Kenny groaned as he lay down on the bed. I joined him, sittin' cross-legged by his side. "Why do they do that?" I asked him. He rolled his eyes.
"Because they like to think they know people," he muttered. "Get me some NyQuil, will ya?" I handed him the small bottle. He frowned seeing how empty it was, but shrugged and gulped the last few drops anyway. I handed him some water and watched as he took a careful sip.
"What d-do they think they know 'bout us?" I asked, taking a gulp of the water myself.
"Oh, they think we're gonna hook up." I nearly choked on the water.
"Wuh-what?" I blushed a real deep red. "They think we… that we, ya know, l-like each other or som-somethin'?" Kenny shrugged, then sniffed and wiped his nose.
"Well, they think you've got a hard-on for me and that I'll screw anything with a pulse, so…"
I gulped. "T-that's not true…"
"Well, kinda," he grunted. "Shit, I am…was a prostitute."
"But that's different!" I reasoned. "Just 'cause you got paid to have sex with str-strangers don't mean you liked it."
"No," he agreed. "But that's not what I was getting at. I'm kind of a slut, in case you haven't pick up on it."
I crinkled my eyebrows. "Well, sure, I-I heard you got around, but…"
"But what?" I paused.
"But not with guys," I mumbled, my blush risin' again.
He laughed. "Butters, I'm really not that picky."
I paused, considerin' this. I felt a strange stirrin' in my chest—a little guilt, and a little somethin' else. I guess I'd just always figured Kenny was straight, just the same way people'd always assumed I was gay (and a million other things). It was strange, bein' on the other side 'a things.
"Whatever," he breathed. "It's not that big of a deal. It's not like I'm gonna make a big show of coming out or some shit. I wouldn't even say I'm in the closet; it's just that no one's ever asked me straight up. You'd think they'd catch on when I started sucking cock for a living, but people can be pretty dense sometimes." He caught sight 'a my expression and shook his head. "But I guess I'm a hypocrite. I was wrong about you, after all."
"What'd ya mean, Kenny?" I asked, tiltin' my head to the side. Everyone was right about me, I'd learned that a while ago.
"Dude, you had more crushes on girls than I did when we were kids. I mean you used to be obsessed with Kim Kardashian."
"Used to?"
He smiled. "I just always assumed you were straight. Until that whole thing with that guy at the party." He mumbled that last part. I blinked at him.
"W-well I do like girls, I s'pose," I reasoned. "And boys. But everyone kept tellin' me I was a-a faggot for so long, so I figured that's just what I was."
He shook his head again. "Yeah, that makes sense." There was a long, lingerin' silence.
"So, wuh-what do you think?" I asked hesitantly. "About what Stan and Kyle th-think?"
He signed and closed his eyes. "I think my legs hurt like a sonovabitch, my joints ache, my nose won't stop running, and on top of it all, I've got a psycho after my sister. So, yeah, some stress release would be wonderful right now, but it's probably not a good idea." I wasn't really sure why, but I felt my heart drop into my stomach all the sudden.
"Oh, I, um…" I didn't know what to say, but Kenny didn't seem to be payin' much attention anyway. He whimpered, rubbin' his leg. "Here," I muttered, shiftin' down on the bed, replacin' his hands with my own. He raised an eyebrow at me as I began massagin' his leg. "That better?"
"Hmmm," he hummed, closin' his eyes as my fingers kneaded his right calf. "Why are you doing this, Butters?" he mumbled.
"Well, shucks, Kenny! You said your leg hurt, didn't cha? I used ta give my mom foot massages sometimes so I reckon I'm purdy good at it—"
"No, no not that." He waved a hand in dismissal. "I mean, all of this. Helping me." I paused, rememberin' a similar conversation almost seven years ago, between a superhero and villain.
"Well, you needed help, Kenny," I reasoned. "I heard about Tammy and I just figured, you know, that you could use a f-friend. And then I saw how bad it was, and, well, I couldn't leave ya!" He blinked at me.
"Thanks, " he said softly.
