This chapter shall clear up the Stan thing, and then we'll get back to Damien.

Living in a town like South Park for so long would make anyone a little crazy...

Notice: I just want to inform everyone that I'll be relatively inactive until after June 8th, because my teachers are sadists.

Sixth Installment
"Body Art"

A shrill cackle resounded through his house, informing him that someone was at the door.

"Does your doorbell ring have to be so irritating?" Pip asked, clasping his hands to his ears. Damien shrugged, grunting, and moved to answer the door. He flung it open in his frustration, discovering to his surprise that his visitor was none other than Kyle.

Of course, he was with Stan.

"Um… hi, Damien," he mumbled awkwardly.

"What do you want!"

Stan pushed his way in front of the redhead, filling Damien's vision with his face, much to the antichrist's disgust.

"You… live in Hell, right?"

"Of course I live in Hell," he replied stiffly, mentally adding, and I was just about to go back to I wouldn't have to look at your stupid pretty face anymore...

"Can you tell me… did Rebecca Cotswold… go to…. Hell?" He nearly choked on the last word.

Damien couldn't care less about Stan, but he saw the desperate pleading look in Kyle's green eyes, and sighed. "…No. She got into Heaven."

Relief washed over Stan's face, and both boys smiled brightly. Kyle stared into his lover's eyes and laughed.

"See? Now can you live your life?"

Stan pecked him on the lips, and Damien thought he was going to puke. "Sure can, baby." He turned back to the antichrist. "Thank you. I feel so much better knowing she's in a better place now."

"Good night," Damien growled, and slammed the door shut. He narrowed his eyes and threw fire at the wall again.

Pip raised an eyebrow. "You told me only Mormons go to Heaven. Was Rebecca a Mormon?"

Damien pulled a cigarette out from his pocket and lit it with his fingers, sliding down the wall in a show of defeat. His answer was barely above a cold, tired whisper drifting from a pale mouth below half-closed eyes.

"Never heard of her..."

They sat in Stan's room, where they would be free from disturbances. His parents weren't home. Stan absentmindedly played with a loose string on the carpet, much on his mind.

Kyle coughed, breaking the silence. "So, uh… do you mind talking about this gang thing?"

Stan flopped over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "It was in middle school, I think."

Kyle glanced at the floor. He remembered middle school. Kyle had been in all advanced classes, Stan in regular classes and a multitude of extracurricular activities. That was when the two had started to think of each other as more than friends. They also began distancing themselves, trying to forget each other, because they were afraid. It wasn't until early high school that Stan finally got the courage to ask Kyle out.

"Kenny was in the hospital. Cartman was too, visiting him. He never left his side; I don't think he even ate. Of course, no one else cared, because we're all used to Kenny dying. So I had no one, without you. I spent a lot of time wandering the streets, getting my hands on anything I could find to give me a buzz."

Kyle's eyes widened. "God, Stan…. I… I had no idea…"

"…I was thinking about you, the whole time. I didn't want to; I didn't want to be in love with anyone. I remembered how much Wendy hurt me, and how I thought about killing myself, when she did. How I didn't want anything to do with love, anymore. I was trying so hard… to forget you…"

He coughed slightly, trying to force himself not to cry.

"Some guys found me in a gutter, one day. There were the tough, gangster types; wore trenchcoats, smoked. I told them how alone I felt… told them I had no one. They offered to let me join their gang, to have a home. I figured it would help me forget you, forget my life… so I said sure. They told me I had to steal a pack of cigarettes. I did, and quickly got addicted to those along with the other drugs. After that I had to do progressively more major crimes… until finally had to kill someone."

"Just… someone? They didn't specify?"

He nodded, tears beginning to spill over his eyelids. "…Just 'someone.' And I… I chose to k-kill Rebecca C-Cotswold, because I hated her for l-loving you… and I thought I h-hated you for l-loving her…" He burst into tears. Kyle carefully placed his arm on his shoulder, desperately wanting to comfort him, but not sure he could comfort himself.

"I killed her… oh God, I k-k-killed her… they g-gave me a tattoo, and I was in…"

Kyle slid his hand down Stan's arm and gripped his brown jacket. "Where's the tattoo…?" The brunette jerked sharply away, clutching the same sleeve.

"No… n-no…" he sobbed. Kyle took his arm and gently slid the sleeve up, revealing the skin below. Carved faintly into the flesh was a crudely drawn heart surrounding the words:

I HATE KYLE BROFLOVSKI

"That's why I always kept m-my arms covered…" he bawled. "It's faint b-because I tr-tried to scrub it off…"

Light danced in Kyle's shimmering green eyes and he laughed. He just laughed.

Stan wiped his eyes, sniffling. "What's so funny?"

Kyle threw off his shirt and turned away sharply. Stan's jaw dropped as he scanned his lover's back. It was covered in faded scars that spelled out the words:

I HATE KYLE BROFLOVSKI

Next to it were three sharp cuts that vaguely resembled a heart, with "Stan" scrawled in the middle.

"With a knife," the redhead explained simply.

He did this… to himself…

"W-wow…" Stan mumbled. "You used to be quite the emo kid, huh?"

Kyle stifled a giggle, afraid he was acting too much like a girl already.

"That's why I always want to be on top."

There was a great deal more laughter on the part of both inhabitants of the room, and then Kyle sat down, without bothering to put his shirt back on, and interrupted the merriment.

"There's just one thing I don't understand."

"Mm?"

"What about Rebecca's family? Her friends? Do they know? Did they report it?"

"Oh," Stan replied matter-of-factly, "her status right now is 'missing.'" He looked up at the ceiling again with a sigh. "You'd think we'd care more."

"Maybe we really are evil."

Kyle leaned back, unsure if he should feel guilty, sad, ashamed, or maybe even proud that his lover had gotten away with it. He resolved to feel a strange mixture of all four.

Then he found himself wondering where the body was.

"…Or maybe just fucking insane."