"Afterlife," Arcade Fire

xxx

Craig got home, fed Rosie, and took a nap on his couch.

He woke up again at noon and groaned. He still wasn't ready to take a second try at starting the day. His stomach had settled, and he realized he was ravenously hungry, which was a good sign. His head was still throbbing, but he suspected that didn't have much to do with the hangover. He'd spooned Tweek. He'd spooned the fuck out of Tweek. God, why had he done that?

Craig burrowed his face into the cushions, squeezing his eyes closed to block out the vibrant memory forcing its way up his brain for analysis. It had been nice. Really, really nice.

"Cra-aaig!" he heard his mother call from downstairs. He groaned again, then shouted back.

"ONE MINUTE!"

He changed his underwear, jeans, and shirt, tossing the dirty ones into a pile in the corner of his room. He pulled his navy blue hoodie back on, and tugged his chullo hat back on his head.

"What am I gonna do Rosie?" he asked her, picking up his guinea pig and bringing it to eye level. He gently placed her inside the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie.

His mother was standing over a boiling pot, the image of a 50's housewife. She wore her favorite dress, had her blonde hair up, and even wore lipstick.

"There you are," she said. "Dinner's in fifteen. I need you to set the table."

"Dinner? It's noon."

She glared at him. "Well, your father leaves at one. It's an early dinner."

He grabbed a handful of silverware, and let Rosie crawl around the table while he laid everything out. His mother came in carrying a big bowl of salad.

"Oh- Craig! Not on the table," she scolded. He knew she didn't really mean it. Truthfully, he was already sick of her homemaker act.

"Help me put everything on the table," she said.

There was a saucepan of lazily bubbling meatballs. Craig lifted out a bowl from the cabinet and poured it out, trying not to get marinara sauce over the entire counter. His mom drained a pot of spaghetti and put it into a matching bowl.

"Dinner" was quiet, though in a nice way. Craig kept Rosie on his lap, and fed her illicit bits of salad and pasta.

"This is going to be a good change," his father said, helping himself to a second portion. "I'll miss home and all of you of course. But the money's really good. I think this is a good direction for our family."

Ruby glanced up at their dad, then back at her pasta.

"When will you be home again?" she asked.

"About three months from now."

They finished fifteen minutes before his dad was supposed to leave.

"Ruby, help your brother with the dishes," his father said, standing up. He was a towering, bulky figure with balding red hair. "Laura, can you help me find that shirt I was after?"

Craig helped his sister carry the plates to the sink.

"Wait, I need to pee," he said.

"Ugh, no- Don't you dare leave me with all this," she said.

"Just leave it then, you can put the pasta in tupperware."

He took the stairs two at a time and relieved himself. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but heard the muffled sounds of his parents talking through the bathroom wall. The tones of their voices worried him. His father, angry, his mother, scared. He put his ear to the wall, heart pounding.

"I'm trusting you Laura."

"I know. I know."

A pause.

"Are you sure you can handle this?"

"I have to."

"Well good. Because this is your last fucking chance, do you understand?"

A pause, a muffled response.

"No, I'm not sure you do. Get your head under control."

Craig jerked his ear back from the wall, and walked back down to the kitchen mechanically.

Ruby was waiting for him, said something impatiently that he missed.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

He finished the dishes, letting Rosie explore the counter. His parents re-emerged downstairs. Craig moved Rosie back to his hoodie pouch.

Before he left, Craig's dad pulled him out of sight of his mom and sister.

"You'll take care of them while I'm gone, right?"

"I'm pretty sure they can take care of themselves just fine."

"Of course they can. But you're the man of the house while I'm gone."

Craig rolled his eyes, but stared at the floor so his dad wouldn't notice. "Careful Dad, the feminists'll hear you."

"Craig, be serious. No more screwing around."

He looked up at his dad.

"I know things've been rough. Maybe we've left you and your sister on your own too much."

Craig shrugged with one shoulder, and tried to respond. His dad's angry words echoed. How badly would Craig have to fuck up to get that treatment? How badly would his mom have to finally fuck up for him to do more than just yell at her?

"Thing'll get better. I promise," his dad said. Craig tried not to be bitter, remembering the hundred other times he'd heard that exact phrase.

"Don't let Ruby try to drive. Don't forget I can see your grades online. And um, you know, try to eat a vegetable every now and then. Okay?"