"Well you sure are welcome, Kenny!" His leg shifted in my grip. Before I knew it, he was sittin' up, and I could feel the heat radiatin' off his body, then, very lightly, his lips brushin' against mine. I barely had time to register what'd happened before he was layin' back down again, eyes closed and snorin' softly. For the second time in the past 91 hours, Kenny was sleepin' soundly.
xxx
"How was it?" Stan asked as Kyle shrugged off his coat. It was Monday afternoon, 108 hours in. Kyle grimaced.
"Painful." We'd followed Stan's plan to send Kyle to school while the two of us stayed back to keep an eye on Kenny. Then he would take over while we went home for a bit. "As expected, my mom found the most obnoxious anti-drug speakers with the gayest act."Kyle rolled his eyes. "I mean, seriously, these guys made "Butt-Out" seem cool. Then Macky got up there and went on and on about how "drugs are bad, m'kay."—" Stan chuckled at his impression. "—And he keep going on and on about how the school won't tolerate it, new programs will be implemented, blah, blah, blah. It cut into lunch period, which, as you can imagine, pissed Cartman off beyond belief." Kyle smirked. "So, you know, silver linings."
"Well, it's been five days," I said, turnin' to Kenny. "And you've been getting' better, haven't cha? Maybe you could come to school with us tomorrow!" He hesitated, but Kyle nodded.
"It would be good for you to get back to your old routine," he added. "I think you could handle it. You've been doing astonishingly well, actually." Kenny mumbled somethin' to himself.
"What'd you say?" I leaned forward.
"I guess my body's just used to hitting the "reset" button," he repeated. I squeezed his hand in encouragement.
"So whatdya say?" I asked, smilin' cheerfully. He cracked a weak smile and nodded.
"Yeah, what the hell." We all brightened up at that, I'll tell ya. It really was lookin' like this would all be over and behind us soon enough. But there was still that unspoken tension and worry. I was scared, and I know Kenny was too, about the impeding confrontation with his former drug dealer and pimp. It was a real terrifyin' idea, that these past few days were nothin' compared to what might happen once Maurice got ahold 'a him. And I wasn't sure which was scarier, Kenny bein' wrong about comin' back to life and getting' himself killed, or Kenny being right, and him bein' killed over and over and having to see his sister get thrown into the life he'd just barely escaped.
Well, none of that was gonna happen on my watch, no sir! Not if I could help it.
Right now, I knew the best thing to do was to make sure, at the very least, that Kenny got clean. He might be able to stand a fightin' chance if he ain't jonesin'. The only thing I couldn't figure out was why Maurice hadn't burst through Kenny's door yet, guns 'a blazin'.
"I have no clue," Kenny said when I voiced my concerns. "The only thing I can figure is that he wants me to be as strung-out as possible by the time he comes to collect me. That, or he's got something bigger on his plate right now."
"Like what?" I asked.
"No idea. But whatever it is, I hope it keeps him busy for a while." Kenny rubbed the back of his neck, wincin'. "And I hope to hell he comes to me first, not Karen." He sighed. "I think he will, though. He'll want his best seller back on the street."
Stan cocked his head. "Best seller? You weren't seriously dealing for this guy?" Kenny laughed darkly and looked at me.
"You didn't tell them?" I shook my head.
"I-I figured it was a-a sensitive matter." Kenny turned back to Stan and Kyle.
"I was his best seller. Me, personally. Jesus Christ, Stan, how did you think I paid for the stuff? My trust fund?" He clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes at their matching expressions of shock and disbelieve.
"You mean you were…?"
"A whore, bitch, prostitute, rent boy, whatever the fuck you wanna call it, yes," he snapped. He was about to get all mean again, I could tell. He was chewin' on the inside of his cheek and I could see his knuckles turnin' white at his sides. "Don't act so goddamned surprised."
Kyle looked like he was about to say something, but Stan put a hand on his shoulder. "Just…let him be," he muttered.
