Chapter Ten

Master of puppets I'm pulling your strings
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams
Blinded by me, you can't see a thing
Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream

He felt as though the fog was lifting. It had been several weeks since he'd escaped Brooklyn, and no one had come for him yet. The panic, always firmly lodged in his amygdala, had receded slightly. In its place came a terrible, overwhelming sadness. He felt sad for the child who had allowed himself to be defiled, he felt sad for the teenager who had spent years of his life on his knees in deplorable situations, he felt sad for the future that he could never envision because it felt too much of a risk to hope for anything at all.

Some days, he didn't speak a single word, and the thought of food made him feel sick to his stomach, and Kenny or Stan had to beg him to take small sips of water so he wouldn't dehydrate. He felt bad for making them worry, too. He just couldn't seem to stop himself. He'd spend hours trapped somewhere between reality and unconsciousness, unable to claw himself back, or perhaps unwilling. Even Odin, getting bigger by the day, couldn't bring him back. He showered for an hour at a time, until Kenny would pound on the door, terrified that he'd collapsed. Worst of all was the way they talked about him when they thought he couldn't hear. One day, he sat against the bathroom wall, cheek resting against the cool surface, straining to hear their low voices.

"Did he eat today?" Stan asked, passing a cold beer to Kenny as he took the seat next to him.

"Nope. I tried, but he didn't want anything. He was doing so well gaining the weight back, but if he carries on like this it'll all drop back off again." Stan sighed, miserable.

"Did we expect too much of him?" He wondered aloud. In the bathroom, Kyle's cheeks flushed pink.

"Yeah, probably. Kyle's been through too much for it all to just go away. It's not like in the movies, where someone goes through something traumatic but forgets it all to ride off into the sunset with their rescuer." It occurred to Stan that Kenny was probably speaking from experience, the years of being treated like shit by his parents talking for him.

"What should we do? Take him back to that doctor? He seemed to get it." Kenny took a sip of his beer, deep in thought.

"I asked him if he wanted to speak to Dr. Swift again, but he didn't answer. Maybe you could try. Or see if he'll call that therapist? I think the card is at the back of Ky's sketchbook." Kyle tensed at the thought of them looking through his book. He hadn't felt like drawing much recently, but his latest creations had been darker than usual. When he'd been working and needed a distraction, he'd drawn pretty things- scenery, nature, places he'd thought as of home. Now he was home, and he felt like drawing hollow faces with blackened skin and empty eye-sockets. He couldn't explain why.

"I don't know if I wanna look in there, dude. It seems private." His shoulders relaxed slightly. Odin, who had been curled up on the bathmat, stretched and yawned, and padded over to his companion. Kyle gave him the smallest of smiles, and reached out to run a hand through the dog's curly fur. He concentrated hard on staying present in the moment, letting his fingers explore the soft hair, feel the warmth, the tickle of the tongue that licked his thumb.

"No, you're right. But we need to do something. I'm worried we'll lose him again."

"What do you mean? He's not going anywhere." Kenny gave an impatient sigh.

"Not literally, retard. The only time he goes outside is to smoke on the balcony; don't think he'll be running away any time soon. Nah, I meant mentally. I'm worried he'll go too far into himself and just never come back one day." Stan had to suppress a smile.

"Woah. Deep." Kenny finally cracked a grin.

"I know, right? Regular psychology genius over here." Kyle could hear the smile in his tone. It seemed like a good time to interrupt, so he scooped up a wriggling Odin and unlocked the bathroom door. They both looked up at him as he slipped into an armchair, the concern evident on both their faces. For a strange moment, he hated both of them. He loathed that they saw him at his most vulnerable of moments, abhorred that they felt they had to take care of him as though he were a small child. He was more streetwise than either of them. He had experienced more of life and death and suffering than they had or likely ever would, and yet he'd also been denied the opportunity to learn and grow as they had. Kyle shook himself mentally. He wasn't supposed to hate them, he was supposed to be thankful to them. He thought about how they never forced him into anything, how they were so unfalteringly calm and patient when he was being a stubborn ass. As quickly as the hatred had come, the love welled up inside him. Love wasn't something he'd felt in recent years. It had been a hollow memory.
He couldn't say what he would be like tomorrow, but for tonight, he would make an effort. He gave them his customer smile, the one that didn't reach his eyes. He knew they'd see through it, but hoped that they'd appreciate the gesture.

