South Park © Matt & Trey.

Since my friends are toads and cancelled our weekend plans, here we go~

On the following Friday, Tweek waits for Craig after school while the boys are in group therapy with Mr. Mackey.

In the guidance counsellor's office, Mr. Mackey is making the boys do trust falls – something Craig has quite the problem with because he's not big on trust. "There's no fucking way I'm doing that," he scoffs indignantly.

"We won't drop you," Stan snaps.

"If they drop you, I'll give them detention," Mr. Mackey says, weary and tired of all the arguing. "Hm, Stan why don't you go first this time."

"Fine," Stan murmurs.

"Craig, you better catch him."

Craig rolls his eyes in response, watching as Stan readies himself. He's not too worried. Second to Kenny, Stan is the smallest guy in the room. When he falls backwards, Craig catches him with ease and they quickly untangle.

"Good, good," Mr. Mackey says. "Now, reverse."

"No," Craig says.

"Do it," Mr. Mackey demands.

"Fuck," Craig mutters, eying Stan before turning around and forcing himself to fall backwards. Stan catches him and they untangle themselves again.

"Token and Eric, why don't you two go next," Mr. Mackey suggests.

Token shakes his head. "I'm not going to touch a racist."

"M'kay," Mr. Mackey muses. "How about Token and Kenny, then."

The blond jumps to his feet and stands with his back to Token before letting himself fall. Token catches him without a problem and then says, "Er, I don't want to break him…"

"M'kay, that's fine," Mr. Mackey says. "You two can it down then. Jason and Eric, your turn."

"He's too fat," Jason deadpans.

"I'm not fat, I'm ripped and sweet," Cartman insists.

"Fat and unimportant," Jason corrects, scandalizing the chubby teenager.

Mr. Mackey lets out a sound of impatience. "Clyde and Kyle?" he tries.

After the session Craig parts ways with Clyde, Token and Jason, meeting Tweek in the library. "Hey," he greets the blond.

"Hey," Tweek says, closing the book he's been reading and putting it in his backpack. Together, the two of them leave the school.

Outside, he spots Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny. He sneers at them. Kenny is sharing a cigarette with Stan while Kyle and Cartman bicker with one another. Kyle is red-faced, per usual, and Cartman just looks smug.

"Ay!" Cartman shouts upon noticing Craig and Tweek.

"What?" Craig snaps and Tweek goes rigid when a devious smiles spreads across Cartman's lips.

Kenny puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him back but to no avail. He is shaken off easily. "You two fags now?" Cartman asks them.

"It's not really any of your fucking business, is it?" Craig asks. Kyle, Stan and Kenny begin backing off slowly. Craig frowns, feeling uneasy.

"Oh, but you see… it kind of is," Catman simpers, still smiling insincerely. "Do you want to know why?"

"Stop…" Tweek whispers shakily.

Craig narrows his eyes, glancing at him before returning his gaze to the fat teenager. "What the fuck is going on?"

"You see," Cartman starts, "a couple months ago you pissed us off quite a lot so do you know what we did?"

"Cartman!" Kyle snaps. "Come on or we're leaving without you!"

Cartman ignores him and continues talking to Craig. "We went to Tweek and said, 'You know what would be funny? If you pretended to be into Craig.' We thought it'd be funny to soften up the guy whose greatest fear is love."

Kenny, Kyle and Stan run off after Cartman reveals their cruel game. They don't want to be around in case Craig Tucker explodes... but he doesn't. Craig remains blank faced for a moment after Cartman finishes talking. He lets out a breath, tightening his fist and burying it into Cartman's smug face.

Then he walks away.

"Craig…!" Tweek calls, running after him.

"No," is all the brunet says, quickening his pace.

"Craig!" Tweek tries once more.

"No."

"CRAIG!"

"No."

"Let me explain!"

"No."

"Please…!" Tweek struggles to keep up with Craig's pace, finding it unsettling that he doesn't seem angrier.

"No."

"Please!"

"No."

Tweek puts a hand on Craig's arm, causing the brunet to spin around and curl his fingers around Tweek's neck. Tweek gasps, surprised at the violence. Craig looks just as surprised. He lets go a moment later and takes a step back.

"Hurt me," Tweek whispers.

