(Kenny)
(Maybe I should cry for help
Maybe I should kill myself)
I didn't go to school for the entire rest of the week.
My parents didn't notice, of course. Not surprising…considering the only time they weren't drowning themselves in liquor was when they were snorting coke off the coffee table. Kyle came over twice—both times pounding on my bedroom door and demanding to see me. The first time I'd spoken with him briefly, but once he realized I had whiskey on my breath he got this look on his face…like I'd punched him in the gut. After that, when he came to see me a second time, I didn't even go to the door. I couldn't stand to see that look on his face, like it physically hurt him to see me like this. Even more painful was the fact that nobody but Kyle seemed to even notice that I wasn't at school all week…that alone said a lot. Whatever, I didn't give a fuck about anyone at school anyway. They didn't give a shit about me, I didn't give a shit about them…worked out both ways, didn't it? The second time Kyle came, I think he knocked for a full fifteen minutes before finally giving up. It had taken a lot of willpower not to throw open the door and fall to my knees in front of Kyle, pouring my soul out to him… He had that effect on people, made them want to confess their sins and beg for forgiveness. In the end though, like always, I'd turned out to be weak on the inside: I let him leave without saying a word.
All day Friday my stomach had churned as I tried to decide if I wanted to go to the party or not.
On one hand, Red was sure to be there…and all her other little slut friends who would surely be whispering behind my back, shooting me hateful, disgusted looks the entire night.
But on the other hand…alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.
Tough decision, but in the end, booze had won out, and at about 9 pm I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. After maybe an hour of scrubbing the grease and grime off my body, I stepped out of my house in jeans and my orange hoodie, heading south towards Clyde's house. Thankfully it was close by and took maybe fifteen minutes of walking. It was early when I got there, but there were already girls wearing tight things tipping back red Solo cups. Nobody really noticed when I slipped in, the boys already honing in on the girls wearing the least and the girls honing in on the various bottles that lined the kitchen counter top. That worked for me…not that I was looking to score tonight. Shit, after everything that happened with Red…I doubted that a single girl would even be willing to talk with me. Sure enough, as soon as I entered the living room, where there was flashing lights and thunderous music, a trio of bottle-blondes shot me angry looks. They were standing in the far corner, dolled up with bright lipstick and heavy, coal-black eyeliner, all three with short black skirts, tiny tops, and heels that did this wonderful thing to their calf muscles. They look sexy as fuck…until their eyes narrowed, lips pursing in haughty, matching scowls that contorted their pretty faces into something ugly.
They looked at me like I was a dirty little bug, not even worth the effort it would take to squish with a shoe.
"Hey."
I turned around, away from their furious looks.
Wendy Testaburger was standing to my left, chewing on her bottom lip with her teeth.
"You know…I usually wouldn't do this," She frowned deeply, offering forward a cup, "But you seriously look like you need a drink."
I stayed still for a moment, staring at her. She looked as good as ever, wearing some kind of pale pink dress that was very flattering on her creamy skin. Black hair cascaded across on her shoulders, and she reached up, tucking a lock behind her ear as she held out the red cup further, blue eyes staring up at me expectedly. The music booming around us was loud, and there were probably dozens of people squirming about in the room, all weaving their bodies in time with the heavy music; but Wendy was looking up at me like I was the only person she saw.
Fuck…I've really become a sucker for attention.
"What's in it?" I reached over, wrapping my fingers around the plastic.
"Does it matter?" She asked dryly, one corner of her lips curling up.
I couldn't help but smile at her.
"Do you want to talk?" Wendy folded her arms across her chest, raising her voice as the music suddenly switched to something faster, more energetic.
"Not really." I shook my head, shooting her a suspicious look, "Did Kyle put you up to this?"
"He…might've mentioned he was a little worried about you." She gave me a guilty grin.
Someone knocked into me from behind, and I stumbled forward, hurriedly reaching up to cover the top of the cup so that it didn't spill on Wendy. She caught me by the forearm, her hand easily steadying me even though I had several inches on her.
"Fucking jackass…" I growled, turning at glaring at the brown haired boy who had ran into me. He was heading to the middle of the living room where everyone was dancing, eyes glazed over, completely unaware that he'd even hit me.
