Here's a little tidbit: The end of this chapter is the very bit that inspired me to write this whole fic to begin with, only it's been edited down a bit to go with what's more the flow of the fic (and also to make it way, way less harsh). Take from it what you will, but there are definitely more good times with this to come up ahead.

I've been really obsessed with The Simpsons as of late, too. No, my House obsession has not subsided; I just really love The Simpsons right now, eheh. I'm a total Bart fangirl, man. He's awesome. This show is awesome. I'm nice and cozy in my three main fandoms now, and they all rock, to put it simple. But South Park still does rock the most, yes.

It seems a few milestones were reached with this chapter: Double digits in chapter numbers, I reached the elusive 50 000 word length here, and this chapter, in my Word Document at least, starts on page 100.

It also seems that due to my (totally appropriate) absence, I've lost quite a few of my reviewers. Hey, whatever. I can't say that I'm not a bit disappointed but if you've all given up on me that's fine, too. It just takes me longer to update. I am VERY insecure on my writing and when I get reviews, they inspire me more. It's nice, I guess. But fine, if you don't want to review, whatever, go for not doing that.

Summer is pretty much here. I want to get back into writing but I am going to have some business over the summer; however, I'll try to write some more. I have a stronger idea of where I'm going now, anyway.

So yeah… Go ahead and read this. Reviews are strongly appreciated. You know, if you can be bothered to.

Ever notice how bells are often our saviours? A simple ringing piece of human technology operated by electricity relieves awkward moments, not only with a loud, irritating sound, but with an excuse to leave the scene in a hurry. It's incredibly convenient in a high school setting, especially, due to all of the social troubles that tend to go on here. Sure, elementary has its fair share of those, too, but the ones here are more complex. And annoying. Extremely juvenile, too, sad to say.

Then again, so is complaining about it, and with that, I force my thoughts to stop. My mind protests but my body has already taken over with beautiful mechanical movements and, with that, I become yet another drone in the world.

English is first, and that's just not cool here. Just as my hand clasps around the edge of my binder sitting in my locker, my mind jumps back into the fray, and I cringe. English means I'll have to see Red straight up again. And Cartman. In the same room… except Cartman's not here… it's only prolonging the inevitable. But as far as I'm concerned right now, Red's better (I like girls, and she's not a fatty), but Cartman's the one who can risk the most emotional damage. But, well, hey, if he doesn't want this to happen, and if he wants to keep it all a lie, then he shouldn't be that hurt.

Honestly, I wonder how much help that kid really needs. He acts sane enough but when you combine his family genetics as well as his home setting, you don't know.

And I guess that, when you look at mine, I have absolutely no reason to suddenly snap like this. At times I like it. It makes me feel special, different… powerful. And at times I don't. It makes me feel abnormal, unaccepted… ostracized. And I'm the only one who's doing this to myself.

But… I don't want to face Red. If what she said happened is true, then she's going to be convinced that we're an item. And I really don't think we are. I'm just not all that interested.

When I've got my mind about me, I'm philosophical. I'm calculating, but I also feel. I take things into consideration, think of the consequences of every action I make, and, in general, I don't do anything completely stupid. But it seems that every time my mind slips for one moment, just one moment, I've lost everything. Control, memory, sensibility. I act on impulse. I don't like acting on impulse. It leads to disgusting messes.

And at the same time, I'm terrifying myself. My mind is the only thing that keeps my sanity about me, yet it's the thing that's driving me insane to begin with, and I… I can't continue on with this.

Maybe everyone was right. The doctors, my brother, Cartman… I did do this all to myself, didn't I? Except I found the bodies. I saw them just before my eyes started failing me again. I touched them. They were definitely there. Ike didn't see them, but there's a chance I was blocking his view of them, or the snow had covered them up again.

So none of this makes any sense.

So much for stopping thinking. I shake my head and get my grip back onto the binder, pulling it out and tucking it under my arm before closing my locker and deftly spinning the lock around to throw its place off of the third number. It conveniently lands on the first number of the combination. Huh. That's nice.

That saviour of man-made technology rings, and the halls around me are suddenly devoid of human presence, me excluded (if I even want to call myself human anymore. My actions sure aren't dictating it). And that's when a new thought strikes me, and I let the binder slip from my grip. Surprisingly, I manage to keep my legs in check: a first. I carefully slide my ever-so-present hat off of my head, and feel a bit of my hair pop up at its restraint departures. I ignore my seething loathing for it for a moment and turn the green article over on its side.