"Good shower?" Stan asked, knowing full well that it was his fourth of the day. Kyle nodded, accepting the beer Kenny had fetched for him.

"Yeah, thanks." He bit his lip for a moment, trying to summon a brighter tone. "What's for dinner? Do you need help cooking?" Kenny's face broke into a bright grin before he could stop himself.

"What do you feel like?" Kyle frowned in concentration, but he couldn't think. It was hard to be enthusiastic when he'd prefer not to eat at all. Kenny noticed the hesitation.

"Okay, how about risotto? You could have steamed vegetables in yours, and I've got some chicken in the refrigerator." He turned to Stan. "Chicken and chorizo for us, yeah?"

"Awesome, thanks dude. You want my help too?"

All three ended up cramming in Kenny's small kitchen. In truth, the risotto didn't need much work; but keeping Kyle distracted meant that he wasn't dissociating. He ate a quarter of the small portion Kenny served him, and then turned a nasty shade of green. Stan watched him cautiously.

"Dude, are you gonna-" The sentence went unfinished as Kyle suddenly hurtled back into the bathroom, and was violently sick.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Kenny warned Stan, whose skin tone was now replicating Kyle's. He'd never been too good with the sound of someone else puking. "Go out on the balcony until it passes- I'm not cleaning up after you too." Stan nodded, and staggered away as Kenny fetched a glass of water. He tapped on the bathroom door before he went in. Kyle was sitting between the toilet and the sink, head in hands, breathing erratically. "Here," Kenny passed him the glass. "Don't drink it too fast or you'll make yourself sick again." Kyle took it with trembling fingers. His eyes were rimmed with red circles from retching so hard, and his skin was now pallid.

"I'm sorry," He rasped, looking at Kenny with an edge of something that looked like fear. "I didn't mean to do that."

"What? Course you didn't, bud. I know that." He sat on the floor in front of his shivering friend. He unzipped his hoodie, shuffling forwards to drape it round Kyle's shoulders. Kenny noticed him flinch. He hadn't done that for a while. "What are you thinking? Can you tell me?"

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking." Kyle mumbled, arms wrapped tightly around his body. Stan, having composed himself, appeared at the doorway.

"Why don't you try us?" He too sat on the floor, and they watched Kyle.

"Please don't look at me," He whispered, feeling weak and exposed. Stan and Kenny glanced at each other.

"I have an idea. Are you good, or do you think you'll puke again?"

"I'm good."

"Awesome." Stan stood, and offered an arm out first to Kyle, and then Kenny. Kyle was very wobbly on his feet, so Stan walked with his arm outstretched, not touching but not too far away to catch him if he fell. He took his friends through to Kenny's bedroom, dimming the lights and turning on a lamp instead. "Ken, you sit there," He gestured to the bed with his free hand. "I'll sit there. Kyle, if we sit with our backs to you, would it make you feel better?" Kyle thought about it for a moment, looking warily back at him, but nodded. So they sat with their backs to one another, in silence, as Kyle gently rocked with Odin in his lap. Little by little, when it was clear that Stan and Kenny weren't going to make the first move if he didn't want them to, he allowed himself to shift further back, until he was eventually leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against his friends. He closed his green eyes, exhausted.

"You wanted to know what I was thinking." The only noise that filled the air between them were the quiet snuffling sounds coming from the puppy. "I was thinking that maybe I'm not ready for risotto." Stan and Kenny burst out laughing. It hadn't been particularly funny, but it was one of those moments that gave them hope, told them that Kyle wasn't lost to them- not yet, at least.

"Okay, maybe another time then." Kenny chuckled. "Anything else, other than our culinary failings?" The silence grew again, and when Kyle spoke once more, his voice had become monotone and quiet.