"Kenny." Wendy's fingers were still wrapped around my forearm as she stared up at me, "I heard some of the girls talking—"
I wrenched my arm from her grasp, taking a step backward.
"Kenny…" Her face fell, hand dropping down to her side, "I just wanted to tell you…you shouldn't care what they think."
"Right." I rolled my eyes at that, looking down longingly at the cup in my hands.
"No, I'm serious." Wendy frowned again, "Don't let some stupid girl—"
"Kenny! Kenny!"
Both Wendy and I turned to the left at the sound of Cartman's voice. He was wearing a red shirt and jeans, and—maybe my eyes were tricking me—but it looked like he'd actually ran a comb through his hair and shaved his face. If this were anyone but Cartman…I might actually say that he looked nice. But the fact was that it was Cartman, and all the previous injustices he had committed had effectively prevented me from ever even considering the possibility that he could appear somewhat attractive. He was shoving people around, pushing through them to get closer to us, his brown eyes glued to me. In one hand he had a bottle of whiskey, and in the other hand was two shot glasses.
Didn't take a genius to figure out what he had planned.
"Kenny it's about time you showed up!" Cartman reached out, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
"Hello Cartman." Wendy's lips tightened in a disapproving line, the flat tone of her voice proving just exactly how she felt about the fascist.
"The fuck do you want?" Cartman cocked an eyebrow up like he just realized that Wendy was standing there.
"I was talking to Kenny, you jerk!" Wendy's hands balled into fists, her bright blue nails shining in the light.
"Right, right." Cartman swung an arm around my shoulders, glaring at the girl, "Don't you have something better to do? Shouldn't you be with Bebe, begging one of the football players to let you show them that cool new trick you learned with your tongue?"
"Go to hell Cartman." Wendy spat, her words filled with venom.
"Whatever, get to stepping bitch, Kenny and I got business to take care of." Cartman held up the two shot glasses, making a shooing motion with his fingers.
Wendy's eyes flickered toward me, but once it became clear that I wasn't going to come to her defense, she turned on heel, stomping away. I stared at her as she left, feeling a sudden surge of self-loathing. She was nice to me, the first person to talk to me since Kyle…and then I just let Cartman verbally abuse her. And I wondered why nobody gave a shit about me… Wendy's hands were still clenched in angry fists as she disappeared into a nearby room, and I couldn't help but feel surprised that she didn't uppercut Cartman in the jaw. If there were two people in the world that would throw down with Eric Cartman, it was Kyle Broflovski and Wendy Testaburger.
Both people who were nice to me.
Whatever. They probably had a reason…if anyone was ever nice, it was because they had a fucking reason to be.
"Come on Ken, I got us something good." Cartman smiled at me, holding up the bottle of whiskey.
(Cartman)
(What's done in the dark will be brought to the light)
Oh Kenny…Kenny, Kenny, Kenny.
The poor boy was dumb as shit.
I had heard the whispered rumors all week, that poor little Red had gotten herself fucked over by a certain very good friend of mine. Normally I would be quite proud of such a diabolical, selfish move…but please. I've known Kenny for years, and I've always known that all the little blonde runt wanted was someone to love him, someone to care about him. That's how I knew those rumors were just that—rumors. Red was a little slut, the type of girl who showed up at these sorts of parties just to climb on top of some guy and get her rocks off. No doubt she had a greater hand in this then anyone realized, and, quite frankly, anyone who believed those foolish rumors was an idiot.
Which, apparently, was over half the school.
Needless to say, it had been quite easy to convince Kenny that Jameson's was a good idea.
