I'm so happy to see that there are some reviewers yet out there! For you, I have great news. It seems that really everything that was going on with my life was leaving me with zero motivation to write. But now that I've had time to reflect on and accept what's happened, my passion for expressing myself through true dramatic fashion has been restored! And with a combination of unwanted free time and unfortunate insomnia, I was able to write this next bit in no time at all. Hooray for me!
This story has officially gone completely off-track from its original direction. And I like it that way. Enjoy :)
Chapter 9- A Fallen Angel
"Honestly, Wendy, how will we ever be able to go on? How will this town be able to function?"
I roll my eyes. "Bee, don't you think you're being just a bit overdramatic? I think South Park will live without Kyle's presence. You are probably one of the only ones who miss him already," I reply, eyeing her as she frowns at me for revealing the true reason for her mourning.
"Don't forget you," she adds in that perky proud voice of hers.
"And me," I revise. Sure I'm going to miss him. I feel like I've lost a friend before I ever really had a chance to gain him. It's only been two days, but he's already called me to tell me about his move to the dormitory and registering for classes in his new school uniform. I bet he looks hot in it. Every boy always looks hotter when he's dressed up.
"And Stan."
I sigh. Stan is probably dying on the inside, wondering where his precious secret love could be. Kyle is never sick from school—he usually came here even when he was sporting a fever. He and I are so alike it's scary.
"Admit it, Wendy. You're sadder than a diabetic who craves sugar," Bebe tells me, and I scoff. Ever since I told her what an analogy was and how it worked, she's been trying to use them in daily conversation. She has yet to use one properly. Although that one wasn't half-bad…
Intrigued, I follow up with, "why are you so adamant about my missing Kyle?" I lower my eyes and stab my fork at a limp green bean stubbornly. I didn't she'd want anyone else to share her feelings about him. Bebe can be very selfish, very stubborn, and very immature when it comes to boys she likes and how others like them too. Not that I like Kyle, but…I have grown fond of him in the past…four days.
"Its just nice to see you moping about someone other than Stan for a change," she voices, and I quiet my thoughts, focusing on what she just said.
Am I moping again? I didn't think I was. Its not like I feel sick when I step out of bed first thing in the morning anymore. In fact, it takes me all the way up until I see Stan at school to remotely feel any sense of nausea. Even then I think it's due to my intense disdain for him, not my undying, unreciprocated love. No, I think that ship has sailed. Thank God.
Bebe continues to flap her mouth, but I tune her out in favor of looking over at Stan. It pains me to see him, sitting there all alone. Sure he's with his football buddies—he always is. But he looks so distant, so lost. It's his own damn fault for pushing everyone who cares about him away, but still…there's an emptiness behind his eyes I've never noticed before. I wonder if he's beginning to realize what an idiot he's been over the past few weeks. If it will have any impact on his future decisions at all. If Kyle's absence will give him a change of heart. If he'll ever have enough courage to right his wrongs.
"…And I know it won't be long befo—Wendy, are you even listening to me?" Bebe cuts herself off, and I only turn back as I hear her call my name.
"Huh?" I reply while daydreaming.
"Wendy, dammit!" she yells, slamming her palm down on the table forcefully. "I was just commending you for not getting caught up in Stan and now you're doing it again!"
"I'm sorry!" I cave in guiltily. "But it's not what you think! I'm not sad about him, Bee. Trust me, I'm over that jerk." I sigh before taking a swig of my chocolate milk.
I continue to eat my lunch, seeing how time is running out. All the while, however, I'm keenly aware of Bebe monitoring my actions. I know I'm under her watchful eye even as she picks up her own milk and haughtily sips it through a straw. She doesn't say anything, but continues to study me until I can't take it any longer. I take the last bite of my chicken burger and look at her expectantly. "What!"
She blinks slowly to stall and build up importance to whatever she's about to say. Taking a deep breath, she holds it in and looks up to the ceiling as if the words she's looking for are just floating above us. Finally, she shifts her focus back to me and drops her shoulders. "Wendy, you are my very best friend, and I love you."
Uh oh. When she prefaces anything like that, I know she's about to deliver a harsh blow.
"I love you too, Bee…"
"But if you don't stop lying to me about being over Stan, I'm going to march down, pick Kyle up and personally deliver him back here so you can watch them make up. In surround sound. With an audience," she states harshly.
I frown angrily, feeling my defenses rise. What the hell? I'm not lying! "I'm not lying!" I say aloud.
