Chapter Fourteen — Shift: Reverse

"You— you DRUGGED me!"

"Pip—"

"You DRUGGED me!"

"Yeah, listen—"

"YOU DRUGGED ME!"

He pulled over to the shoulder at that point, probably because I chose that moment to lunge up into the front seat, one leg over the passenger side headrest and both arms wrapped around his neck. It was actually a small miracle that I didn't run us off the road completely, though I wasn't entirely sure it would've slowed me down even if we had. Even as we skid to a halt, I was trying my damnedest to rip his head off his shoulders. "I can't believe you actually—"

"Pip, for the love of Christ!" I couldn't even appreciate the irony; I was fighting him tooth and nail even as he wrenched himself free of my grasp and escaped out the car door. If he thought he was getting away from me that easily, he was gravely mistaken. I followed him out onto the road and was preparing to launch myself at him again, but the change in altitude apparently didn't agree with whatever he must've slipped into that coffee; I avoided plummeting face-first into the pavement only due to an excellent catch on his part. As soon as I was able to stand on my own, though, I pushed him away from me with excessive force, fighting the beginnings of hysteria.

"You... drugged me...!"

"Yeah," Damien agreed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I think we've established that."

"But why did you— why?!" I left the question hanging in the air, unfinished, flailing my arms around insanely. I realized, then, in some sort of slow-motion stupor, that – for whatever reason – I wasn't wearing any pants, and that we were probably attracting the attention of everyone passing us. Damien just let out a long breath, brows creased.

"Because I wanted to save the conversation we're having right now until you didn't have any choice but to keep heading forward."

I gaped stupidly at him. There was no way he had actually just said those words to me. "This is..." I gave him another emphatic wave of the arm, "like kidnap, you know that?" He looked as though he were developing a headache, and I hoped it hurt. "Why are you dragging me back here? We just left!" He shot me a petulant glare, lip curled.

"For fuck's sake, even you can figure that out, can't you?" I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to quell the panic that was erupting from every cell in my brain. I was going to jail. I was going to be tried as an accomplice for murder. Oh god, I was going to be on the news...

"Damien... just... let's just... go back..."

"We're almost there. There's no point in turning around now."

"You don't need to do this!" I begged, reaching instinctively for him. He recoiled, and my pitch climbed even higher. "This is dangerous for you, isn't it? Coming back here? There's no reason that you have to—" I cast around frantically, mind still numbed from the drugs. "Why the hell do you even care?"

I knew immediately by the look on his face that I shouldn't have put it like that, shouldn't have said it at all – that I shouldn't have dragged actual emotion into it. "No, wait, that's not what I—"

"You are so full of yourself." Well. That shut me up. Whatever I'd been expecting his response to be, that wasn't it. "I'm not doing this for you."

I opened my mouth wordlessly several times, probably giving off the impression of a red-faced fish out of water. "Then... what are you...?"

"I've got my own shit to settle with these kids. My memories of South Park – and that Cartman asshole – are only coming back piece by piece as you explain them to me." His voice was so direct and nonchalant that I never would've doubted him under normal circumstances. But I'd just woken up in a car I hadn't climbed willingly into, a car I might have died in if he'd given me too heavy a dosage, and... no matter how much I'd wanted to up until this point, I couldn't trust him.

"If that's true," I started, defeat in every word, "then why didn't you just tell me? You didn't have to..." I trailed off, but I didn't need to finish the sentence for him to get the point.

He just shrugged, hands behind his head. "If I come back with you, the association will be obvious to anyone who knows you. Whatever I do or say will be reflected on you. And it has the potential to make things worse for you." God, fuck him for taking this so lightly...

"Do you think I'm that petty? Quid pro quo, right? I'm making things harder for you by hanging around, aren't I?" He just smiled at me for the first time since I'd woken up.

"Yeah, but you give me something to do at night. You don't think this is the first time I've slipped you the mickey, do you?" I aimed a kick at his shin, which he dodged spectacularly, laughing out loud.

"Fine. Since, as you've so graciously pointed out, I am now trapped on an interstate highway, I suppose I don't really have much of a choice but to head back to South Park with you. But I'm not going to help you kill or otherwise maim anyone there. You are going to take me back to my home, explain to my parents that you are a suicidal wreck who has pulled through only by the grace of my company, and continue owing me one for the rest of your immortal life."

