal.
"Life ain't going to help you when you're drownin'," he'd said, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth as he'd led Trent into the swirling waters of Stark's Pond. "No, it's gonna throw you rocks and tell you to swim, so you need to be prepared."
He'd proceeded to teach 4 year old Trent how to doggy paddle, and just when it looked like he was starting to get the hang of it, his father had pushed his head underwater and held him there. Trent could remember the terror converging on him as his breath ran out and he'd begun to struggle, his lungs on fire as he screamed; mouth filling with water. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his father had let him up and grinned as his son sputtered and sobbed, snot and tears running down his face along with the glacial pond waters.
"Didn't expect that, huh? Well, there's your first taste of life, son. You like it?"
Mrs. Boyett had been waiting to receive her crying son when he'd run out of the water, her arms opened wide. She'd always been a slight woman and Trent couldn't help but feel like she was the prettiest mom in the world, with her dark hair and eyes, her skin tan even in the middle of the winter. Her father's side were Ute descendants, and it showed in her. She'd held him tightly and had chastised her husband for being so harsh, but that hadn't stopped him from bringing Trent up in the way he'd deemed appropriate.
He hadn't even been angry with his son when he'd discovered him setting a small pile of leaves on fire very shortly before Trent was sent to juvie the first time. He'd been annoyed that Trent had been using matches so close to their little house, a sad structure on the outskirts of South Park; beyond the train tracks and very close to the McCormicks, but he hadn't really cared that his son enjoyed playing with fire.
"Every man needs to know how to start a decent fire," he'd commented simply.
Trent hadn't really been able to focus on his father's words, though, his attention immediately drawn to the dead deer lying in the grass very close by; majestic, with an impressive set of antlers. His father had pointed to it, yet another cigarette perched in his mouth and a can of Coors in his hand, sweating in the hot weather. "You're gonna help me gut that thing."
And he had, being forced to watch while his father had severed the buck's genitalia and slit it up its middle, had endured the spectacle of the creature's innards being wrenched out and propped open with sticks so the carcass could cool. When his father had decided it was time, he'd hefted the animal's body into a nearby tree and hung it by its antlers so the blood could drain, the red stream pooling on the grass below. Trent had watched as the green bottle flies gathered for the feast, their metallic coverings sharp under the sunlight. His father had instructed him to sit until the deer had emptied out, alone, while he'd gone to get another beer. His gloved hands had been covered in rusty smears and the stench of the creature's death was all around them, but Trent hadn't argued. He'd been obedient and stayed until his father had returned, only flinching slightly when he'd tousled his hair roughly.
It wasn't too long after that incident that Trent was falsely accused of starting the fire at his daycare, and he'd been sent away. His mother had sobbed uncontrollably almost from the beginning, her soft-smelling handkerchief clutched in her hand as she'd kissed her son hard on the cheek, wiping away the moisture before she'd moved away. Mr. Boyett had been stoic, arms crossed, having never given himself the luxury of displaying his emotions in public if he could help it.
"Just don't end up like that buck, boy," he'd instructed, his light blue eyes icing up considerably. "Because this place'll drain the blood from you just as easily. You hear me?"
Trent had swallowed and nodded his head, still so young and so confused, but he'd never contradicted his father before, and he wasn't about to start then. His father's words had haunted him when he'd been assaulted in the bathroom, though, and the shame of making himself a target, for being weak, had stopped him from telling anyone what had happened. Instead, the secret of it had fed his rage and his thirst for revenge, to do to the world exactly what had been done to him. He'd been thwarted the first time he'd been let out of juvie, but he'd promised himself that he'd have his retribution in the end; the chickens always came home to roost.
He couldn't help comparing Tweek to that gutted buck as they traipsed through the darkened forest, the sky angry above them as the storm clouds built on themselves. There was a heaviness in the air that some would've considered ominous, but it made Trent feel alive with anticipation. He continued to hold the boy's arm tightly, practically feeling the way he wanted to run, and he knew that he would try before all was said and done. Good, it would just make the whole affair more amusing.
"Don't you love weather like this?" He asked suddenly, and he could see Tweek starting because they'd been walking in silence for nearly ten minutes by then. "It makes me feel froggy. What about you?"
"I don't like it," Tweek muttered, tight-lipped. "It makes me nervous."
Trent laughed as he pulled the boy deeper and deeper into the forest, where the treetops were dense overhead and blocking out the sky.
"My daddy always said there was no point in being uptight about things you can't change," he commented. "That includes the weather."
"That doesn't mean I have to like it." There was some snap in Tweek's response now, and this only gave life to Trent's excitement. There was a stirring inside of him, and he began to thump his fingers against the dirty leg of his ripped jeans.