"Oh please," she retorts, tapping her new and expensive nails on the table. "Don't expect me to buy this bullshit. It hasn't even been a month since you saw them fucking in his house. You can't honestly be over that, Wends. Girls don't work that way. We can't just forget what we saw and move on like it didn't shake up our world. And we're in high school for Christ sake! We over dramatize everything! It's in our very nature to whine and complain about anything and everything until our girlfriends cheer us up!" She looks at me crossly as I stare on, perplexed by this random outburst. "And I haven't been given any chances to cheer you up," she informs with a pointed index finger in my direction. "Not once have I been on damage control because you've been too frail to ask for help."
This is ridiculous! What is she even talking about? "Bebe, you had like two weeks of…damage control, remember? I was a wreck and my mom practically forced me out of the house with you so you could take me places that didn't remind me of Stan! That's why we went to the diner. Remember?" I'm so confused right now. What is she getting at? Is she upset that I'm not upset anymore?
She scoffs, leaning back and crossing her arms. "That was one week. And then you met Kyle, and now you're too happy for words. One night with him and you're cured. Miraculous. Had I known, I would've dumped you on his front step the minute you began hurting."
I close my eyes and force myself to calm down. She is being irrational. She gets like this sometimes. Somehow, I think it does go back to her being jealous about my newfound relationship with Kyle, but I don't want to call her out on it quite yet. Like I said before, Bebe can be extremely immature when it comes to boys she likes. Even if they are uninterested and completely unavailable.
"Are you just picking a fight with me?" I ask curiously, but knowing immediately that was the exact opposite of something I should've said.
Her temper flairs up and I see fire in her eyes. "Can you honestly tell me you're over Stan when I can clearly see that you're not?" she fires back.
"Yes!"
"…Why are you lying to me, Wendy," she repeats softly.
"I'M NOT!" I roar, this time way too loudly for cafeteria standards. My extreme fury is accompanied by two very strong palm slams to the table, mocking her wimpy display earlier.
This is not like Bebe to be so…so…demanding! Yeah she has weird methods for things, but not like this. Something is clearly up her ass and I don't really feel like getting to the bottom of it. Ha, I chuckle inwardly at my pun.
"Once you let it out, it'll feel much better," she advises.
"I'm two seconds away from leaving this table," I tell her furiously, "if you don't tell me why the hell you're interrogating me with pointless questions."
To this, she situates herself neatly on her side and places her soiled napkin on the table next to her tray. Pushing her tray closer to me, she brings her elbows to the table and interlocks her fingers. "Because you need to vent. And because I know what buttons to push to get you pissed off enough to do so."
For the billionth time, I frown at her.That's it?
"And," she adds, her voice calm once again, "because I know you understand your situation, you may have even accepted it, but you are not over him."
I sigh and opt to look at her partially eaten food.
"You tell yourself that so you can disguise your true feelings. What we saw in his house that night was pure torture for you. And you have yet to talk about it, Wendy." She reaches out, extending two fingers to lift my lowered chin. "You forget, I know you. And while you probably do like Kyle now, it still doesn't change the fact that what he did to you was downright shitty. It just can't be healthy to hang out with your ex-boyfriend's ex-lover all the time, can it?"
"Bee, you were the one who told me to talk to him in the first place!" I speak up for the first time in a couple of minutes.
She nods and says, "true. But I didn't expect you to attach yourself to him. You were replacing Stan with Kyle."
"I was not doing that," I protest.
"Oh yeah? Tell me you didn't once think about being with Kyle."
I stare at her incredulously. "Bebe, he's gay!"
"So?"
"…"
"He's still hot."
I slap my forehead and slowly slide my hand downwards until it is resting on my mouth. Bebe's glimpse of insight has vanished. It has been replaced by her much stronger sense of lust. I shake my head, refusing to further this conversation. She really is hopeless. Just when I think she's on to something, she reminds me of why she's just my best friend, not a psychologist.
"Whatever, I'd do him if he requested it," she continues, forgetting about her previous point.
I close my eyes for this response. "But he would never request it, seeing that he prefers the male anatomy over yours."
"You're just jealous cause you want him now too."
"Argh," I reply disgusted, my voice muffled through my hand.
"I'm not going to argue with you about this anymore," she says frankly so that it looks like she's the one giving up the conversation. She pulls her tray back to her side and looks up to the clock. "Bell's about to ring. Later!" she coos, choosing to take her exit.
"Later," I reply, finally dropping my hand and staring blankly at my uneaten green beans and applesauce cup. The whirlwind that is my best friend is now gone, so maybe I can chow down before I lose my chance. I grab my fork and stab a few beans on the end before lifting it to my mouth.
