A/N: As a warning, this chapter and the coming next one have mentions of self-harm in them, and if that is upsetting to you in anyway, please, I implore you, do what's best for you and skip those parts. I'm doing my best to tackle this subject with the sensitivity and understanding it deserves and is necessary for the story I'm trying to tell. I can't thank you all enough for giving this story that popped into my wild imagination a chance. And I hope you guys all stay safe out there during crazy ass time!
Vain
Chapter 18: Sanity
The alarm clock is robotically cruel in its cruelty. It blares and cries with reckless abandon. "Ugh… 'Kay m' up." The grogginess of my voice barely registers along with the rest of me as I somehow manage to turn off my alarm, ceasing the annoying noise altogether. I roll over, sleep filled orbs staring blankly at the ceiling. "Fuck.. Who is it? It's too damn early for this," I grumble. As if my grumbling could be heard through the magic of technology, my body and thoughts were forced into a full state of alertness as my ears picked up on the high pitched ding of my phone.
Butters
Sunday: 8:30 a.m.
Morning Stan! I just wanted to let you know I'll be at your place in 15 minutes!
Shit. I forgot.
Yeah, okay. I'm just gonna take a quick shower.
. . .
Yeah, okay :)
I closed the messages tab, slowly slogging my way out of bed and to my dresser. I pull it open grabbing a baggy hoodie and matching sweat pants, not like I was going anywhere. For all I know Butters coming here was just a quick visit and that was it. Though, if I were being honest with myself at the moment, he pretty much decided it was his job to stick to me like glue. That day we talked I'd vehemently told him that I wouldn't drink anymore, and given the way I'd felt in that moment, I really was serious. But… an addict was an addict no matter the vice. Even now, the itch to drink was like a bug bite I just really had to scratch. Butter's may have gotten rid of my flask. Thanks, stupid bird. I still had a small bottle buried deep, deep beneath my clothes in my dresser. I really didn't need my parents finding out. There was no way in hell I would be able to explain it if were caught. I refused to let it come to that.
I could feel the itch building, but I tried my best to push the gnawing, barring on claustrophobic feeling as I grab onto my newly acquired clothes. They're practically locked in a vice grip beneath my fingers. The feeling of the corse fabric is like a short burst of novocain to my system, one I know won't last not by a long shot, but one appreciated nonetheless. I make it to the bathroom, locking the door behind me without pause. I dump my clothes on the toilet's porcelain cover making a small kerplunck noise in the process. Turning my attention to the shower, I pull back the sickeningly hospital inspired white curtains and give the gray nozzle a hearty turn as the water steadily heats up. I wait a couple minutes before stripping down and hopping inside. The warm water is cool and comforting against my skin. It feels like almost as if it were a warm hug.
The itching subsided as I scrubbed at my skin, the shower being enough to wipe the nagging want for booze from my brain. And as much as I wanted to stay wrapped in the continuous warmth of the shower, I guess I didn't realize I had stayed past the fifteen minute mark by the now loud and rather abrupt banging on the door. "Hey, turd! Hurry the hell up, I gotta use the bathroom! And your turd friend Butters is here in your room." Shelly's voice booms through the thick bathroom door and even over the loud rushing sound of the water raining down on me. "Okay, okay! Give me a minute," I exclaimed. God! There's no privacy in this house is there. I managed to finish up pretty much undisturbed after that, popping out of the bathroom and making my way back to my room, almost getting knocked the shit outta me by Shelly, who came barreling down the hallway almost in a rage toward the bathroom. "'Bout goddamn time!" She roared. "God!" She disappeared behind the door in a flash, the door closing with a thundering hiss. Was that really necessary? Shelly has always a drama queen. I really don't know how her friends dealt with her, if they did at all. Now that I thought about it, I didn't really know her friends. That Tyler douchebag didn't show his face around here anymore, thank god. If I was being honest I never really liked him, not to mention he was way, way too old for her.
