South Park © Matt & Trey.

Kenny is probably quite OOC in this chapter but shhh.

Eric and me are at the pub getting drunk. I know it's a dumb idea, and I'll probably end up punching him in his fat, smug face, but I really need a fucking drink.

"Christ, Kinny. You sure are suckin' it back," he notes as I down my fourth rum and coke. "If you keep this up, you'll be hurling within the hour."

"I'm fuckin' stressed out," I slur, waving at Stan to make me another.

"Why?" he asks, taking a long chug of beer. "Actually, if this is romance issues, I don't wanna hear about your gay shit."

I snort. "Then let's not go there."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Tsk… now I'm curious."

"You better not punch me in the face this time," Stan says, setting another drink down in front of me. "It's your fault if you get sick. I told you to stop two drinks ago."

"I won't hit you," I laugh, taking a long sip.

Stan crosses his arms, "So why are you stressed out?"

"I shouldn't say," I mumble.

Stan raises an eyebrow. "What is it about?"

"Well… it's about Kyle."

"Kyle?" Stan frowns.

I nod.

"What did the Jew do?" Eric asks.

"I doubt he did anything, fat tits," Stan says, sticking up for his best pal.

"He didn't," I confirm, taking another sip.

"Then what is it?" Stan's eyebrows draw together.

"Ah… I shouldn't say…"

"Come on, dipshit," Eric says. "You have to say it since you brought it up in the first place. That's the unspoken rule."

"I guess so," I consider.

"So…?"

"He was assaulted," I say nonchalantly. Another sip. "By that guy he was dating."

I watch the look of horror take over Stan's expression. "What do you mean…?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Dude, don't tell lies like that!"

"Ain't a lie," I insist. "He told me himself."

"Oh, my fucking God," Stan gapes, pressing his hand to his forehead and looking like he's about to cry as he paces back and forth. "Why?" he asks. "Why would he tell you that and not me…?"

Another sip. "I don't fuckin' know. It was situational, I guess."

Eric grimaces, not saying anything. I don't know what's going through his head. Maybe he's feeling sympathetic. Maybe he's feeling like he can relate. He did, after all, have a bad experience when South Park was overrun with people from Jersey… Then again, maybe he's not thinking much at all. This is Eric. Who knows for sure.

"Yeah, he's a mess," I say.

Another sip.

"Should we kill him?" Eric asks.

"Who?"

"The guy who did it…"

"That guy is already dead."

"I hope Kahl did it," Eric mumbles.

"Nope. Suicide."

"Well, Kahl's probably relieved."

"Quite the contrary," I say. "Dunno why, but he's all sad about it."

"God…" Stan mumbles tearfully.

"Tears aren't gonna make it better, retard," Eric snorts at Stan's sensitivity.

"I'm allowed to be upset for my best friend!" Stan snaps, reaching for Eric over the bar counter.

I let out a loud sigh as the two of them begin to argue. I down the rest of my drink before prying them apart and giving them both solid punches in the face.

Eric grunts, shooting me an angry look.

"Ow!" Stan cries, grabbing his nose. "You said you weren't going to punch me this time, asshole!"

I shrug. We're all so fucking dysfunctional…

"Hell damn," he hisses. "You're lucky I'm not bleeding!"

"Yeah, yeah," I say dismissively. "I'm going home."

"You know, you shouldn't walk home alone when you're drunk. You'll get mugged again."

Oh, yeah. I had to tell them that fib when they asked about my bruised face a little while back. They never ask questions. "And worst comes to worst, I'll die. Big whoop."

"Come on," Stan says. "I'll take you home after my shift."

"No," I say, flipping him off before leaving the bar.

When I go home, I'm going to drink some water and go to bed.

When I wake up the following morning, I am naked on my way to shower, dressed by the time I reached the kitchen and not even my hangover can distract me from last night's mistake. I wonder if Stan got to Kyle yet. Or maybe Eric.

I wonder how angry Kyle is going to be at me for talking about things that aren't my business… Hell, I really need to stop drinking.

Dad calls me around 5 PM, asking me to pick some shit up. "Be there in a few," I say before hanging up and pocketing my cellphone.

"What's that about?" Craig asks.

"My dad," I tell him.

"Oh," Craig says distastefully, because he knows that a call from my dad really means.

I grab my coat and put on my boots before heading to my parent's place. Ever since I was mugged, I've been thinking a lot about the hard stuff. People are willing to kill for that shit. I don't get why…

When I arrive to my childhood home, I just walk right in. First thing I see is Kevin leaning over the coffee table. He's snorting a line. Awesome. "Kev," I say, "Where's dad?"