"Can I sit down?"
My shoulders drop, along with my fork, as I look up to see Stan looming over the bench where Bebe was just sitting. Looks like I should just kiss the idea of a peaceful last few minutes goodbye. I shrug, unwilling to make eye contact. "I don't own the cafeteria," I reply dumbly.
Instead of chiding me for the stereotypical response from someone who doesn't welcome their visitor, Stan plops himself down right in front of me. "How you doin'?" he asks meekly.
Again, I shrug. "I've been better."
"Me too," he admits, and I notice he too won't make eye contact.
"What's the matter, Stan? Is your reputation and your fake friends not fulfilling your life as much as you'd hoped they would?" I inquire sarcastically, unable to resist.
He exhales quickly and purses his lips, looking to the side of me. "I'm not here for insults, Wendy. I just want to know if you've heard anything from Kyle."
I rest my arms on the table before me and sigh deeply. Finally, I look him straight in the eye. He quickly looks away. "After all we've been through, you have the audacity to ask me about Kyle?"
He lowers his eyes and contracts his body to the center. "I have no one else to ask."
Throwing my head back, I scoff. "Well find someone else, Stan," I recommend as I gather up my tray and utensils and stand up.
"Wendy, I'm miserable without him," he blurts out and I pause all movements. He lifts his eyes to meet mine. "Please, I'm asking for your help."
I open my mouth to say something, but find there really isn't anything I can say in this situation. What could he possibly want from me? To tell him everything's going to be fine? I won't do it, cause it won't be. He needs to tell the truth. He owes everyone, including himself, that honesty. I can't have sympathy for his misery if he's willing to do nothing about it. And I can't offer him anything—I have nothing to give.
I'm so captivated by his cry for help that I find myself sitting back down. "You're asking me for help?" I clarify.
He nods slowly. "I need to talk to him. I've called his house so many times I've lost count, and every time Sheila hangs up when I tell her its me. I know she's pissed when he and I fight, but this is different. Did he tell her about us?"
I can't believe I'm having this discussion with him. I can't believe he has the nerve to discuss it with me! Is he so insensitive that he doesn't realize how badly he broke my heart through all the lies? Or is it that he is so utterly desperate that he is at his last hope for happiness? There's no way I can tell him where Kyle is or even let him know why he's left. But I guess I can make him panic a bit.
"Yes, he did. He told his entire family."
The color in his face drains. "Do you know how it went? How'd they take it?"
"I was there when he did it," I confess.
"You?!?!" he cries, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that the girls beside us who were having their own conversation are now listening in. It makes me wonder if Stan knows this. Or even cares. Maybe he's reached his breaking point.
Sure enough, he lowers his voice. "Why the fuck were you there," he demands.
"He asked me to be," I reply simply. The guys beside the girls are now listening too.
At this information, Stan blinks once before licking his teeth and nodding, staring blankly into the space between us where the table lies. "He asked you to be there," he repeats, as if he has to explain it through his own voice in order for him to understand what has happened.
"And don't worry, they were okay with it," I further, just to get a rise out of him.
His eyes snap back up to mine. "Theywere?!"
I nod. Now the conversation going on beside me involves what their interpretation is of Stan and I's conversation. Perhaps I should clear up any confusion. "Stan, Kyle's parents don't care that he's gay. And neither should yours. All of your paranoia will be for nothing." The girl beside me just gasped. I hear someone in the distance mutter, "Kyle Broflovski?"
His eyes go wide at my statement, but he says nothing. It looks like he's blown a fuse or something, because he is barely moving except to breathe. Is it because I just outed him to a couple of our classmates "unknowingly"? Or is it because he knows I'm right?
"Kyle's happier now, Stan. He doesn't have to hide who he is anymore. And if I were you, I'd do the same thing. Not just for him, but for you too. Stop living a lie." I feel six pairs of eyes glued to my every word, and they're all coming from the other end of this table. Funny how they didn't listen in while Bebe and I were arguing about the boys. Though, I guess it was a pretty huge thing when Stan and I broke up—maybe we were the talk of the town. Well, now they know why it happened.
Stan still isn't speaking. He isn't blinking either.
"I'm sorry, I can't be the one to help you, Stan. You've got to help yourself first," I notify him, referring to our earlier conversation.
I hear him take a big gulp to swallow his emotions. "Where's Kyle," he persists. After everything I just said…after spilling his secret to those around us, that's what he has to ask me? He isn't denying his sexuality? He isn't refuting anything I suggested? He's still only concerned with Kyle.