Those two blood streaks are still there: one is mine, and one is Henrietta's. Henrietta is dead, so she doesn't matter. But I think to myself, How did I feel when my finger got impaled? I stare at its bandaging. Nobody has made any remark about it. I draw up the sleeve of my hoodie and stare at my other crude bandaging job of my sliced arm.

How did I feel when these happened to me?

I felt scared, shocked, and relieved all at the same time. The first two are understandable. But why the FUCK would I feel RELIEVED. THAT'S NOT RIGHT.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall and quickly yank the sleeve back down and force my hat back on my head. Curls are sticking out, but that's okay. As long as nobody questions anything, or—

I have class. That's right. It must be somebody coming to retrieve me. How long have I been standing out here? I can just hear it in my head. "Bertha, go out and retrieve your partner, please." The words of "Bertha" and "partner" in the same sentence that way just makes me shudder.

"What's wrong? You cold?" another voice interrupts my musings, and a pair of small arms wrap around me. I bend down and place my hands on my knees in exasperation, and blow a sigh. The person up above giggles at the height change, but maintains her grip. "C'mon, we've got work to do. Although if you wanna blow it off for a few more minutes out here…"

"I'd rather not," I say coolly, and pick up my binder from the ground. Thank god for zippers. One of the last things I really need right now is my stuff sprawling out everywhere and having to collect it all back up together. That would take a while. I mean, I'm organized and all, but organization doesn't do a lot of good when everything is everywhere.

Red bends down with me. "Aw, c'mon, why not? It'll be fun, just like on Saturday!"

Saturday was not fun, I think. "Saturday was not fun," I say.

She looks up at me in surprise. "It… it wasn't?"

"Nope."

"… What? Oh, wait, I think I understand," she says. "I interrupted something, didn't I? And you're just speaking out of haste… Yeah, okay. That's fine. I understand."

She's got it all wrong. "No—" I attempt to start, but she refuses to let me get anywhere.

"No, no, it's okay, I understand," she smiles at me, gives me a light kiss on the lips, and stands back up. "Come on, we've got class."

I sigh, shake my head, and wonder how this ended up happening. "This" meaning, of course, a relationship with this girl. Based on what she told Annie, it sounds like she was pretty desperate for me. Why me?

English passed by without a hitch; however, some of the looks of longing I got from the girls and shots of jealousy I noticed being directed at Red were extremely evident, and unnerving. I attempted to ignore them, but failed, as that is a rather hard thing to do when people are staring at you so persistently. At least Red and I made some progress on our novella. And the boys, Stan excluded, were peacefully oblivious. My best friend and I caught eyes at one point. Both were gazing into the other's to attempt to learn of their secrets. I don't like hiding things from him and I'm sure he doesn't like hiding things from me, however, my secrets have already nearly snapped my sanity, and the other event is life-threatening for several, so… I'm not telling.

But other than that? Yeah. Things went nicely. And math is nearly over, so whenever that saviour sends its tones throughout the school yet again—

There it goes.

—Lunch will be here.

I slowly gather up my materials, not reflecting on lessons and problems involving factoring, but rather, where I'm standing on issues of my sexuality, maturity, and sanity. Anything involving the suffix of –ity. I blame Cartman for the first issue, that one really is his fault. Red's to blame for the second, and I'm to blame for the third. Kinda sucks that the third is the most important one. I step outside of the room and immediately get yanked away and in the opposite direction of the lunch room.

"Butters?" I exclaim in surprise. "You're not normally this assertive—"

"Y-yeah, well… This is about you. And you're the only person I feel comfortable talking about these kinds of things to. Okay?" he explains, a pleading look in his eyes. I sigh and allow him to lead me off elsewhere, ignoring the hunger pains in my stomach.

Once we're off and in an area he seems to be happy with, I ask, "Okay, what's up, Butters?" My stomach can go stuff itself. In… the other way. Not the way it wants to. Yeah.

"Well, uh… You know Annie… And how both you and Heidi insisted that she definitely does have a crush on me?"

"Yeah?"

"Er…" he knocks his knuckles together, "Well, I was just thinking of how… umm… she came up to me earlier… And told me about some stuff that Red said—"

"Yeah, and whatever Red told her that she told you, I honestly don't remember any of it," I interject. He looks down at the ground and blushes.

"Oh, well… Um… Th-then I guess that… Well, I wanted to ask you something anyway. How do you know?"

I stare at him blankly. "Know what?"

"When one person is the right one for you."