Yeah, that's sounds wild coming from me I'm sure. But I love my sister no matter how much of a bitch she can be.
"Heya, Stan!" Butters is quick to greet me with a stout wave of his hand. Butter was currently sitting cross-legged on my bed, a mix between relaxed and overly cautious, practically radiating from him. For once I was surprised he wasn't wearing his usually get up of his to turquoise jacket. Instead, he'd seemingly swapped it out with a gray Mysterion shirt with a long black shirt underneath. "Yo," I replied back, tossing my pajamas in the hamper by my closet.
"Sorry, I took so long," I said. Butters shook his head, "nuh-uh, it's fine. Y-you're sister still scary as heck though," he commented a nervous laugh fell from his lips. "Yeah… sorry about her." I'm not really sure how to follow that up with anything. To be fair, Shelly scared the shit outta me on a daily basis, so talking, or hell just interacting with her was the equivalent of walking on a trail of eggshells over a rickety ass bridge, so I could honestly empathize with just dealing with her intimidating presence alone. "So… what are we gonna do?" I questioned. When Butter had practically declared himself my "AA sponsor", more in a matter of speaking given he didn't have any sort of credentials. He did tell me he had a cousin who had an uncle who was a recovering alcoholic of ten years. Todd was his name if I'm remembering correctly.
"How 'bout we play some games?" Butters says coolly. "Games? I don't see why not, what do you have in mind?" Without realizing it at first, I started picking at the hem my sweater cuff that I had to stop myself. "O-oh, well, um," Butters stammered, clearly taken aback by my willingness.
"I-I'll be right back, I, uh, left my bag downstairs," Butters relays. I nodded as I watched him shuffle, almost stumble clumsily out of my room. His feet sound like quick pin-pricks of air as I hear him zoom down the stairs as they gave off the occasional squeak. As he comes back up, the squeaks that were once light moments ago, were heavy and shaky. "I-I'm back." A dark black backpack was now resting on Butters right shoulder, he plops down a little ways away from me. "I didn't really know what games would be fun to play, so I kinda just grabbed a hodgepodge. Sorry in advance," he said giving a chortle. I noticed how his once tense shoulders and heavily knitted together eyebrows relaxed to an extent. "Nah, don't sweat it. I'm game for whatever, Butters, believe me," give a soft smile. I watch with curious eyes as Butters unzipped his bag and pulled out the games. .
Connect4, Operation, Uno, and Candy Land. These were the games of choice we had to pick from. "This is a pretty good collection Butters," I'm genuinely impressed. "Oh, thanks," he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, blush painted his cheeks. "So, what do you want to play first?"
"Hmm… definitely not Uno. You were absolutely ruthless last time. Yeah, hell no."
"I-It wasn't that—" Butters stammered, trying to make a case where there really wasn't one.
"Bullshit," I chuckled, half pouting, half smirking. "You are evil when it comes to Uno Butters. It's wild!"
"Well…" Butters physical tick of tapping his knuckles taking precedence seeing how he seemed to be tongue tied. "Let's play Operation."
"O-Okay. Who's gonna start?" He questioned
"Rock, Papers, Scissors for it?" I smirked. A playful air circulated the room. Both Butters and I were excited. "Don't get upset if you lose." Butters words held an air of cheekiness to them. "Oh, you're on Butters! I'm not gonna lose!" A laugh almost akin to a villains laugh outta a kids cartoon falls from my lips. Butters scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Ready?" I nodded utterly determined to score a win this time around. We each held a hand out. Our breaths steady as Butters began the all too familiar ritual.
"Rock…"
I could feel the itch brimming underneath my skin again. I swallowed hard trying my best to ignore it.
"Paper…"
Sweat slowly building on the base of my forehead. To any outsider, it probably looked as though I were just in an intense concentration match, but I knew better—god, did I know…
"Scissors…"
Was I going be strong enough to fight this? Would Butters be enough? Or would I collapse?