"Out in the back with mom," he says, wiping his nose. "They'll be in here in here in a few."

"Okay…" I say, sitting next to him on the sofa.

He sniffs, wiping his nose again.

"What is that shit?" I ask.

"Coke. Want?"

"No…"

"Come on, Kenny, live a little. Jesus Christ, you can't die, so you might as well experience it at least once."

"Where's Karen?" I ask. I haven't seen her in quite a while and I don't want her to see both her siblings snorting lines as a form of brotherly bonding.

"She moved out a little while ago."

"Good…" I mumble as Kevin divides the white powder into lines. "Where is she?"

"Her and the Tucker girl live in an apartment together."

"That's good…" I say, wondering why Craig never told me. Maybe he did, but I was drunk at the time to remember. Probably… but hell, I'm glad she got out of this shit hole.

I take a one dollar bill out of my wallet and here we go.

"Kenneth McCormick!"

Ah, shit… I look up at the sound of my mom's voice. "Fuck," I say, rubbing my nose.

"Kenneth McCormick," she repeats, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing you don't do."

I feel smug. She can't get angry at me for doing things her, dad and Kevin all do. This kind of thing is fuckin' family fun time at the McCormick house. Nonetheless, she looks disappointed yet again. "Honestly… don't fucking do that, Mom," I say angrily.

"Do what?"

"Act like you're so disappointed!" I shout. "You're not allowed to be! Especially not when Kevin does this shit in front of you every damn day. What the fuck makes me so different?"

She says nothing. My dad hands me what I came for and I leave shortly after. As I'm walking down the street, I hear someone say my name in a less than friendly voice –

"Kenny."

"Huh?" I spin around.

Oh, look. It's Kyle. "Oh, hey, Kyle. What are you doing out?"

"I'm going to Stan's, not that it's important." He looks angry. "He called me earlier and told me about last night." I guess we all know why he's so angry, not that he even needed to say it.

"Ah, yes. I told him and Eric what happened to you last night. I was drunk, my apologies, but I do think it's best if all your closest friends know."

"That is no fucking excuse!" he growls. "I… I fucking trusted you!" He takes a step closer, giving me a rough shove.

"Hey, now," I say, stumbling slightly. "Aren't you the one who says things can't be solved with violence."

"Some things can't, but I'm mad at you!" he shouts. "You… You betrayed me!"

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't sound sorry!" he shouts some more, looking like he's about to cry.

Well, what am I supposed to tell him now? That I'm high?

"Eric Cartman! You told Eric fucking Cartman!" Kyle continues, sniffling. "I thought… I thought…" he starts sobbing freely, looking ashamed at the same time.

"Yeah…" I mumble, unsure of where to go from here. "Sorry," I say again, though I know it doesn't mean a thing to him now.

"I hate you," he chokes out, moving past me.

"Kyle."

"What?" he snaps, not turning to face me.

"People can be loud without talking, you know," I say. "That's what it feels to be around you sometimes."

"Well, I'm so fucking sorry," he hisses, voice laced in sarcasm. "I'm sorry that I'm making things so damn difficult for you!"

"I didn't say that," I growl, impatiently. "I'm trying to say that you should go see Nichole. She might be able to help you get some peace and quiet. It can't be pleasant when things are that loud."

"It's not your business, though!" he cries, turning to face me again. He looks a right mess – his face is flushed, his nose is red, his eyes are leaking, his cheeks are wet.

"You made it my business," I try. "I wanna help you, that's why I'm doing this!"

"Well, stop it!"

"I spoke to Nichole," I say. "She said she would be happy to see you. She even offered to do it out of the office, so it would be more relaxing… maybe look at it like two friends catching up or something."

Kyle's expression changes. I can't even begin to explain it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's beyond furious, embarrassed, ashamed… "What?" he snaps. "Why did you do that? I didn't tell you that you could do that!"

"Sorry," I say.

He takes a step towards me, placing his hand on my chest before grabbing a fistful of my coat's material. "No, you're not," he mumbles, before punching me in the face.

"Fuck," I hiss, stumbling backwards. He goes to do it again, but I catch his fist in my hand, tightening my grip around it.

"Let go!" he screams.

I don't say anything.

"Let go!" he screams again.

So I do, grabbing him by the shoulders and angrily shaking him. "You need fucking help," I spit.