"Did you at least have pretty dreams?" I made to kick him again; this one connected, and I was satisfied to see him flinch.

"The most beautiful."

o o o

I was surprised to find that I was actually... a little bummed to be heading back to South Park. Until Pip had actually said it, the full implications of what I was doing hadn't hit me. Taking Pip home actually meant... taking him home. Once I left him on his front porch, that was it. Our ride was over. And once I packed up and left town... I was out of his life again. It was an ugly bit of irony, wasn't it? I couldn't just shoot shit with this guy anymore. Knowing that Cartman was still out there, still allowed to breathe oxygen just... My hands clenched involuntarily. Not until I'd righted this wrong could I look Pip in the eye without seeing that bastard's reflection. But once I had? Pip would be gone.

And it was funny. Because this whole thing fucked me over whether I kept traveling east or came back to South Park to tie up these loose ends. I was choosing to come back because I never wanted that mother fucking piece of shit to hurt him again. I was coming back because protecting Pip was something I had to do. And it was sickening, really.

If I cared less – just a little less – I could push Cartman to the back of my mind and never think back on him. I could keep traveling with Pip, making the best of this unorthodox but entertaining relationship. But I'd let myself become attached to this guy. Maybe I'd become attached to him a long time ago. I glanced over at Pip, who was still fuming silently in his seat. Maybe I wasn't all he had, as I'd thought once. Maybe there were others who'd be willing to lay down their safety and their happiness for him. But I felt compelled nonetheless to stand by his side. If this was the part I had to play in his life... so be it.

"We're almost here," Pip announced beside of me, and his voice shattered my train of thought. "I recognize this road. You need to turn left at the intersection."

"I am taking you back home, then?" Why were those words so painful to force out?

"If we're going back to South Park, I don't see how there's much of an option otherwise. It's a small town. It certainly doesn't have a hotel."

I shrugged without turning to face him. "Then I don't see the problem with staying in a place outside of town. You won't be running into anyone you know." Pip laughed derisively.

"So, what? You head into town to pay a visit to all my classmates while I just hide out somewhere? For all you know, I could be listed as a missing child in this state by now. You're taking a gamble by coming back here. Don't make it any more complicated than it already is."

You have no idea, Pip. "You'd better have a solid alibi, then."

"Weirder things have happened in this town than kids going missing for a week." It was hard to argue that point when he was sitting right next to the antichrist. "Rumors will spread about where and what and who I've been doing, but I doubt anyone will really believe anything more scintillating than that I ran chickenshit away from the uncomfortable amount of attention I was getting after that blow to the head."

"That's the story you're going to tell?"

"Hell no. I'm going to tell the same story I told my parents. That's just the story that people will read between the lines." I chanced a wary look over at him. His expression was actually aggravating in its confidence.

"You seem awfully sure of this."

"The people in this town aren't really that hard to peg. And they've got my character all figured out." I raised an eyebrow.

"Do they?"

"Not really. But knowing how they look at me makes it easier to live up to or disappoint that stereotype." I laughed abruptly as we turned the corner.

"You know something... you're as bad as I am."

And he seemed bizarrely pleased with what I had never meant to be a compliment. He had the same smile plastered to his face throughout his entire oration of the street system of Park County. The truth was, I knew these roads, too. I just didn't know which ones led back to Pip's home. And as we drove deeper into the residential neighborhoods, the knot in my stomach that I was quickly beginning to hate grew tighter. "Alright... keep going straight past this stop sign, then turn right at the next fork. My house is on that lane. And hand me my pants. My foster parents might send me back if I step out of this car half naked with another guy in tow."

"They're at your feet," I growled out, trying to ignore the fact that I was beginning to feel physically sick. "In that bag. As much as I'd love to rummage around for them with my head in your crotch, I'm trying to drive." He blew me a raspberry and bent down. The ensuing squirming that was a result of his trying to squeeze into his jeans while still strapped down by a seatbelt (and sometimes I worried about his intelligence) did help to brighten my demeanor, though.