I feel that pain I've been trying to suppress rise up again. He would have never been so focused on me if someone were threatening his reputation. He would've denied any allegations and went forth with his life thinking of himself first. Stan's always been a bit on the selfish side.
"Not here," I point out obviously.
"No kidding," he replies, not the least bit amused. "Where is he? If they were so cool with him coming out, where is he now?" His voice is somewhat shrill and condemning, and now even more people are staring in this direction.
"Not here, Stan" I reiterate, not trying to be clever in the slightest.
"Dammit, Wendy, I can SEE he's not here! Where'd he go? Where'd they ship him off to?" He leans forward in a similar fashion as Bebe had. "And don't try to tell me he left on his own free will. I know Kyle and I know he wouldn't have left South Park unless his mom forced it."
"Well then I guess it just goes to show you how much you don't know Kyle, Stan. Because he transferred himself out of here and moved to a prep school in Denver as quickly as he could! He HATES this place!" I spit.
"You're lying…" he says, and although I know he's saying that because he believes me but doesn't want to, it gets to me.
I slam my hands back down and stand up, angrily. "That's the second time I've been accused of being a liar today, Stan, and once again, it's not true. It isn't my fault you couldn't confront your fears and stop pretending like he doesn't matter to you." By this point, I'm flat-out yelling. Practically the entire cafeteria is listening in. And I don't care.
Stan stands up as well, supporting his upper body over the table with his shaking arms. "He didn't give me enough time!" is his excuse.
"Since when is a year not enough time?"
"I was going to tell everybody!" he screams. "I just wasn't ready yet!"
"But you sure had no trouble cheating on me with him while you were preparing yourself," I retort.
He throws his head back in aggravation before continuing. "You don't understand, it's not that easy! It's not like I can just tell everybody that I'm a queer!"
The cafeteria falls dead silent. I look at him for the longest time before taking a deep breath, re-collecting my tray and utensils, and squeezing out of the confines of the cafeteria bench. I take a few steps away, watching as his face remains scrunched up. Quieter than before, I inform him, "looks like you just did."
Conveniently, the bell rings. And I'm not able to stay any longer. I follow the hoards of gossiping students to the trashcans and out the door as we all head off to class to spread the news like wildfire. I only look back once, when the crowd at the door becomes so thick I have to look away. Everyone is filing toward me except for the one boy whose life just dramatically changed.
Stan stands in the same spot, his hands glued to the table. I can't see his expression, but I can imagine he hasn't moved a muscle since he realized his worst nightmare just came true. Now they all know.
His reputation is ruined.
---
You know when you have that sneaking suspicion that everyone is watching you? That everywhere you go there are eyes attached to your every move so much that if you even breathe funny, you know you'll be the topic of discussion for days to come?
Now, what happens when you close your eyes to shake those paranoid thoughts out of your head, only to find that nothing has changed when you open them? That there really are hundreds of eyes watching you, waiting for you to make a statement?
It didn't take long for the breaking news to travel through the entire school. By the end of fifth period, every girl, guy, and teacher was giving me sympathetic glances that harbored an inner curiosity. Many felt the need to express this to me.
"Did Stan leave you for Kyle?" they'd ask. "No," I'd say back. "Did you two break up because of them?" was another one. "Yes," would be my answer. "Did Kyle leave South Park because of Stan?" I'd reply with a "no", because in reality, that wasn't all there was to it. That topic was found to be argumentative. All and all, by the end of the school day every student and their mother knew about Stan, Kyle, and their scandalous relationship.
To say this reaction surprised me would be an exaggeration. Stan is probably the most popular guy in our senior class. This is huge news worthy of discussion. But he has finally come clean! And though it's too little, too late—and purely accidental—he is officially out of the closet. A very public announcement made sure of that. There is no going back for Stanley Marsh. All he can do now is move forward.
I hear a substantial amount of not-so-quiet whispers buzz around me as I practically sprint through the halls. The second-to-last bell has rung and I'm ready to leave this place. A sense of relief filters through my bones the closer I get to freedom from this madhouse.
"Wendy!" Bebe shouts as I close in on my locker. She, of course, is situated directly in front of it, arms crossed and eyes beckoning for a recap of the much talked about scene she missed earlier.