"It doesn't matter, I guess," he said, wanting to make conversation now, inexplicably. Maybe it was because he knew he had a captive audience. "That old son of a bitch up and died a couple years ago. Lung cancer."
Tweek dared to look at him, eyes wide, and even in the murky evening Trent could see they were an unusual shade of blue: darker on the edges and fading into an almost ocean color around the irises. They seemed surprised while he fumbled a response.
"Who? Y-your father, or -"
"Yeah, you know I always thought he was too mean to die, but death doesn't give a shit about who you are. The thing is, he could've saved himself, I reckon, but he was always stubborn; refused the doctor's treatments, wouldn't even stop smoking. "He chuckled, his fingers still tapping rhythmically on his leg. "That cancer ate him full of holes, my mama said. By the end, he was so thin he would've disappeared if he turned sideways, and he couldn't even remember his name. The poison spread to his brain."
"That's terrible."
"It's life," Trent replied, shrugging. "Just another thing we can't change...the end will find all of us eventually, won't it?"
Tweek started to cry quietly then, his hand pressed against his mouth as Trent kept leading him. He stumbled but righted himself clumsily.
"What do you want from me?" He sobbed, stopping suddenly and trying to yank himself out of Trent's grip. He showed an amazing amount of strength, just not enough. "I need to get back to my parents...they needed stuff from the store for an order, they were waiting, and -"
"My parents waited for me, too," Trent cut in while squeezing Tweek's arm so hard he cried out. "They waited ten years because I was put away for something I didn't fucking do. Hell, my daddy died before I even got a chance to come home. The last time I saw him he was in a coffin; I didn't even recognize him."
"Trent, I'm sorry about that," Tweek said, gasping when Trent pulled him roughly again, continuing on their trek into the deepest part of the forest. Off in the distance, between the trees, Stark's Pond stood still as the humidity in the air reached a fever pitch. The leaves on the trees had opened up and turned, expecting rainfall; practically begging for it. "But I didn't have anything to do with what happened back then, and I'm sure that anyone who does is sorry. You were all just kids."
"That's what makes it worse, and aren't you friends with Broflovski? I see you two around school all the time, probably fucking each other, too."
"It isn't like that, we're just close because -"
"You're both fags," Trent sneered, suddenly remembering the smell of that long-ago bathroom floor. He could feel the pain of being cornered and crushed under the weight of an unwanted presence. Rage surfaced in him, caustic, and he was secretly glad that his father had died before he could ever find out the truth. Knowing him, he would've assumed Trent hadn't fought...that he'd wanted what he was forced to swallow.
"We're friends," Tweek bit, still sobbing, but it seemed more angry than devastated. "We look out for each other."
"He's not doing a very good job, is he? Him or Tucker...or the rest of you little faggots."
A huge crack of lightning split the night when Tweek finally managed to wrench his arm from Trent's hold, and he was taking flight into the forest, disappearing into the darkness as Trent followed calmly. His father had taught him to track prey, had taught him well, and he looked for the telltale signs of broken foliage and disturbed grass. Tweek was a rabbit, too fearful to cover his tracks as he attempted to escape.
"You won't get far," he murmured, slowly beginning to jog, his heavy boots kicking up the scents of moist foliage and ghostly hints of vanilla; the bottle he'd crushed before coming to mind as he pursued the object of his interest. "Come and take your medicine like a good boy."
Tweek had almost made it to a large tree when he slipped, shrieking when his ankle seemed to turn beneath him as he fell face-first into the grass. The rain had just started to fall when Trent caught up to him and held him down with one heavy boot to the back, the fat droplets breaking through the tree canopy and thudding to the earth; exploding on contact.
"Why are you crying, huh?" He asked as he began to tug Tweek's corduroys down, his mouth watering at the sight of blue ruffled panties, the boy's small bulge nearly indiscernible under the frail fabric. "A cock's a cock, isn't it? It'll feel good for you either way."
"Stop! Don't do this!" Tweek cried out, thrashing as the panties began to be torn away. "Help! Help me! Anyone!"
"You know, I didn't see the cock that fucked me for the first time," Trent mused, spreading his hands over a pale backside, small and smooth; almost like a girl's. "I was face-down, just like you, but that didn't change how much it hurt. I think not seeing it made it worse, because I didn't know what to expect. Do you think it'll be the same for you?"
Tweek just sobbed, thrashing as Trent held him down by the neck, his knee nudging his legs apart.
