Author's Note: You've been demanding it, so here it is. Okay, so we have yet another chaper and I'm really happy about the positive feedback this has been getting.
Again, I'd like to thanks the people who review because seriously, with all of the all-nighters I pull working on this story just to make sure things flow seem worth it because of you guys. And don't get me wrong, I'm also really thankful to the people who fav and subscribe to an alert but for those of you who go the extra mile just to tell me how I'm doing and give some advice, or even just to tell me to update sooner, well you deserve the update so for those of you who do review, this chapter is dedicated you guys. Thanks a million, your kind words keep me going and also keep me from giving up on this story.
I hope all of you enjoy this next chapter of Boundaries.
Chapter 10: Bimbos and Shot Glasses
I slammed my locker shut with a sense of finality before heading out to lunch. Today, I'd been dragging my feet more than usual and a small voice in the back of my mind was telling me that I had something of a Cartman-withdrawal, as weird as that may seem. Unable to vent my emotions onto the fat-ass, they'd just stayed bottled up.
The halls had emptied, leaving me to simply wander down the long corridor. From the cafeteria came the sounds of commotion, people laughing and talking, though the idea of going there and plastering on my big fake grin while pretending that everything was alright did not sound appealing. It never did.
In truth, I missed Stan but the spiteful part of me that held grudges wouldn't allow myself to go talk to him, or forgive him for that matter. Choosing Wendy over me stung, in fact it hurt, but then when I thought back to me picking Cartman over Stan, I imagined he was pretty upset.
"Did you ever think that maybe he wanted choose you over Wendy?…I bet he's really fucking confused."
Cartman's words had been ringing in my head constantly as I replayed our argument over and over again. But as all-consuming as that moment had been, I still couldn't forget about the fight that Stan and I had the very same day.
"Kyle, wait!"
I turned back to see Stan jogging over to meet me in the hallway – we hadn't spoken ever since Cartman and I pulled that little stunt to freak him out. Blatantly ignoring him, I turned and kept on walking, eyes fixed straight ahead as I tried to be strong and not crack. God, I missed him.
"Dude, I said to wait, didn't you hear me?" he asked, stopping me dead as his hand clamped down on my shoulder in a vice-like grip. No matter what, I kept my gaze on the ceiling, on the floor, my shoes, anywhere but his eyes.
"Sorry, guess I didn't," I attempted to shrug him off, but by the way his hand tightened on me, I realized he wasn't about to let that happen.
"I called your cell phone yesterday. You didn't answer." The statement was simple but it fell from his lips like a ton of bricks.
"Sorry," I apologized insincerely again, biting the inside of my cheek nervously. "You know, if I want to get any lunch I better go get in line. They run out of food all the time and I bet Cartman's not going to let me crowd."
"Dude…"
"But you know how that is. Geez, this school needs better funding, am I right? Maybe they ought to have like a fundraiser or something that might turn up a little money, or fire those lazy ass janitors I always see sleeping in the classrooms, but then I suppose-,"
"Kyle!" Stan yanked me around to face him, his deep blue eyes searching my face frantically. Swallowing, I tore my gaze away from his, focusing back on my shoes in hopes of regaining some sort of resolve, anything to not break. I had to be strong and get over this, if for no one else's sake but my own.
"A-anyway, I-I probably should be going-,"
"God damn it, look at me," he demanded, giving me a rough shake. His voice was quavering as if…as if – no, I mentally begged Abraham or whatever god up there that Stan would not start crying, that I would give anything just to get out of this situation. "Look at me!"
I complied hesitantly, meeting his icy gaze which stood out starkly against the watery bloodshot look his eyes were adopting. Stan Marsh, my ex-super best friend, was on the verge of tears and it was my fault. A stab of guilt penetrated my gut.
"I'm sorry, Kyle," he whispered, voice cracking just slightly. "You need to forgive me because…because I can't keep pretending like I can live without you. I just…I don't expect you to understand…but I…I need you, and I'm pretty fucking sure that you need me just as bad."
"Well it's too late for that Stan!" I snarled, violently pushing him away from me. The hall steadily became deserted, the last stragglers finally making it to lunch. "I can't keep doing this either. You get with Wendy so you ignore me, and then when she breaks up with you, you come crying back to me for comfort or something. I'm not always at your beck and call and…," Cartman's words coming out of my mouth, "I'm sick of being your bitch 24/7 and you treating me like shit!"
"What the fuck, Kyle? You're my best friend…and I don't…," he trailed off, brows drawing together tightly. He shook his head, and said, "Why is it that I have to choose between you and Wendy anyway?"
"Because she thinks…," I faltered, my voice dropping back down, "because she thinks that you and I are much more than just friends, Stan."