That was definitely the wrong thing to ask me, because I'm not even completely sure of it myself. I mean, the last person I lusted after, I ended up stabbing in the heart, and I haven't really "loved" anyone. Red came along and somehow I forgot how to think and I got forced into doing something that I truly did not accept nor appreciate nor want. And then, with Cartman… I don't even know. It's a possibility, but honestly, I have no idea.

"I don't know."

"… Why not? I mean, I'd think you'd at least have it figured out with Red, or something."

"Well, I haven't!" I snap. "I don't have anything figured out, so if you could stray away from this kind of topic, I'd really appreciate it," I hiss. I don't think that I truly mean to snap at him, but with people putting these kinds of pressures on me constantly, how can I not? By now I must be the talk of the school or something. At least the talk of the freshmen. God damn you, Red.

Butters stares at the ground. "O-oh," he mutters softly. "Well, I think I have an idea anyway… When your heart just stops beating with one look at the person, and you can see yourself with them when you're older, you can see your death and your grave lying next to theirs, and it just all hits you at once and you feel totally helpless about the whole thing, but a desperate wanting, and it's all a big daze. I think that's what it's like. And I am feeling that for Annie."

"Good for you," I seethe, fists clenched at my sides.

"But… there's one more pr-problem."

"Goodie."

My snarkiness is making him hesitate, I can easily tell, but with this kid, it doesn't take much to make him pause midway in whatever he's saying. However, I think that he already feels that since he's started, he's obligated to continue.

"It's Heidi. She… she doesn't like any of the other girls. And I think she really dislikes Annie in particular, although I have no idea why. But it's l-like, see, we're each other's only real friends, and it's been that way until we found you outside the cafeteria last week, I th-think, but, um, well… I don't want to lose her over something like a relationship… Because friendships tend to last longer than romance…"

Wait… I knew they were close friends, but each other's only? "Hey, Butters," I interrupt again, "Are you saying Heidi doesn't have any girl friends? And you… have absolutely no guy friends?"

"Y-yeah… I think Heidi said all of the girls ditched her because she was too 'bitchy' and 'pessimistic' for them. And me, w-well, I'm just r-really shy, aren't I, Kyle? None of you guys will stand to be around me b-because I'm so wimpy."

"Then dude, loosen up! Grow a spine! Learn some stuff! Come on, Butters, if you keep having this loser mentality, keep leaving yourself so vulnerable and open, then, well, of course people are going to walk all over you. Come on. Heidi's gotta be able to respect the fact that you're still allowed to like other girls, and if she doesn't, then she isn't your true friend."

He breathes in and runs a sleeve across his eyes. "But then I've got nobody else!"

"Dude, you've got me. And I'll help get you back into a circle with the guys. Stan'll like ya. Kenny should have no problems—" At the mention of my blond friend's name, this blond's eyes fill with worry. "—I don't care about whatever rumours you have heard, Kenny is not some kind of manwhore. And it's not like you've got a pair of tits on you to distract him. He's okay." All it takes are these words to reassure Butters.

"What about Eric?" he questions.

I sneer at the name. "Don't even talk to me about that kid," I sputter out in disgust. "I don't even want to think about him." Truth is, although I'd rather not share it with Butters, that if the opportunity presented itself, I'd go back, find and retrieve that knife that killed Henrietta, and stab that fucking fatass right in his goddamn chubby face with it. I'd carve out his eyeballs, stab at them so that they fucking explode, slice his nose clean off and stab him right in the face where it used to be, let him scream as I laugh and watch all of the blood rush out. I'd continuously nick at the top of his head, his hair would be gone, and bits of scalp would be peeled off. I'd delicately go after his lips, carve them off ever-so-gracefully, and then just slash out the inside of his mouth and cut his tongue out and then force-feed it to him. I'd go on from there, I'd cut his ears off bit by bit, taking off small sections from top to bottom in layers. And even then, on a mangled, bloodied corpse, I'd go further… I could slice his arms off, bit by bit, starting at the finger tips until they connect to the torso, and do the same thing with the legs… Just cut the whole thing up until it's an unrecognizable mess… Cut off all that excess fat and do a little dissection on him, see if he truly did have a heart, and if so, stab the hell out of it. I'd even saw through all of the bones if it came to that, which it probably would. Take a peak at all his organs, remove them, stuff it down whatever bits of body parts that are left, through eye sockets, through the huge hole in the throat I'd make. With all of the excess space that would be in his torso, I could fill it up with the small bits and pieces that were his limbs. And I'd laugh the whole time. Just laugh and stare at my bloodstained everything and just laugh. I'd get straight through the skull, remove his waste of a brain, cut it in half and dig holes right through it and carve it out. I'd mangle that fucking fat body so bad, nobody would even be able to tell what it once was, if it was ever alive to begin with… I'd fucking destroy it, fucking murder him. And I would just laugh.