"Behave, and I won't hang you from the tree over there when we're done," Trent said, licking his hand and thrusting an agonizing three fingers inside of Tweek. Vivid memories of the buck came back to him, its death-stench unimaginable on a hot summer's day over a decade before; tongue lolling as the green flies fed on the pooling blood beneath it. He scissored his fingers inside of the boy, delighting in the way he wailed and jerked, the rain coming down like a million heartbeats over top of them.
He also thought of his father as he'd looked in his coffin, shrunken and so much smaller but still terrifying; rendering Trent a small boy again without having to speak a word. What would he have to say about all of this?
He'd know that I'm not doing this because I like guys, Trent thought as he began to push into a body that wasn't prepared for any sort of intrusion. He'd know this isn't sex...he'd know this is about taking what I'm owed...for all the wasted years and missed opportunities. He'd be proud of me.
Trent kept reassuring himself of this fact as he worked himself into a rhythm, yanking up Tweek's muddy sweater and watching as his bones and muscles jumped in his back with every thrust. It became a mantra in his brain as he closed his eyes and sunk into the sensation of finally having someone else at his mercy...even as he set the boy beneath him on fire and watched him go.
TWEEK
Tweek couldn't help but feel like the world was being destroyed around him as Trent wreaked havoc on his body. Even in the midst of his screams and the heavy grunts emanating from Trent's cruel mouth, he could hear the skies finally opening up and deluging the forest with rain. Droplets fell on him on occasion, managing to break between the leaves and descending to curve down his cheek; mixing with the tears leaking from his eyes. His hands clenched in the grasses so hard that he tore them out by their roots, his fingers scrabbling for more as the pain in his body became unimaginable.
He felt like he was on fire, burning from the inside out as Trent steadily consumed him, his movements rough and purposely brutal. Tweek had never been touched this way, and he shut his eyes against the agony unfolding in his blood like poison, his mind escaping from that forest clearing in order to protect itself. Becoming lost, he drifted, his thoughts turning backward and attempting to find salvation as the seconds turned into separate, tiny eternities.
The first thing his brain conjured up was the sound of wind chimes tinkling in the breeze outside of Token's open bedroom window. They hadn't been the wooden kind that made mellow, steady thumps, no these chimes had been made of metal that trilled and tinkled like a fork striking crystal very, very gently. They had been creating their music when the four of them, himself, Craig, Token, and Clyde, had decided to become blood brothers during a hazy summer afternoon; all of them thirteen and bored with their usual activities.
"Won't it hurt, though?" Tweek had asked as Craig had pulled out a rather large pocketknife with a green handle. He'd begun cleaning it on the hem of his shirt before rolling his eyes at Tweek's question, though he'd been smiling as well.
"Only for a second," he'd replied while he'd held up the newly-cleaned knife, appraising it from every angle. "Promise."
"Don't you want to be a real member of the group?" Token had lightly punched Tweek on the shoulder while he'd asked that question. His house had been hushed, save for the chimes, because his parents were at work - again. They'd always seemed to be at work, and they'd never had an issue with rendering their son a latchkey kid. They'd routinely lavished their son with expensive gifts and freedoms, and they seemed to feel these offerings more than took the place of their presence and affections. Token hadn't complained, though, and his room had become their headquarters over time.
"Of course I do," Tweek had replied, eyeing the knife with apprehension. "I just think -"
"You think too much," Clyde had interjected, sitting back on Token's large bed while tearing into a bag of ruffled Lays. "That's always been one of your biggest problems, man."
"Yeah, and you don't think enough," Craig had retorted, making Token snort loudly. "So, are we gonna do this or what?"
"I'm down," Token had said. He'd set his iPad aside, the tab open to the letsnotmeet subreddit.
"Me, too." Clyde had said this with a mouthful of chips while he'd glared at Craig.
"Tweek?" Craig had asked, grey eyes like mirrors; they'd showcased Tweek's look of confusion and paranoia.
He'd nodded slowly, had still felt unsure about having his arm cut open, but he'd been positive that he'd wanted to be included in Craig's group. He'd wanted to be included since Craig had found him in the tree the summer before, ever since he'd started looking out for him at school when he'd been bullied. Craig had proven to be his saving grace, especially after he'd convinced Token and Clyde to look after Tweek, too; all three of them providing a much-needed buffer from life's little cruelties. Their kindness had buoyed Tweek's spirits as he'd stumbled through the days, even when his father had gotten on his case about his quirks...even when his mother had stood idly by, having the resources to intercede but choosing not to.
