In it for the Long Haul

Chapter 7:

"The Thought Provoking Poetry of Kenny McCormick"

Chapter Rating:

PG / PG13 depending on whose judgment you're using

Story Notes:

All of the poetry in this chapter is written by me, except 'Hip Hop' which my husband wrote.
Also, for those of you that claim that their eyes were burned from last chapter's slash: I WARNED YOU in the first chapter that this story would have a dash of slash. So you can't blame your sudden need for laser corrective surgery on ME!
I'd also like to just sort of randomly point out that this chapter has been the hardest one for me to write so far. And it felt weird writing this chapter because I also ended up writing a big chunk of the epilog at the same time. Anyway, we left Kenny in a pretty bad place last chapter so lets dive right back into it...

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Cartman's POV

The pounding of a hammer building a cradle
The pounding of a hammer building a casket
They sound the same to me.

Kenny McCormick's Physics notebook - 9th grade

When we get to Kenny's front door Kyle comes to a stop, probably unsure of how to proceed. I step past the wuss and pound on the door. When I don't get a response I go to the dirty window and look inside. I can see Kevin sitting, unblinking, staring at the black and white TV so I rap on the window.

"KEVIN! Get your stoned ass over here and let us IN!" I yell at the window. His eyes flicker toward the sound of my voice for a moment but he ignores me. "KEVIN! If you don't let me in I swear I'll call the police on you, ya weed smoker!" He turns his head toward me this time but he still doesn't make a move to get up. "Stupid mushroom eating hippy" I mutter.

"What do we do now?" Kyle sounds like he is about to have a panic attack.

"We go in anyway dumbass." I step back to the doorway and turn the knob. As usual the lock gives way after a few hard yanks. I walk into Kenny's shitty house and growl at Kevin, who has tuned us out completely by now. Moving past him, Kyle rushes to Kenny's room with me at his heels. He doesn't even bother knocking on his bedroom door, he just pushes it open.

The two of us freeze in his doorway when we see him. Oh Christ...oh Jesus fucking Christ... Kenny is sprawled on his back on the floor. His face is turned to one side, facing away from us. But the blood... there is a small pool of blood under his head. The room almost smells of death, and there is broken glass...everywhere. I rush forward and drop to my knees next to him so that I can see his face. "Oh fucking god" I whimper at the sight. The right side of his face is a mess of torn up skin and imbedded glass. It's sticking everywhere. It's sticking out of his cheek, out of his ear...and out of his eye.

I can feel tiers start forming in my own eyes and I feel nauseous. "Call a goddamn ambulance!" I hiss at Kyle. I can hear him start hitting buttons on his mother's cell phone. "Kenny?" I call to him in my most soothing voice. I don't get a response. His nose looks like it's broken and there's dark blood dried under it. I can see bruises forming all over my best friend's face and his mouth and chin are coated in more blood. It trails down his neck, meeting and mingling with the blood from the wounds there.

"They are on the way" Kyle whispers dropping to his knees next to Kenny too. "Is...is he a-alive?"

"I...I don't know." I haven't seen him move.

Kyle gently lifts Kenny's wrist and places two of his fingers against it. I've seen people do that on television before so I know that he's checking for a pulse. Seconds slip by like hours before he breaths a relieved sigh. "I can feel his heart beating." Kyle and I share a tense smile.

I brush Kenny's blood spattered bangs out of his face but that only reveals more bruises and tiny cuts. Sirens are suddenly audible in the distance.

"I'll meet the paramedics outside" I hear Kyle mutter. He pushes himself back to his feet and dashes silently out of the room. I grasp Kenny's hand and give it a reassuring but gentle squeeze. "You're gonna make it buddy" I whisper. It's then that I finally notice that he is wearing my old coat still. The sirens outside have gotten louder, but all I can do is stare, suddenly understanding what must have happened to my best friend.

"What the hell is all that racket?" A voice demands from a second room. Anger suddenly boils in my blood. That voice belongs to the man who beat his son nearly to death. The voice is of a man who nearly stole my closest confidant from me, and no one steals from me and gets away with it!

"Sounds like an ambulance or something Stuart. Just fucking go back to sleep" the voice of Kenny's mother answers back. There is a pause and then the sound of rustling bed sheets.

"Oh shit!" I hear him cry followed by staggering footsteps. I quickly scan the room for a weapon of some sort. My eyes fall on the neck and bottom of a broken bottle and I snatch them off of the ground, trying desperately to ignore the fact that they're stained red. A second later Kenny's father appears in his son's doorway. By now the ambulance can't be more than a block away by the volume of the siren. I lift the bottle neck and point its sharp red edges at Stuart McCormick.

"YOU! What the HELL did you DO! WHO DID YOU CALL!" he screams taking a step toward us. I jab the sharp object forward toward him and he retreats back to the doorway.

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM US! If you come near him again I'll stab you in the GODDAMN heart with this thing!" I threaten. "How could you DO this! He's your SON you cocksucker!"

"The only one in this family that is a cocksucker is HIM! Fucking y--"

I heave the second chunk of glass at him, but it hits the wall next to him instead. He opens his mouth to argue back again but I cut him off. "I should have done this YEARS ago!"