Now, over two hours and an entire bottle later, the blonde was sitting in a stool next to me, head lolling back and forth, his words stringing together. His ice colored eyes were cloudy, unfocused, darting back and forth as if he couldn't absorb everything that was happening around him. At some point he had pulled off his hoodie, and now he was shirtless, faded jeans wrapped around bare hips. I'd done a good job playing the happy friend, and the poor boy hadn't even noticed that the entire time we had sat together I hadn't drank a single drop of alcohol. No, he was so self-absorbed, so focused on feeling sorry for himself that he paid no attention to me, choosing instead to drink straight from the bottle. As time passed, more and more people began to appear in the living room. The girls were swaying in time with the beat, the guys mesmerized by the tight, female assess bobbing in the air. I'd grinned at that…these sad, pathetic people were so fucking easy to read. All it took to get a guy's attention was a nice set of tits or a round ass in tight jeans…all they ever wanted was something to fuck. Just like how all girls ever wanted was someone to hold them, to tell them they were better than all the other girls out there. And the thing is, once I've figured out what someone wants, it's very easy to use that against them. Very easy to use what they wanted to get what I wanted.
Once Kenny began talking about Kyle trying to visit him, once Kenny began to babble on about how he should've talked to Kyle, shouldn't have turned him away…well, it became quite obvious what Kenny wanted.
And, as I noticed a certain redhead beginning to approach us, I had to physically suppress a smile.
Stan was not with him.
Oh, this was going to be too easy.
"Hey Kahl." My voice took on a purr, "Where have you been all this time?"
"I was with Stan and his football buddies." Kyle's words were liquid, pooling together.
That meant he had been drinking too. Perfect.
Kenny was already staring at him, his jaws clenched painfully, eyes hardening. Kyle turned and looked toward him, a small frown on his face. The Jew was wearing tight jeans and a flattering black shirt. It appeared that I was not the only one who noticed Kyle's appearance, as my blonde friend was scanning the Jew up and down, doing nothing to hide his staring.
"Are you ok Kenny?" Kyle cocked his head to the side, emerald eyes watching Kenny carefully.
"I'm good Kyle." Kenny flashed a charismatic smile, the type that only appeared when he was really drunk, "Really good, actually."
"You look good tonight Kahl." I smirked, crossing my arms across my chest.
"Really good." Kenny repeated, once again smiling handsomely, flashing straight, white teeth.
If Kyle had been sober, he probably would have scowled at me, eyes filled with mistrust. He must've had a lot to drink, however, for he gave me and Ken a small, cautious grin, tilting his chin up in an arrogance he didn't normally show. The music was louder than ever now, the beat of the bass making the walls vibrate, making my very bones throb. Everyone was drunk as shit now, the bodies writhing in front of us so close together it was impossible to determine where one person ended and another began. I suppose something about music brings out a primeval side in people…I detested dancing. Couldn't lose myself in the rhythm like everyone else seemed to be able to. I didn't like losing control of myself anyway, didn't like becoming something so…feral. It was disgusting the way people gave into their base instincts, losing all thoughts of anything but rubbing against the body closest to them.
"Kahl…you should dance with Kenny." I shrugged, like what I said wasn't very important.
It was.
Kyle looked confused at the suggestion, like he'd never considered such a thing.
Kenny, however, seized upon the opportunity.
He reached out, fingers wrapping around Kyle's wrist, pulling him towards the throng of bodies. I heard the Jew say something in protest, but his words were easily drowned out by the music. Kenny pulled Kyle to the center of the group, standing close to the redhead before leaning over. His lips grew close to Kyle's ear as he whispered something, and even from where I was standing I could make out the pink blush that tinged Kyle's cheeks. He held up his hands palms out, shaking his head and saying something, but Kenny wouldn't take no for an answer. His pale eyes glittering mischievously, Kenny grabbed Kyle by the wrist again, pulling their bodies closer together.
The two pawns were in play…now all I had to do was wait for the third player to make his appearance.
To my delight, Kenny played his part better then I could've ever hoped.
The blonde's hips began to sway, and then he pulled the redhead against him, placing his hands on Kyle's hips. The Jew pushed him away at first, but then Kenny flashed that clever smile, and I could see Kyle's resolve begin to melt. The music changed to something with a steady beat, something sexy that made all the girls bump their waists back and forth. The boys were no exception, and Kyle began to move with the music. Even standing at the counter I could easily see the way he thrust his hips in time with the music, arms suddenly reaching into the air, Kenny suddenly standing with his arms wrapped around Kyle, his own hips moving perfectly with the redhead's. Any sort of modesty Kyle might have had disappeared quickly, and I couldn't help but smirk as I watched him drop low towards the floor, Kenny's willing body directly behind him and loving the friction. The Jew might've liked to pretend he didn't want to dance, but of course as soon as he was dragged onto the floor he became just as much of a whore as everyone else out there. When it really came down to it, he wanted to rub against someone just as much as everyone else did…he was no better than them.