It all went straight back to hell as we turned onto his street, however. "Here!" he shouted, all but jumping up in his seat. He looked like a twelve-year-old, and I had to suffocate the urge to reach over and punch him. "The ugly one with all the mums in front!" We pulled slowly – and not without some reluctance – into the driveway, and Pip bolted right out of the car. For someone who had been so eager to run away with me only a few days ago, the guy certainly seemed to be excited to be back home. He hadn't even made it up the walkway when the front door burst open. The portly couple that stood in the doorway looked ready to tell off whatever punk had just pulled into their driveway, but their expressions were wiped clean immediately the moment they laid eyes on the blonde kid racing towards them.

"Oh my god... Pi—"

He didn't even give the woman time to finish her sentence. In a split second, he had launched himself onto her, nearly knocking her backwards with the force. When they finally drew apart, I could see her face glistening with tears. I silently prayed that Pip wasn't such a fag. "I'm so sorry," he panted, and it was a relief to hear that he was breathless but otherwise coherent. "You have no idea how much—"

"Hell you've put us through?" The man's voice was stern, but even his face was flushed with emotion. For fuck's sake, no wonder the kid was such a nancy. "Deborah and I have been... absolutely sick with worry. Mother of god, Pip, we were so sure something had happened to you..."

"It's... okay, Dad," he reassured the man with a smile and a one-armed hug, and it struck me as funny how affectionate he was with what was legally only his foster family. Of course, I guessed it was the closest thing he'd ever had to a real one. "I'm fine. I just needed to spend a little time with someone who... wasn't." Pip shot me a severe look from his doorstep, and I guessed that was my cue.

Stepping out of the car, I wondered how well I'd really be able to smooth over this situation. I didn't give off the same sweet, boy-next-door vibe that Pip did. On the contrary, my black hair and naturally pale skin were prone to attract latex fetishists and store detectives. At least my clothes didn't look as bad as his did. "Mr. and Mrs.—" Pip mouthed the name to me "—McPherson?" The couple untangled themselves from the boy they'd never bothered to legally adopt and fixed their stares on me. Urgh. It was way too early on in the relationship to be meeting the parents. "Hi." I extended a hand, and Mr. McPherson reluctantly took it. "I'm Damien. I dunno if Pip's ever mentioned me..."

"He hasn't." No shit?

"I'm not really surprised..." I shifted my weight and let out a nervous chuckle so cutesy it might've come from Pip. I really hoped he appreciated this bullshit. "Until recently, the two of us hadn't spoken for years... we sort of split ways in high school. I made a few decisions I'm not too proud of, and Pip didn't want to get dragged down with me." I rubbed the inner elbow of my left arm. Sure, I could be a heroine junkie. "But things have... really spun out of control recently. And I just... came to Pip out of instinct. I apologize for everything that's happened this week, I really do. I didn't plan on keeping him chained up for so long. But I was such a wreck, and let me tell you: your son's a decent guy. He wouldn't get out until he was absolutely sure I wouldn't do something stupid the moment his back was turned." I threw in another nervous laugh and a shy glance at Pip. He was tomato red. "I understand if you're furious. My parents would've beat the crap out of me... but Pip was just doing what he thought was right. And as selfish as it was on my part... I'm glad he did."

Pip looked like he was about to die from humiliation, he really did. But his parents were glowing with barely suppressed pride. "Listen, we're glad Pip was able to help you out, Damien. But you two have turned the whole town upside-down. Pip, for one, is going to have a lot of explaining to do at school." Sorry, Pip. Couldn't help you out, there. "The next time you need him for something like this... Please. Both of you. Give us some sort of heads up." I bowed my head respectfully, repentance all over my face.

"Hopefully, this'll have been a one-time thing." Saying it hurt. It physically hurt. Because I knew Pip would do everything in his power to solidify this lie. That this really would be a one-time thing. Fuck me... "Thank you both for your understanding... and let me just tell you again how sorry I am for this whole mess. I'm sure Pip will have some groveling to do once I'm gone, too." I chanced a smile, and wasn't met with any rude hand gestures. Well, that much was a success, then. "And... I really should shut up and get going. Pip..." The look on my face was genuine for the first time in this whole ridiculous speech. "I'll see you around."

"O-oh... yeah. See you." He gave me a weak little wave, cheeks still red. "Later, Damien."