"Shoot…!"
XXX
"OH YOU'VE GOTTA BE—!" I cried. "No. Screw that! Rematch Butters," I demanded. Anger was boiling inside me. I was bordered on livid. How? How was Butters this fuckin' good? It didn't make any sense. Was he cheating somehow and I wasn't good at catching it? He did know something I didn't? Or was it truly just borderline luck? I needed to find out, I needed—I needed a god damn..! The world around me was blurry, like an outta body experience. I was having a hard time registering was going on. My ears barely picked up on Butters saying that he was going to the bathroom for a minute and he'd be right back. If I acknowledged anything he said, I wasn't aware of it. But the sudden watering of my mouth was enough to tell me what I wanted.
It was right in that bottom drawer, snug and warm between stacks of clothes. Just one hearty chug. That's all that I would need, I knew. The craving would be over and everything would fall back into place again, instead of feeling always like a jumble of mixed-matched pieces. If I could just have the one sip, then I would quit cold turkey, no complaints! You gotta let me…!!! The world around me reached a fever pitch, I could no longer make out up from down, left from right. I wasn't even aware my breathing had become erratic and heavy. I become aware on some level of consciousness that I'm blacking out inconsistent intervals, one minute at a time, then two, I quickly began to loose count and find it's just not worth trying.
Blink…
I hear something open, but I'm too scatterbrained to register the sound.
Blink… Blink…
Something shifts beneath my fingers, I think.
Blink.
There's weight in my hand, a cold, warm weight.I don't truly resister what's happening until the deed is already painfully done. Fire shoots down my throat, my lips sucking it down like a new born puppy sucks feverishly on the mother's tit when they're first born. It burns to my core, but it also manages to be soothing. Finally, something familiar; something grounded.
The bottle is empty, it bottle slips from my hands as though it's tainted. My hands and lips are shaking. Disgusting, is the word that fills my mind. I am utterly and sickeningly revolted.
"S-Stan, w-what…?" the words are soft and riddled with nothing but clear concern. I involuntarily flinch, no, don't look at me like that! I don't need your — Butters steps forward, I draw back "What? What do you have to say, huh?" I bite. I know what's happening right now — what I'm saying is a mix of not just the alcohol currently making its way through my system, but also how deeply ashamed and grossed out with myself I am.
"No Stan, I—"
As I feel the heat in rising in my system, so to do my words. My accusatory words I spit and hurl toward someone who was only trying to help. "T-This is your fault!" Pain flashes across Butters face for a second, only to be replaced with a caring determination. "This isn't you Stan, this is the—" again, I refuse to let Butters even think of getting a word in. It's said that alcohol can let even the tightest of deeply once thought buried thoughts or actions come to the surface. "Y-You had to come over a-and play your shitty games, thinking that would help distract me, but it doesn't, okay? All I wanted you to do was leave me the fuck alone, you should've just let me, let me—" my emotions are swift like wind, My body is shaking uncontrollably, my cries don't even register as mine, nor do I recognize the tears until long after they've fallen and began to seep into the carpet, painting it with dark blotches.
"Shh… Stan, it's okay I know it's hard, but I'm here, okay?" His voice is so soothing, his arms are wrapped around me in a soft embrace, it's warm. I find myself taking purchase in the comfort Butters is granting me even after what I'd just said to him. When did he manage to get this close to me without me knowing anyway? "Shh… it's okay, little buddy," he's continues to rub my back calmly. The tiny boost of adrenaline the alcohol gave is draining slowly, but surely given that it wasn't a full bottle I managed to drain dry. It's just the two of us, silence draped over us like a blanket. "I-I'm sorry," my apology sounds like a whisper on the wind that I wondered if Butters even heard it, "It's okay. I know it's not easy, f-feeling alone. Wanting the world to just swallow you up sometimes cause it doesn't feel worth it."