"Would that make you feel better?" Craig asks. He lets out a scoff and turns around again. "Stop following me. We're done… not that it matters to you whatsoever." After that, he starts running and Tweek doesn't bother trying to follow.

As soon as he enters his house, the dam breaks in his mind and he feels his head spin. He slams the door as loud as he can and begins to hyperventilate. His parents ask him what's wrong, but he doesn't answer.

He stomps upstairs and locks himself in his room, panting. "Fuck!" he shouts as loud as he can. "FUCK! FUUUUCK!" He grabs the lamp on his nightstand and whirls it into the wall, emitting a loud crash as the glass shatters.

"Craig!" he hears his parents shouting at him from downstairs, but he ignores them. He grabs the books off his book shelf and starts throwing them around as well. He bangs his fists against the wall until it breaks, swallowing his hand. He pauses, panting some more and feeling angrier than he's ever been in his life.

His mom is banging on his door. She's not yelling anymore. There's concern evident in her tone. "Craig, honey… open the door. Please…"

He surveys his room, looking at the mess he made. He sinks to the floor and lies down on the carpet before letting out a sob. What's worse than the anger is the complete and utter humiliation.

"Craig, please!" he can hear his mom's voice, but he doesn't budge.

Stan's gang got one over him this time. It's the first time in a long time Craig has cried and it's loud, messy, ugly and too painful. For a while, he can't bring himself to move.

His mom is no longer at his door. She gave up. Craig forces himself to a sitting position, digging a half empty bottle of rye from under his bed. The alcohol burns its way down his throat and he welcomes it. He doesn't want to keep feeling this way. He takes a deep breath – a calm breath. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay…" he keeps whispering to himself. He takes another sip, cringing at the taste.

A few minutes later, there's another knock on his door. "What?" he snaps.

"Hey…" It's Clyde.

Craig lets out a sound of irritation before getting up and unlocking his door. He sits down on his bed and when Clyde swings open the door he asks, "What do you want?"

"Your mom called me over… she said you won't leave your room," he starts, grimacing at Craig's appearance. "Did you cry? You look awful."

"Cheers," Craig says hoarsely, raising the bottle and swirling the contents around.

"What the fuck happened?" Clyde asks. "Your hand is bleeding."

"I don't care."

Clyde shakes his head, leaving the room briefly. When he returns, he has the first aid kid. "Come on, man. What happened?" he asks as he cleans and bandages his best friend's hand.

"It was all a big fucking joke," Craig says, forcing out a bitter laugh. "I got played."

"What do you mean?" Clyde frowns, finishing.

"Tweek was never into me," he reveals. "Cartman put him up to it… Fuck, he's good at acting. I thought he really cared."

"What…?" Clyde's frown deepens.

"It's funny," Craig murmurs, sighing. "I took your advice, y'know. For the first time in my life I decided to trust someone and show them myself willingly. It all got thrown in my stupid face. I guess I deserve it for such a lap in judgement. People are shit, the end." He shakes his head at himself and his own naivety before chugging the rest of the bottle.

"Christ!" Clyde exclaims. "If you keep drinking like that, you'll give yourself alcohol poisoning."

"Whatever," Craig snorts, letting the empty bottle fall to the carpet before lying down.

Clyde lets out a sigh, picking the bottle up and setting it on Craig's nightstand. He begins picking up Craig's books and things, putting them back in their rightful place. Craig shuts his eyes and lets Clyde clean his room. It's not the first time he's had a temper tantrum and broke something. It happens. Craig blows up when things get too tough and stifling becomes too difficult.

Craig lets out a miserable moan, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. His head hurts from crying too hard.

When Clyde is finished tidying Craig's room, he starts asking questions again. "So, what exactly happened?"

"I told you…" he murmurs.

"Vaguely…"

Craig stands up and shoves Clyde. "Stop asking questions!" he shouts loudly, invading Clyde's personal space.

Clyde looks taken aback. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, he only stares. "I'm not the one you want to be fighting, Craig," he finally speaks.

Craig lets out a guilty sigh, grabbing Clyde's face and planting one on his lips. It's not gentle. With Craig, it's never gentle. The kiss is rough, their lips pressed so tightly together it hurts and Clyde tastes the alcohol. "Are we cool?" Craig asks once they part.

"Yeah, we're cool," Clyde whispers.

