- Tweek -

I hadn't thought about Wendy much, until she died. Until she killed herself. Sure, as kids, she had been nice to me. But beyond that, I never thought about her very much. And now? Now all I can think about is how could someone like that do that? What about me? Will I do that?

My breath hitches in my throat, I start coughing and then I can breathe again. I'm alone in my room, as usual. It's about 3 AM, last I checked. My parents haven't made me work in a while. I haven't been able to focus. I had my monthly therapy appointment a few days ago.
All I could talk about was Wendy. My therapist took me through breathing exercises and asked me why I was so preoccupied with someone, I admittedly, never really cared about or thought about.
I was quiet for a while as I considered her question. I think she suspected my answer, I mean, she knew me pretty well by now.

"Because if something like that can be done by her, why not by me too?"

"As far as you know, she was never in therapy, never medicated, correct?"

I nodded, not entirely understanding what she was getting at.

"So she never had the supports that you do. She didn't have the coping skills you've learned. She was never diagnosed and helped the way you have been helped. Do you have anyone that you can talk to about things?"

And so I told her about the group chat and the meetings we would start having. She said that sounded like it would be helpful and hopefully I would be able to make deep friendships with everyone.

I told her I doubted I would make those with everyone in the group, I kind of had one with Craig and Kenny and Butters.
She encouraged me to pursue those friendships and reminded me that I may be able to forge friendships with the others. And then we continued to go over coping skills and practice a few of them.

I was going to go to work today. I needed that routine back. I recognized that I did better with routine. My therapist would say that was progress.

I waited until my parents left before I showered and got dressed. I made myself my first cup of actual, not instant, coffee for the first time in what felt like a very long time. It was delicious. I made a second cup and brewed a second pot for my thermos before getting my boots on and getting ready to go to the shop.

I made it to the shop without incident and took my customary spot behind the register. It was..., nice, to settle back into the routine of working. I waved to Butters who had already set up in the back corner. He waved back and returned his focus to the computer in front of him. Once it slowed down, after cleaning the counter and various pots and such, I wandered over to Butters.

"Could I get another usual?" He asked when I approached.

"OF course," I went to make it and brought it back before sitting across from him.

"Thanks," he began drinking again, typing one-handed.

He fished out the money for the new coffee and set it on the table next to his empty cup.

They sat in a companionable silence, Butters typing away, as I took the opportunity to check the group messages. I had interacted some, offering my art for the instagram and whatever else they wanted to use them for. All the mods of the page had an alias, I was Coffee, Craig was Stone, Pete was Red, Bebe was Creator. The pages had a couple posts a day. It became a new part of my routine, I enjoyed making art for the page. Bebe had private messaged me and offered to showcase my unedited art in a gallery she supervised, I would get a cut of what my stuff sold for, the rest going to one of the charities she ran.

I thought about it, asked Butters what he thought. Butters glanced up at me, before returning his gaze to his computer.
Abruptly, Butters closed the laptop and took another drink of his coffee.

"Do you need the money?"

"It... would help."

"Then do it, you'll also be supporting good causes."

I nodded and sent an affirmative message to Bebe.

"How are you doing?" Tweek asked.

"How much time do you have?" Butters grimaced.

I looked around the shop, no new customers were showing up.
"Well..., it could pick up at any moment, but you can come hang out tonight?"

Butters looked thoughtful, "All right. It would be nice to not be home by myself for a while."

I smiled at my friend and took the money from the table, going back to the register and depositing it as another customer came in and approached.

Butters left the shop shortly after, and I got busy as the next rush began. Butters came back eventually though, and ordered another usual and a pastry. I made his coffee and grabbed his pastry, passing them to him. He set the coffee on the counter and paid for his items before taking his usual spot again.

I finished my shift and waited for Butters to be ready. He took only a few minutes to stuff his laptop in his bag.

They walked to my house, not saying much. Once there, I went to make them coffees and Butters sat on the couch, leaning back so he could stare at the ceiling.

I brought the coffees back and set one in front of Butters before taking a seat in the arm chair.
"So how are you doing?"

Butters gave a long exhale, slouching forward and wrapping both hands around the mug of warm coffee.
"I don't know. Like..., I'm keeping busy with work, as usual, but it keeps going around in my head, what happened with Wendy."

I only nodded, gazing in to my coffee.

"Like..., as far as we know, she had a pretty great life right? How the hell could we not succumb to something too?"

"I... had this same conversation almost with my therapist. Do..., do you have a therapist?"

"Not anymore." Butters shrugged.

"Do you have friends, aside from me?" I asked, wincing at how that sounded.

"Uh..., I don't really talk to anyone else. Aside from the people at work. About work, I mean."

"Well..., maybe the meetings will allow you to get more friends you know?" I said.

"Yeah..." He trailed off, staring at the coffee table.

I leaned back and drank my coffee. I wasn't good with talking, not really.

Butters drank his coffee and spoke again, "I just..., still, can't believe it man. Wendy."

I got up and offered a hand on his shoulder. He gave a heavy sigh and sunk back into the couch.

We talked more, I made more coffee, and we relaxed, together, eventually we reheated the dinner my parents made and ate together before Butters went home, after thanking me for spending time with him. I assured him it wasn't a problem and went up to my room after locking the door behind him.

Now, I'm laying on my bed, not really tired. I stretch out on the bed, and allow drowsiness to overtake me and i drift in that space between wakefulness and dreams.

Eventually, I stir and go for a shower, before going downstairs for more coffee, checking my phone as it brews I see it needs charging. I sigh and return upstairs to plug it in. I go back down to get the coffee, making a thermos for the day before going to get my phone and start the walk to the shop.

The day is uneventful, in the evening, Kenny comes in and hangs out, eventually offering to walk me home. I accept and after closing up, we walk back towards my house. As I'm about to go in, he says I should talk to Craig. I look back at him, surprise etched into my features. He says Craig wants to tell me but might be scared to. I laugh, because Craig is never scared of anything. But Kenny looks serious so I nod and say I'll try to talk to him. He smiles and waves, continuing down the street to his own house. I let myself into my house and lock the door behind me. wondering what Craig could possibly want to tell me that he would be afraid to. I wonder if he's dying, my thoughts automatically going into a brisk panic. I close my eyes and lean against the door, taking a deep breath. No, I think sternly, Craig wouldn't be afraid to tell me if he was dying. Would he? The panic sinks in again and I frantically text Craig and ask him if he's dying. The reply is quick, and of course, it says no, he's not dying. I can almost hear the smile in the words. I breathe a sigh of relief and ask him how he is, as I go to reheat dinner.

Craig responds that he's okay. He's got work soon though. I ask if he wants to continue to text or if I should leave him alone.
He replies slower but says he would like to continue, cause he doesn't really have to do much.
Beaming, I enjoy my dinner and continue texting Craig, eventually asking him if there's anything he wants to tell me.

I'm laying in bed, after I sent that last text, it's been over two hours since Craig texted back. I wonder if he's okay or if someone actually tried to break into the mall and if he's actually dead. I send a flurry of texts asking if he's okay, if anyone broke into the mall.

It feels like forever before I get a response but he says he's fine, that he just left his phone to charge in the break room while he went to do his rounds. He also says he didn't mean to worry me.

I notice he didn't answer my question but I'm not going to ask again. I know Craig enough to know that he'll tell me when he's ready. It's approaching four am, I tell Craig I'm going to try to sleep, I don't get a response until I'm already drifting out of consciousness, but I'm too far gone to see what it says.