"Butters?"
I slowly pull back from his embrace. He greets me with a serene smile, and yet, there's something behind Butters usually warm and kind eyes that leaves a chill that I can't explain. "B—" but this time he stops me from getting any words out. I watch as he picks up the now empty bottle, his eyes staring down at it like it holds all the answers to how we got to this point. I wish I knew what was going on in his head, I swallow slowly, why do I feel like I'm being scolded by my parents? It was an odd though to come to, sure, but definitely not unfounded given what Butters follows up with. "Is this the only bottle you have?" He questions, I shrink back, I've been stung by a wasp, or that's what it feels similar to. A shaky breath falls from my lips. "No… I don't have anymore that's, that's the last of it," I reassured. I could've just ended it there, I'd answered his question after all, but nope, "I… I was going to get more later when everyone was asleep."
"How?" Again, no malice behind it, just questioning.
"I get beer for my dad sometimes, the guy that usually rings me up doesn't really give a shit, so…" I bite the inside of my cheek, I'm quick to taste blood, which as morbid as it sounds, calms me. Butters hands grasp my cold ones, I involuntarily shiver, "I know it hard Stan, and I'm not saying what you're going through is easy, but you need someone. And listen, I know I'm the last person you pictured. Trust me I didn't think it would come to this either, but I'm here now and I'm not just gonna run because you said somethings that I can tell you don't even mean."
I was at a loss. Butters had to be a reincarnation of an angel. There was no way that someone like him was real. Someone this kind through all the bullshit that's ever happened to them. To be this caring, this accepting of people. It just didn't seem real.
"I-I… yeah, o-okay."
"C'mon, let's go do something else, yeah?" Butters rises to his feet, his socks make soft imprints in the carpet. He makes it a point to pick up my 'demon' and stuff it in his front coat pocket. "Hm." I nod. I got up slowly, my balance is wonky, my feet feel numb beneath me, I go to step forward only for my knees to buckle. Butters is surprisingly quick on the draw and catches my arm. "Ah. Here, let me help," he says. "N-no it's okay," I utter, I step away from him, wobbling for a second; a second I'm grateful that Butter's usually keen eye doesn't catch, or if he did, he's nice to grant me this small sense of independence I'm trying my best to project in front of him, when I'm really anything but.
We leave the cards in a scattered heap on my carpet, Butters and I walk out of my room and down the stairs. I can see that Butters is talking to me rather animatedly, but my ears don't even bother to register that fact, let alone what the conversation is even about. "Hm, yeah," I mumbled, words and subsequent responses designated to autopilot.
I stir the spoon in the thick glass of chocolate milk that's resting in front of me rather lackadaisically. While Butters drunk his strawberry flavored milk with gusto. "You really like Strawberry milk, huh?" I say, watching with an odd fascination at the blurry plastic bottom as the pink milk swished to and fro inside the cup. "Yeah, Nesquick is truly the best milk, plus I really like the bunny."
"Hmm… The bunny, huh. You wouldn't happen to be a furry, would you Butters?" I chid, jokingly. This earns a surprisingly (and I never thought a I'd say this) but cute puzzled look from Butters. "A what?" He sounded genuinely confused, his question holding an air of innocence, making me feel somewhat dirty. "A-ah, n-nevermind." I try my best to play off this awkwardness that's building. All things considered, I guess I really shouldn't be surprised, this is the same Butters that had us drinking his cum telling us it was some fancy sports drink.
"O-oh, okay." Butters thankfully doesn't press me. The awkwardness quickly dissipates, leaving a calm in its wake. I can vaguely make out the soft metronomic hum of TV in the living room. Shelly mostly likely still adamantly watching some teen drama she tended to like so much.