"Okay."

They stood out on the driveway waving as he drove away in the naked-looking trailer head. The slush was starting to melt in the bright mid-January sunshine, and piles of dried up leaves scraped against the street. He didn't want to know why his dad had told him all of that, and didn't know where to go with it.

Ruby complained about the cold and went inside, coat pulled in close, and Craig followed her.

xxx

Normally Tweek loved art class. Today, twenty minutes had gone by and he was still staring at a blank piece of paper. He couldn't stop shaking, and he kept wishing he had some coffee, or even better a cigarette and a long talk with Red to calm him down.

He couldn't stop glancing at the clock either. Across the room, Kenny and Cartman were snickering less-than-subtly over a crude drawing of a naked woman Kenny was painting. Clyde was attempting an oddly-shaped still life. He was nice, but couldn't draw to save his life, and colored pencils were a shitty medium anyway. Pete the Goth was almost done painting a canvas completely black. He probably thought that was edgy. Tweek didn't let himself look backwards at Nichole. He knew she was working on her centerpiece for the art show, a landscape of running horses. He also knew it was probably brilliant.

"Tweek, how are we doing today?"

He jerked out of his thoughts and realized Ms. Robinson was standing next to him.

"F-Fine."

"I see we still have a blank piece of paper."

"Yeah."

"You know, I really liked the piece you were working on yesterday."

"I know. I tore it up though."

"Why'd you do that?"

Tweek shrugged. "I didn't like it."

"Are you still working on something for the art show?"

"I don't know. I don't think I'm gonna come up with anything."

Ms Robinson patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"Yes you will. I believe in you."

She walked away, and Tweek squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. He knew she meant well, she'd done more for him than any other teacher he'd had, but it was just too much pressure to come up with something brilliant that the whole stupid school was going to see.

When he'd first taken art freshman year, he'd hated it. His hands couldn't draw a straight line, much less a picture of anything coherent. He felt ridiculous. One day, he lost his patience after ruining a drawing of a simple face when his hand involuntarily jerked while drawing the mouth. His shakes were embarrassing enough, and now there was a giant, irredeemable line cut through his drawing. Instead of balling it up, he took out his anger in heavy, wild lines across the page. Before he'd really realized what he'd done, Ms Robinson walked by and complimented it.

The plain face had transformed. A gaping, broken mouth, eyes outlined in sleepless circles, claw-like hands gripping the face. He immediately flipped to a new sheet in his sketchbook and retried it, this time using his shaking and his frustration. His first real drawing was half-monster half-girl, half random lines, and still not very good, but finally something that didn't fill him with self loathing.

It had been three days and Craig still wasn't talking to him.

He shook his head, shook the thought out of his head, and started drawing.

It was a pair of eyes. Probably Craig's eyes. No, for sure. He scooted three seats to the left by Clyde's side.

"Mind if I borrow this?" he asked, pointing to the blue colored pencil.

"Sure."

They drew in silence for a few minutes.

"Some party Friday."

"Yeah. You and Bebe looked like you were having fun."

"Heh. Yeah." Clyde held up his drawing, tilting his head as if to look at it better. "I think Bebe'll want that back," he said, pointing at the blue friendship bracelet still tied around Tweek's wrist.

"Oh. Right. I'm sure I'll run into her soon."

"Did Craig do anything especially stupid?"

Tweek blushed, and jerked his hand, accidentally getting blue outside the eyelid. Apparently that was added to his sketch now.

"What? What do you mean? No. Uh, not that I can think of. Why? What did he do? Did he tell you?"

"Calm down. Craig always wanders off when he's drunk."

"Oh. Well, he did invite himself into the neighbor's stable."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

A pause.

"Hey, you should come over to my place this Friday. I'm having a couple people over, and you're a hilarious dancer."

"Glad I can be of service."

"Plus you're good with drunk Craig."

Tweek swallowed nervously and didn't respond. It wasn't that they'd never been alone together before— they had. A lot. They smoked together more Fridays than not, ever since the first party Token had invited Tweek to. Everything just felt different now, and he wasn't sure why. Something had sparked between them that instant Craig took his wrist but Tweek didn't know what it was, and was scared to death he was imagining the whole thing.

Judging from last time, he wasn't sure he could handle being stuck in a room with Craig, alcohol, and the awful, untold truth.