And if he wanted someone to rub, well, I'd be happy to oblige.
Kenny's hands dipped down Kyle's sides, sliding down from his hips, onto his legs. His fingers were tugging at Kyle's jeans as they danced, moving inward, over his inner thighs. If Kyle noticed where Kenny's hands were going, he made no indication of it. In fact, he was smiling happily, eyes turning a brighter green than ever. Then Kenny was nuzzling against Kyle's neck, smiling against his skin, closing his eyes in pure…ecstasy.
There was a tapping on my shoulder.
I turned, pure exhilaration flooding my veins.
Stan stood in front of me. The jock was reaching up, running a hand through his jet black hair, ocean colored eyes staring at me. He was wearing his usual jeans and a jacket, nothing special to look at.
"Hey Cartman." He gave me a small, polite smile, "Have you seen Kyle?"
I smiled.
He stared at me for a few moments, the grin slipping from his face as my silence dragged on.
I raised a hand, pointing toward the dancing. His eyes followed, and as they fell on our two friends, he went very still.
Kenny was still nuzzling against Kyle's neck, lips moving across the skin that covered his throat. One of his hands was wrapped around Kyle's waist, pressing against his hip, while the other was still pulling at Kyle's inner thigh, fingers dancing lower and lower. The look on Stan's face was beautiful, something I could've stared at forever. Watching the surprise, then pain, then pure rage color his features…it was truly satisfying to watch. He grit his teeth, eyes turning a dark, enraged sapphire…for a brief moment, I saw something come alive that I had never seen before in Stan Marsh: violence, hatred, darkness. Something that could easily be described as…monstrous. Something that I would never have thought him capable of. A small part of me was proud, was cheering him on, was eager to see him explode in pure anger and give in to everything that was bad about himself… This was perfect. Everything was perfect. Stan and Kyle did not fight often, but there was no escaping it this time. I smiled to myself, excited to see where this went, excited to see Stan turn into something grotesque, a caricature of what Kyle thought he was… Would the redhead still accept his super best friend once he saw the rage he held?
I couldn't wait to see.
If all went well, Stan would do something stupid, do something violent and hateful…
If all went well, Stan would hurt Kyle.
And then…I would be there.
Perfect.
Stan's hands curled closed, and then he stomped forward, shoving past anybody who got in his way. He weaved in and out, through the drunken crowd. As soon as he reached them, Kyle's face lit up, as if he didn't realize the storm that was soon to come. He must've seen the destruction written on Stan's face, however, for he suddenly froze, clover eyes going very wide. At this point Kenny's hand was still wrapped around Kyle, and then the blonde was frowning, as if he was finally beginning to figure out that his fun was about to be ruined. Stan didn't say anything, he merely reached out, fingers wrapping around Kyle's wrist, angrily pulling him away from our blonde friend. It happened so fast that Kyle stumbled forward into Stan's chest, reaching up and gripping Stan's forearms to keep from falling. Kenny glared at the jock, eyes narrowing, lips curling into an angry scowl. For a moment—just a brief, brief moment—the two stared at each other. They were yin and yang, Stan tall, muscular, with dark hair…Kenny shorter, skinny, blonde scruffy hair sticking up in all directions.
They glared at each other, Stan tightening his hold on Kyle.
Kenny turned away first, dropping his eyes to the floor, refusing to meet Stan's hard gaze.
Conceding the victory.
Stan turned and walked away, pulling Kyle with him.
I couldn't help but stare as they headed toward the staircase. Disappointment settled like a stone in my gut; I had been hoping for a fight, had been hoping to see Stan show his true self. Instead Kenny pussed out… And now Stan was dragging Kyle up the staircase.