"It's ironic isn't it," I say, not really expecting a response to my musings. But I'm also not surprised by the sudden input given this is why this whole "intervention", is happening in the first place. "Y-you're taking about your dad aren't you? I remember you mentioned it once." Butter's cup is now empty as I'm able to see faint traces of pink milk specks marking the cup. "J-Just because your dad is a certain way, it doesn't mean that—"
"But doesn't it though? My grandpa was the exact same way too in his day. It's pretty much par for the course at this point."
"You don't know that."
"And you do?"
"I-I'm not saying that!"
"Then what are you saying?"
The heat in our words rising. We're going around in circles like we're on a carousel. I clench my fist, it feels as if the anger that I feel building is being transferred there. I want to punch something, but I don't. "I—Listen… I know what it's like feeling like you'll end up like your dad. I… refuse to end up like my parents. Either of them. They're—I'm—" Butters swallowed. As I stared at him, that chill that I once felt when we were talking came back. His eyes held an edge to them I didn't like. "Butters, are you—" but my words were caught in my throat. God, how fucking pathetic was I couldn't even bother to ask the person who was going out of their way to help me if they were okay. I grabbed his hand, he practically jumped outta his skin. "A-ah, sorry my hands are probably really cold, huh." My words sounded strained and tired, pretty much how I felt.
"N-No it's not that, It's—" but he swallowed softly. Our eyes continued to stay locked, like we were entered in a game we didn't even realize we'd signed up for. "Butters, you never—you've never, um—" I felt like a petulant child, too scared to ask to go to the bathroom even though they really had to. Even so, Butter's was by no means dumb, and gauging by the unmistakable look of someone who seemed utterly ashamed of himself, he knew what I was implicating. For the first time since Butters had been here, I'm enveloped by a silence that chills me to the bone and one that I don't want. My heart is practically constricting and contorting in ways I never thought possible at someone like Butters even thinking—going down that road. Butters now, looked paler than I remember, or that's was it seems to me but it also could be a trick of the light, given how we're positioned around the table. Then again, the mind was a fickle thing when came to bits of things it didn't and did want to deal with.
And while my head and heart are a whirlwind of emotions, my face conveyed an entirely different tale. It was like I was staring back at a child who I'd scolded too harshly. Butters was practically shrinking and becoming one with the chair. His natural oceanic orbs were frantic, on the verge of tears. Even without saying anything, it's clear that this sudden topic change is too much as the only thing Butters can do to cope is to leave. He rises from his chair, I vaguely make out that his lower lip is trembling as he tries his best to stifle it by biting it. "Ow!" He let's out a small cry of pain.
I think he's drawn blood but it's hard to see. For a fraction of a millisecond his eyes meet mine, only to dart away in the hopes of preoccupying themselves with anything that wasn't me, or this clearly tense and over stimulating situation we find ourselves thrusted in. Butters pivots rather quickly walking out the kitchen without another word, he mutters a rushed excuse me to Shelly as he dashes past the TV as not to obscure her vision too much. As I watched him bumble up the stairs, my body finally choose to react.
"W-wait, Butters!" I cried, going after him. By the time I reached my room most, if not all the cards were off the floor and Butters was zipping up his backpack, ready to sling it over his shoulder. "Butters." He stops, almost immediately. I hear him let out a shaky breath. "W-What, S-Stan?" I slowly approach his seemingly small form. Butters tenses up, but doesn't move. I go to reach a hand out in reassurance, but I stop.
What am I supposed to say?
I'm sorry?
I'm here for you?
We'll get through this together?
God, what a load of bullshit.
We weren't really friends. It's not like whatever the hell I decided to say would make any sort of difference. "I—forget it," I murmured, keeping my hand resting at my side. "Y-yeah, well… I'll see ya Stan, okay?" He said, lacking anything close to the gusto he had exuded earlier. It was like night and day, and if I was being honest, that scared me.