Hell, the very thoughts are making me giddy. A broad grin comes across my face, and it must be creeping Butters out, because he backs away and nervously asks, "K-Kyle?"

"Hnn?" I respond, half-dazed. "Yeah? What?"

"A-are you okay?"

"Mmm—oh, yeah, I'm perfectly fine, Butters. Just peachy. Uh… Why don't you try going to talk to Stan, or Kenny, or something?"

He looks so grateful that I kind of "dismissed" him. "O-okay, thanks, Kyle… For… Well… helping me through this… and, um… Yeah, thank you. I think I know what to do now." And with that, he gets up and runs off. I must have a murderous look in my eyes in addition to a creepy grin, too.

It's funny, because I think that I know what to do now, too. If I end up getting into a relationship with Cartman, it'd definitely be a huge love-hate one. And I'd totally love to just mangle his body. It would make things interesting. Maybe, if the two of us are fucked up enough, possibly kinky. I think I qualify for being on that level of oddity. But hey, when you hate a person, you don't care what happens to them, as long as it's completely brutal.

Or maybe that's just me.

I hope Cartman comes to school tomorrow. I'll find something pretty and sharp later on. I just wanna see what happens.

It's funny, because these thoughts definitely are not scaring me right now. They feel like a release of pure pent up anger over the past decade. If I could let them out in one big event like that, well, that would just kick ass, plain and simple, and I'd be a happy, happy kid.

I don't think I'm going to bother with lunch today. That mental picture filled me up with enough glee that food isn't even an issue anymore. If it was anyone else, I'd be scared. I threatened to kill Ike, but never in a manner like that. No, that's reserved for extreme dicks.

If I really did go through with it, I'd be so pleased with myself. I know it'll never happen, but I can dream and envision, can I not? I head back over to my locker area, thoroughly cheered up and humming a nice little gleeful tune to myself as I play the scene over and over in my mind. Thankfully my thoughts won't get out, and I know that Butters would not make light conversation about my expression, if it and the silence was that bad that it made him want to get away so desperately. (Then again, it doesn't really take much with him.) Hell, you wouldn't be able to drag something like this out of him.

I'll willingly share to anyone who asks, though. Hey kiddies, Kyle isn't just this smart Jewish guy you've known all your lives! Guess what he thinks about when you really piss him off for so long!

I'm happy. I sure could use a sleep, though. Staying up all night running about doing various activities and going to bed sometime when the sun is rising really does seem to put me in a better mood. I know I don't mean everything I think of, but I still did think of it.

People get their entertainment in different ways from different things.

I was right. A nice sleep did get me in a better, calmer state of mind. It'd always been late night events that got me in that mood, though. The fact that I was able to relieve mental stress so well in the afternoon was a nice change, albeit the weather definitely did not match up to my envisions.

Cartman did come back to school on Tuesday, but we avoided conversation. On Wednesday, we made eye contact, and on Thursday, we sat at the same table for lunch, however, Stan and Kenny were there as well, and we never addressed any specific comments to each other.

Fridays are nice, though, because after this day is over I've got a kickass weekend to look forward to – and then a winter break! We don't really have any specific plans, though. We'll probably just hang out and go do random shit and piss people off in general. And Cartman and I should be able to talk, albeit it'll most likely be incredibly sarcastic, but hey, you go with what you've got to go with. It's better than the sheer murderous thoughts I had on Monday, entertaining as they were.

I wonder how he feels about me. If the feelings were mutual, that would make one kickass of a fucked up relationship. I should talk to him about this someday.

I'll see later on. I've still got half of the day left before we're all free for the next two weeks. For those few remaining hours, I let my mind be dominated by school work, and think of nothing else. Words fly onto my papers and scientific and historic thoughts flow into my mind. I read the required material and finish off any chances that homework would have come up to ruin and cut off my break. God knows I could sure use one.

Everyone else around me is goofing off and pissing around and just making a lot of noise and screaming and shouting, but I'm lost and locked off in my own little world – I don't even recognize the fact that the bell had already rang until Bebe pokes her head into the classroom. "Oh," I hear her softly say, and I look up from what I was reading, "there you are."