"Fuck," Kenny groaned, wipin' a hand over his face. And we just watched him, not knowin' what to do. We held our breath, starin' at our friend as he sat in his own personal hell. It must be exhaustin' to be in so much agony, and on top of that, have to see the disappointment in everyone's eyes when they find out what gotcha there. It was right painful to watch, I didn't know how he could possibly live it. All I could do was reach out to hold his hand, and pray he didn't shove it away.
xxx
Tuesday morning we bundled Kenny up in layers of sweaters and scarfs, hopin' to keep him warm despite his chills. He was real anxious and jittery as we set out on our walk (we opted not to take Kyle's car 'cause we figured the fresh air and exercise would be good for Kenny), but after the first ten minutes or so, I started noticin' his back straighten and his hands gettin' a little less jittery. I smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "Six days, Ken."
He gave me a feeble smile. He still looked weak, but I noticed the old spark in his eyes was back. Faint, but there nonetheless. I beamed up at him, thinkin' how I coulda just kissed him right then. So I did. A quick little peck on the cheek, in the hopes that I could make his smile a little bigger and the spark in his eye a little stronger.
He started for a moment, pausin' in his step and blinkin' slowly. But then he chuckled and reached over to tousle my hair playfully. I laughed, feelin' downright giddy, but I couldn't help but notice the look Stan-and-Kyle were givin' us.
When we finally arrived at school, that spark disappeared. Eric came stormin' up to us, all red-faced and clenched fists. "KAHL!" he barked.
"Oh god, what is it, fatass?" Kyle sighed, rollin' his eyes.
"Your goddamn mom is the biggest fucking bitch—"
"This again?" Stan murmured, a smirk toyin' at the corner of his mouth.
"That motherfucking bitch wants to kill us!"
"What?" Kyle said, soundin' dubious.
"It's a physical fittest program and a limit on how much junk food the school can serve, it's not that big of a deal." Wendy suddenly appeared by Cartman's side, lookin' irritated. She flipped her hair and gave him a look. "In fact, it might do us all some good to stay active and eat healthy."
"Self-righteous harpy," Eric mumbled. "When we all die of starvation, don't come crying to me."
"Why's she got us doin' an exercise program?" I asked. Eric glared at me.
"Because she's a raging bitch."
"Because being physically healthy is good for self-esteem and general well-being." Wendy said matter-of-factly. "Studies show that teens that keep fit are less likely—"
"Blah, blah, blah," Eric droned, exasperated. Wendy shot him a glare but continued.
"—are less likely to engage in self-destructive behavior such as drug abuse." She smiled at me gently. "It's a very progressive program, really."
"Goddamn it Wendy, shove a cock in it, will you?" Stan blurted. He sounded real bitter. Wendy looked at him, wide-eyed, but shook herself out of it. She spun on her heal with a short huff and walked brusquely away, swingin' her hips as she did.
Eric raised his eyebrows at Stan and gestured at Wendy's retreatin' form. "Look, asswipe, you made the lady upset."
"Whatever," Stan mumbled.
Eric shook his head, then jabbed a finger at Kyle. "Fix this exercise bullshit. Or I will." With that, he turned as well, followin' after Wendy.
I stood, rotted to the spot, even after Stan and Kyle headed to their classes (we each had at least one class with Kenny, so we figured keepin' an eye on him wouldn't be too difficult). "Well that sure was strange, wasn't it, Kenny?" I asked.
Silence.
I turned to look at him. "Kenny?" But Kenny wasn't payin' attention to me. He was starin' straight ahead, a look of pure loathin' in his eyes. I followed his gaze and saw he was glarin' a hole right in the back of Craig Tucker's head.
Like I said, strange.
The day passed in a fairly normal fashion. That's of course if ya consider watchin' your detoxin' friend like a hawk, havin' to run three miles in an extended gym class as part of a "Stay Active, Stay off the Streets" campaign, and seein' Al Gore sprint through the hallways, yellin' 'bout how he's bein' totally cereal when he says ManBearPig is responsible for the drug epidemic.
But in South Park, it kinda was.