"Later."

I got back onto the main road feeling nauseous, dizzy, and embarrassed for feeling both of the above. It was pathetic, it really was. What the fuck was I here for if not this kid? This was exactly what I'd chosen when I drugged him up in the first place. The uncomfortably unfamiliar twinge of regret working its way through my nervous system was making me want to slam the car into the nearest tree. Why did this matter so much... why did any of this matter to me?

"You are so sad."

"... I know."

o o o

Well, there was still some screaming, and a lot of hysterical tears, but it was obvious nonetheless that Damien had done the best he could in the given situation. I sat through my dad's raving lecture with a set jaw as my mother sobbed on the couch beside of me. But things would be alright. They were both furious that I had disappeared for a week of my own volition, but more than that they were just blowing off all the concern that had been pent up inside of them during the aforementioned week. It was kind of gratifying, in a way, to know that there were people who had worried about me.

I did, however, escape up to my bedroom the second I had the chance. As grateful as I was that my parents hadn't ripped me limb from limb, and as relieved as I was to see them again... it would've been a lie to say that the ordeal wasn't stressing me to the breaking point. There were still a lot of things that had to be resolved, family aside. I had to explain my extended absence to the school – which, if I were going to stick to my original story, would now have to be filed as truancy. If I had in fact been listed as a missing person, I'd have to clear my name of that, too, probably to the irritation of the local P.D. Finally... I'd have to deal with the repercussions of my stint in Middle Park.

That one was making me queasy. Breaking into the school would have been bad enough, but after being rushed to the emergency room afterward, I had not only lied about my identity but made myself a prime suspect for both Damien's credit fraud and admittedly impressive vandalism. I really had only two hopes on this one. The first was that Damien would be able to recover all records that I had ever been to that high school or hospital and send them up in flame.

The second was that I was seventeen and would be tried as a juvenile.

I wondered if maybe letting my parents believe I'd been kidnapped wouldn't have been the best idea after all. When I'd made that first phone call, I had just wanted to alleviate their worry. Now that I was actually back home and ready to face up to all the shit I'd buried myself in... Damien was looking like a pretty appealing scapegoat. It's not like they'd catch him. The guy didn't even leave viable DNA behind him. But he'd have to leave South Park, and...

I curled up onto my side, wrinkling the bed sheets that I'd jumped into without even taking off my shoes. It was nice to be back home, to be in my own bed again. It really was. And with only a week on me, maybe this whole thing would be able to blow over. But running off with Damien had been the first really wild thing I'd ever done in my life, and I wasn't so sure I wanted it to blow over. I'd thought, fleetingly, that Damien had come back to this place on my behalf, but he'd quickly shot down that idea with an even less likely one. The truth was that this whole thing was looking like a poorly disguised attempt to get me off his back for good. But if that's what this was... shit... why had he taken me with him in the first place?

Maybe everything had been a lie. Maybe this was the kind of thing he did on a regular basis. Maybe this was just how he entertained himself while he endlessly watched time tick by. Maybe my turn in the rotation was simply over. But I couldn't believe it, not even with my self confidence as low as it was. I'd seen the terror in his eyes that night he grabbed me in the motel; I'd felt the hammer of his heartbeat when I embraced him from behind. I couldn't believe that I didn't mean something to him.

And I knew for a goddamn fact he meant something to me.

The truth was, the time we'd spent together – even as kids – added up to less than an entire month. It was ridiculous to be so attached to someone who was, essentially, a complete stranger. But he'd been my obsession for the past nine years. Having him beside of me had felt like achieving some trophy I'd been coveting all my life. Having him look at me like a friend was bliss. I'd finally captured him. I never wanted to let him go.

But things rarely work out so romantically. Maybe for the best, he'd brought me back home, and now I absolutely could not leave again. He, on the other hand, absolutely could not stay. If he kept his nose clean – and I highly doubted that – perhaps he would be able to return every so often as he'd been doing for the past decade... but he'd made it perfectly clear to me that he never settled anywhere. Sooner or later, he would go. And he had to have known it. God damn it, he had to have known! I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes until I saw white.