"Bebe?" I question, and she grins.

"Kyle, school's been out for nearly half an hour by now. Don't you wanna leave?"

I get up and start packing my stuff. "Uh, yeah, I do," I stutter out awkwardly, my face flushed with embarrassment. "What are you still doing here, then?"

"I was looking for you," she casually replies, jumping up and sitting on a desk, and tucking a loose strand of frizzed hair behind her ear. "I was wondering if you had heard anything from Stan."

"… About…?"

"His relationship. With Wendy," she explained, taking that same strand and twirling it around her finger. "Y'see, Wendy's shared a bit of information with me, although not enough for me to be able to really understand what's going on. She said that her relationship with Stan might be ending, but didn't say why… or if it would…"

I glance up momentarily, only semi-interested. "Really? They've seemed fine to me."

"Kyle, where have you been this past week?" I'd like to know myself. It just flew right by. "They've been having so many awkward moments together! They've tried at least two more dates, and Wendy told me that they just weren't working out, and she's really worried, and hopes that it's all just going to be a phase, but she really isn't sure anymore."

"I see."

"Kyle! This is serious!" she yells at me. All I could do was roll my eyes in response.

"Bebe, come on. We're fourteen-fifteen years old. No dating issue is serious at this age, unless they're going all the way." Apparently I'm one to talk. "Besides, it's not even your relationship."

Bebe sighs, frustrated. "Kyle, you have not seen Wendy when she's broken up—"

"What are you talking about? She was the one who broke up with Stan the first time!"

"Kyle, we were nine years old!"

"Yeah, and he was absolutely crushed!"

"Well it's not like things lasted with her for Token, either! And besides, last year, it was Craig who broke up with her… That was her first relationship since fourth grade! She was a complete mess!"

I sigh. "Well, that's Wendy, and not you."

"You don't have to deal with her afterwards."

"Bebe, she's your best fucking friend. 'Deal with?' You don't talk about it like that!" This is kind of starting to piss me off. No wonder people consider Stan and I so close, even if we are only best friends. We treat each other way better than the other apparent "best friends," it seems. This is just disgraceful and pathetic. "And you didn't have to deal with Stan when Wendy broke up with him."

"Why the HELL do you keep bringing that up, Kyle? That was five fucking years ago! We were just kids!"

"Oh, so it doesn't matter when you're 'just kids?'"

"No!"

"Then what's the point of having a goddamn childhood at all?" I demand from her. "Look, fine, Stan and Wendy might break up. Big deal. You go comfort Wendy and I'll take care of Stan and all will be well and right with the world again. Don't stress out over it."

The frizzy blonde-haired girl sighs once again and gets up from the desk. "I was just wondering if you had any idea why they would be breaking up," she attempts one last time.

"Not a clue," I half-heartedly respond as I finish packing up my stuff and head out to my locker to go drop stuff off. Bebe tags along with me. "What? I said I don't know anything!"

"I know," she says, "But still… Well… Yeah, okay. Thanks, Kyle." She stares at me as I continue walking. "Man, if what Red says about you is true, I can't believe I let you go."

I deftly open up my locker. "But we were just kids in third grade," I mimic in a higher-pitched voice, "It didn't matter back then."

"I'm still with Clyde, aren't I?"

"You're a hypocrite."

"That may be, but…" I shut my locker and start heading out the door, "you've still got a pretty sweet ass," she finishes, hanging back. I snort, roll my eyes, and leave for my vacation.

Winter break came and went. Many good times were, indeed, had. My three friends and I went out together most days of the break, generally causing trouble and pissing the citizens of South Park off by throwing rocks at cars, as well as at former teachers', principals', and counsellors' houses. Among that there were several holes to push people into, and several arguments to be had between Cartman and I for the entertainment and amusement of Stan and Kenny.

I also got a chance to spend some alone time with both Kenny and Stan, separately. Kenny and I lit crap on fire and blew shit up out by Stark's Pond. I've never really opened up to this apparent pyromaniac side of me, but Kenny was able to convince me into it, and I'm pretty glad that he did because it's a lot of fun. We could really have used some hugeass fireworks then and there.

Stan and I just slept over a few times and sat around in the mornings playing video games and watching cartoons while eating sugary cereals. Cartman and I avoided each other except when we were out together as a group, but that's a normal enough occurrence, so no real worries stem from it.