"Yeah, I-I'll see you around, okay?" I said, giving off some semblance of a smile, even if in that moment it felt unabashedly forced from both our ends. "Yeah," but I could tell he didn't sound sure. I watched him walk out my room and down the stairs. I followed a few feet behind. Butters reached the door, slipping on his shoes with relative ease. He then placed his hand on the door knob, pulling it open and walking out. Thunder rumbling loudly in the oppressive black smoke clouds above us.
"It's going to rain," Butters said, an air of childish innocence nestled in what feels like relief. From me no doubt. "Bye."
"Bye."
He walked and I went back in the house closing the door behind me. Apparently, I shut it too fast prompting a scoff of annoyance from Shelly. "Fuck off, Shelly," I grumbled. "Fuck you, too. Turd." She retorted, but that seemed to be all the energy she was willing to expense at the current moment and went back to watching whatever stupid ass teen drama show that managed to capture her attention in the first place. While I—I did the only that made sense. "I'm going to the store," I announced, not that I cared if Shelly heard me.
"What the hell for, turd?"
"Why? You wanna come with or something? Don't act like you suddenly care about what I do with my life. Please, just don't." This time my passive-aggressive remark got her full attention. "Really, Stan? Fuck you."
"Yeah, well you're such a model sister aren't you," I bite back. I didn't need this.
"Don't think I don't know about your little stunt with taking dad's beer. Asshole."
"Okay, and…?"
"Are you fuckin dense or is that alcohol rotting your brain cells already?"
"Seriously, fuck off."
Shelly's breath was rough on my skin. When had she gotten this close? Her eyes were blazing with intention. She wanted to pummel the ever loving shit outta me, it was practically radiating off of her like something out of a comic book. And while any other day of the week I'd willingly let her do whatever, today was different; right now, I wasn't gonna roll over. I was a live-wire of emotions. I was tired, annoyed, worried, confused, but most of all, I was fucking done with all of it. And so, for once it my life, I did something that I'd only ever acted upon in anger-hazed daydreams. I delivered a hard right hook to shelly's face. It felt like slow-motion kicked in. Shelly's lean body sagged to the right, like a slinky going down the steps. She rights herself quicker then I give her credit for. Not one to take shit from anyone, especially not me. She gave me a taste of my just deserts and socked me right back. Hell, I think it was way harder than I hit her as the taste of blood and metal enveloped my senses.
"G-Gah, f-fuck!" I cursed, staggering. I caught myself. My anger was ablaze, I swung again, connecting with her face once more. She staggered back again, this time more forcefully. "Y-you bastard!" She exclaimed in rage grabbing me roughly and pushing me down the carpet, hard. "Argh," I cried in pain, Shelly's lanky body bared down on mine.
"You stupid. Shitty. Little. Turd!" She exclaimed, wailing on me relentlessly. My stomach, face, hair, arms and legs, they were free game as far as Shelly was concerned. My body screamed in agony as the pain racked my body. Even so, my hands find purchase in any part of Shelly's body trying to land blows of my own while defending at the same time. Scratches and punches, howls of pain, we were two dogs scrapping for dominance. We hadn't fought anything close to this since we were pretty young. And even then, This—this was different, we were both taking out our anger on each other. Flecks of blood stained the carpet. This is as raw as the two of us will ever get to saying we "care", and as sad and twisted as that is, we know it to be true.
Eventually, while our minds are whirling and festering with bits of unbridled rage, our bodies now screamed in protest. I was pretty sure my left eye was going to be swollen by sometime tomorrow, my lip was busted and I had scratches that burned like hell. To be fair, my sister looked just as worse for wear, her hair looked like a tornado went through it. She had scratches on her cheek and arms. Her lip, like mine, was busted and bleeding. She had a festering bright purple bruise forming on the side of her temple where I decked her the first time. She was still on top of me, she managed to pin my arms down during the scuffle.
"Let me go!" I growled.
"No way in hell!"
"Let me go!" I failed my legs, hoping to gain some sort of levity. But I could tell Shelly wasn't going to let up, no matter how tired I could tell she was. "I'm not letting you go, you little shit. Though, I will give you credit for finally growing some balls," she said snidely.