Craig gives him a slap on the shoulder before turning away. "You're right," he says. "Let's go find them. I want to kill them."

"Craig…" Clyde tries to reason, though he knows it won't do any good. Craig never listens to a word he says. He follows his best friend downstairs, where he decides to play good son.

He gives his mom a sympathetic smile, kissing her cheek. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding genuine though Clyde knows it's an emotionless sentiment. His eyes are still bloodshot and he's still flush-faced.

"It's okay," she says somewhat cautiously.

He nods before once more turning away and frowning. "You know," Clyde whispers to him. "You said Tweek is a good actor… Well, fuck, so are you and look at you using it against the people you care about."

"I don't play with people the way Tweek played with me," Craig bites out. "I'm going to kill Cartman. Maybe I'll also kill Stan for the sake of it… and if Kenny and Kyle had anything to do with it, I'll kill them as well."

"What about Tweek?" Clyde asks.

"Fuck him," Craig says. "I'll kill him, too."

"Liar," Clyde mutters.

"Fuck off," Craig sighs.

"No, like hell I'd leave you alone like this," Clyde says. "You're self-destructive… and a little bit drunk."

"Not really."

"Liar," he mutters once more. "Go back upstairs, Craig. Take a nap. Try not to think."

Craig shakes his head. "No. I need to fucking… do something…"

"Then do something healthy," Clyde says. "Don't swing your fists at a fat kid who could crush you by sitting on you. You're not as strong as Token, Jason, Kyle… For fuck's sake, I'm probably stronger than you are. Cartman will probably end up hurting you and you'll just be angrier."

Craig stares at Clyde in disbelief before letting out a scoff. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours," Clyde promises, "and that's why I'm being intrusive."

"Well, just fucking stop it," Craig murmurs and Clyde ushers him back upstairs. "It's only six," he adds.

"So?" Clyde shrugs. "Want me to call Token over? We can chill for a few hours and distract you."

"I don't need a distraction, you ignorant fuck!" Craig snaps.

"Hm," Clyde says, not fazed by the angry outburst. "I'm going to call Token."

"Whatever," Craig mutters. "I'm going to piss."

"Okay," Clyde says offhandedly as he texts Token.

But instead of walking out of the room and across the hall, he walks down the stairs and leaves the house.

After waiting impatiently for Craig to arrive back from his bathroom trip, Clyde leaves the room and realizes the Craig didn't go to the bathroom. "Damn it," he says, pulling his phone out again. He shoots another text to Token and tells him they need to look for Craig.

TOKEN B: Why?

CLYDE D: he ran off so hes probs gonna do something dumb

TOKEN B: There's no way I'm walking around town looking for his stunned ass. We'll take my car.

CLYDE D: ok hurry

Craig hops in a stranger's car. "Hey," he says, sitting in the passenger seat.

The man says nothing as they drive to a secluded area. Once they park, he simply stares and Craig knows he's being examined critically. Sometimes people are picky. "How much?" the man finally asks, bringing a hand up to touch Craig's face and lips.

"I'll blow you for forty," Craig says.

"Twenty," the man negotiates.

Craig wants to scoff, but he doesn't. "Thirty."

"Thirty," the man agrees before unzipping his jeans.

Craig does the rest and when it's over, he's given a twenty and a ten. He doesn't bother muttering a thanks. He just pockets the cash and on whim asks, "Hey… do you know where I could get a gun?"

"Why?" he man asks, staring Craig down. "Do you wanna kill someone?"

"Probably not."

"Do you wanna kill yourself?"

"Probably not."

"Then why the hell d'you need a gun for?"

"I want to, mm, scare someone," he says slowly, considering his future actions.

"Well, I don't fuckin' know where a kid can get a gun," the man shrugs. "You'd probably have to do it illegally."

"Damn," Craig whispers. "Fine, then." He leaves the car without another word. Once the man drives off, Craig bends down and digs his hands into a patch of freshly fallen snow, picking up a pile of it. He brings it to his mouth and sticks out his tongue, wanting to rid himself of the taste in his mouth – it's salty and metallic and it's the taste he hates most. It's a reminder of how pathetic this town is. Kids can get away with so much and nobody knows and nobody cares.

"You're only sixteen," his mother often says to him. "You can't do everything by yourself."

But he does. He always has.