I spent Christmas Eve's morning with Stan, but after going back home, didn't interact with any of them until crazy hyped up Boxing Day sales of the 26th. Those were fun; however, Stan's cheerfulness seemed really, really forced at points. I thought back to what Bebe said about him and Wendy falling out, and wondered if it happened. I tried to not let myself get completely bothered by it, though, as none of it was really my business.

The days were lazy and perfectly normal until the last day of winter break. The night before the four of us spent the night out in Cartman's backyard, being fed whatever food his mom could come up with. It was awesome: no wonder he's so goddamn fat. We lied out on our backs in the snow and just gazed up at the stars and relished in that squeaky clean New Years feel. That was how we spent the turn of it. Idle chatter, junk spread out around us, and staring up at the stars and all-nightering.

I decided that yes, while Cartman does, indeed, suck, if I can keep my head about him, I'm capable of getting along with him. I've caught him staring at me a few times, but every time he's noticed me glance his way, he's freaked out and turned away immediately to stare at something else that seemed plausible. Once again, all was relatively well with the world.

But on the last day, Cartman and Kenny ran off to do their own thing, while Stan and I stuck together and went over to his house. The laziness ended with the impending doom of school within less than twenty-four hours now hanging above us in a massive amount of suck.

"So what're we gonna do today?" I ask him, turning over to stare at him. Neither of us had bothered to move from our sleeping bags, which we had plopped straight back down as soon as we had arrived.

"'unno," he grunts back, burying his face back into his pillow. "Urghh… We could… I don't know. Eat stuff?"

I sit up. "Sounds fun enough… Giddup."

"Laaaateeer," he whines.

"But I'm hungryyyy," I moan back in response.

"Fiiiine," he groans, rolling over and sitting up, using what seems like quite a bit of effort. The two of us stagger into his kitchen, and he fishes for decent cereal while I search for bowls. They're all in the sink, except for one huge one in a cupboard.

Stan turns back around to the counter with boxes of random cereal in his hands and a carton of milk hanging off by his pinkie finger. I nod over at the sink. "Unless you feel like washing those, we're eating out of one," I inform him. He merely shrugs in response and complies by pouring a lot of cereal in it.

We move out to his living room and I place the giant bowl down onto the coffee table. As we sit there, eating together out of the same bowl in synch, with joined up chewing and everything, he breaks it for one moment to click the power button on his remote to give us something to watch. Terrance and Phillip pops up immediately, so we stick with that.

"I say, Terrance, I'm so happy that you aren't horribly obese anymore!" Phillip cries out.

"So am I, Phillip, so am I!" Terrance replies in full Canadian enthusiasm.

"Yes, you kept gorging out on burritos and ice cream. Your farts were massive yet sweet-smelling!" exclaims Phillip before letting a small one rip himself. The two stared at each other for a moment before bursting out into hysterical giggles. Stan and I felt only completely obliged to join them. We sat there, rather entranced for the remainder of the episode, only broken by laughter when some wisecrack or fart sound was made.

I was satisfied. He was satisfied. We didn't have to say anything to each other. Life was perfect at this moment. Just the company of your best friend, the obnoxious blaring of your favourite childhood TV show, and a huge bowl of sugared up grain doused in milk in front of you is all anyone needs to have a good time.

That is, until the bowl is empty and the TV show is over – then we were at a loss for activities.

"Wanna go back to sleep?" I ask.

"Nah, I'm awake now – let's get out something bloody and brutal… or something totally gay, boring, and stupid." He gets up and went over to where a little games closet sat in an alcove, and remerges, calling for me to come help him pick. Muttering to myself about having to stand up, I wander over.

"… Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos."

"Why?"

"Because we're idiots."

"True that."

We haul the game out together and waste hours on end with senseless chatter and marble-gobbling up plastic hippos. What a way to enter the new year and finish off our two-week break: with such extreme maturity.

But it doesn't really matter, because we're best friends, and nothing will ever change that. If there's any guy in the world I want to waste my life away with, it's Stan.

"Hey, Kyle," he randomly pipes up sometime after we got bored of the game and left it sitting on the floor in favour of putting it back away. We decided to go up to his room and piss around with stuff in there about half an hour ago. "You remember, waaay back on the last Monday of school, you said you'd talk to me about what happened? Y'know, before we heard what Red was talking about? 'cause that was all well and good, but doesn't really explain the red crap on your hat… and now that I think about it, it doesn't really explain those bandaged up areas…"

I glance up at him from my spot of lying backwards on the floor. "Huh? What prompted bringing this up?"

He props his head up by digging his elbows into the mattress of his bed and resting his chin on his hands. "Oh, well, uh, I just really figured out what it was bugging me…"

"Really? What?" I ask.

