- Bebe -
She left the funeral without going to the burial. Her face was red and eyes swollen from crying so much since she heard about her best friend. She listened to the song that was the last thing Wendy posted before she took her own life. It was on repeat all the time.
She never knew.
Bebe went home to her small two bedroom house. She went straight to the bathroom wherein she stripped off her funeral attire and stood beneath the hot spray. The water cooled but she still stood there, her head against the cool shower wall. She was still in disbelief over Wendy. Her best friend. How could she not have known?
Her best friend's death, is what broke the dam for her.
She took time off from all her projects and her job, sitting at home, alone. She didn't even look at her phone, though she heard it buzz often with notifications. She didn't shower for over a week. She just sat on her couch and stared into space, that Blink-182 song playing on her bluetooth speakers which were connected to her laptop which sat on the coffee table in front of her.
It's a loop in her head, the news that Wendy killed herself, the note she left, the last status she posted.
She never stops, always busy. In high school it was academics and clubs, as an adult its the business, volunteering, and social media managing. She never has actual downtime. And she was ... content, with all of that.
She realizes how little it all actually means. How futile her efforts are.
She wanders into the kitchen and fixes herself a stiff rum and coke, not that she drinks much. She finishes her drink and makes another. She sips this one as she pulls her laptop into her lap back on the couch. She flicks to Facebook and Instagram, starting new pages on both, Existential Nihilism As We Know It, she entitles them.
On Facebook the cover picture is Wendy's note and her last status, though her name isn't mentioned. She does something similar on Instagram. The profile pictures are stylized as EN with a black background and white font.
The first post on Instagram is the Facebook cover photo and the first Facebook post is "Nothing matters, none of this, matters. It's time we accept it."
After that, she shares the status to all of her already existing pages, including her personal.
She scheduled a few future posts before finishing her drink and going to the bathroom to finally shower. She did her make up as well, just some black eyeliner and eyeshadow, before tossing on an old t-shirt of a band she used to really like and some guy jeans she had picked up years ago. She stuffed her feet into some old beat up sneakers and tossed on a zippered hoody before going out to Tweek Bros.
She found she wasn't the only one at the coffee shop when she arrived. People she hadn't seen in years hovered in the booths, quietly talking. She ordered her coffee, surprised to see it was Mr. Tweak running the register and not his son.
As she waited, she heard someone call her name. She turned and saw it was a tall person with black eyeliner and black lipstick, he looked familiar but she wasn't entirely sure.
"Do you want to join us?" he asked, gesturing to the others at the table.
"Butters?" She hazarded a guess as Mr. Tweak handed her her coffee.
"That's me," he chuckled weakly.
She smiled slightly at his attempt and accepted his offer to join them, sitting in one of the less full booths. She recognized many of them, if only because they had all recently attended Wendy's funeral.
"Did you know?"
It's Stan who asked, his voice broken and scratchy from crying.
"No..., none of us did."
Stan sobs quietly into his arms as Butters awkwardly pats his back, looking unsure.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, trying to contain himself.
"It's okay..., I feel like I should have, given I was her best friend." She speaks airily, but inside, she feels the desolation rearing, ready to swallow her again.
"Fuck, I'm sorry Bebe," he sobs again, slouching over the table, burying his face in his arms, trying to control himself.
She rests a hand on his crossed arms and doesn't speak.
She sees Tweek clinging to Craig, Kenny is sitting beside Stan on the inside of the booth, Kyle and Token are no where to be found. Clyde barges into the shop moments later, sliding into the booth next to Craig and Tweek.
They talk little, mostly absorbed in their own thoughts. Occasionally, people opt to get more coffee, before rejoining the table and distributing drinks.
"Can we have a moment of actual honesty?" Bebe asks, breaking the relative silence.
All eyes turn to her.
"How many of us have thought about or attempted suicide? You don't have to say which, unless you want to."
Stan, Tweek, Craig, Butters, Kenny, Bebe, all raise a hand or finger.
Clyde looks worriedly at all of them.
"Craig?" He sounds almost scared.
"You know its true dude," Craig monotones.
Clyde looks away.
Bebe nods, and asks "Has it been in the last six months? Before Wendy."
Again, everyone but Clyde and Bebe raises a hand or finger.
"Does anyone in your life know?"
This time Stan is the only one that raises a finger.
"I'm in therapy," he mumbles into his arm.
"Does it help?"
"I don't know."
"I don't want to lose any of you," Bebe says softly.
"I don't want to hear about it in the news, that another of my friends died by their own hand."
Craig swallows audibly, looking out the window of the shop. His grip on Tweek has visibly tightened.
"I know we all have our own lives..., we're vastly different from who we were as kids. But I'd like to have a weekly or so meeting with all of you here. To talk, to hang out, it doesn't have to be here, we could meet here and then go somewhere else. But I want us to actually talk to each other."
"You think that us hanging out will change something?" Craig scoffs.
"Not really. But I would like us to have some sense of community. To know we're not alone. I know, realistically, we are alone. This little chance meeting means nothing, not really. We could each go home and kill ourselves, maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually. We could. I'm just asking for one night every week or so. Just to..., exist, with one another."
Everyone is quiet for a while, Tweek is mildly twitching.
"What do you say?" She asks eventually, as Mr. Tweak exits the shop.
"Can I invite someone else too?" Stan asks.
"If they will benefit from this yes, of course."
Stan looks thoughtful and desolate, a terrible combination.
"I would then. I think..., I think it would benefit us."
Tweek and Craig quietly confer while Butters also agrees, offering his house as a meeting space as it's relatively spacious. Kenny also agrees, and soon Tweek and Craig do as well. Clyde says he would but he has to return to campus and wouldn't be able to attend.
Bebe creates a group chat with all of them in it, and Stan asks if he can add his other friend. Bebe says he can and he opens his phone.
"I still can't believe it. Would anyone like to come with me to her headstone?"
Stan accepts, as does Kenny, though Craig and Tweek decline. Clyde says he'll go and catch up with Tweek and Craig. Butters also opts not to go.
The three leave the coffee house and make their way to the graveyard.
Stan is trying hard not to breakdown again. He sniffles as they make their way to hers. It's still relatively fresh.
Tears fall as they stand there.
"Thanks for coming with me."
They stand in relative silence as wind rustles the grass and leaves. It'll be snowing soon enough.
Wendy specifically wrote " I'm Not Sorry ", Bebe wonders who she was talking to. She wonders if she meant it to those like her, whom she left behind. She also wonders if their little group meetings will mean anything. In any term. She doesn't know.
The lyrics of Up All Night repeat in her head "Did I get this straight? Do you want me here as I struggle through each and every year". She wonders if anything matters. She knows it doesn't, on a level, she's always known that. But she let herself fill her life with bullshit that she thought would make her life more meaningful.
She exhales thoroughly. Trying to recenter herself.