Chapter Twenty

Come Hell or Highwater (despite any difficulties that may occur )

California, June 2015, Summer

The withdrawal was worse than before.

Tweek woke at around 3pm the following day, jerked awake from a dream about his mother by a car honking outside. Initially he was more disorientated than when he had returned from South Park with Craig. He lay flat on his back staring at the cracked stained plaster in the ceiling, his head aching, his mind racing, his throat raw, his stomach tied up in knots and his sheets soaked in sweat. Craig wasn't there. Tweek was grateful for the privacy as a wave of nausea crescended up his chest, and almost automatically, he reached for the mixing bowl Craig had left him. He threw up bile and stomach acid, and even a worrying small quantity of blood. He could feel his head aching with dehydration. There was nothing else for him to throw up as he hadn't eaten in a couple of days, but he still retched until his chest and stomach and ribs and shoulders and back and even his hips ached from the violence of it. When it had finally stopped, he carefully sipped water from the bottle next to the bed and delicately swallowed some of the paracetamol and ibuprofen tablets next to the bed.

He knew he should shower. He felt disgusting. He knew that how bad he felt when he hadn't showered wasn't normal. If he felt too sweaty, or perceived dirt on himself, he often panicked and wanted to cry or tear his skin off. It had been an issue since he was a child with parents who insisted he not get dirty playing outside with the other children, and had gotten worse with his anxiety. He knew it was directly linked with his disordered eating, since food often felt dirty. He had felt even dirtier since Sam had started coercing him into sex.

It's ok. We'll deal with all that later. What's the bare minimum you can do right now to feel a bit better? What do you need?

He simply didn't have the energy to shower. He felt like he had run hundreds of miles, or swum to shore from a remote island in a storm, or been hit by several trucks. Trying to pull himself from the side of the bed where he lay with his head next to the mixing bowl felt like a Herculean effort.

Mentally he gave himself an encouraging little shake. At least clean your teeth. You can do that. Come on. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then dragged himself back onto the bed and into a sitting position. He stumbled to the bathroom, almost losing his balance a few times and knocking into the doorframe.

After he had scrubbed his mouth and gargled with copious cups of Listerine and scrubbed his sweaty face with a wash cloth run under the hottest water he could stand, he staggered back into the bedroom with a little more grace. He grabbed a shirt of Craig's – somehow dimly registering it was the same black one he had worn in the days after his parents' funeral – and pulled it over his head. He felt outside of his body as he unsteadily lurched into the narrow kitchen and virtually inhaled half a loaf of slightly stale brown bread. He even found himself eating the crusty end pieces. He had always hated those, and Craig had always eaten them. Dimly he registered the tiny spots of mould on the corners which he knew weren't good to eat.

Babe, you're in meth withdrawal. A bit of mould really isn't going to kill you.

The kitchen window was open, letting in a pleasant cool breeze, and he could see Craig sitting on the tiny bit of grass attached to their apartment outside. He smiled at Tweek and raised a hand in greeting. 'Hey, angel pie. Do you want to join me? It's really lovely out here.'

Tweek nodded and roughly shoved the slice of bread in his mouth. He tucked the loaf under his arm, grabbed the jars of jelly and peanut butter from the counter, and a plate and a couple of butter knives from the draining board. Wordlessly he sloped outside where he sat next to Craig and started spreading the bread with PB and J, barely chewing as he worked his way through the loaf. Craig watched him for a moment, smiling slightly.

'Picnic, huh?'

Tweek swallowed hard and nodded. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. 'The saddest picnic ever.'

'That sounds like an iconic Key and Peele skit. It's always The Somethingest Something Ever. Fuck, I love them.'

Tweek began to weakly laugh, but abruptly stopped as his own movement caught his eye in the window reflection and he saw how bedraggled and gaunt he looked. His eyes were so itchy and he knew he had been rubbing them far too much in his sleep. He sighed, squeezing his latest sandwich. Dimly, he began to consciously register how much his muscles ached. It felt like his entire body was deeply, badly bruised. 'God, I've never looked more like a Tim Burton character.'

'You're the cutest Tim Burton character I've ever seen.'

'Thanks honey.' His head spun suddenly, his stomach contracting, and he leaned against Craig. 'Oh, fuck, I forgot my water. Would you mind –'

'I got it.' Carefully Craig got up and hurried inside. Tweek heard him clattering in the bedroom and the kitchen, and heard the tap running. Quickly he was back outside and handing Tweek the bottle.