I groan at her presence. The last person I want to talk to is her because she already knows everything. I don't feel the need to go into detail about stale information. Yet, according to Bebe, when the shit hits the fan, she's the first to run from the room to tell everybody else about it. It is her duty to report events like this. Stan's broadcasted confession is probably a goldmine for her reputation as gossip queen. I doubt she'd pass the opportunity up in favor of being a comforting friend. In fact, she's probably going to utilize her title as ex-girlfriend's best friend to enhance her credibility. She can be such an inconsiderate bitch when it comes to this stuff.
"Wendy, doll, you must be absolutely SPEECHLESS!" she plays up, throwing her arms around me the minute I reach the somewhat refuge of my locker. The entire student population in this wing ceases all conversation and movement to hear how I respond.
I give Bebe a look that tells her she's not quite dead yet, but keep it up and they'll be handing out flyers for her funeral. She quickly shuts up and moves aside, allowing me to bury my head in the confines of my locker.
Why'd I ever think this was a good idea? I'm glad he did it—no, in fact I'm relieved he did it, but it's still just as painful as I'd imagined. I know Stan's probably taking the brunt of it, but I'm the lowly girlfriend who hadn't a clue of their affair of one year. I hear the rumors that have already circulated. "Wendy threatened Kyle and that's why he left", "Wendy knew Stan was only using her but she wanted to be prom queen", "Wendy asked to join in and Kyle refused, so Stan broke up with both of them." It's fucking ridiculous! I want to scream at the top of my lungs but no one will hear me. They're all too busy fabricating these flat-out lies, like me being pregnant with Kyle's baby from having sex with Stan! When I heard that one, I marched right up to the culprits and offered to pay for their hospital bill, because if they so much as mouthed another word, I was going to use their heads for target practice.
I've had enough.
"Sweetie, remember what we talked about before. Its okay to vent," Bebe whispers rather loudly. I think she's trying to play the role of comforting friend with intentions of backstabbing me once I answer. So I keep my mouth shut and glare at her once again.
She looks around and laughs nervously. I see her point to me and mouth something along the lines of "give us a minute" to the rest of the obnoxiously nosey senior class. I want to smack her.
Turning to me, she huddles in really close. "Wendy, I'm worried about you. You have that look in your eye like you're out for blood. You aren't going to go out and do something…stupid, are you?"
To this, I turn to her with my eyebrows raised. "No," I growl, and go back to sulking in my locker. She really is making too big of a deal out of it. I wouldn't even give a damn about Stan's declaration if the whole world didn't remind me of it every nanosecond! I just want to forget about today and pray that tomorrow only a few people will be serving it up as rerun news.
Yeah right.
"Do you need me to stay with you tonight?" she continues sweetly.
Again, I turn to her and reply with a simple "no". Yanking my coat off the hook, I slide it onto my shoulders and button it up hastily.
"I just wanna make sure that you're okay."
Staring into my locker like I'm staring down the barrel of a rifle, I analyze that statement. In making sure I'm okay, she'd want me to vent about the situation, thus gaining more dirt on Stan and the knowledge needed to power the greatest gossip of it all—the truth. No, I don't need that right now. Quite frankly, I'd much rather stick my head in a blender. "I'll be fine," I reply curtly, grabbing and securing my scarf.
Pulling out whatever books I need for the night (I have no idea) and stuffing them haphazardly into my book bag, I feel a hush fall on the already silenced crowd surrounding me. Bebe gasps and steps back a few feet. I turn to her in impatience and curiosity and find that she's staring wide-eyed right through me.
"What is it," I say annoyed. I'm all too aware of how melodramatic this girl really is. She swallows before her lips part once again, as if to answer me. It is then that I realize she isn't looking at me. Her eyes are frozen somewhere right behind me. I follow her gaze and come face to face with Stan.
"We need to get out of here," he informs me, and for once, I don't disagree.
I nod in response and slam my locker shut, hoisting my bag over my shoulder. I look at Bebe, as if to say, "sorry but not today" and follow Stan's lead out to the double doors. Thank God the senior hall is right in the front lobby. Once we've left this hallway, we're out of the school. Away from these accusing stares.
"Ugh, the nerve of some people!" I scream the second we throw open the doors and taste freedom. We take off in no particular direction, but I have trouble keeping up with Stan's brisk pace. I find myself skipping steps and increasing my heart rate.
Stan keeps his eyes low to the ground in front of us with his hands stuffed in his coat pocket. He doesn't say anything even as we pass the street where his car is located.