It wasn't until sixth period that I started gettin' real worried about what was goin' on. Stan-and-Kyle, and Kenny, and me all sat down to eat our nutritious lunch, courtesy of the new wellness plan. Kyle stabbed at his tofu with his fork, fumin' while Stan picked up some kale, scrunchin' up his nose and starin' at it like it was somethin' yucky he'd stepped on. Kenny just looked exhausted. Still not well enough to eat too much, he sipped carefully at his water while he stared into space.
I was about to take a bite myself when there was a loud shout in the hallway, followed by the sound 'a dogs barkin'. The four of us looked 'round at each other before runnin' out the door to see what was goin' on.
When we rounded the corner we saw the principal standing in between Officer Barbrady and Mrs. Broflovski, mouths agape, watchin' two big ol' rottweilers tryin' to wrestle Eric's backpack outta his hands. "Git off 'a me you ugly fucking mutts!" Eric yelled.
"He must have drugs," Mrs. Broflovski cried, a hand flyin' to her heart.
"No, goddamnit!" Eric yelled. "Get these fuckers offa me!" A couple 'a guys from class rushed forward and pulled the dogs back by their collars. A purdy big crowd had gathered by this point.
"Sit!" Officer Barbrady commanded.
"Eric, we're going to need to search your bag," Principal Victoria began. "These are special drug-sniffing dogs, and they evidentially found something in your bag."
"I don't have any drugs you crazy bit—"
"Special drug-sniffing dogs?" Officer Barbrady repeated, dumbfounded. "Well, I thought you just wanted me to bring any dogs."
"What what what? You mean these dogs aren't properly trained?"
"Oh goodness, no, they're only trained to sit, see!" He gestured at the dogs, sittin' complacently by his side. "Can't even get them to roll over…"
"You just sicked some random dogs on me?" Eric bellowed, lookin' real crazy with his hair stickin' up in all directions. "Are you fucking crazy?"
"Language, Eric!" Principal Victoria scolded.
"Well we should still search your bag, the dogs obviously found something," Mrs Broflovski said, startin' toward Eric.
"Oh no, bitch, you can't just sick dogs on me then violate my right to due process! It's unconstitutional!" Wendy stepped forward.
"Technically, ma'am, it is unconstitutional. A search isn't warranted—"
"This is about protecting all of you!" Mrs. Broflovski said, dismissin' Wendy with a wag 'a her finger. She ripped Eric's bag outta his hands—despite his protests and slightly off-color suggestion about where she could put the bag with she was done searchin' through it—and dug into it. The dogs began to growl again when she pulled out a red and white bucket.
"KFC?" Principal Victoria scrunched up her eyebrows.
"Ey! That's my lunch, goddamnit!" Eric made to swipe the chicken from her but she moved too quickly. Mrs. Broflovski tossed the bucket to the dogs and rounded on Eric.
"This school has a no junk food policy now," she said as Eric gaped at her in disbelieve.
"Yeah, why the fuck do you think I brought it? I need some real food, goddamnit!"
"It's for the good of everyone, Eric." She walked away, hands on her hips, Officer Barbrady and Principal Victoria at her heals.
Eric dove for the chicken, resurfacin' with only bones in his hand. He stood real still for a minute, just starin' at the scraps of his once full bucket 'a chicken. He looked like he was 'bout to cry. Suddenly, he rounded on Kyle, face enraged. "I told you to take care of this!" he yelled.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" he shouted back. Eric ignored him and turned to Kenny instead.
"And you," he snarled. Kenny met his gaze with and impassive expression. "You're the reason all this is going on, isn't that right, Kinny? Well, fuck you, Kinny! Just-just fuck you!" He was outright cryin' with rage now, as he addressed the rest of us. "If none of you are gonna do anything about this fucking mess, then I sure as shit will!" With one last menacing glare in Kenny's direction, Eric stomped off, lettin' out a cry of frustration as he rushed out the front doors and straight outta sight.
A/N: Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I really needed to get the ball rolling with some stuff (that's why it's so long). Let me know what you think!
Also, thank you to my wonderful reviewers: Montana-Bob, Del'Mareve, and MyLifeMyDecisions!