"Don't touch me," he warns darkly and suddenly his expression changes. He is frowning. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Your pupils are dilated." Then, as though some sort of realization dawns upon him, he begins to laugh as he says, "You're high, aren't you? You're fucking high out of your mind. What are you on? Crack? Heroin? Meth?" I quickly let go of him without saying anything. He just continues laughing to himself, before another wave of sobs wracks his body. "You promised… You promised me you wouldn't… God dammit," he wipes his cheeks. "I really hate you… You know, I never knew you had it in you, but you do. People always said you were a piece of shit when we were kids. I'd always stand up for you, but now I'm seeing what they saw in you a long time ago." He begins to walk away, and I can't even gather up the strength to say a word. "I take it back," he yells when he's a good distance away.

"What?" I ask weakly, unsure if he even hears it.

"I take it back," he repeats himself, "When I said you were a nice person… when I said I envied you. I don't envy you…"

God, I'm an asshole… Christ, I really do hate myself sometimes.

It's raining later on in the night, adding to the whole miserable atmosphere. It never really rains here. It usually snows, but every so often in the summer the sky will open up and spit on us a bit. I'm sitting here watching some shitty sit-com about some shitty family and I have a bottle of Captain Morgan pressed between my lips. It makes me think of my own family – especially my mum, and how much she must fucking hate her life. She probably hates Dad, too. Maybe I really am a bastard child… I remember me and Kevin would just stand there laughing when my mom started punching my dad. For us, this shit was normal. I guess that's why I'm so fucked up. I mean, shit, I've watched enough Criminal Minds enough to know the drill… but I wonder if I can change that. Or maybe history will just repeat itself.

"Hey," Craig flops down next to me and I only nod at him before taking another chug. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothin'," I answer airily.

He snorts, not believing it for a second. "Liar."

I frown, shutting my eyes. "I did something stupid."

"Yeah, what's new?"

"Shut the fuck up."

He smirks. "So, what'd you do this time?"

"I told a couple people something I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"Like a secret?" Craig asks.

"Like a secret."

"Did you apologize?"

"Yeah… but an apology isn't going to fix it this time."

"Was it a really intense secret or something?"

"It was something really bad."

Craig frowns, nodding.

"I mean… in the long run, it's probably for the best."

"That isn't for you to decide, though. Is it?"

I let out an irritated sigh, pressing the bottle to my lips again before taking yet another long sip.

"I don't understand how you can drink that shit straight…"

I snort. "Years being around Eric Cartman. He doesn't make his drinks any other way. If you're going to drink with him, you're going to drink like this. Go hard or go the fuck home."

Craig wrinkles his nose. "Anyway, you should apologize to Kyle."

"How did you know it was Kyle?"

"Because I think he's the only person you care enough about to be this upset over."

I stand up shakily. Heh… Jesus fuckin' Christ I'm drunk. I can hardly fuckin' stand. Fuck. You know how sometimes you don't even know it until you're on two feet and realize you can't stay on those two feet?

"Hold the fuck up," Craig says, pushing me back down onto the sofa. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To Kyle's."

"Like that? You can hardly stand up."

"I need to!" I insist, rising to my feet again. Besides, the walk isn't that long.

"No, sit the hell back down. When I said go apologize, I didn't mean now."

I push him, "Don't tell me what to do, dick."

"Tsk…" he sighs. "Fine, McCormick, do what you want. Go fuck it up like I know you will."

Minutes later, I arrive at the Broflovski house. I fell a handful of times, but I made it. I ring the doorbell, and for once, Ike doesn't answer. It's Kyle. "What the fuck do you want?" he asks, clearly not happy to see me.

"Can I come in?" I ask.

"No," he says pointedly.

I do anyway. "Where's Ike?" I ask.

"If it's of utmost importance, he's at Filmore's. Now get the hell out of my house," Kyle informs me tartly.

"Kyle, I'm tryin' to say sorry!" I growl.

"You're drunk. It is pretty damn obvious," he states, slamming the door, "and I don't want to hear anything come out of your mouth when you're like this."

"KYLE –" I try again.

"Don't yell at me," he cuts me off as he begins walking upstairs. "Go away. You can let yourself out."

I don't. Instead, I approach him and grab the back of his shirt. Unfortunately, this is where Kyle gets startled and loses his balance. It is completely quiet, and I can see it all happening in slow motion – Kyle falls into me as we both fly backwards, slowly descending towards the hard, wooden floor.

And I can now feel all his bones digging into mine. "Ow," I croak. "Fuck…" Kyle rolls off of me and lies on his side, groaning as he sits up. "Shit," I cough out, unable to bring myself to budge.

"ASSHOLE!" he shrieks once the shock wears off. "That fucking hurt, you stupid, drunk bastard!"

"I'm not…" I mumble, sitting up.

I hate that fucking word… Bastard. I'm not a bastard…

"Yes, you are, and you are sooo like your father," he bitterly spits.