Stan just stared at me, making no attempt to deny it.
"Well?" I demanded, my temper flaring back up.
"Well what?" he shouted right back, his fists clenching and cheeks tinting a soft pink.
"Aren't you going to…?" I just couldn't force myself to finish that question. Stan just crossed his arms impassively, arching a dark eye brow back at me. "This is so fucked up, dude."
"Oh, like you haven't had a more than friendly thought about me, Kyle?" he rolled his eyes in response. This was unreal, impossible, and so not happening.
"No, I haven't, at least not seriously. If this is about what happened at your house…I was drunk, Stan! Jesus Christ, you didn't honestly think I was…?" my statement turned into a question. Those blue eyes remained on me, scanning me for anything, any trace of me lying, but I knew that he wouldn't find it.
I loved Stan, yes, but not in the way that Cartman, Wendy and even him had or were implying. That kiss was just a bit of the bro-mance spilling over a tad, nothing that could have seriously led him to believe that I'd actually turned gay for him. Yet my mind wandered annoyingly to Cartman and our searing first kiss, one that I can't honestly say I'd like to repeat yet also wanted just as bad as he had.
"Un-fucking-believable," was all I could manage at that point. I turned and just walked away; officially unable to deal with the fact that Stan was pretty much confirming everyone's suspicions since fourth grade.
"Kyle! Kyle get your ass back here!"
Such an angry voice coming from him seemed so wrong, but before long, I found myself just sprinting away down the halls, running blindly away from Stan in hopes of putting as much distance between him and I as possible. When I made it out past the school gates, the first thing I saw was Cartman's truck and something deep told me to go there and wait for him.
"Hey, Jew-boy."
I turned at the familiar nickname, snapping my out of my momentary reflection. For a moment I thought it was the fat-ass looking for a sequel to yesterday's fairly pathetic fight, however I was met only with the mess of blonde hair with sea-blue eyes peeking out from behind.
Oh right. I'd almost forgotten about how I'd gone to Kenny's house afterwards to vent and ended up getting suckered into going to a party tonight. Not that I didn't enjoy a good party, but I also wasn't looking forward to a whole slew of drunken high-schoolers grinding up all over each other and pulling stupid idiotic pranks on those who'd passed out. Plus, I remembered vividly what happened the last time I got drunk.
"Hey, dude, what's up?" my voice came out sounding weary and Kenny noticed this with a slight arch of his blonde brows but didn't say anything about it.
"So, I was just checking in about the party business, you know," he said casually, tucking hands away into his pockets in a leisurely gesture.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll see you tonight, asshole."
Kenny bumped shoulders with me before we both started off for out next class, him draping one arm across my shoulders. It felt oddly nice having Kenny there with me, despite how much trouble he's inadvertently caused me. I was actually looking forward to tonight.
. . . . .
Music pounded, a bass so deep that it rebounded with every beat of my heart. My throat burned from all of the alcohol I'd taken in and the room seemed to be spinning - the strobe lights certainly weren't helping. People were gathered around me from where I was seated at a small bar, cheering as I took yet another shot of tequila like it was nothing.
An unknown partier poured him and me another drink; vaguely I could hear him toasting the glass to me which earned another round of cheers. Apparently I was the lie of this party.
Time seemed to skip as I alternated between dancing and cheering on other drinkers. I watched someone do a funnel-chug with one of the kegs and found myself attached to some girl who was just as wasted as me, clinging to my arm as she pressed her boobs up against me.
The world was spinning, becoming nothing but incomprehensible light, movement, and sound. Everything seemed funny, weightless, and faces blurred together, but before long, I found myself seated on a large plush couch, off to one side of the dance floor.
In my drunken state, I was mesmerized by the writhing, twisting bodies in front of me, feeling myself being turned on by the nameless dancers and their provocative gyrations. Hands slid across my shoulders, up my neck and to my hat, tugging it off in one swift motion to let my curls fall freely.
Lips collided hotly with my own, a tongue diving in and wrestling my tongue. My hands traced the smooth curves of a slim waist, slipping up under the soft fabric of a shirt to feel the friction between our skin. Deep blue eyes paralleled my own, framed by golden waves that came down past this girl's shoulder and landed perfectly upon the crest of her cleavage.
She straddled my hips, pressing herself up against my chest before reconnecting our mouths. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the logical part of me was telling me stop, telling me how wrong this was, but I was beyond caring.
Suddenly, with a jolt, cool air came rushing back over me as the warm body atop my own was torn off of me. My stomach dropped when I saw who was standing in front of me.
Arms crossed and eyes aflame with rage, Cartman looked ready to murder either me or the girl, most likely both. For a second, I really just looked at him, taking in his ripped and baggy jeans coupled with his usual red jacket, though it was opened to reveal the black shirt he wore underneath.
