Alone; Stan's POV
He doesn't know. He doesn't know. I had to accept this, I had to accept that it was my fault I was shut away from him. I should have have told him. He doesn't know...
Kyle's my best friend and he's right, I'm supposed to be able to trust him with anything! He knows more about my life than my mom, god! Why couldn't I tell him this one little thing? Wendy broke up with me three weeks ago. I don't know where he got the idea that I was going out with her when I wasn't around him or the others. I was at turtoring for most of the afternoon and then afterwards I went to Starks Pond and pondered the meaning of the slashes on my wrist. I'd go home, say hi to my mom and do my homework and hide my scars. Around nine I'd arrive at Kyle's and normally, I was too exhausted to talk or do anything. So I'd go to sleep on his floor and then awake to his voice telling me to get up. He never asked me questions. I think that's why I'd always go back. He'd never find out.
I'm regretting that now, because now I have no one to go to when I'm afraid of my own house, no one to go when I'm running from freaks who want to pound me into the ground because I stole their money, or vodka, or cigarettes, and no one to save me from myself.
I scared myself, my reflection itself was enough to give me nightmares. I hated the person I had become, but that hatred dissolved into fear. I could no longer control the urges to run a pair of scissors or kitchen knife or razor blade against my skin, breaking it and watching it bleed with sick pleasure. I couldn't control my grades, my studying dwindled as I found alcohal quite amusing. No... not me, I didn't find it amusing. It was sick. I felt as if I were separate from my body, as if I were watching me like some TV show with no control over what I was doing. My mind had just let go.
I feel my feet shuffling against the pavement as I leave his house. Unshed tears causing my eyes to glimmer in the fading sunlight. I've lost the ability to cry too... next my laughter and smile with fade into nothing.
"Why am I doing this!" I scream out, all my hatred, anger, fear, and sorrow welling up inside me. "What did I do to deserve this! Goddammit!"
My cry falls upon deaf ears, for no one is here to listen. My rage comes out and I kick the closest thing to a person right now, a tree. Tears stream down my face, but I don't feel them. A pain shoots up my leg and I cease the kicking. Instead I pick up a branch and smack the tree. It's a sharp branch.
"Why! Why! Why!" is all I can say, my mind blurry as is my vision.
Then I see red. Glancing down at the snow, a puddle of red is forming, staining it's pristine glow. Trees don't bleed. I look at my arms, two bright red gashes on each. The longer I stare, the calmer I get. I like the feeling, I don't want it to stop. Lifting the branch, I prepare to draw another red line on my canvas. Suddenly, it falls. I hear voices. They can't see me. I turn and sprint away, not even caring that I left the evidence behind. I just had to get home.
It's empty...
My house is completely empty, which is surprising. Normally Shelley is around to beat me up, but today she's out with friends drinking and crap. Good, who needs her? I hope she dies from alcohal poisoning. My mom is at one of her jobs and probably won't be back for another five hours. I'm surprised at the time, it's already five. I'd been at the pond longer than I thought.
I decided it would be best if I bandaged my wounds and then changed, my sleeves are stained crimson and are soaking. After changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I threw my clothes in the washer and then began scrubbing the blood out of my jacket. In the middle of my task, the doorbell rang. My heart flutters slightly, hoping that it's Kyle coming back to apologize. Yeah right. My heart sank when my eyes took in the person I least liked at the moment. Wendy.
"Hi Stan." she smiles, speaking with that annoying high-pitched voice of hers. How can she be so happy and normal?
I shift uncomfortably, "Oh... hey Wendy. What's up?"
"Yeah." I let her inside, "I have something important to tell you."
She gazes at me, I can feel it even if I don't look at her, "What is it?"
"We're officially over."
I fall to the ground at the sudden shock of what she said. How can we be over again? She broke up with me three weeks ago! That caused me more than enough pain! Why is she doing this to me!
"I know that three weeks ago I said we should have some time apart? Well, I've made up my mind and I don't love you. I'm sorry. But now we're officially over." she continues on, elaborating her point.
I'm crying again goddammit, "N-no... Wendy, why? Why are you doing this to me!"
"I'm sorry Stan."
She starts for the door, but I cling to the end of her coat. My tears falling down rapidly, I'm a wreck once again. For the second time today. She tries to brush me off, but I only cling tighter. I don't want to be alone.
"Why, Wendy? Why!" I sob louder this time, releasing my grip.
She's still walking away from me, leaving me in a crumpled heap on the floor. "Goodbye Stan."
My broken figure lay crumpled on the ground.
I watch with empty eyes as you leave me, walking through the door.
A lump has grown in my throat, preventing me from calling you back.
My heart has been ripped in two and left to the cold floor.
You left me here to bleed inside, the loss of you is too much.
What had I done wrong, I can't recall why you'd gotten bored.
Was my love for you not enough, were we stuck in place?
Tears threatened to spill over as my thoughts hit a chord.
It truly was your fault, for not appreciating what we had.
I'm dying inside as the door slams behind you.
My sanctuary is my mind, driving my thoughts from my broken heart.