"I asked you first. You go first."

I look down at the floor. "I'm, uh, really not sure… It's been really crazy for me, but it's been relatively nice and normal the past three weeks… For the most part, I mean… But basically, it's like, I'm losing it. My mind, my sanity, whatever, it keeps on disappearing and reappearing and it isn't doing me ANY good whatsoever. All it's doing is making things a really big, confusing mess, to the point where I'm not sure of what my actions should be, if I'm doing the right thing, if I'm doing what I consider to be the right thing… Dude, my morals keep on changing and conflicting and it's driving me absolutely crazy…"

"When did it all start?" he asks, looking down at me, concern evident in his eyes.

"About a month ago, when I got—umm—hospitalized… yeah…" Oh, god, I almost let that slip there.

Stan snickers a bit. "Hah, that's about the time my issue started up, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what is it?"

He pauses. "No, dude, you go on and finish… Then we'll come to me. What happened to get you so badly hurt? You were almost killed out there!"

"… I'm not yet comfortable with saying that. Stan, I'll tell you this much: I was warned that if I reveal the details of that night at any point and at any time, I'll be found and killed, and my loved ones will be brutally tortured to the point where they'll just lose it and commit suicide… And I don't want anything completely horrible happening to you."

"… Oh," he simply says, staring in wonderment at his wall.

I cough, and his attention is back on me and my face. "Yeah, so… I do have a good excuse for not explaining myself, and I'm not just trying to keep things completely hidden."

"Well, what about afterwards?" he inquires.

"You know, I've found it odd that nobody ever mentioned Henrietta's absence from school during that last week."

Stan snorts and takes off his hat to start fiddling around with the poof ball on it. "Oh, come on, Kyle. Everyone knew she was extremely melodramatic and suicidal. Not many people noticed her to begin with. Why do you know? You're one of the last people who would ever have had any interaction with her whatsoever."

Well, I guess it's time for the kicker. "… I killed her."

Stan simply gawks and drops his hat, letting it fall the short distance to the floor. "Wh-what?" he croaks out, staring at me in complete disbelief.

"Yeah, you remember that whole morals thing I was just whining about? … Yeah."

He's still staring at me. I don't like this silence, so I finally admit something out loud for once: "It wasn't my idea, though! She-she forced a knife into my hands. It explains why my finger is all bandaged up, she threw it at me earlier, and, and it went right through, pretty much…" I pause, hesitant, to see his reaction so far. The concern on his face is even bigger than before. It's amazing. "So, um… Basically, after she thrust the knife into my hands at one of the last points… Well you should know I did have a crush on her, but now I'm pretty certain she never returned my feelings, and was just using me. She thrust the knife into my hands and leaned in to kiss me, and, uh… She pierced herself. Right with that. But it's started off a bad chain of events so far, that has been going completely on and off, and I just don't know what to do anymore… I've fantasized about murdering people brutally, cutting them up; I even did that to Henrietta's corpse a bit… And yet the very next day I'll be appalled at my previous thoughts… Dude, you have no idea how good it feels to finally get this off my chest and out in the open…"

Stan just shakes his head as if getting out of a trance. "… Wow," is all he says after a while. "Just… just… wow, dude. You've been… I mean… Do you need help? Do you need to see a shrink?"

"I'd rather not. Tell me what's been up with you, now."

He sighs. "Well, uh… You remember, a month ago, after you were first landed in that hospital, and I had to hide under your bed for a bit?" I nod. "Yeah, of course you do. Well that was about when I realized something about our bond. It's been crazy strong. Over a decade of friendship and throughout all of the times we've had less fights than I can count on both of my hands. I mean, it's pretty impressive, man.

"And you remember that panic attack you had during your first week back?" I nod once again. "And I managed to calm you down. Dude, that really set it off for me. I had to twist and turn with my thoughts and work things out, I did that the whole weekend. It was… it was painful, it was hard. You're right, opening up does feel good."

I nod and watch him with interest. His facial expressions, his body language, everything. He looks so tense. "Yeah – go on," is all I can be bothered to say, though. I'm still hanging off of his every word though.

He nods hesitantly. "Yeah… I broke up with Wendy a few days ago."

"Bebe told me she was expecting something like that to happen after the last day."

"She did?" he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Did she say she knew why?"

"No. She was asking me if I did."