"Hey, what's your problem, dick?" she asked snippily. Mentally, I begged that the girl was smart enough to just shut her mouth and leave. However, one look from Cartman made her wither like a dying flower before stomping back off again, which of course left me alone with the fat-ass.
"What the fuck, Jew?" Cartman demanded loudly, taking a step toward me. I sat up, my hair falling back into my face which I vainly tried to push away.
"I should be asking you the same question," I shot back, my unbridled fury making me articulate through my intoxication. Over head, the music seemed too loud and now the couch seemed too soft – Cartman had that unique way of being able to ruin anything for me.
Once again, Cartman looked ready to start yelling, but I knew if I wanted anything to be said edgewise, I'd have to cut this off.
"I'm just trying to be less 'faggy', fat-ass. And you know, asshole, what I do in my spare time, well it really isn't up to you, is it?" I shouted, feeling my own anger boiling up to the surface. Where the fuck does Cartman get off on thinking that he can tell me what to do? Especially after he was such a dick to me.
With a snort of annoyance, I begin to push myself up from the loveseat, needing some distance between me and the Nazi bastard.
But then, within the blink of an eye, Cartman's knee was pressed up again my crotch, the other one clamped firmly down on the side of my leg while strong hands gripped my shoulders painfully, digging his fingers into my jacket with such vehemence. My muscles failed me as soon as I made contact with Cartman's burning gaze, so cold yet smoldering, finding it impossible to break away. It even seemed as though my voice was failing me,
"W-what do you want, Cartman?" It came out like something akin to a whisper. Even to me ears, I could my own pathetic desperation and fear.
He leaned forward until our noses almost touched, until I could see every last shard of amber in his hooded eyes. The world fell away into nonexistence. It was just me and him.
"You."
Such a simple reply to such a simple question.
A surge of passion and hate overcame me as I gripped helplessly as his collar, searching his eyes for anything, anything that could tell me he wanted otherwise. I knew Cartman wouldn't kiss me, that I would have to make the first move this time because if I didn't…it would be over.
Without a second though, I mashed our lips together spitefully, increasing the pressure between us until it hurt. Our teeth clacked roughly as I bit and lapped hungrily, urgently. Cartman kissed me back just as powerfully, his hands abandoned my shoulders to instead entangle themselves with my unruly locks, raking and pulling frantically. I needed this – my body ached and burned with a kind of desire I hadn't ever felt before. So much so that it actually scared me.
I pushed Cartman away, abruptly breaking off our kiss, and forcing myself to my feet. I couldn't handle this.
Before Cartman had a chance to grab me, to confuse me more than I already was, I ran, sprinted away as fast I could in hopes of maybe, just maybe putting some form of distance between us. There was no fucking way I could deal with this. No fucking way. I pushed past people recklessly, praying I could just get as far away as possible from Cartman before he came after me – and if that happened, I wasn't sure what I'd do.
After weaving my way through the throng of people, I found the back door, practically throwing myself outside. The alternating rainbow lights painted the snow different colors in the shape of the Black's mansion windows. I felt dizzy and sick, and after a quick glance around, also very alone. My head was reeling as I plopped down on the frozen ground, leaning myself up against the wooden slats of the side of the house.
Tears gathered at the corner of my eyes – tears of anger, of hurt, and of confusion. In my intoxicated mind, everything just seemed to be against me, as if the universe had some personal grudge to settle. And it certainly did seem that way. I mean, I lost my best friend, I'm becoming attracted to the worst human being on the planet, Kenny's no help and there isn't anyone I can turn to. I'd never felt more alone.
I pulled my knees up to my chest tightly, wrapping my arms around them and then burying my face to hide from everything. The music was muffled, making it sound like someone had just jammed a bunch of cotton into speakers. A sob, choked and painful, wracked my entire body, my hold torso shaking with the power of it.
"Kyle?"
Blinking away the tears, I glanced up into the darkness to see a form standing over me though I couldn't exactly see who it was. The person crouched down in front of me, blurry through the new flow of water from my eyes. Gently, they reached forward until chilled hands brushed away the drops rolling down my cheeks- my vision began to clear.
"S-Stan," I managed to say, my voice hoarse and strangled. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, pushing to continue with, "what are you doing here?"
The black-haired teen didn't respond, instead he collapsed down upon his knees in front of me and put his arms awkwardly around my shoulders in a hug. My face was up against my chest as Stan rested his lips upon the center of my forehead, sighing loudly as the air warmed my skin.