"No! No! No!" Why am I making such a big deal out of this? I hate her, yet I'm hysterical that she's finally leaving me? I don't understand!
I remembered when she said she wanted a break. It stung then, but not as much because I still had hope. I still loved her. After three weeks of not hearing from her, I knew I had been cheated. She didn't want me, she lied. I suppose hearing it directly from her, that she was bored and was sick of handleing me, was even worse than my mind telling me this. It was worse this time, because I knew I couldn't take another person leaving me. First my dad, then my mom since she's never home, football, all my jock friends, Kyle, and now Wendy again. My body is breaking and I can't stop it. However, something tells me that it's not my body... but my mind...
You told me you wanted something new.
Something new for you and your pathetic life.
It never occurred to me that it was I who had gotten old.
That you had steadily grown bored with us.
I need someone to love, to hold.
Though I love you, your happiness brings my pain.
I'm dying inside as you walk down the driveway.
My sanctuary is my mind, thoughts drifting to my broken heart.
I choke out her name as the tears continue, but she's not coming back. No one will come back. I'm alone now, and being alone is one of my greatest fears. I'm afraid of what I'll do to myself or what I'll do to others. Howcan a good little boy with a moral to almost everything become a monster who pushes people away because he doesn't want to cause them pain. Now all I feel is pain.
My friends don't care, Cartman would just laugh and call me a pussy. Kenny would make perverted cracks and talk about how sexy I look when I cry. Kyle would... Kyle would... dammit! I don't know what Kyle would do! I don't know what to do! I can't blame them if they hate me, I hate myself even. I want a comforting voice. A reassuring one saying they'll be right there to help me. I can't call my mom, she's already worried enough. That leaves one person.
"Kyle..." I whispered to myself, "I can call Kyle."
I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what he'll say to me. He can't really hate me, not after all we've been through. I don't remember how I got to the phone or how I managed to dial his number. It rang twice before he picked up.
"Hello?" his voice came in clearly, bringing more tears to my eyes.
"K-kyle." my voice was hoarse, due to all the crying and screaming I'd done today.
There was a pause, then he spoke, "Who is this?"
"Kyle!" my voice cracked, sounding so unlike my own. How could he not know it was me? When the dial tone sounded, I collapsed once more. I was too tired and weak now, the bitterness and misery wasn't helping much either.
I dragged myself into the corner of my living room, pulling my body into the fetal position. I don't like being alone. My tears just won't stop, I hate being weak. Within my chest, there was an aching pain that continued on. My temple throbbed, another headache. I lost my voice, so my sobs came out in dry heaves. I panted for breath, but each inhale brought more aches and pains to me. Why was this happening to me?
Every part of me yearns to call out for you to stay.
A sob escapes my trembling lips, for I am now alone.
Your silhouette through my window tells me you've gone.
As reality sinks in, I know you're not coming back.
Reality tells me you're gone.
My tears now flow freely, my mind now blank.
All that runs through it are my mistakes, the way I've failed.
My heart is pierced and bleeding, the pain overwhelming.
You ripped it out and watched as it trailed.
My breath comes in gasps, I just want it to end!
Why does God make me suffer like this? Why?
Four sheets of paper, each with their own beautifully written message. One for my mom, I love her but I can't be a burden anymore. She'll be the first to know. Another for Kyle, he's my best friend and I need to tell him everything I couldn't on this paper. He also needs to know how much he means to me. Kenny's next, he's still one of my good friends, even if he's perverted. I wrote something for him to tell Cartman in there, I didn't want to waste paper on him. Finally, one for my dad, the sick bastard needs to hear what his now fifteen year old son thought of him. I wrote them all, not really in consciousness as I wrote them. They're still beautiful.
I left the suicide notes on the table, where my mom could find them easily. I dragged my body up the stairs, not bothering to waste the energy to walk. With me I carried my dad's old pocket knife, a present to me on my tenth birthday. It would now set me free. I gave up. I just gave up.
I didn't want to see my mom cry herself to sleep over the loss of my dad or work herself to death so I'd never see her anyway. I didn't want to fail all my classes and be pitied by others. I didn't want to lose the passion I had for football when I got kicked off the team. I didn't want to push my friends away and have them leave me. I didn't want to lose my girlfriend. I didn't want to lose my best friend. I didn't want to be alone.
With these thoughts in mind, my lifeless gaze stayed on the vein in my wrist. I didn't see it though, for I was watching myself. I watched myself plunge the sharp blade of the knife directly into the vein. The blood didn't seep out like normally, it flooded forth from my arm. I felt like vomiting at the sick sight, my skin paling and and twisted smile plastered on my face. The knife fell to my bed along with the thick crimson liquid.
Suddenly, a realization hit me.
To end this pain your happiness caused me, I have to die.
The blood now pours from not my heart, but my wrists.
The satsifaction feels so good, waves of relief flooding over.
My eyes are swimming, my body aching, but I feel no regret.
To death I'm simply closer.
I'm dying inside as my blood pours out and you stop to watch.
My sanctuary is my mind that's gone insane from loss.
Don't forget me...
My... sanctuary...
I'm alone...
