Author's Note: I understand that one of you out there has a huge problem with me, and you know what? I find it hilarious. Absolutely hilarious. You think I'm so crippled by it, but I'm not.
It was as if his glass heart were broken into a million tiny pieces, leaving tiny shards scattered all over the ground where his fragile, soft-skinned feet could step on and be reminded of the sharp, piercing pain Wendy had caused him once more.
Upon Wendy's emotional rejection, Stan had cursed, 'fucking bitch,' to Wendy's face and turned to race home with such a speed it would have put a racehorse to shame. This left Wendy alone in her front yard, on her knees and burrying her face shamefully in her trembling hands and breathing in between crippling sobs.
Stan stumbled into the house, greeted by his parents who were sitting on the couch watching a movie. "Hello Stanley," Sharon greeted. "How'd your date with Bebe go?"
"Just fucking peachy," Stan growled in response.
"You watch how you speak to your mother, Stanley," Randy warned, looking at Stan with a sharp eye. It was with this that he looked up and glared at his father, who had just noticed his son's bloodshot eyes. "Stan, are you high? Have you been chasing the dragon?"
Stan continued to glare at his father who was now standing in front of Stan, his face merely centimeters from his son's. He stared into Stan's eyes with a determined look on his face, searching for dialated pupils.
"Dad..."
"Alright," he said with satisfaction, standing to his full height and adjusting his pants. "You're clear."
"Stan, honey, are you alright?" Stan's mother asked with concern.
"I'm fine," he insisted, fidgeting nervously. "I'm going to go to bed. I'm tired."
"Stan, dear, are you sure you're alright?" His mother asked with much concern.
"I said I was fine!" He snapped from the top of the stairs, fists clenching at his sides with frustration. He stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him. He let out a cry of rage, his eyes watering up once more. The night's events had stored so much energy in Stan's body, so much rage, that he probably would have killed someone if he didn't let it out on his room.
Spinning around suddenly, he drove his fist into the wall, ignoring the searing pain coursing through his knuckles. He could feel his skin splitting, and the warm sensation of blood trickling down the soft flesh of his fingers. He merely grunted and threw another punch, causing his hand to go right through the paper-thin wall. He stood there for a moment, dumbstruck and breathing heavily, staring at the hole. He quickly regained his anger and kicked another wall, leaving dark black skidmarks and the paint peeled. He picked up his trashcan and flung it at the wall, paper and garbage flying across his room. Next he threw his random trophies he had earned over the years, seeming to forget how much he treasured them. He walked to the other side of the room, took his CDs in his hand and took turns chucking them at the door and walls.
Finally, after much upsetting and destorying, Stan threw himself on his bed, face down, and screamed into his pillow. He was well aware of the fact that his bloody knuckles were soaking his blue bedsheets, but he didn't care. He didn't care about a lot of things anymore. After he had his rounds of screaming and crying, he felt a large, firm hand on his shoulder. He rolled over onto his back to look into the face of his father, who wore a mix of anger and confusion on his face.
"Sta-Stan, you want to explain what is going on?"
"No," he said rudely, rolling to his side, away from his father.
"Stanley, you will tell me what you did to your room, not because you want to but because I am your father and I'm telling you to," Randy said firmly, waving a disciplining finger at his son. He put his hands on his hips, and then decided to sit on the edge of Stan's bed, realizing it was going to take a while for Stan to tell him. "You know, Stan, being as old as I am I've been through a lot of shit myself, so I probably can relate to what you're going through." His face was hollow, and even seemed exressionless, but there was more going on in the head of Randy Marsh than a passerby would think. "I've been through bad grades, bullying, girls, hell, I've even been caught masturbating by my mom-"
"Aw, Dad," Stan pleaded, clamping his eyes shut against unwanted mental images.
"Sorry son," Randy said with a slight laugh, obviously forgetting Stan seemed to be in deep emotional pain. He turned around to glance at Stan's back and placed a comforting, fatherly hand on Stan's feet. "Stan, why did you destroy your room?"
"Why did you leave me alone long enough to let me destroy it?"
Randy blinked. "Well I wouldn't interrupt you and piss you off even more. But don't think you're going to get out of trouble. What the hell is wrong, Stanley?"
"Alright," Stan groaned, closing his eyes, suddenly feeling very drowsy. "Wendy and I are in love but she doesn't want to be with me."
Once again Randy blinked, not expecting that to come from his son. "Uh, well, it isn't love, Stan."
"Yeah it is."
"No...it isn't."
"Yeah, it is."
"No, Stan, see, if Wendy really loved you she'd pull that stick out of her ass. But, you know, why doesn't she want to, uh, be with you?"
"She says that even though I make her want to change she isn't ready for it," Stan mumbled, barely audible to his father. His eyelids drooped and he fought to keep them open.