I wanted to believe so many things at once. I wanted to believe that Damien had come back to South Park prematurely in order to right a wrong that had nothing to do with him. I wanted to believe that this uncharacteristic behavior was the result of our relationship and not the sloppy end of it. I wanted to believe that it broke him into pieces to tell me "good-bye," even if my perverse obsession with him was entirely unrequited. I wanted to believe that he would've kept me by his side. But I couldn't reconcile any of these things with one another.

The pathetic thing was, I might have been happy just to keep traveling aimlessly with him, never looking back on Park County or the memories and responsibilities tied to it. Maybe I would have become as desensitized to things like "home"and "family" as he was, and the two of us could've had the time of our lives wasting away into oblivion together. But he'd dug up nine years of self-pity and self-loathing and dragged me back to the place that gave birth to it all. If he had come back here on my account, as I wanted so badly to believe... at least he had done it with the cruelty so characteristic of him.

I broke down into tears at the dinner table that evening, and when my mother rushed over to comfort me I latched onto her like a little kid.

o o o

I wasn't feeling cautious. I hardly even felt awake. I drove the car straight into a tree and walked the rest of the way to the nearest establishment that sold alcohol. I really had no fondness for drinking at all, but the sickness washing over me was humiliating and unbearable, so much so that if I couldn't get my mind off it I thought I might go insane. And that was a dangerous prospect.

It didn't take me long to remember why I didn't drink; the bar was littered with drawling rednecks who could've walked right out of a Blue Collar Comedy show. But the more shots I downed, the less repulsive they seemed to me. I couldn't even remember how much alcohol I had consumed when I actually started speaking to them.

"Well, don'chu look like a sack o' shit, honey," laughed a woman way too old to be dressed like she was – or to be interested in me. I didn't know when she'd taken the seat next to me, but she was straddling the stool without any regard to the fact that she was wearing a miniskirt and no underwear.

"If that's a pick-up line, it's the worst I've ever heard," I replied with a glowering look. She just threw back her head and laughed.

"I can make you forget all about 'er."

If I'd been sober, I wouldn't even have dignified her assumption with a response. But I was drunk and dizzy and frustrated and I wanted to be anywhere but here. When she reached over to touch me, I didn't flinch away.

"Let's go."

And we did. But two steps into her dingy little apartment I slammed her so hard against the wall I actually heard the splatter. I laughed until tears were streaming down my face and passed out in a pool of blood.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness on the carpet, I saw a girl. She approached me just like the woman whose corpse I had collapsed on top of, but she was younger and infinitely more beautiful. She was mesmerizing. My vision was too blurry to make out my surroundings, but there was clearly alcohol here, too; I could smell whiskey on her. I, however, could not have cared less.

"You look like shit," she purred, tilting her head back so she could keep her lashes lowered. She'd had enough to drink that her cheeks were slightly flushed, but I could tell from the movement of her eyes that her vision was in perfect focus. She wasn't here to get drunk. She was here to get laid.

"Then why the hell are you talking to me?" I chuckled. I didn't have to lean back to keep my gaze low.

"Because you look like you're ready to throw a punch. And tonight, I'm feeling ready to take one." For a moment, something like sorrow flashed across her face, but she recovered with finesse; when she stooped down to pull me to my feet, the miniskirt was a gift from God. "I don't know how good a girl she was... but I'll make you forget all about her."

I wondered, as I fucked her mercilessly into the wall, if maybe I'd crossed paths with a sister or cousin of hers at some point. There was something so familiar about this girl, but I knew that I'd never met her before in my life. If I had, we would've wound up like this, rutting against peeling wallpaper while she howled my name into the drywall. As anything but a warm body, she might very well have been worthless, but those long legs and hourglass curves and that beautiful, beautiful blonde hair... they just couldn't go unpunished. Skin to skin, I could tell that the hair color wasn't natural, but it looked so damn good wrapped around my knuckles that I didn't care.

As the minutes wore on, I contemplated simply letting her leave when it was all over. She might be worth coming back to for seconds. (It occurred to me that maybe that had already happened and was the reason she seemed so familiar.) But when I pulled out, she turned around to kiss me, and any plan of letting her live evaporated. Natural reflex took over, and an invisible current hit her like a brick wall; when she hit the floor, it looked as though someone had slammed a wrecking ball into her chest. Staring stupidly at the girl in a state of both shock and – to a lesser degree – awe, I noticed that a few strands of her blonde hair were still clinging to the bloody wall... and something about the sight set loose an inferno in me.