"Why do you suddenly give a shit, huh?" I questioned. I had to know. This wasn't like Shelly. At all.
"Well, given the fact that my little brat asshole brother is slowly becoming a closet drunk and just punched me in the face."
"I'm not a—"
"Don't—! Don't even say you're not Stan. Mom and Dad might not notice. Mainly dad, his dumbass couldn't find his way out of a paper bag sometimes. But mom… I can tell she thinks something's up with you."
"So what are you gonna do? Snitch?" I earned a sharp slap to my head. "Ah, fuck!"
"You want me to?"
"No. Fuck no."
"Then don't be a smartass, got it?"
I didn't comment. I refused to look at her. "Please, get off me," I mumbled. This time, she complied with my plea. The pressure that she's put on my body lifted and I let out a breath I didn't even think I was holding. Shelly's body was now sprawled out next to mine. Our limbs were both gangly cut up messes, our fingers almost touching. "Listen…Stan?" The smallness of Shelly's voice caught me off guard, I couldn't help but be taken aback. It honestly sounded like Shelly were a different person entirely in this moment.
I didn't say anything, but Shelly continued to speak, my silence taken as a "yes". "I'm not the first person to realize I'm not to best sister at the best of times, and I know I give you a hard time and I am the last to give a fuckin' lecture on what you want to do with your life and when shit gets bad as I'm guessing it did and how you cope with it. Don't tell dad or mom, but I've smoked here or there before coming home. So…I get it, I do. I just—want you to be better. Do you get what I mean?
"Hmm."
"I'm serious Stan."
My hair obscured my eyes, so if she was looking for some sort of confirmation that I'd heard she wouldn't see anything. Silence enveloped the room rather quickly before I ended up being the one to brake it. I slowly sat up, my body felt like fire. Goddamn. As I rose to my feet, my gait was wonky and I wobbled a bit before properly righting myself. "I'm still going out, do—do you want to come?" I ask, hesitant. "You serious? Did our—"
"N-No… I'm not— I-I promise—" and for once the words that fall from my lips are the unadulterated truth that not even I can't find I can dispute. "—how about we both go get ice cream or something, I dunno…" My feet scuff the carpet in a childish manner. Shelly chuckles, "Apologizing already?"
I stare at the stairs finding them interesting in that moment. "I don't have invite you, you know?" I murmur. There's no bite in my words this time, only a growing annoyance. With how we're acting now you wouldn't even think we'd literally beat the shit out of each other minutes before. "Oh calm down, turd. I'm just teasing." Shelly rises to her feet better than I did, but there is wince of physical pain that manages to show on her face regardless.
She makes her way up the stairs first, I'm slow to react but I eventually follow behind. We head to our respective rooms before coming out looking a little less shitty. Me, with my typical brown coat and poof-ball hat. Shelly sporting a tan jacket I'd never see her wear before. "Is that jacket mom's?" I asked. She nodded, "yeah."
"Hm. Ready?"
"Yep." She patted the right side of her pocket indicating most likely where her wallet and cellphone rested. "Are you ready? I'm not gonna pay for you, you know."
I don't need you to," I retorted, folding my arms defiantly. "Come on, let go before mom and dad get home." I nodded as we headed back downstairs. Shelly and I slipped on our shoes and headed out. There was a slight drizzle, but nothing that would deter us from our ice cream journey.
We ended up walking to Lolly's Candy Shop. A soft bell let out a chime as we walked in. "Welcome to Lolly's! How can I help you today?" A plump man with bright red hair on the sides of his head and a balding top spot, wearing a Lolly's apron greeted us with a cheery disposition. "Stanley, it's been quite a while hasn't it!"