They'd even accepted his liking for girl's clothing without making a huge deal of it. Token had seemed amused and Clyde had been confused, but enthused at the same time. He'd told Tweek that he thought he looked cuter than any of the girls at school while appraising Tweek in the pleated skirt he'd smuggled over to Token's house. All the while, Craig had sat by and watched Tweek with an evolving expression that had started out inscrutable but over time had become one of tenderness; a look that had made Tweek's heart beat a little faster every time he'd seen it.
Craig was wearing that expression as he'd gently sliced into Tweek's arm with the knife, had opened it just enough to allow a fine thread of blood to streak over his skin. He'd done the same with his own arm and then with Clyde and Token's, all of them having stared down at the parted flesh like they'd never seen their own blood before. Craig had spoken in a tone of hushed reverence as they'd pressed the cuts together, never showing that he'd felt any pain whatsoever.
"We'll always be a part of each other now," he'd said, having taken care to clean Tweek's wound before he'd cleaned his own. "We'll live in each other...and that means that if one of us has a problem, it's everyone else's, too. We have to have each other's backs. Got it?"
They'd all nodded as the chimes had sounded through the moment, ushered in on the summer winds that had smelled faintly of jasmine and sun-scorched grass. Tweek had glanced around the room at each of their faces respectively, having never felt so much love...his eyes had settled on Craig and lingered until he'd looked back at him, and he had smiled; the curve of his mouth lacking its usual coldness. No, that smile had been full of warmth.
Tweek sobbed as he tried to hold onto these memories as his desecration seemed to stretch on for centuries. The way Trent handled him so roughly made Tweek remember the way Craig had been so gentle the first time they'd had sex. They hadn't planned it or anything, in fact, it had seemed to happen before either of them was even aware. They'd been in Craig's room and Tweek had been stretched out on his back on Craig's bed, watching as the light in the room dimmed; the sun nearly gone beyond the horizon. He could remember the way the glow in the dark stars had begun to give off their ghostly green sheen as the shadows stole over the ceiling. He had been waiting for Craig to turn on the lamp to offset the gathering darkness but he hadn't, and before he'd known what was happening Craig was kissing him deeply, his tongue slipping into Tweek's mouth as he'd covered his body with his own.
"What are you doing?" He'd asked when Craig had pulled away, his features in shadow when he'd gazed down at Tweek. "Aren't you going to turn on a light? It's getting so dark in here."
"I don't care," Craig had replied before he'd kissed Tweek's neck tenderly. He'd taken a hold of Tweek's hands and pressed his arms to the mattress, but so softly. "You looked so cute and I wanted to kiss you...you don't mind, do you?"
"Do I ever?" Tweek had laughed, craning his head upward so he could capture Craig's lips again. They'd both been unusually hungry for one another that night; almost like something had shifted in the atmosphere between them, like something was getting ready to begin. They'd been kissing in secret for months by that point, and Clyde and Token had stolen little pecks here and there, their affection for Tweek growing as time had passed, as they'd all begun to grow into what they would eventually become.
Now the memories of Craig slipping into him with so much reluctance were being juxtaposed with Trent's unrelenting need to stake his claim. Tweek was in so much pain at this point that the memories began to mix with the present and he couldn't hold onto the feeling of how Craig had held him afterward, had kissed him on the forehead as they'd both stared at the fading green stars. He'd asked Tweek if he was okay and he'd just nodded, too breathless and happy to speak. He'd nestled closer to Craig and had felt for his heartbeat, having found it and allowed it to thump rhythmically beneath his sweating cheek. That had been the first time that Craig had told Tweek he loved him, and Tweek hadn't even minded when Craig had teased him for crying at the admission. He'd just felt so safe and adored...there in Craig's bedroom where the stars had salted the windowpanes, somehow unable to compare to the fake stars on the ceiling.
Tweek could feel himself fading out as Trent finally seemed to be finishing, his animal grunts becoming faster and more desperate as he slammed into Tweek, who had stopped fighting quite a while ago. Slowly, he opened his eyes but he could barely make out what was before him, though he was vaguely aware that the rain had stopped; the moisture left behind making the air blessedly cool as low rumbles of thunder sounded far, far away. His mouth opened with a soundless scream as Trent thrust into him one last time, and then there was a warm, shameful wetness saturating him; sliding down the backs of his thighs. He shuddered as Trent pulled out, one rough hand slapping Tweek's thigh and making him whimper like a beaten dog.
"You were better than I thought you'd be," Trent said as the sounds of him pulling up his zipper could be heard. He nudged Tweek with his foot before he knelt next to him, taking a hold of his hair so he could look into his face. "I can see why those guys are so hung up on you."
"W-why?" That's all he could manage from a mouth that could barely seem to work...his brain shutting down as his body numbed itself.