"Well, then, son, she isn't worth it. If she is scared off by the way she feels, she isn't stable enough. You're a good kid, Stanley, I'd hate to see you too attatched to some broad who can't treat you right. "
"Mm," Stan replied simply, before his eyes fell shut and he drifted off to sleep. Randy sighed, shaking his head and running a hand through his graying hair. He pulled Stan's blanket over him and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
Wendy couldn't remember a time more awkward than the first day back to school. She'd pass Stan in the hallways, looking worn out and beaten. It was a site she couldn't stand to see, because she knew she was the one to cause him to be like this. She fought back tears all day. This was something new to Wendy; never before had something made her so extremely sad. She couldn't get the rugged Marsh boy with the cute quirks out of her head. She couldn't forget those heartbroken eyes staring back at her with disbelief as she broke his heart for the umpteenth time. She was a monster; an evil, vendictive monster.
Sighing heavily and trying to muster up the courage, Wendy stepped timidly into English. Stan and Kyle were already there, talking as if nothing were wrong, but she could see that Stan's eyes were extemely bloodshot and pulled down by heavy bags. He seemed pale and his hair was even messier than usual. She slowly made her way to her seat, watching Stan for his reaction. His eyes flickered over to her and held onto her for a few seconds, but he didn't stop talking and quickly moved them to focus back onto Kyle. Kyle threw a glare at Wendy, and turned his back to her, blocking Stan from her vision.
The rest of the class went like this; awkward silences and shifty eyes, and Kyle trying his best to silently protect his friend. Needless to say Wendy was relieved when the bell sounded, releasing them from their self-made Hells. Stan and Kyle just stayed behind, allowing Wendy enough time to leave the room and quite possibly the school before getting up. Stan trudged slowly, dragging his feet beneath him.
"See ya later, dude," Kyle said, his face solemn. "Don't kill yourself or anything, alright?I think I shouldcome over later."
"You can't," Stan responded, "I'm grounded, since I pretty much upended my room." He laughed nervously and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Bye, Kyle," he said, and left the school. Out on the front steps sat the 'goth kids,' completely adorned in black and smoking cigarettes. Upon seeing Stan, the tall, curly-haired goth smiled sadistically.
"Hey look, it's that conformist, Raven," he pointed out in the monotone voice of his.
"Jah," they all agreed with recognition. Stan rolled his puffy eyes, trying his best to ignore them. They wore smirks, glaring him down with they eyes of the so-called 'tortured.' The goth who spoke took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke in Stan's face. "You're looking pretty tortured again," he mumbled, watching Stan, or 'Raven' with a weary eye. "Is your Disneyworld crumbling at your feet, leaving numbing scars all over your tortured body?"
"Uh...no," he replied slowly. "Listen guys, I really need to go-"
"I bet I know what it is," Henrietta, the girl goth, said, finally speaking. "I bet it's that nazi-cheerleader-bitch of his."
"Jah," the others chimed.
"Is she slicing your heart open with a dull, rusty knife again, Raven?"
Now that Stan had thought about it, that was exactly how it felt. He couldn't believe that the goths had actually, and correctly, worded his pain. Then again, that's what they had done in the fourth grade, forcing Stan to join the lifestyle of pain and torture, instead of moving on and getting over. He simply nodded and turned on his heel, choosing to ignore the rest of what the others had to say.
He was home in about twenty minutes. When he stepped inside, the inviting warmth rushed at his face, causing them to flush greatly. The smell of cookies flooded his nostrils and he smiled warmly. He stepped into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk.
"Remember you're grounded, Stanley," his mother said, her hands on his hips. Stan jumped, being frightened by the sudden appearance of another.
"I know, Mom."
"You march right upstairs and do your homework an-"
"I know, Mom."
"And when you're done, you will get to work on that room of yours."
"Alright, alright," he said, pushing past her with the glass of milk and two chocolate chip cookies in his hand. He clambered up the steps and into his room, allowing his bookbag to slide awkwardly to the floor. Glancing around his room he sighed heavily. He had done major damage to it, and he had already picked up his CDs and trophies. Oh well, he didn't have to continue working on it until later. He ambled over to his computer desk, jiggling the mouse and making his screen saver come off. He scrolled down his buddy list and saw that no one was on, so he plopped on his bed to finish his cookies.
Just as he finished his glass of milk, the notorious sound of a creaking door sounded from his computer, followed by the bleep of someone IMing him. Judging by the big, orange font he could tell it was Kyle. Sighing he got out of his oh-so-comfortable bed and sat in his swivel chair at the desk.
Star of Kyle: Hey, dude.
ManInMotionMarsh: Hey. What's up?
Star of Kyle: Nm...you?
ManInMotionMarsh: I just got home...I woulda been home sooner byut those goth kids stopped me as soon as I stepped outside.
Star of Kyle: Oh no. You're not going goth again, are you? Am I gonna have to sneak inside your house to find that you're worshipping the devil?
ManInMotionMarsh: No, dude, I'm not. And I never worshipped the devil, jesus christ.
Star of Kyle: ok...um...how are u doing?
ManInMotionMarsh: What do you think?
Star of Kyle: I hope it's safe to assume the same as before.
ManInMotionMarsh: Bingo.
Star of Kyle:You're not making any accomplishments? Come on...there as to be SOME progress...