His pace quickens even more as we near Stark's Pond, which is exactly three minutes from the high school. I know this because Stan and I used to sneak off after his football games to fool around in the romantic backdrop of our town's only pond. To get there we had to duck across the stadium parking lot, through the wooded area that separates our school from the park, and sneak through the clearing where cops liked to park. Remarkably they never thought to circle the picnic area, where half-a-dozen open cabins framed the small pond. Stan and I thought we were just lucky—that is, until I clued Bebe in on the hot spot, and she began bringing every guy under the sun to our secret rendezvous. They never got caught either. Now that I look back on it, I highly doubt it was secret anyway. I'm surprised we never ran into anyone else.
I glance at Stan and realize that he is walking straight for one of the aforementioned cabins. I wonder if he remembers their significance for us.
I wonder if he and Kyle went here…
Considering they couldn't even keep their pants on during school, there's probably a good chance they did. I bet they did it in every place Stan and I did and thensome. I shake my head. This is the wrong time to be thinking these thoughts.
We head for cabin #4, which just happens to be unlike the rest of them. This cabin is the only one that is closed—I think it was the meetinghouse or something. If we wanted this one we had to break into it. I liked it best, mainly because there was a way to lock it. Dammit, I'm certain Stan shared this experience with Kyle too. He'd have to be stupid not to.
Or maybe…just maybe…he had enough respect for our special meeting place, he wouldn't dare dream of tainting it?
I catch up to Stan just as he marches right into the front door effortlessly. Soon after, I enter the room and turn to look at the latch on the door. There isn't one!
"It won't lock anymore," I point out, twisting the new knob and proving my point.
Stan looks at it. "Yeah I know. It was like that the last time Kyle and I came." Ha, so much for respect of our place. "He said they must've changed it since so many people took advantage of its privacy." He turns away from me and looks around. "A lot of good memories in here…" I hear him mumble.
At that statement, I frown. Not only did he bring Kyle here, but they also had to change the locks because so many people did the same thing we did? Wow, this place holds no significant value at all. I feel like a stupid girl for ever holding it close to my heart.
"When did you and Kyle come here last?" I inquire innocently, trying my best to not seem overly meddlesome.
"A few months ago," he replies absentmindedly, his attention absorbed in something on the back wall.
I walk up to his side and imitate his actions to appear interested in something other than the current conversation. "Did you guys come here often?"
"Not often enough," he responds quickly, and that sinking feeling in my gut forms. I'm suddenly angry again, but this time, it's at my own stupidity for never catching on to those two.
My eyes dart around the room, noticing fishing supplies in the corner. "Oh. Did Kyle like to go fishing?"
Stan snaps out of his trance at whatever he's been looking at and scoffs. "Wendy, you don't have to try this hard to get me to admit it." He turns to me. "Yes I took Kyle here. It was pretty much the only place we had where we could be alone. And I know it was you and I's sorta…special place…but I couldn't think of anywhere better. If that makes you hate me, then you'll just have to join the long line of people waiting to burn me at the stake."
I roll my eyes and shove him. "Give me a break, Stan. No one is going to 'burn you at the stake'. They all still love you. They're just shocked, that's all."
He lifts a brow and stares at me blankly. "Shocked and appalled. Their team captain's a queer. Their role model's a fucking fag. Their-"
"Don't flatter yourself," I tell him. "You're not all that special. Besides, you were gay before you admitted it, so what's the big deal? Did they spit on you when they found out?"
"Well no…"
"Was anyone waiting by your locker to beat you up?"
He stalls on that one but eventually shakes his head. "No, but they were talking about me."
I laugh. "Uh, yeah! You just announced that you like to have sex with other guys! Its quite a shock to all who thought you were the most masculine testosterone-filled man in South Park."
He throws his hands up in his hair and begins to pace. "Fuck, Wendy, I did, didn't I?"
I nod quietly. I'm glad he's not going to blame this one on me. I don't think I'd have the strength to restrain myself.
He tears at his hair and growls. "Why didn't you stop me? Why did you just let me keep talking!"
I grit my teeth. Okay, I spoke too soon.
Throwing his head back, he screams at the ceiling. As he takes a deep breath, he closes his eyes and tries to find his center. Then he shakes his head. "I need to sit down."
He squats on a bench that is a few feet behind us and I gently take a seat beside him. As he cradles his head in his hands, he rocks back and forth slightly.
I look around, though I'm not really sure why. There is no one around. I doubt anyone followed us—that'd be too pathetic even for our town. I guess I'm trying to find the right words to say. Oddly enough, I feel that it's my duty to make him feel better about himself. Stan has wronged me so many times by now I've lost count. But inside, he's the same guy I fell in love with. He still has an intense passion for anything and anyone he cares about, he still holds himself to a certain caliber of expectation that's almost impossible to reach, and he is still as fragile about how other's perceive him as he was when we were kids. In fact, I think he's gotten a lot worse at that.