"Heya, Lolly," I said greeting him with the best smile I could muster, which at the moment wasn't much. Everything still very much hurt and I just really wasn't up for being overly cheery. Thankfully, Lolly didn't seem to hold it against me, and continued on with our now started conversation without missing a beat. "Who's this with you? How are the others doing?"
At the mention of "friends," I feel my breath stop, but try my best to play it off. "I don't know—We aren't really on the best of speaking terms…" I glance away feeling like I'm a foreign entity without my friends beside me. "W-Well that's okay, I'm sure it'll all work out in the end," he said, trying to sound optimistic for my sake. I doubt it. But I didn't dare say in fear of making anything more awkward. "Anyway, what can I do for you and…" he now looked over at Shelly who's attention had been drawn to the a large row of gummy candy in the middle of the store. "Oh, this is my sister Shelly." I said. At the sudden mention of her name, she turned to us. "Hello," she greeted, nodding her head. "So, what are you two here for?" He questions. "Ice cream."
"Oh, well you're in luck then. I got in a hodgepodge of different selections this morning, if you can believe it."
"Really? Sweet!" I exclaimed. I made my way over to the ice cream freezer. Shelly was still enchanted with all the candy's on display. Not that I could blame her, this place was pretty much a mini Willy Wonka factory in the middle of bumbfuck South Park Colorado. "Hey, Charlie Bucket do you want ice cream or a golden ticket?" I joked, smirking. "Oh, har har," she turned toward me, sticking her tongue out. With her hands stuffed I her pockets, she made her way over to over to where I had my face pressed longingly into the cold glass. "Geez, you planning to eat the glass there, turd?"
I looked up at her, I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "S-Shut up!" I stuttered. With relative ease we'd picked our ice cream. I got a rocket pop and Shelly got a chocolate drumstick. Both were 2.00 each which left us surprisingly enough money for a small bag of candy for the both of us. The confectionary treat was sweet and cold on my tongue lighting up my senses like pop rocks as we walked down the rather quiet illuminated street.
"You seem happy. Your icee that good, huh?" Shelly commented between bites of her drumstick. "I guess." my voice lacking anything close to caring. Now that the drizzle of rain had subsided it gave way to sticky and humid heat. "God, it's hot as shit out here. Good thing we got ice cream, huh."
"Yep." At this point, my icee was no more than the stick that now rested in my mouth. It had some little riddle on it but I couldn't be bother to find out what it said. "What the hell happened to you, turd." Shelly's genuine curiosity would've thrown me for a loop any other day of the week, but given the day I—we've both had, I can't say I wasn't expecting it. Hell, if I were being honest, I was dreading it. "Huh?" I said, doing my best to exude on an air of innocence. If my day with Butters taught me anything, I wasn't ready. Not yet, everything was still raw, even two weeks later.
"What?" I said, putting on an air of innocence. "Well, I mean, ever since that day, you've closed yourself off." She explained, taking my fake confusion as genuine.
"Yeah, well, shit happens, right?"
"Yeah, I guess. It's just—"
There it goes again, people trying to fuckin' pry when it's not needed!
"Look, We had our sibling moment. Was that not enough?" I snapped.
"Stan I'm just—"
"Fuck off!" I yelled, stopping hard on my heels causing her collide with my back. "That's all anyone is trying to do! You, Butters, mom, fuck, even dad! I don't need anyone psychoanalyzing me, alright? I just want to be alone!" The tears were hot and heavy as they pooled from my eyes. I was shaking now, and my breathing was hard.
"Okay, alright. I was stupid thinking that things were slowly beginning to change," Shelly's voice bitter and regretful. "I'll go back to ignoring and treating you like shit and you can't go back to being a shitty little asshole. That's what you want, right?"
I didn't reply.
"Just don't let me find your dumbass rotting in a gutter, okay? See you at home." As Shelly stalks past me, she bumps my shoulder hard enough that I stagger and fall to the concrete earning me more burning scraps.
I'm alone. Just me and blooming silence. I finally get what I wanted, right?
Right?