"Oh. Well, yeah. You know what I did on Christmas day? I spent the whole day with Wendy. Just as one final time, because I don't think we're going to get back together again. Who knows, I might be wrong about this whole thing. It'd sure make things easier if I was, but I've dealt with this for a month, and, well… I'm close enough to being certain, I guess. It's… it's a bit odd, I feel, sure, after so many years of complete normalcy, or, well, at least as normal as it can possibly be here." He gave a light laugh at that last comment, and I guess I did join him there. "Yeah…"

I look up at him. "So, dude, are you going to tell me what's up or not?"

"I will…" he looks back down. "I'm just not sure. I've already told you pretty much the background, I guess. I'm just… I don't know how to say this."

"Dude," I offer, "if you tell me, I'll tell you what happened to me that one night. That night that started the whole psychotic thing with me. I'm sure nothing will happen, I mean, nobody else is around here… Yeah… How could he possibly know?" I feel so goddamn paranoid. I can't believe I just made that promise. Whatever I might have said, I definitely do not believe it. I flop down completely on the floor in a pathetic attempt to hide myself.

Stan stares at me questioningly for a bit, before asking, "Who's he?"

"I don't know exactly, but, uh… Dude, just tell me what's up, will you?"

"This is so much more different now that I'm aware of what's been going on with you, Kyle. I mean, I guess it would be pretty close to an ultimate test with you, or some other gay sounding thing…" He trails off once again, and his eyes shut, and he takes in a deep breath. "I can't do this."

I sit up so that we're on an eye-to-eye level. "Come on, Stan. I'm not going to ditch you. I may have gone mentally insane or something, but not once have I thought negatively about you, have wanted to kill you, and I've thought that way about a lot of people recently."

He gives a weak little laugh. "That's nice to know, I guess. Look, can I just get a few minutes to myself?"

"Sure," I respond, and he gratefully shuts his eyes and lowers his head. I fear that he may have gone to sleep, but if he's this hesitant of telling me, then I don't want to pressure him. I can't lose Stan. He's the one person that it seems was able to keep me sane, the one person I haven't been irritated with in a long while, the one person I feel I can explain anything to. I never mentioned Henrietta's death out loud before. Sure, like he said, nobody would really care about her, but it's the fact that I did commit murder.

It must have been big enough news for him learning that his very own freaking best friend has snapped and gone nuts. On and off, too, so I never really know what's going to happen when. It's horrible. And I don't know if I'll ever snap at Stan. I can't see myself ever doing it, ever harming him, or anything like that. I just can't. I couldn't afford to, nor do I ever, ever want to do such a thing. He's my best friend, nothing more, nothing less. We're completely perfect for each other here.

I know that I promised him that I would tell him of how my initial injury occurred, but I don't think I could even do that. I don't care how paranoid I'm being, it's still extremely life-threatening. Screw everyone else. If I get hurt, then, well, that's completely god awful, but if Stan gets hurt because of me, I don't think I'd be able to live with that.

… I think I've just found something. Stan is the only person I care about more than myself.

Shows what a truly amazing friendship can do… I guess soul mates do exist, although not necessarily in the prospect of lovers. Friendship is much, much stronger than love, I'd like to believe. You have friends before you ever get to the stage of wanting to have a lover. And love has been made into such a commitment, with completely gay and pointless ceremonies used to show the bondage between these two people or whatever… It's just stupid and overrated, and way too hyped up. I'd much rather kick back with my best friend any day than with, oh, say, Red, providing I acted around her all of the time like I did that one afternoon. Friends have less arguments, less pointless fights, and just more good times in general. The choice is obvious to anyone with any intelligence at all, and yet most people like to lean towards the other side. It makes no sense to me.

"I… I think that I'm ready," Stan looks straight at me. "I just hope that you don't hate me."

I shake my head at him. "Dude, from what I was just thinking… I don't think it'd ever be possible for me to hate you." This gets a bit more of a confident smile out of him.

"Well, then," he says. "That's awesome. So, Kyle…"

"Yes?"

"I just sealed the deal, I think. It seems obvious to me now. Um, Kyle…"

"Stan, just tell me what it is already."

"… Kyle, I… I love you. And not in a best friends way. I mean actual, true love."

I stare at him, my eyes wide, my mouth hanging open. That's all I can do. I can't think of a reply, nothing. This…

I go with the first reaction my brain supplies me with. I don't want to do this, but nothing else is coming to me, and it's over in a split second before I had a chance to stop myself.

My best friend just floundered about, unsure of if he should even have said this, and then he opens up with me… And all I can give to him in return is a punch right back in his face.