'You're amazing, thank you' Tweek croaked, his throat suddenly tight, the sunlight suddenly far too bright and hot, the air too sweltering from the blistering concrete that surrounded them beyond their tiny lawn island. He dropped his squeezed, half eaten sandwich on the plate and clumsily chugged what felt like half the bottle. Craig patted his own knee and Tweek gratefully lay on the cooler grass, his head in Craig's lap. He closed his eyes and waited for his head to stop thumping. Fuck, I wish the painkillers would kick in already.

'Sorry, I realise I stink.' Tweek mumbled.

Craig chuckled and gently squeezed his shoulder. 'Ha, don't worry about it babe, you're fine. Oh man, I definitely got worse in the caravan. I think my record was five days without a shower? It's not like anyone knew since it was so cold but holy hell, occasionally at night in bed I'd smell myself and it was pretty shocking.'

Tweek tried to laugh but found his throat seized with a sudden hacking cough. Craig gently started to rub his back but even the slight movement was intensely nauseating. Tweek groaned and shook his head as he buried his face in Craig's thigh. It felt like an iron fist was squeezing his insides. Suddenly the thought of shitting his pants wasn't morbidly funny so much as something that made him want to sob with shame.

Fuck it. There goes the intensive low mood. I wondered how long til I stopped just feeling like physical death and had any attention for how my mind feels.

They sat in the sun and the fresh air for as long as Tweek could take it, before Craig helped him back inside. He struggled not to fall asleep over the Turkish Craig had picked up from the shop at the end of the road, insisting he couldn't just exist on mouldy bread and he'd go out to the store to get some groceries once Tweek had gone back to sleep. As they sat through a rerun of Red Racer, Tweek tried his absolute best to shake the deep feelings of intense anxiety and nameless dread that had settled in his gut. Eventually he excused himself to go to bed, and Craig said he'd leave for the grocery store with a shopping list on his phone.

Tweek lay in the dark, trying his best to keep his breathing even as his heart thumped with physical nausea and existential dread that married together to become something almost unbearable. He dug his fingernails as deep into his bony thighs as he could stand, screaming with frustration into the pillow.

His phone pinged with a message from Craig. Hey angel pie, here safe. Did you think of anything else? xxx

Tweek knew it was irrational and Craig was being eternally sweet and helpful, as always, but even such a gentle disturbance when he felt so utterly horrendous made him want to throw his phone against the wall.

No thanks honey, you're the best. 3

He paused for a moment before carefully typing out another message.

Hey babe, really sorry but the black dog is really getting to me. I'm ok, I just don't want company. Could I be incredibly rude and ask you to put the camp bed in the other room, please? I'm happy to take it and you can sleep here.

He saw the bubbles of Craig typing a quick response.

Absolutely. I said that yesterday, no worries. I'll grab the bed when I'm home, won't be long.

Tweek breathed a sigh of relief. But that wasn't soon enough. He didn't want to see Craig at all, much less anyone else.

He lifted one end of the camp bed and carefully dragged it into the adjoining corridor. Luckily it wasn't heavy, but it still took all the crumbs of energy he had left.

For a few moments he stood, his mind racing. Slowly he stepped into the kitchen and opened a drawer. He stared down at the selection of knives, carefully deliberating before finally choosing a large blunt vegetable knife.

He instinctively wrapped his hand around the wooden handle and curled the blade into his forearm to carry it back to the bedroom, always remembering what his mother had taught him about kitchen safety.

Always make sure you hold the knife like this, honey. That way, if you fall, you don't hurt anyone but yourself.

Well, at least he was an expert at that. At least, he had tried to be.

He dropped the knife on top of the bed and peeled off Craig's t shirt. He pulled off the boxers he had worn for the past two days and dropped them next to the laundry basket.

No need to contaminate everything else with your filth.

He knew his dirt issues were largely irrational, but that particular impulse didn't seem to be wholly so.

For a moment he stood there naked. Suddenly his body was as gripped with cold as if he had been plunged into ice water. Weakly he pulled a pair of fluffy sweatpants from when he was heavier from the chest of drawers and pulled them on, then a thick long sleeved shirt of Craig's and an oversized hoodie. He hesitated before pulling Craig's old hat onto his head. He was verging on delirious with exhaustion as he laboriously pulled more blankets from the cardboard box in the corner and messily draped them over the bed. Finally he fell into the bed and pulled the blankets around himself.

Quickly the agitation returned in droves. Tweek lay in the dark, his blood pounding in his ears, his eyes wide open as he stared at the vague outlines on the Red Racer poster through the gloom, shivering with cold and with cold panic. Carefully he pressed the sharp edge of the vegetable knife against the skin inside his forearm. He didn't move it there, but held it in place, pressing it down as hard as he could bear, never breaking the skin.

Craig loves these sheets. Don't get blood on them. You can get the sweat out with a hot wash, but nothing gets blood stains out.