I used to think of him as this unnaturally gifted superhero. An angel sent down from heaven to protect me and be with me always. And I was the lucky one for snagging him. He was amazing! There was no load he couldn't bear. There was no feat he couldn't accomplish. He was my prince, a gallant knight with the strength of ten men. But after examining his character, I'd say that I might've built him up only because I had been carried away by my fantasy of the perfect man. Believing in someone who wasn't real at all. Because when it comes down to it, Stan Marsh isn't all that spectacular, really. In fact, he is just your average guy with average to above average problems. Problems that I'm finding he's incompetent to handle. And this strength I saw in him have must have been another fantasy because actually, he is pretty weak.
And I think he may have just broken. Again.
"Stan?" I call out softly.
He stops the rocking, and I hear him take a deep breath. I watch as his shoulders rise up, and then down as he gradually lets out his air. Finally, he looks away from his hands and down to the floor. "I can't believe I did that," he mutters.
I close my mouth and wait for him to continue. He's about ready to lose his cool, I can sense it.
"I can't believe," he pauses, "I did that." He starts shaking his head and laughing out of frustration. When he turns to me, I see his eyes fighting back an emotion I've only known him to have when Kyle is involved. "What am I gonna do, Wends? How am I gonna face them? What am I gonna tell my parents? Oh FUCK I've gotta tell them before they found out from someone else!"
"Stan, calm down," I respond mechanically.
"No!" he screams. "Why did I have to open my mouth to begin with?! Jesus fuck, Wendy, you knew I was going to do that, didn't you. That's why you didn't stop me. You wanted me to tell everyone, didn't you!" he accuses.
I think about this for a minute. "Well, yeah," I admit. When his blame grows glaringly obvious, I continue. "But I didn't necessarily want you to blab it likethat. I didn't expect you to say half of what you did at the table. You must've known everyone was listening!"
"I didn't even think about it!" he screeches in defense. Then, just like before, he drops his head back into his hands and begins whining again. "Goddammit, I just wanted to know where Kyle went."
I sigh. His confession could've been avoided had I cooperated more. But I'm glad it happened the way it did. Now it forces Stan to come to terms with himself. I can't wait to tell Kyle he actually did it.
Aw, Kyle. Too bad he couldn't have stayed here an extra few days to witness the spectacle. It wouldn't have happened, though, if it weren't for him leaving. So I guess its true when they say everything happens for a reason.
Stan drops his hands abruptly and stares wide-eyed at the table in front of us. "Wendy, I'm an idiot."
I bite my lip to avoid agreeing.
He shakes his head again. "Fuck, I had him. I had him and all he wanted me to do was come out. And we could've been together. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted that?"
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.
"He made me so happy. God, he did so much to make me happy. I wanted to be with him more than anything."
I think I might've torn a hole through my lip.
"I don't think anyone could've ever loved me as much as he did."
I glare at him. "No? You don't think so?"
He shakes his head. "Not like Kyle…"
I find myself closing my eyes and gritting my teeth. Stan is obviously grieving right now. It's in your very nature to be illogical and insensitive toward others during a time like this. Either that, or he is very much a bonafide asshole. "Stan," I state as calmly as possible, "need I remind you who you are talking to?"
"Huh?" he answers distracted. He glances up at me but it doesn't register. At least not as much as it should. "Yeah I know, I'm sorry. But I feel like I've lost the most important person in my life, and I'm not really sure how to get him back." His eyes brighten as he turns my way. "Unless…"
"No," I cut him off. "No. Nope, that's it. You can't sit here and tell me about how Kyle means SO much to you and he's the best thing that's ever happened to you—"
"He is," he adds quietly.
I feel something inside of me explode. Perhaps it's finally that fuse that was lit shortly after I first found out about them.
"Is he?" I snap. "Fuck you, Stan! You know what? Fuck. You. You can deal with this all on your own!" I announce, grabbing my bag from the bench where I dropped it when we first came inside. He looks at me like he's surprised by my sudden outburst. He cannot be that stupid.
"You insensitive prick!' I spit when he continues to stare at me without a response. "Look, I may've sought you two out to uncover the truth myself, but I don't need to HEAR about how much you love him and how much you want to be with him and how no one else can even compare to him! In case you've forgotten, I was the supposed love of your life for TEN fucking years. Or so I thought, because you didn't lead me to believe any differently. You kept going with me behind Kyle's back, or kept going with Kyle behind my back, or HOWEVER you look at it for a year, Stan! You didn't have enough balls to confess to me your true feelings, you fucking coward! And you try to play the victim in this whole mess? Well I don't feel sorry for you! Not one bit!" I walk toward him with an accusing finger. "You deserve every dirty look you get, asshole! And I'm done with you! For real this time!"
