Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of the characters.
Warning: This chapter contains the most graphic self-harm of the entire fic. After this (so far) there has been no more self-harm within the fic. Stay safe! If you can't read it, don't force yourself to read it!
Chapter Two
Being Foolish, Feeling Betrayed
Closing time couldn't have come any sooner. I'm just glad Kenny was working with me today. Once it had reached four PM the shop got really busy. There were several overly difficult customers who would have triggered me into having a panic attack but luckily Kenny came to my rescue.
Kenny had to man the very busy store by himself for a while so I could calm down. Overall it wasn't the greatest of days. Kenny and I are now currently sweeping the floors and scrubbing the tables clean while music blares loudly around us. We're once again indulging in smoking for the third time today. We're even smoking in the main shop area, an occurrence I secretly adored, with the curtains pulled and the fans on which were to be left on overnight.
I hit the pipe then place it down onto the freshly cleaned counter. I watch Kenny scrub the tables with my usual relative annoyance. That blonde haired teenager cannot clean to save his life. I've seen his bedroom, and his house, and both were gross.
"Kenny, ngh, you're n-not doing it r-right." I groan, hoping that maybe if I just reminded him he'd figure it out. Like, oh! Wow you're right Tweek, this is how you clean! But no, none of that happens and I don't think it ever will. So instead I step up next to Kenny and snatch the washcloth from him and douse it in a whole new layer of sanitizing chemicals.
"You never think I do it right." Kenny argues sounding way too amused. Kenny always finds it funny when I clean. "I assure you Tweek those tables can only get so clean." I shoot him a glare that I was hoping would paralyze him in fear but Kenny simply laughs instead. Unfortunately my glares never seem to wield the proper power. But then again Kenny just laughs a lot.
"Not with how y-you clean them."
"With how you clean them I'm surprised your skin hasn't burned off from prolonged chemical exposure." I shoot him another 'deadly' glare. Once again the attractive blonde boy laughs as I continue my furious scrubbing. Kenny disappears behind the counter to grab another washcloth to resume his own pathetic attempt at cleaning.
The next fifteen minutes are spent in a comfortable silence as we clean. As one song dimmed off to silence Kenny speaks up before the next song can begin. "Hey Tweek," his voice sounds off, like he isn't looking forward to what he has to say. I look up at him and raise my eyebrows, to make him aware that I'm waiting. He doesn't say anything though. I have a very bad feeling about this.
"Y-Yeah?" I finally ask so that Kenny will just spit out already. But I don't want to hear it. I really don't. But it's too late because Kenny is opening his mouth and beginning to speak.
"I think I'm going to quit."
His words shock me. My mind goes blank, my jaw drops and I don't even know what to do. The thought that Kenny might quit has never occurred to me before and I don't think I can handle it. Oh god.
I drop my washcloth onto a nearly spotless table and stare at Kenny in disbelief.
"JESUS! W-What? Why!" My voice gets embarrassingly shrill but I don't even care for once. I think I'm starting to panic.
Kenny grabs the blessed drugs from off the counter. He ignores my alarmed staring and sputtering of disbelief. Instead he casually lights the bowl up and inhales deeply. Afterwards he shoves the pipe in my hand and I graciously take it.
"Well you've noticed how many people are coming in to buy weed from me. It's a lot. And it's not even a quarter of the people I sell to. After and before work I'm just constantly making deliveries and it's too much. I'm getting really popular over in North Park and at the rate it's going I just can't have two jobs. I'm already making more money dealing than I do here." Kenny shrugs almost helplessly.
"Don't get me wrong I love working here, it's fun, but I need money and I'll get more as long as I'm dealing more. Especially while it's still summer and I don't have school every day." This isn't surprising to hear. It's no secret that Kenny's family is dirt poor and I have no doubt in my mind that he's one of the main providers for his family. Kenny really, really needs all the money he can get.
Even still I don't want to accept any of this. Even knowing Kenny's just doing what's necessary for his family's wellbeing I don't want him to leave me.
"But you're m-my-"
"Shift buddy?" Kenny finishes for me.
I nod solemnly and feel so pathetically self-centered. Kenny has to know I can't handle working with some stranger that my parents pick out for me. I had lucked out getting to work with Kenny. I almost always hate my picked shift buddies. While I had even hated Kenny at first I grew to actually like the devious bastard.
"Don't worry Tweek, we'll still be friends." Kenny smiles cheekily and reaches out to ruffle my hair. In response I sputter in annoyance. "And I know you need a shift buddy so I found a replacement for you!"
I gasp and cringe. A replacement? Who in the world would Kenny pick to replace him? Kenny knows everybody, there are countless options and I don't think I like any of them.
