CHAPTER 14: In which another Bag is thoroughly de-Catted (during another Confrontation)
Kenny's fists hurt.
Stan's did too.
The two of them were brawling out behind City Wok - sure, out front of City Wok, Shi Tpa Town was respectable and all (and no-one would dare besmirch the sacredground that was Whole Foods, of course), but the TV cameras never come back behind the buildings, they stick to the main streets, no-one wuld ever find them punching each other up here, oh my god what if Kenny kills me
Stan's face fell, and he had second thoughts about pummelling Kenny to the ground. Unfortunately, Kenny's thought processes weren't going in the same direction, and he took Stan's brief complacence as a prime opportunity to lay into him all the harder.
Somehow Kenny had not succumbed to the malnutrition and continued diseases that threatened to do him in when he was younger, and had grown into a healthy and (it had to be said) rather attractive young man. Not helpful when he's fucking your face up, idiot. Stan snapped out of that thought as Kenny landed another square left hook into his jaw.
Well, nothing broken yet.
"KENNY, STOP, I'M SORRY!"
Kenny paused, panting, and the red mist seemed to fall from before his eyes.
"The fuck is up with you Stan? You called me out here, you said you wanted to talk, I get here, you break my fucking nose!"
Stan looked up, and actually saw Kenny for the first time that afternoon. Before, all he was was a mess of blond hair and tanned skin and disgust. Now, he looked over his friend (?) and saw that he'd really actually done quite a number on Kenny's face.
"What are your plans with Kyle, Kenny?"
Kenny paused, his face red with blood, his nose slightly crooked to the side.
"What?"
"Why haven't you left his side for two days?" Stan spat, gesticulating wildly. "I know you were staying at his house last night, I know you've been writing songs for him, I know the last person who you did all of this for was Bebe, and I ain't letting you fuck him over, and -"
"STAN, fuck, just..." Kenny was visibly exasperated. "Just shut the fuck UP sometimes, jeez..." Stan stopped and looked back at him, the fury from their fight a minute ago replaced with suppliant fear.
"OK... OK, I've stopped." Fuck, what's my excuse for caring so much, fuck, fuck fuck fuck, oh my god, he's gonna figure out, he already knows, fuck fuck, it's like Craig all over again, what do I tell
Kenny sighed and tentatively padded at his nose. SHIT, that hurts. He decided that poking his newly-broken nose might be high on the list of things not to do at this given instance, and sat up against the back of City Wok. Stan crawled over and propped himself up, half-leaning on him. "What does it matter to you?"
"I - I - he doesn't take romance well - you remember -"
"Romance?" That had Kenny audibly chuckle incredulously.
"Yeah, you remember when Wendy had broken up with me that one time and tried to get with him at a party?"
"What does romance have to do with it?" Kenny snorted. His face then fell a little. "I don't want to fuck Kyle, Stan. I have no ulterior motives. I just... I just am worried about you both. And you ... you seem to be able to take care of yourself better than him. You ... don't do what he does..." He paused, lip quivering. "Do you?"
"No, Kenny." Stan's voice was cold. "At least, not with anything sharp." That had Kenny worried - his blue eyes met Stan's suddenly. Stan thought distantly to himself that he seemed to have a knack for delivering minor revelations in the worst possible way. "I drink. I smoke. I've dabbled in weird shit. But nothing like that." Well that will hardly calm his fears.
"You - you weren't meant to find out like that." Kenny seemed to be apologising. "Kyle didn't want you to find out like that. He didn't want me to find out at the mall, he certainly wouldn't have wanted you to find out that day either, he just didn't come out with a coat, he was coming to apologise to you, he ..." Kenny trailed off; his thoughts were scrambling. "I don't know what's happened to our fucking year anymore. We're all fucking screwed up and it hurts."
Stan agreed. He had no comeback to that, he completely agreed. He just sighed, and stared off to the distance, trying to avoid the potent mix of smells mingling in his nose: low-quality lo mein and garbage, and sweating onions, and blood and testosterone, and copper, and rat urine, and desperation. He fumbled for a cigarette in his pocket, catching one of his split knuckles on the zip and swearing under his breath. Kenny looked over.
"Fetch me one?"
"Sure thing, Kenny..."
I guess that was an alright outcome? Stan sighed to himself, as he placed the straight between his lips and lit up. He passed the box to Kenny, who took one himself, and lit it. The two boys sat smoking between the rats and dumpsters and discarded bottles and polystyrene, looking out over the unused parking lot and beyond to the outskirts of town, and beyond it, the world.
"Stan?"
"Huh?" The noiret looked over.
"He's not ready to find out yet."
"What?"
"You can't tell him how you feel."
"WHAT?" Stan's heart sunk, and he almost dropped his cigarette from his mouth.
"Don't even try dude. You've started talking to Bridon. No-one just starts talking to Bridon. And all of this?" He paused, looked over, and sighed. "I feel you, Stan. I really understand. But he's not ready."
"He's not ready?"
"Just ... we'll talk about this some other time. Let's just calm down for the moment." And with that, it was clear that Kenny was done talking for the time being.
Stan, a little sick inside, for the first time keenly notied the taste of blood in his mouth, and realised that his top lip had split. Ah well, no-one's home tonight, no explaining to do. His shoulders sank, he relaxed into his cigarette, and he and Kenny watched the birds fighting over the rooves of the houses behind City Wok.