"Wendy," he starts, but I cut him off.
"Don't Wendy me, Stan. I've put up with your selfishness for far too long now. You think this whole thing's been easy on me? You think it was a picnic finding out that your future fiancée was fucking his guy best friend and didn't have the courtesy to tell me? You think it was fun and games catching you in the act so that you were FORCED to tell the truth?" I glare at him, remembering every detail of that night. "You got out of that one so easily, Stan. Kyle and I just let you sit and wallow in your own pathetic self-pity. We didn't give you what you truly deserved.
"I should've let you rot in your denial for a little longer. Maybe you would've thanked me, or apologized to me, or did something to me to make me see that you truly do feel remorse for what you did. Instead you try to make me feel guilty, like I'm the one who has been living a fucking lie and refuse to deal with it! NO MORE, Stan!
"You know Kyle wanted to out you to the school?" Stan's eyes register intrigue at this statement, so I explain further. "Bebe mentioned it to me and I mentioned it to him as a joke, but he was serious about it. She thought we should join forces to tell your deepest, darkest secret and watch you try to worm your way out of that mess. It would've been so flawless, Stan. With both Kyle and I's word, it would've been virtually impossible for anyone to argue with facts. And everyone knows that Kyle and I never really got along, so we wouldn't be conspiring against you."
"Why," he croaks, swallowing to remove the lump in his throat. "Why didn't you go through with it then?"
"Because I told him that wasn't fair to you! I told him that we're better than that and it is YOUR place to tell everyone about your business, not ours. We'd done all we could—it was up to you now."
He nods slowly, taking in this information. I'm not even sure if I'm reaching him, but I don't fucking care. I've wasted too much time already. I don't even know why I chose to follow him in the first place.
"Yeah," I sum up for him. "So your precious Kyle wanted to rat you out, while I, the one you love second best, or not at all, fended for your privacy. But I'm done sticking to your side, Stan. I've been here for too long and it's gotten me nowhere. Kyle was smart to get out when he could. And now I'm going to do the same." I turn around and head for the door.
"You're leaving school?" he asks dumbly.
This stops me in my tracks. Just for emphasis, I spin on my heels to face him once more. "We may not be separated physically, but you better believe that I will never having any interest in being your friend again. As far as we're concerned, we're just two people who happened to date once."
He blinks in response, and I see a trace of regret behind his otherwise blank expression. Too late.
"Good luck telling your parents," I conclude. With that, I take my leave. As I walk out of that cabin, I realize that a place I once had my fondest memories in has turned into somewhere I never want to think about again. It holds a harsh truth to my life—that nothing is what it seems. I don't know what to believe. I don't even know what to feel anymore. Everything is dead to me. This past relationship with Stan…it meant nothing to him. Nothing in my life that I've considered noteworthy has really amounted to more than an afterthought to him! I'm just the girl he screwed to cover his ass while he was screwing someone else. I'm just another face in his crowd of admirers.
I scold myself when this empty feeling brings tears to my eyes. It meant nothing to him, so why should it affect me? There's no need to protect him anymore. There's no need to waste even another minute crying over what could've, would've, and should've been. It's too late for pretending. I've knocked down the pedestal I placed him on and now see him for who he really is. A cowardly snake that is no more an angel than I am a saint. I wipe away a stubborn tear and quicken my strides to the car. The sky is overcast and I think it's about to storm once again.
Within seconds of spotting my car, I'm safely inside, filling the interior with a deafening scream. I don't think I've ever been so angry, hurt, or insulted in my entire life! Is this what I should come to expect from here on out? Is it par for the course? Cause if so, I'm not playing anymore.
Stan Marsh can go to hell. If he thinks he can just use me like that, he's got another thing coming. I will go the extra mile to make certain that he never sees Kyle again. And that's a promise.
As I peel out of my parking space, I begin conjuring up every delicious scheme I can possibly think of. Shortly after, the sky opens up and a downpour makes it difficult for me to see. I funnel all of my energy into not killing myself until I am back in the safety of my own driveway. Then I go back to plotting. I know my thoughts may seem a bit spiteful, but revenge is a dish best served cold, right?
And right now, I'm damn near close to freezing.