"W-What? W-Who?"
"Craig fucking Tucker."
Oh god. Oh Jesus. What? What? What? No!
The grin on Kenny's face is terrifying. I don't mean to but I very visibly flinch at the replacements name. Craig Tucker is terrifying. On my mental list of scariest people at South Park high Craig Tucker is a close second to Eric Cartman himself.
Craig Tucker is an emotionless monster! He's so stoic and tall and just so freaking serious. Everyone knew if you get on his bad side Craig Tucker could beat you senseless! I do not want to get beat up. I mean I couldn't think of anyone he actually beat up but I'm pretty sure there's been many helpless victims! Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't just let him beat me up. I'd fight back but, Jesus! That's so much pressure!
"W-Why him?" I demand, fully freaking out. Kenny's laughing at me.
Damn dickwad is always laughing at me! Dickwad, Dickwad, Dickwad!
"Oh he's not scary. He just has a bad reputation. He's actually pretty nice and totally harmless." Kenny wiggles his eyebrows at me, always knowing my basic fears in people. "You'll get along just fine. I promise. What do you say? Give him a chance?"
"No -wway. No f-fucking way. Jesus! W-What are you thinking? Are you cra-crazy! He'll k-kill me. He h-hates me."
"Oh please, he doesn't hate you. And, seriously, he's not out to kill."
"Y-You're lying."
"Tweek, you're killing me here! Don't you have any faith in me? I wouldn't lie to you."
"Auragh." I groan in frustration. And Kenny laughs at me, again.
"Oh come on you can at least try it out. Give the guy a two week trial, if you don't like him I'll come back." I stare at Kenny, contemplating his offer. It seems like I could either accept Kenny's proposal and suffer two weeks with Craig to get Kenny back or face some random shift buddy my parent picks.
It's painfully obvious what I have to pick.
"When?" I finally squeeze out.
Kenny smiles sheepishly. "Well about that…" He trails off and I wince, not looking forward to his answer already. There's no way I'm going to like this.
"Tomorrow."
I scream.
I scream true and loud. I can't believe this. Kenny could not be doing this to me.
"You've been p-planning this! Jesus! Why c-couldn't you have b-brought this up earlier? FUCK, man!" There has to be some way to get out of this. Jesus. "What if my p-parents say no?" I ask hopefully. Maybe if I told them how much of an awful person Craig is they'd say no!
"Already asked them, they said yes." Kenny admits. I cry out again and my legs give out from underneath me and I fall roughly onto my butt in my well-deserved over-dramatic despair.
"No," I moan in misery. Kenny laughs lightly and crouches down in front of me.
"Hey now just give him a try okay? He's actually a pretty chill guy! Plus I might have promised him you'd say yes." Cue moan of despair. "He's very compliant too. You'll totally be his boss! That's fun, right?" Leave it to Kenny McCormick to be painfully optimistic. "What do you say? Give him a chance?"
Unfortunately I've never been able to say no to Kenny when he's really asking me for something; thus presenting reason six Kenny McCormick is extremely dangerous.
"Fine," I grumble. Kenny's grin is infectious and I have to try really hard not to smile back because I am not happy about this. His damn smile just has to be so contagious! Very stubbornly I chose to tune out his annoying face.
"Awesome! I told him to show up half an hour before opening. I already told him that you like to work high and he doesn't care. He'll probably even bring his own stuff. He's nice like that." Kenny winks. "You'll get along just fine. You'll see!"
I angrily mutter obscenities under my breath.
I take another drag off the pipe, inhaling the remains of the bowl to spite Kenny. I relish in the aching burn that hits my lungs with full force. I exhale an impressive cloud which makes Kenny cheer. That damn happy fool isn't even angry when I finish off a still half full bowl in that one hit.
I ram the not quite so legal instrument into Kenny's outstretched hands. And then I get back to cleaning. I still can't believe this is happening. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
That night I return to my family's dark empty house furious. I suddenly couldn't control my anger.
I'm angry at Kenny for quitting. I'm angry I'd have to work with Craig Tucker. I'm angry that Kenny needs money. I'm angry at myself for being so freaking unreasonable and selfish.
I'm basically angry because I am angry. Overall it isn't working out all that fantastically. The added events of my parents ditching me, forcing me to work, already feeling shitty and then learning Kenny was leaving me at Tweek Bros has become a combination of destruction.
As soon as I'm in the safety of my home my thoughts gyrate to the events that transpired before I was forced to Tweak Bros for the afternoon. As soon as the tiniest little thought of self-inflicted pain hits me, my brain possessively wraps itself around the idea and refuses to let go.