ManInMotionMarsh: If u can consider doing some thinking and figuring a few things out, then yes, there has been some progress.
Star of Kyle: Good progress or bad progress...?
ManInMotionMarsh: Depends on how you look at it.
Star of Kyle: Well I guess ur not gonna tell me what it is you've figured out, then?
ManInMotionMarsh: lol you ARE the smart one.
Star of Kyle: Yeah so since you're not gonna fill me in I'm gonna go...ttyl
ManInMotionMarsh: Bye.
Star of Kyle signed off at 3:30:42 PM
Stan then put an away message up and got to work on his homework, but he just couldn't concentrate. Whenever he tried to focus on whether it was true or if it was false that Charles Dickens' father was arrested for not paying his taxes, his mind would switch over to Wendy and the other night. He had been so stupid, so naive to actually think that Wendy would put her way of living behind her and give a meaningful relationship with Stan a try. He should have known that she would have smashed his delicate heart once more, spitting on the remains.
She had done it so many times before. She had earned Stan's trust and hopes, only to have them shoved down his throat. She was the worst kind of tease, for most teases just got the males 'excited,' and would ignore their cries for loving, but Wendy was the kind who would play with your heart, and would ignore your cries for love. He stared down at his knuckles, which were starting to scab up, and he rubbed them together, causing a dull pain.
Stan felt his eyes watering up once more, but this time they weren't tears of pain, but tears of anger and hatred. He needed to be his own man. He needed to live only for himself.
She had hurt him for the last time.
Wendy threw herself onto her bed, sobbing loudly yet softly into her pillow. She slammed her fists on the bed on either side of her, trying to release tension and frustration. Her mascara and eyeliner ran onto her pillow, tainting the once beautiful pink and purple cotton sheet. She rolled to her side, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs in the fetal position. Burrying her face into her knees she continued to cry softly, but her sobs were no longer loud.
Seeing Stan so upset, so emotionally crippled, she wasn't able to look in the mirror that day. She was afraid to look into the eyes of the monster she had become, fearing that maybe, she too, would become drawn in by it's seducing beauty, only to be left limbless and writhing in pain. Stan had seemed as if he were abused, like Randy had one too many beers and came home and took his aggression out on Stan. But she knew perfectly well it wasn't Randy who had hurt and abused Stan, it was Wendy, drunk off her own power and glory.
She mistreated Stan; she threw him around like an old rag doll that she had outgrown. In reality, she did feel that she had outgrown him; him and their third grade relationship. But she didn't know how much he had grown up, how he had matured and developed and flourished into the young man she didn't know she needed.
She had made the biggest mistake of her life, and she knew what she had to do.
She slowly stood from her bed, ambling over to her mirror and wiping her face. She removed as much runny makeup as she could and tried to apply more, but she new she'd just cry it off some more. She trotted down the stairs, threw on her trademark purple coat, and ran off in the direction of Stan's house.
It was just so cliche, so movie-like, that Stan felt like he was in the middle of a teenage-chick-flick.
Being grounded, Stan was unable to go out to eat with his parents. He decided he'd take the opportunity to recline on the couch and watch old reruns of Terrance and Phillip. He didn't care how old he was or how many times he ahd seen every episode, good ol' T and P were still hilarious.
Rain pattered softly against the house, trailing intricately against the glassy window. The rain poured harder by the minute, and Stan was anxiously awaiting a storm.
"Say Terrance, would you check my ass for abnormalities?"
"Sure thing Terrance," came the reply, followed by an inevitable fart. Stan chuckled until he heard a knock at the door. Groaning, he turned the television off and slowly rose to his feet. He shuffled over to the door, his eyes widening at the sight of Wendy standing there, completely drenched in the rain she so stupidly ran in.
"What the hell do you want?" Stan spat, glaring at her with icy eyes.
She winced. "Can I come in?"
"No."
"Very well then," she mumbled, trying to regain her confidence. "Stan, I made the biggest mistake of my life," she choked, forcing back the tears that threatened to belittle her. "I-I..." she stuttered and paused, stumbling against Stan and placing her lips softly on Stan's, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
It was with that kiss that Stan realized he no longer loved Wendy.
Author's Note: Oh God...please don't kill me! -goes all Tweek knowing the reviewers are coming for her with pitchforks and torches- M'kay, several things I want to address. One thing I love about the show is Stan and Randy's relationship and interaction with each other, so of course I had to put some sort of father-son talk in there, as short as it was. Second thing; the goths.The only one that actually has a name was Henrietta, so that's why I didn't specifically address the others. I know they don't really act like they do on the show but I don't care. So nyah. -sticks tongue out- I remember them calling him Raven in the episode 'Raisins,' so that's what they called him in here. And reasons for the lame-ass-ghetto screen names. The man in motion is a position in football, and Stan's a football player (although I didn't mention that in my story...so maybe he's just a fan), and Kyle's jewish so yeah...Star of Kyle. XD lmao I'm so pathetic.
Next chapter is the last! -relieved sigh-