To a secluded room, perhaps? Maybe to fight in private, since surely Kyle wouldn't want to make a scene?
I didn't want to miss that.
I stood at the counter, staring up at that staircase, waiting. I wanted to see Kyle storm down the stairs, slamming a door behind him while a desperate Stan followed, begging for forgiveness. I wanted to see Kyle refuse to touch the jock, running away from him, running away from the party. And then I would follow him, would be there to comfort him…whether he liked it or not.
But I couldn't see any of that if I stayed where I was. I walked over to the stairs, placing my hand on the wooden banister. I froze for a moment, considering what I was about to do. After all the work I had put into tonight, all the careful planning, careful direction…I didn't want to see it go to waste. I wanted to be sure that my plan had worked, wanted to be sure that everything was going the way it was supposed to.
And perhaps…perhaps I needed to reassure myself.
There was a flicker of doubt circulating in my thoughts, and I had to destroy that.
I had to know what Stan and Kyle were doing. I had to.
I climbed the stairs slowly, placing one foot in front of the other as silently as possible. No one beneath noticed my careful ascent; the music was still vibrating the entire house, distracting everyone from my machinations. As I reached the top of the stairs, I headed toward the back of the hallway. Two rooms I passed by were empty, and I could hear girly whines and moans coming from the third, so that left only the fourth room at the very end of the hall. Walking quietly, I reached out, wrapping my hand around the metal doorknob. I turned it very slowly, waiting for resistance. There was none…they hadn't locked the door. Pushing gently, I cracked open the door, barely enough to peer into.
I froze, and then my nails were digging into the wood on the wall next to me.
Kyle was on his back on the bed. Stan was on top of him.
I clenched my teeth so hard that my jaws screamed in pain.
Stan's mouth was attached to Kyle's neck, his teeth digging into the skin. The redhead was squirming beneath the jock, hips raising into the air, his groin pressed up against Stan's. Stan had one hand sliding under Kyle's shirt, fingers dusting over bare skin. The redhead cried out suddenly as Stan's hand moved downward, gliding between Kyle's legs. Kyle bucked his hips in response, pushing up into Stan's touch. Then he reached up with his own hand, pulling apart Stan's belt as he turned his head to the side, pressing his lips against Stan's mouth. The football player groaned low as Kyle slid his hand past the waistband on his pants, pushing his hand against Stan's thick erection. Stan suddenly moved his lips away from Kyle's, gliding his mouth down to his stomach, tongue lashing out and lapping at Kyle's now shaking abdominal muscles. Then his mouth moved lower, and he was kissing the skin over Kyle's hip bone, his hands moving up and tugging at Kyle's belt…
I looked away as Stan pulled at Kyle's jeans, his mouth moving lower and lower as Kyle lifted his hips, allowing Stan to pull off his pants.
My cock was painfully hard…my mind unable to be rid of the image of Kyle's flushed face, moaning, writhing on the bed.
I backed away from the door, staring it down. The entire time, they had no idea that I had been watching. They'd been so engrossed in each other, so focused on each other's hands…mouths…cocks…
My chest felt compressed, like someone had stepped on it.
I had…miscalculated. Somehow, somewhere in my plan there had been a flaw…and now Stan was the one feeling up Kyle, probably getting his dick wet.
My hands were clenching so tight that my nails were digging crescent-shaped cuts into my palms.
Kyle…that little fucking slut. He was probably already bent over, letting the quarterback fuck him from behind, begging for more… Little fucking whore. I would've never thought Stan capable of any of this, but it seemed Kyle was more desperate for cock then I realized. I wonder how long he'd been sucking Stan off…how long had they been fucking around without my knowing?
White-hot fury boiled inside me as, unbidden, a picture of Kyle kneeling before Stan, eagerly lapping at his dick, entered my mind.
Fuck.
Was this what hurt felt like? Like my ribs were crushing in, piercing my lungs?
No. I was incapable of hurt, as I had discovered years ago.
All I felt now…was hatred.
Kyle wanted to be a worthless slut?
Fine. I would end this…and I knew exactly where to begin.
Well the semester's finally coming to an end...so now I can work on finishing this! Please review!