Ok, Lady MacBeth.

He softly cried out in pain, but slowly he could feel the agitation dissipating.

God, it felt so much like high school, hiding his body and the wounds he made on it in clothes that were made for someone who took up a lot more space than he could. Dimly he felt a little grip of joy as he began to primarily succumb to the intense flu symptoms and the exhaustion that came with them rather than the wired agitation from what felt like every panic attack he had ever had, combined and magnified exponentially. He placed the knife underneath the bed and wrapped himself in the blankets. Quickly he felt himself fading to unconsciousness. In the hallway the clock hands ceaselessly ticked, marking the sands of time falling away.

Suddenly Tweek was awake, his eyes wide open in the dark room. He blinked hard, trying to figure out why he had awoken, and so abruptly. He felt uncomfortably hot and roughly ripped off the top covers and the clothes he was wearing. Craig's hat had fallen off his sweaty head.

Vaguely he could hear a sound that he couldn't place, a strange humming sound in the distance. It was faintly unsettling, though he had no idea why.

Tweek drew the covers more tightly around himself, his nostrils filled with the scents of bergamot oil and Tiger Balm and Old Spice from Craig's essential oils and their combined clothing and sheets and bodies. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fall back asleep, doing his best to block the unexplained sound out.

A few minutes passed and Tweek was still alert, his senses heightened in the darkness. It may have been his imagination, but he thought the sound was getting louder.

He rolled onto his back and tilted his face to look at the Red Racer poster, trying to distract himself. It wasn't working. The sound was definitely getting louder.

His arm was itchy. Why was his arm itchy?

The humming was rising to a crescendo.

Both of his arms were itching now. God, they were so itchy. Why were they so fucking itchy?

Tweek scratched his arms, but the itching only intensified.

He lunged for the light on the bedside table and switched it on.

Tweek yelled out in horror when he saw the bugs crawling on him.

Huge, ugly, red beetles, clicking their pincers at him, glaring at him with beady black eyes.

They were crawling onto his arms, over his stomach, over his chest, up his neck, onto his face...

Their buzzing became an angry roar as Tweek clawed at himself, tearing his nails, scratching his skin off, screaming until his voice gave out.

Craig burst into Tweek's room.

"HELP ME!"

"Tweek -"

"THE BUGS! THE BUGS ARE ON ME! GET THEM OFF!"

His screams were desperate, his eyes deranged.

"There's nothing -"

"HELP ME!"

Craig rushed to Tweek, sitting on the bed and trying to grab his hands. His face, neck, arms, and chest were covered in blood and he had skin and hair caught underneath what was left of his fingernails. His fingertips were swollen and bloody.

Tweek tried to fight Craig off, still screaming about the bugs as Craig tried to get his attention.

"Tweek, Tweek! Look at me! There are no bugs! Look at me!" He reached to grab Tweek's forearms so he could stop him from hurting himself.

Craig hated what he was doing. He had once tried to grab Tweek to stop him from self-harming during a panic attack but quickly learned it just made things much worse. Confinement was pretty much the worst thing for him.

Tweek kept struggling, but he was weakening, his voice hoarse, his screams dissipating to sobs.

Craig let go of Tweek's hand and reached to touch his face instead. He spoke calmly but loudly to capture Tweek's attention.

'Tweek? Baby? It's me, Craig. Honey, you're hallucinating. There is no danger. You're safe.'

"The bugs -"

"Tweek, there are no bugs. You're hallucinating. Everything is ok. You're safe. Take deep breaths."

"The bugs -"

"You're safe. There are no bugs, Tweek. You're hallucinating."

Tweek slowly lay down and curled into the foetal position, quietly sobbing with a numb, subdued hush that deeply unsettled Craig. He wordlessly stared at Craig, his eyes sunken and desolate in his white face, his breathing ragged.

Craig reached out to touch his shoulder, his heart thumping in his mouth and stalling his own speech as he tried to speak to Tweek in a gentle tone. Tweek flinched at the sudden movement and Craig withdrew his hand, holding both his arms up to be visible as if in surrender. 'Honey? Tweek? Baby? Can I clean you up, please?'

Tweek slowly shook his head, his face gaunt against the damp pillow, his eyes scarily unfocused. Craig watched as Tweek slipped into unconsciousness, tangled in Craig's favourite soft white sheets. They were torn and soaked in blood.

Craig pulled the camp bed back into the bedroom and spent the rest of the night lying on it, looking up at Tweek. If he slept it was fragmented, and he sincerely doubted he had. Slowly the sun rose and he could see Tweek in the harsher light of morning.