"Oh, Kyle," he said softly, pulling back just so, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. All I want now is for things to just go back to normal between us. And I know that you hate me, fine, but I also really hope that you've though about what I said before. Even if you don't need me, I still need you."
Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps the fact that I'd had a bit of a rough night – but it was probably neither. Despite how mad I'd been and despite how much it'd hurt, I still missed Stan, which had left a giant ache in my chest like a cut on the roof of your mouth that just never heals. I hugged my super best-friend back fiercely, balancing on my own knees as I sat up to hold him closer. Stan returned my embrace just as strong, both of us clinging to together as if we would disappear.
"I don't care anymore, Stan," I sighed, still not letting go of him. "I just…I'm sorry too."
Stan pulled back, a huge grin splitting his face while his hands clasped at my face, effectively pushing my cheeks together until I was puckering like a fish back at him. We kept each other's gaze for a long moment until finally Stan released me, ruffling my wild curls affectionately.
"Come on," he smiled, standing up and offering his hand to me.
I grabbed on without second thought and tried not to stumble once Stan hefted me up from my seat in the snow. Of course, my ass was soaked through to my boxers along with having two nice fist-sized spots of water on my knees.
Stan just grabbed at my hand, tugging me along insistently until finally I fell into step with him, our arms brushing as we walked close together.
"Does this mean that we're friends again?" I asked quietly, my breath coming out in small puffs. I directed my attention up at the endlessly dark blue sky as its scattered stars twinkled and winked back at me.
"Super best-friend," Stan corrected automatically, "and yeah, dude. It most certainly fucking does. We can talk about this later, that is if you want to just crash at my place tonight – I'm sure your parents would be cool with it; mine always are, when it's you at least."
He just sounded so damn hopeful.
"Cool with me," I said a little too enthusiastically. So much for playing it casual and all that jazz. Stan led the way back to his house through the snow, silently linking his arm through my own.
. . . . .
"Here."
Stan tossed me a pair of sweats from where he was crouched over his mess of a dresser drawer. I caught them in one hand, arching an eyebrow curiously at the soft black material. Catching my gaze, he explained that he doesn't want my wet ass in his clean sheets which is enough for me to start tugging off my pants.
"So…the party was fun," the raven haired teen attempts at conversation weakly, flopping down across his bed. I simply nod back at him from over my shoulder. "I mean, I'm glad you came because I really did want to talk to you. But you know…I was wondering…what was wrong?"
Deciding I would live with damp boxers, I slid the stretchy cotton material up over my legs, almost immediately warming me up.
"Nothing," I grunted as I started to unbutton my jacket.
"Okay, don't want to talk about it – I get it. But I gotta ask, what made you change your mind about forgiving me? Is it the alcohol, my fantastic charm…?" he trailed off as my coat hit the floor next to my jeans. All I had under that was a dress shirt – not ideally something I'd sleep in. I turned back around to face Stan, who at this point was shirtless, in similar sweats, and sprawled out across the rumpled sheets and bundled up comforter strewn chaotically across his queen-sized mattress. I tugged my own shirt up over my head, tossing it back at my own growing pile of clothes.
"Whoa dude! What are those?"
Stan's suddenly concerned voice made me look up to see the bewildered expression on his face as he searched my body with his eyes. What was he…? Oh.
Sure enough, in the exact place where Cartman had grabbed me, there were nice hand-shaped bruises that were already turning an ugly blue-black color, a faded purple ring forming around the damaged skin. A sigh escaped my lips, my whole frame collapsing inward as I face-planted beside my friend.
"Can we not do this tonight?" I moaned into the mattress.
"Do what?" came his reply. Rolling on to one side, I faced Stan with a tired expression, my eye lids drooping with the desire for sleep. His sky blue eyes scanned my face, flickering his concentration from my own stare and the wound at the base of my neck.
"This; talk about everything and all of this shit. I promise I'll tell you all of it tomorrow…but for just right now, just for tonight, I need some rest. Please," I tried to smile but I knew it must've come out looking forced by the small grimace reflected in Stan's eyes. He blinked once in compliance, leaning across his bedside table momentarily to flick his bedroom lights off.
My eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness while my hands sought out a blanket to curl up with. Suddenly, warmth spread across the backside of my body along with a heavy flannel cover being tossed over my form. An arm snaked itself up and around my waist, pulling me firmly back against Stan's chest.
I opened my mouth to argue, but he beat me to it.
"Just for tonight," he used my words against me.
As sleep began to take over, the last thing I heard was Stan humming the song Wonderwall.
Author's After-Note: Okay, I'm sick, like really really sick with like the worst cold I've ever had so there probably will be more grammar mistakes than usual because I really really tried to focus and reread it but ugh, sinuses. I hope your reviews can cure me *cough cough* ;) Until next time ~