No matter how hard I try I can't calm down and get over this god damn infuriating anger.
I mean, how dare he? Kenny knows. Kenny just knows how much I need him. Doesn't he know that I don't have any friends anymore? I haven't had friends since elementary school! I've been alone to deal with my own stupid self but then Kenny forced himself to be my friend. He forced his way in and I thought maybe, just maybe this was going to be someone who'd stick by me.
But no- He's leaving Tweak Bros and forcing me to work with someone I've avoided for years. It's not fair. It's not even fair. God. Why am I so dumb?
If I bled just a little bit… this stupid emotion would go away, that easily. Should I?
Before I can even stop myself I'm running up the stairs, turning on every light switch possible as I go. In mere seconds I'm bursting into my bathroom and pulling my assortment of blades from its hiding spot. Without any thought involved I've pulled my shirt off and held one of the duller knives in my hand.
The sharp edge is pressing taught against pale skin…
"No!" I throw the blade onto the floor where the box cutter popped out of its hard shell. I told myself I'd control when I cut!
I can't fight the screaming in my head. The screaming won't stop at all and it's making my head hurt so badly. The voices screech insults and all kinds of awful things at me. This isn't nearly the first time I've almost indulged in subconscious self-harm but I hate not feeling in control. I just want to have control over my stupid brain.
I hate this. I want out. I want it to stop.
"I'll s-smoke! Jesus, I'll just g-get super high so I w-won't want to do i-it. I d-don't need to d-do it. I already did t-today." I'm shaking and I feel sick and these words won't stop repeating itself in my head. I just hope these thoughts will push the screaming away.
I left all my things out in my bathroom and scamper off to my bedroom. It takes me virtually no time to reach my room and in seconds I have a joint between my lips and smoke filling my lungs. As soon as the toxins fill me my body calms substantially and the screaming dims away into whispers.
I have music playing but I don't feel much better. It's starting to get hard to breathe. The screams that had decreased to whispers are starting to crescendo back to their deafening roar.
I'm already coughing while trying to smoke and soon enough I'm gasping for air. I just want to get high. I just want to feel numb. I want to feel nothing at all so this stupid awful pain will go away.
Why is Kenny leaving me? Does he not care? Why couldn't he just stay forever? Why does Craig Tucker of all people have to take over his job? Why do I even care so much? Why won't my brain just work right? Jesus! Why?
Thirty minutes have passed and I still don't feel better. I've gone through six joints and I'm beyond high. I'm so high I feel sick to my stomach. Smoking too much doesn't agree with me. I think I'm going to puke.
I feel so sick that I'm just lying helplessly on my bedroom floor, holding my stomach. My vision is blurred with unshed tears. Honestly this is all just so dumb and pointless.
An exceptionally strong wave of nausea passes through me, causing me to gag and gasp for air.
Numbly I get on my hands and knees and slowly crawl to the bathroom. The trip through the hall is long and painful. I'm sickened by the sight of the world spinning around and around as I slowly move. I swear my head is ready to implode on itself.
When I at last reach the bathroom I freeze because inches away from me is a pretty array of sharp instruments.
The dull box cutter I had thrown onto the floor is so close that its shining edge is touching my fingers. The temptation is overpowering. I can't control myself as my hand reaches out and picks up the knife. I'm clutching it tightly and the voices are screaming in painful detail, telling me exactly what to do with it.
But instead I finish crawling to the toilet and as soon as I'm in its close proximity I'm throwing up.
Retch after retch travels through me. This isn't the first time I've smoked so much I've gotten sick but it's the first time it's made me actually throw up. I don't think it's even just the weed that made me sick, it's probably ninety percent just my stupid feelings and the screaming isn't helping.
After what feels like an excruciating eternity I've emptied all of the contents in my stomach. My throat is burning and I feel no shame over the tears streaming down my face.
I feel so disgusting and it isn't even the vomit that's making me feel this way; it's the awful selfish burning ache that's really doing it.
God I feel so abandoned. My parents aren't home and Kenny's leaving me.
All of Kenny's reassuring comments earlier don't matter. I know he told me we'd still be friends but I don't believe him. How could we be friends if I no longer saw him at work? We don't exactly hang out outside of work all that often.
Once again I'm left completely friendless. It isn't surprising though. I'm a freak. Everyone hates Tweek Tweak and I don't blame them. I hate him too.
The overabundance of feelings I had experienced before work is nothing compared to what I feel now.
Now I'm bursting at the seams. I don't just want release, I need release.
The world around me is a blur of fogged colors. I'm still shirtless from earlier and it takes me several, long, disorienting minutes to realize what I'm even doing. But then it hits me like a bullet train.