"Why not?" Trent asked, letting him go and standing. "I saw an opportunity and I took it. You should probably warn Broflovski that I'm coming for him too, so he'd better watch his back. He'll be even more fun than you, I bet, because he really deserves it. Don't you think?"
"I don't think anyone deserves this," Tweek choked, trying to drag himself up but failing. It was almost like his spirit had departed his body, rendering him an empty, immobile husk.
"Fags do, especially the ones that dress like little bitches." Trent kicked the decimated panties so they were in Tweek's line of sight. "You'll be okay getting home by yourself, right?"
Tweek refused to answer that question, just wanting Trent to leave so he could be alone...but he didn't want to be alone at the same time. He began to cry again, his eyes shutting as he prayed for sleep, for death, for anything to take him out of that horrible moment. When he opened them slowly, he was greeted with the sight of a quiet, empty clearing, Trent nowhere in sight. He'd been crying so hard that he hadn't even heard the other boy walk away, but all that mattered was that he was gone. Tweek thanked God even as he wanted to curse him, just lying there as the moments passed, listening to the sudden wind in the trees and the thunder moving further away until it disappeared entirely.
Somehow, he managed to get to his knees and then his feet, stumbling against the tree he'd wanted to climb before he'd tripped; before Trent had captured him. It was the same tree Craig had found him in so long ago, and he traced his finger over ghostly carvings in the ancient bark: C & T...C & T & C & T. Just feeling the deep cuts brought a modicum of comfort, and the tears abated as Tweek struggled to keep his feet, having removed his shoes and socks and pants, wandering toward the pond in his muddy sweater, the chill meeting his skin and making him shiver. He could feel Trent sliding out of him with every step, and it was like his coherence was streaking down his legs as well, making him feel hollowed out. He wasn't far from the clearing when he heard his phone trilling, and he turned to stare at it, lit up in the grass like a firefly. For a moment, he couldn't recall how he was supposed to respond, but eventually his mind caught up to him and he went to the phone, picking it up. Kyle's name flashed on the screen, and he slid his finger across the display. Holding the phone to his ear, he didn't speak while he stared into space.
"Hello? Tweek? Are you there?"
Kyle sounded desperate, but Tweek couldn't understand why. He still couldn't speak, though.
"Tweek, answer me, okay? Craig just called me and he sounded frantic...he said he went to pick you up at the coffee shop and you weren't there. He said your parents don't know where you are either, but they found some bags on the sidewalk outside."
He was trying to remember how the night had begun, before Trent, before everything. Tweek stared down at his hand and saw that it was shaking and covered in mud. He could hear Kyle continuing to talk, but the words were muddled together and he was having a very hard time making them out.
"Craig said he tried calling you a bunch of times until he finally gave up...he called Clyde and Token, too, but they weren't able to help. He called me as a last resort, I guess, and I told him that we talked about meeting up. Where are you now? Hello?"
Tweek looked around, at the dark trees where the fireflies were lighting up one by one, almost resembling glow in the dark stars. He smiled as he slowly began to walk in the direction of the pond. His bare feet squelched in the mud as he meandered in a trance, zombie-like as his legs trembled beneath him, nearly giving out by the time he'd made it to the bank.
"Tweek, please, just answer me," Kyle pleaded, the sound of tears in his voice now. "I just want to help...are you in trouble? Say something!"
"Pond," he finally managed to say, though his voice was faint; becoming vapor. "I'm...I'm at the pond. I think I'll go for a swim."
"W-what? Tweek, you aren't making any sense. Why are you at the pond at night...why -"
Tweek dropped the phone, his eyes trained on the water as he slowly stepped into it, the cold sharp but still not waking him up as he waded out into the stillness. Soon, the water had reached his waist and he could feel the remnants of Trent being washed away, though he didn't feel any cleaner. The currents rushed under his wrecked sweater as he kept walking, not stopping until the water was up to his chin, and he was shivering from its iciness. Craig had once said that the pond was polluted but Tweek didn't care. Wasn't he the one that was polluted now?
Looking up, Tweek could see that the clouds had rolled away to reveal a sky that had been scrubbed clean; so black that it was like it had been deluged in heavy India ink. The stars were bright knife points breaking the darkness, so white that they appeared sterile; brand-new. Taking a deep breath, he lay back and began to float, his hair wafting around his head as the waters attempted to revive him. For a moment, his mind woke up and he almost found himself back in Craig's bedroom, listening to his steady heartbeat as they watched the stars fading away on the ceiling; wrapped in his arms and becoming lost to him, there in the soft darkness.