Tweek's entire body was covered in deep red welts, his hands by far the most damaged. Craig helped him to the bathroom and carefully washed him in the shower, dragging in a chair for him to sit on. After he carefully dressed his arms and hands thickly wrapped in heavy white bandages, and fed him cereal and milk with a spoon. Tweek didn't speak for any of this.

"Thank you, Craig. I really didn't want it to get to this. Look, rationally, I know that they're hallucinations. But the thing about hallucinations, Craig, is that when they're happening you don't think rationally. And these are so realistic that it can be really hard to distinguish what's real and what isn't. I knew this was probably coming. I just hoped like hell that it wasn't. The good news is it won't last. It's only for a couple of weeks. I mean, they'll feel like the longest two weeks in the deepest circle of Hell, but it will be ok."

'How are you feeling now?'

'Honestly? I want to die. I mean, I don't, I truly don't, but that's what my brain keeps telling me.'

'I get that. What do you need?'

'Company? Distraction?'

'Dumb TV and chonky guinea pigs?'

'Perfect.'

'I'm going to lie and tell the garage I've got the flu. I'm not leaving you alone for the next few days. I trust you, but I get it. If something happened and I couldn't get to you -'

Craig's breath caught in his throat. Tweek looked up and met him with a sharp green gaze that was at once intense and ceaselessly warming.

'I understand. Thank you, Craig. Really.'

'You're welcome. Now, are you ok for a bit if I make us some tea? I can wait if not.'

'No, I'm ok. Honestly. I'll just lie here for a bit and chill and think about what dumb things I want to watch. For some reason I'm really craving Jackass, ha.'

'Ha, oh man. You can take the boy out of redneck America -'

'Oi. I'd flip you off like a young Craig Tucker, but I'm doing the lobster claw cum mittens cum oven mitts bit.'

'Say cum one more time.'

'Never.'

'Ha, ok. Anyway. I'll be quick.'

A few minutes later Craig came back into the room, holding two steaming mugs of Earl Grey. He would let Tweek's cool and then carefully help him drink it. Maybe he'd be ok to lift the mug himself. Craig would grab a tea towel to protect his hands from the heat with.

'Hey, babe.'

Tweek sat on the bed, his legs crossed and his bandaged hands in his lap, his head bowed. Craig couldn't see his face. He had given him as many painkillers as he safely could, but he knew Tweek's arms still stung even though he wouldn't complain.

'Hey, Tweek?'

Tweek still didn't respond. Craig felt a little bubble of dread forming in his chest.

"Tweek?"

Tweek looked up and fixed Craig with a steely glare. His eyes burned in their sockets. His mouth was set in a tight line.

"Tweek?"

"You're one of them."

"What?"

"You're one of them. I should have known."

"Tweek -"

Without warning Tweek hurtled across the room. He lunged at Craig, knocking him to the ground.

Craig was too shocked to instantly react. He lay there, winded, as Tweek scrambled on top of him. For a split second Craig caught a glimpse of Tweek's eyes. They were cold, dark. Tweek had gone somewhere that Craig couldn't reach him. Then Tweek's fist connected with Craig's cheek.

His first instant was to grab hold of Tweek's forearms. But he saw the bandages and knew that he couldn't do that.

"Tweek! Tweek! Stop! This isn't you!"

Craig threw his arms across his face to protect himself from the flurry of blows.

"Tweek! It's me! It's Craig!"

Tweek hesitated, and Craig took the opportunity to reach up and grab hold of Tweek around the waist. He struggled to his feet, his arms wrapped tightly around Tweek. Craig drew his head back to look Tweek in the eye.

All the fight left Tweek. He went limp in Craig's arms as he broke down in tears.

"Tweek. Tweek. Hey. Stay with me. It's okay. I've got you."

Craig rocked him gently, Tweek's face buried in his neck.

"I'm sorry, Craig. I'm so sorry. Did I – did I hurt you? Did I?"

Tweek raised his head to look at Craig, who smiled back at him despite the angry purple bruise rising over his left cheekbone.

"Of course not. You can't really do any damage. It's fine."

"Craig – I thought you were one of the shadow people."

"Shadow people?"

Tweek bit his lip, his eyebrows creased.

"It's what the other addicts online call them. Shadow people. Or meth monsters. You – you see them out of the corner of your eye. And then you turn and they're gone. But it's scary. It's so scary. You're always convinced they're going to get you. When I was a kid I always used to see them, I just never knew why. They're gonna get me! Adults always told me I had an active imagination, but I thought they'd finally come."

He looked into Craig's warm brown eyes, trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Craig."

Craig held him tightly.

"I promise it's ok. Let's redo your bandages and put on Jackass, hey?"