"I'm so tired," He told them, eyes still shut. "I don't know how I should feel. I know I should be happy that I'm not there anymore, but part of me feels like I am. I still feel so trapped and isolated. I guess 'cause I'm not around those people now, it feels like I'm more different than I already was. You guys are nothing like me. You don't wake up shouting, or feel sick after eating, or feel so gross that you wish you could wash the inside of yourself as well as outside." He took a deep, shaking breath. "It's an awful thing to say, and I know I should be hanging on to life with everything I have, but some days I wish I wasn't here anymore. I don't want to kill myself, I just want to- stop being, I guess. 'Cause even when I'm asleep I don't escape. And I feel shit because I'm ruining your lives as well as my own, and I feel shit because of all the people I left behind to suffer because I was too chicken-shit to call the cops, and I feel shit because some part of me feels like I deserved everything I got." His tone was rising with every word he spoke, but he couldn't stop himself now. "Do you remember the day everyone found out I'd been released on bail?" They remembered, both of them, but neither could speak for the tears that stung their eyes and the tightness in their throats. Kyle continued regardless. "They all came for me, all the people I thought were my friends. Token, Tweek, Craig, Clyde, Cartman. Hell, even Bebe and Heidi were there. Every time they punched me or kicked me, I kept thinking 'this is the worst day of my life', over and over again, but it wasn't. Not by far. I've had so many of them. And I'm so, so tired." Kyle didn't know why, but he was feeling a little better. He could tell that Kenny was crying because of the way his shoulders were shaking, and Stan's head was bowed the way it always did when he got upset. He let out a deep breath, amazed and a little apalled at himself. He'd told them so much, his body pressed against theirs the whole time. Tentatively, he reached for their hands, and curled his fingers around their own. The touch of someone who cared about him wasn't so bad, he decided.

"I think I'd have killed myself by now, if I was you." Stan admitted after a while. "You're stronger than I'll ever be, Ky." Kyle shook his head.

"I've spent years being terrified of dying. It's not bravery, it's cowardice."

"No, he's right." Kenny put in. "You're so fucking strong to still be here today. You might be hanging on by your fingertips, but you're doing it. You're surviving."

"Surviving isn't a life. It's just existing."

"I know, I know that's how you feel now. But at some point, it will be a life again. You probably don't believe me; I don't blame you. But it will happen." This time, Kyle nodded consciously.

They stayed sitting in a circle until Kyle fell asleep, head resting on Kenny's shoulder. Stan gently twisted away, and supported Kyle as Kenny did the same. They laid him on the bed, and covered him and Odin with a blanket before they retreated. Back in the living room, they both flopped heavily on the couch. Neither said anything for a while, they just sat and thought, as though they were grieving.

"That was rough." Stan nodded his agreement, running a hand through his hair. "What gave you the idea for us to sit like that?"

"We read a case study in psychology class about a kid who'd been abused. Apparently she didn't feel comfortable when people looked at her, and only ever disclosed what she'd been through in the car or something, when no one could see her face. Kyle still won't look at himself in the mirror, so I figured maybe it was the same for him." Kenny gave a low whistle.

"It was genius, dude. Good thinking."

"I'm just glad he felt like he could talk to us. He's been so distant lately, I'm amazed he said anything at all."

"I know. He's so up and down at the moment. Guess it's to be expected, but I have no idea how to deal with it. I'm always worried that I'll do something that'll make him worse."

"Me too, buddy. Me too."

It was another slow night at the restaurant. Kenny stood a little way from the building, absent-mindedly smoking, his mind back at the apartment with Kyle and Stan.

"Ken! Hey, dude!" The voice made him jump. He swivelled on the spot, turning to face some of his old school friends.

"Oh, hey guys." Craig and Tweek were holding hands, both of them smiling, and Clyde bounced up to clap him on the shoulder.

"How you doing, dude? Haven't seen you in forever!" Kenny did his best to relax his features in a neutral expression.

"I'm good! Just been working, y'know. Are you here for food?"

"Yep." Craig replied, letting go of Tweek to shake Kenny's hand. "Token's meeting us here too. We're going to his after for a few drinks 'cause his folks are out of town for the weekend. You wanna come?" Kenny pretended to consider.

"Nah, thanks dude. Tonight's not a good time for me."