It shouldn't have affected me at all. Blood didn't affect me. But suddenly... suddenly all I could see was fire, and all I could hear were screams. I fell to my knees instantly, clapping my hands over my ears and clenching my eyes shut to block out this hallucinatory overreaction. Blood... it was only blood... But even with my eyes closed, I could see the flames stretching up toward the ceiling, the tattered paper peeling away from the wall as it burned a brilliant blue. Even with my hands over my ears, I could hear the screaming. What was this?! What the fuck was this?! Blood and fire and blonde hair and—

It was her.

I whipped around violently and scrambled towards her on my hands and knees. It was her, this girl who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong guy, face frozen in an expression of mild surprise, blue eyes just a little wider than usual. There was no other explanation; whatever the hell this apparition was, she had unleashed it. But those weren't her screams in the background, and what was making my skin crawl wasn't her blood on the wall. No... I knew with inexplicable certainty that this pale-eyed corpse staring at and through me was no more than a catalyst. And the higher the flames climbed up the wall, the more I began to realize that the nightmare she'd triggered was one I'd had before, one I instinctively knew I didn't want to remember and didn't want to relive. Well... ha ha ha... this was an easy problem to resolve, wasn't it?! When the smell of smoke began flooding my nostrils, I raised my arm and slammed my fist into her face – over and over again – until it was nothing but a bloody pulp.

But that wasn't enough to stop it. Her blood was everywhere, now, and her hair was matted with it... but it was still recognizable as that blonde mane of hers. And her eyes... her eyes... They shouldn't have been anything but a smear on the carpet, now, but I could still see them boring into me... and there were a million of them. All around me were female corpses in various states of decomposition, one piled on top of the other, and all of them were leering at me with the same glassy blue eyes. I leaped to my feet and spun around in a frantic circle as more and more blinked into view. Along the ceiling, the flames burned ever brighter. You, the corpses whispered, eyes full of mirth, and I realized with something like nausea that every one of them had blonde hair. I wanted to run, but I was frozen in place. You never forgot at all. You've known all along.

No, I told myself with furious conviction, blinded by a sudden explosion of light. I have no idea what the hell this is.

Don't you? they laughed. Oh, I'm sure you forget us. But we're all the same person; there would be no point in remembering names or faces. All the same... of course they were all the same... No. The memory you're committed to is much older than that. And you are so very committed.

I don't know what you're talking about, I thought helplessly. There is no memory I've been clinging to. I don't even know—

How ashamed your father would be, they cackled, and I could feel their gaze even if I couldn't see it. Somewhere, far away, someone was still screaming. How badly you've been longing for something you can never have. How desperately you've been yearning for one more taste of something you cast away from you long ago. Their voices inside my head made my eardrums throb. I clapped my hands over my ears again, but it was no more effective at drowning out the noise than it had been at silencing the screaming. How pitifully you've lied to yourself. The body at my feet wrapped a hand around my leg and pulled herself up into a kneeling position, pressing the bloody remains of her face against my thigh. I could feel her breathing.

"If it were the guilt you were attracted to," she asked, "you could live with yourself, couldn't you?" I could hear the smile in her voice even though I was sure I would never be able to see again. I never wanted to see again. "But you know better than that. It's why you've repressed the few memories you've been able to retain. And even then, you've come running every time one of us has snapped our fingers. But you poor, poor boy..." I had beaten her face beyond recognition, but I could feel the cavity of her mouth where lips must once have been crushing against my skin. "It was never us you wanted... was it, Damien?"

"No," I choked out breathlessly as she clawed her way up my body. "It wasn't." And this time, when I kissed Death, it was of my own volition.

When I woke up with a violent jolt I realized with no small degree of horror that the seat of my pants was soaking wet. For the first time in my life, I prayed that I'd pissed myself. But humiliation had to take a backseat to nausea – at least for now. Covered in blood and what I hoped was just urine, I ran out of the apartment with my eyes glued on the carpet, careful to avoid anything resembling a reflective surface... but I heard him hissing at me anyway.

"You've been fucking him all along."