"Don't say that!" I force myself to a standing position, ready to pick a fight.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" he asks, following me to his feet.

"Fuck you, Kyle!" I yell, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. I don't even know how angry I am until I begin to let it out. I don't know why I am so angry, or who I am so angry at. "I came here to apologize, but you won't even fucking listen to me!" Maybe, deep down, I am angry at Kyle for reasons I shouldn't be. And maybe, less deep down, I am angry at myself. Nonetheless, I can't help but blame Kyle. I tower over him, trying to intimidate him but it's not working.

"You don't deserve forgiveness," he says.

With murderous intent, I give him one harsh back-handed smack across the face. His head swings to the side with the force of it, a soft sound of shock leaving his mouth. He doesn't say anything. He puts a hand to his cheek, wearing an expression that shows hurt and disbelief, among other things.

He is hurt. I hurt him. I know that is a face I'll never forget. It is appalling and agonizing, but I can't seem to care.

"Why?" I plead, shrugging off how desperate I sound and somewhat unsure of what it is I'm asking him. He opens his mouth, but then closes it a second later, unsure of what to say. He begins to back away. "Don't you dare leave when I'm trying to fuckin' talk to you!"

"This isn't talking," he says quietly.

I stalk towards him carefully, like some sort of rabid animal on the hunt. I see him back away some more, but I keep moving towards him until I have him in the kitchen. I can't bottle it up any more, everything I am feeling… I need to let it out. "Fuck you, Kyle," I whisper again, in an eerily calm voice before shoving him hard. My words are like a fucking shotgun to his brain. He falls onto the floor and I crouch down, pinning him onto the carpet and sitting on his stomach. "Say you'll listen," I hiss. He sinks into himself and shrinks away from me, scared of where this may lead. What the fuck am I doing?

"O-Okay," he stutters, holding his hands up to catch my fist before I'm able to hit him again.

"Say it without flinching!" I scream, ripping my hand out of his grip and pounding my fist on the floor next to his head. He closes his eyes. He's shaking so fucking badly and I can feel his heart palpitating. "Look at me, Kyle!" I pull him up by the shirt and ignore the fear on his face as I slam him back down onto the hardwood floor. I don't stop; even after he starts to cry.

"Stop it!" he chokes out desperately, letting out these gut-wrenching sobs. "Please, stop! Please!"

But I don't listen. I just keep shaking him, beating him like I am trying to tenderize a fucking piece of meat. "You stop it! Stop crying!" I yell, looking down at him, but that only makes him cry harder. Harsh sobs wrack his entire body as he shakes beneath me. He turns his head to the side, probably in an attempt to mentally get away from me, but I don't let him. I just grab his head and force him to look at me. I pant, mostly out of a tiring kind of anger. I lean down slowly, with my lips nearing his, and whisper, "Don't look away."

I sit back up and watch the tears pouring out of his bloodshot eyes as he stares up at me with a look of clear betrayal. "You shouldn't look away either," he whisper back, grabbing a handful of the material of my shirt.

Why am I doing this? I made him cry. I made Kyle cry. I scared him. I hurt him.

Eventually his violent sobs turn into a crazed kind of laughter, making him look the very picture of insanity. "For a second, I thought you were going to do a lot more than just slap me around a bit," he says, letting go of my shirt and wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

"For a second, so did I," I admit, though the confession gives me knots in my stomach. I had just released the side of myself that I never wanted to show Kyle. It's never been this bad before…

Why do I find it so hard to be gentle with him? Why do I hurt all the people I care about? These are questions I wish I didn't have to ask myself.

He sits up and immediately begins to cough. This is when I leave. I need to cool down. By the time I reach the front door I can hear Kyle's voice in the kitchen.

"Stan?" followed by a poorly suppressed sob. "Stan... please help me..." he pleads wetly. He's probably on the phone and his super best friend will show up here any second ready to kill me. Part of me wants to stay and let him give me what I have coming, but I can't find it in me to stop walking. I'm scared, but I know I have no right to be.

On my way through the front doors, I see Kyle's parents pull into the driveway and I find myself wondering what they would have done to stop me. "Hello, Kenny," Gerald greets me with a polite smile.

"Hi, Mr. Broflovski," I say numbly, trying to even out my voice and not look as wasted as I am. "Hi, Mrs. Broflovski."

"Hi, there, Kenny," she says. "Visiting Kyle?"

"Yeah, but I gotta go now…" I tell him.

"Come back soon," she smiles, "I know how much Kyle enjoys your company."

As I turn down the dark streets, I get hit by a semi. I can't say I don't deserve it.

I should have listened to Craig.