"T-that's what Stan said," Tweek told him, twitching slightly. His ticks had definitely gotten better, Kenny noticed. Craig was having a good effect on him.

"Oh, did he?" Craig's eyes had narrowed.

"What's going on with Stan? I spoke to Bebe earlier, and she said Wendy thinks he's having an affair. Is he?" Kenny burst out laughing.

"Who, Stan? Yeah right. He's probably just busy. How's school?" He asked, trying to avert the conversation. Craig was still watching him suspiciously.

"Are you two fucking? 'Cause it kinda sounds like you're fucking." Kenny winked at him.

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies." He laughed. Then, realising that this would probably get back to Wendy, "Course not. I haven't seen him in forever, or Cartman. How's he?"

"Fat and unpleasant." Clyde replied sardonically. "Still torturing Butters, as usual. We invited both of them to Token's. Sure you don't wanna come?"

"It's tempting, but I'm exhausted. Think I'll just crash when I'm done with work." It was only partly a lie- he was tired. The night before had been a difficult one; Kyle had woken every couple of hours with his nightmares. Stan had stayed the night, but neither of them could calm him down as he grew increasingly hysterical, insisting that someone was 'coming for them'. Clyde shrugged, and gave him a little wave as they continued into the restaurant. Kenny would have to tell Stan to call his girlfriend when he got home, or things could become more complicated.

Kyle was jumpy. His sleep had been restless and broken the previous evening, his defences standing strong once again after the lapse which had laid himself bare to Stan and Kenny.

Stan was sitting with him now, pretending to watch TV, but actually watching Kyle out of the corner of his eye. Kenny's land-line had started ringing a few minutes before, and Kyle had practically fallen out of his chair in fright. Stan had answered, but there had been no reply on the other end of the line.

"Must have been a wrong number," Stan told him. "Nothing to worry about." Kyle had worried. He was still worrying now, biting his nails to the quick, tugging at his hair, nibbling his lip. Stan was at a loss knowing what to do; even considering calling Kenny home from work. He'd already bolted the door and made sure all the windows were locked, and watched as Kyle had walked round and rechecked everything after. "Want one of your sleeping pills?" He asked uncertainly.

"No." Kyle responded instantly. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of. He had been certain that the fear was going away, but it was back with a vengeance that was choking him. Odin pushed his wet nose under his palm, aware of his owner's anxiety. Kyle's fingers closed automatically, scratching the puppy behind his ears.

"Okay," Stan sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "I'll make us both a drink, and then I'm going to read to you for a bit. What book are you and Kenny on now?" Kyle didn't answer, but he didn't argue either. Stan's tone hadn't been demanding as such, but it didn't invite debate. He let Stan make him a decaf coffee with plenty of milk for the protein, and made a vague effort to listen to him read The Hobbit.

Kyle still didn't want his pill when Kenny got home.

"You don't have to stay up." He insisted, repeatedly tapping his closed fist on his knee.

"It's okay, I'm too wired to sleep right now anyways." Kenny lied. Kyle didn't believe him, he could see in his friend's face that he was tired, in the sluggish way he held himself. He didn't want to be selfish or a burden, so when both of them took a seat either side of them, he had to force his eyes shut, and tried to fall asleep.

He was running. He slipped and skidded on the pastiche of wet autumn leaves beneath his bare feet, eyes stinging in the cold air, lungs burning as they hastily pumped air in and out. Behind, he could hear the heavy treads of another. And another. And another. He didn't know who was after him; the shapeless figures melted in and out of the dense shadows that whispered and laughed in cold resonance. The darkness roared at him with a terrible furor. They were catching up, he could sense them. He could taste their triumph, smell their arrogance. Kyle forced his legs onwards, rounded a corner, flew straight into the solid body of one of the pursuers as he cut him off from an alleyway that he could have sworn hadn't been there just a moment ago. They closed in on him, fingers reaching for his throat.

This time, Kyle woke with a deafening silence, still trying to claw at the hands that were choking him. Stan was snoring on one side of him, Kenny drooling on the other. He was glad he didn't wake them. They deserved to sleep, even if he couldn't.