I'm hunched over on my knees on the bathroom floor. The dull box cutter that I had been holding in my right hand is dancing in the air and gliding against pale skin. Shining silver slashes wildly in a primitive dance, completely out of control as it gnaws at my left arm.
I can't feel it. I feel absolutely nothing and I can barely even see it. All of my senses are too overwhelmed by my raw uncontrollable feelings and the flooding of awful screams in my head to register what's really happening.
I felt as if I'm half asleep and watching some dark twisted movie. The blade is running over old scars and healing cuts to no avail. Dark red gore floods its way down my skin, dripping everywhere. I'm not looking for fresh unmarred skin I'm simply hacking and slashing. It doesn't matter that the blade is technically dull; I guess I'm putting enough force behind the motion for it to work anyways.
Once there's too much blood to easily continue on that limb I subconsciously switch hands and get to work on the other arm.
When the fog in my head finally starts to clear I feel emotionally drained. I don't feel anything. I don't feel the pain, or the hard floor beneath me, or even the haggard emotions I had been experiencing not too long ago. I don't even hear anything in my head.
I'm dissociating badly. I feel nothing at the sight of blood everywhere. Red coats everything. It's all over me and the floor. I still hold the knife in my hand so I slowly lift it up and drop it in the sink with rough jerky movements.
My eyes are drawn back to my hands. They're so red… I can see all the red but I can't feel it. Is it really there? I slowly bring my hands up to my face and hesitantly press them to my cheeks. I can feel the thick sticky liquid lather onto my skin. The feeling makes me so I pull my hands away.
Everything is red. It's all so god damn red. I can't tear my eyes away from it. Why is everything so red? Everything shouldn't be so red!
My breathing is starting to get heavy. I don't have to force myself to look away from the red because the world does it for me as everything goes black.
When consciousness returns I automatically know not that much time could have passed. The moon, still shining high in the sky, confirms that for me. I feel substantially calmer from before I passed out and my head is blissfully silent.
I'm lying on my side, my arms cradled against my stomach. I remember exactly what happened before I passed out. I keep my eyes glued to the ceiling as I slowly, using only my elbows, push myself up so that I'm sitting up.
I don't want to look down. I don't want to face the damage from my breakdown. I've never had a breakdown that badly. It's never that bad. Never. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Usually I'd contact my therapist but I don't have one anymore. Not right not anyways.
My arms are pulsing with pain. I always embraced pain but this is almost too much. It isn't really the pain that's too much for me but simply the severity of what I did.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut but all I can see is that stupid red everywhere. A sob gets caught in the back of my throat. I can't believe what I did.
I take a moment to focus on deep breathing. Finally I work up all my courage and open my eyes and I hate what I see.
My arms are covered in angry red scratches everywhere. From my low wrist to a little past my elbows, all around, are cuts. Some injuries are shallow incisions but others are darker and deeper. There's an average of two centimeters between each laceration. While the damage is bad it isn't nearly as bad as I had been expecting. Honestly it's an extremely good thing I had ended up using my dullest knife otherwise I'm worried I wouldn't have woken up at all.
The bandage that had been covering injury from earlier today had been torn off in the fury of my breakdown. Dry blood caked me everywhere. It's smeared all over my arms, hands, stomach, pants, probably my face, and even the floor. It would take me well over an hour to clean this all up properly. I don't even care though. I'm just so relieved the damage wasn't as bad as I had anticipated.
I know that in a month my wounds would be for the most part completely healed and I would only have countless scars in memory. And that's perfectly okay. I can live with that.
I'm light headed as I stand up slowly to start fixing the mess I've created. But first I'm in desperate need for one extra-long soothing bath.
The next morning I know I look like a mess. I'm pasty pale, pastier than usual that is. The bags that rim my eyes stand out terrifyingly. My messy hair is tons crazier than usual. I haven't slept at all since my estimated forty minute nap from when I passed out. I also can't stop muttering my thoughts out loud under my breath and I had to have been on my sixth thermos of coffee since I've woke up.
I look insane.
While I walked to the shop for work I become wired, both on lots of caffeine and nicotine. As I walk slowly I work my way through a joint disguised as a cigarette. When I get near the shop I don't bother going through the back and approach the front of the store instead. This is my last joint, since I had smoked the rest last night, and I'm sad. I really have no idea how I'm going to survive a day of work with the infamous Craig Tucker.
Honestly the truth that I'm going to soon work with Craig hasn't even felt real. It's safe to say that today is going to be filled with lots of coffee and cigarettes.
I finally look up as I reached the first window belonging to Tweak Bros Coffee and I stop instantly because three feet away is the one and only Craig Tucker.