But before either of us has a chance to take the fight farther Kyle's voice comes rushing into the house. "--a pulse, but there's blood everywhere... MOVE!" Kenny's dad enters the room again and sidesteps to make room for Kyle, who is followed by three paramedics and a pair of cops I've never seen before. I still keep my weapon leveled at Stuart. "HIM" Kyle roars, pointing an accusing finger at Kenny's father. The policemen look over to Stuart and then to me with questioning looks.

"He has been beating up Kenny for years." I blurt out. "He stays over at my house until things blow over usually. You can call my mother and confirm it with her if you need to."

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Two cracked ribs. A dislocated shoulder. Eight stitches on the lower lip. A Broken nose. Thirteen stitches on the nose. A mild concussion. Seven stitches on the right jaw. Twenty-three stitches along the right cheek. Twenty stitches on the right ear. Slight swelling of the brain. Nine stitches to the back of the head. Pulled muscle in the neck. Four stitches on the neck... The list of what the doctors had diagnosed and treated after several hours it the hospital is a long one. And I want to throw up at the last two things.

Loss of hearing in the right ear. Loss of the right eye.

I've failed Kenny as a friend. He is in observation and emergency surgery alert right now to prevent damage to his brain from swelling, and I could have prevented it all from happening. And all I can do now is sit here and hope that he wakes up again so that I can tell him how sorry I am.

Kyle is sitting next to me in the waiting room with a necklace clutched in his hands, praying. I don't understand what he's saying so it must be in Hebrew. For once I don't even feel angry about his religion. Maybe it'll do Kenny some good to have two gods watching over him right now. Even if Kyle's God probably does not exist.

Mother is in a different waiting area talking to a detective. They'd called her soon after Kenny was rolled into the unsuccessful surgery attempting to save his eye and I haven't seen her since. I assume that they're asking her all about the times Kenny showed up at our house beaten up...

"You shouldn't blame yourself Cartman" Kyle says out of the blue.

"I'm going to kill that son of a bitch if he ever gets out of jail Kyle. I would have done it today..." He places a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I shake it off.

"Then I'll hold him down while you do."

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Some people cry at funerals and smile at weddings
Some people smile at funerals and cry at weddings
I think I'll laugh at both.

Kenny McCormick's Speech notebook - 9th grade

It's almost 8:00 at night when a nurse accompanied by my mother shakes me awake in my chair to tell me that Kenny just woke up. "He asked to see you and your mother." I feel instantly alert upon hearing that and nudge Kyle awake too.

"Kenny is awake Kosher boy. Lets go."

The nurse escorts the three of us down several different corridors until she halts in front of room #113. The plaque thing outside the door says K. McCormick: Recovery / Observation. When the three of us enter I gasp in stereo with Kyle. It's hard to decide if Kenny looks better or worse now than when we'd found him. The blood and glass has all been washed away, but it has been replaced with tubes and wires feeding into Kenny's arms and attached to his forehead. His long blond hair has been shaved off in several areas for his monitoring equipment. There are tiny black stitches all along the right side of his face and bandages covering his injured ear and where his right eye used to be.

Kenny is watching us as we shuffle over to his left side so that he can see and hear us better. "You guys.. saved me." His voice is horse and raspy. The nurse puts a straw to his lips and Kenny swallows a few gulps of water and winces before he continues. "I thought... that he was really going to.. kill me this time."

"Oh sweetheart I'm so sorry that this happened" Mom says taking his hand. "It should have been my job as an adult to make sure that your father didn't hit you again after the first time you came over hurt. I'm so sorry Kenny."

"This isn't...your fault. I told you not to…tell." My mother nods, but she is tearing up all the same. "I wanted to know...what happened with my dad...and what about...Mom and Kevin? The nurse said you were...talking to the police."

"He is in jail sweetie, where he belongs. And as far as I know the police are still questioning your mother."

"Could you go tell the...police that I'd like to see her if I can? After...I talk to Eric and...Kyle."

Mom smiles the best that she can and nods. "Of course hon. If that's what you want." She releases Kenny's hand and motions for the nurse to leave the three of us alone.

"Is she doing ok Eric?" he asks when he is sure she's out of ear shot. Leave it to Kenny to be worried about my mother when he's just gotten out of surgery himself. "I wish this could have... happened any other time but right…now.."

"It shouldn't have happened at all!" Kyle and I blurt out as one.

"It feels weird though" he continues. "I can't really feel... anything. I got the shit kicked out of me and...I should feel like...shit, you know? They've got me so... doped up on pain killers...that I can't really move... When I first woke up...I thought that maybe I'd...been paralyzed." He stops and eyes his drink again. Kyle hastily retrieves it from where it sits and Kenny sips down another mouthful of water from the straw.

"So what have they told you?" Kyle asks after setting the water back down.

"That's part of... the reason I wanted to talk to you... guys alone. The doctor won't really...tell me anything. Other than I'm...not paralyzed. How bad is it?"

"They haven't told you ANYTHING?" I ask feeling numb. He doesn't know!

"It's bad...isn't it?" There is a nervous tone to his voice now. It makes me angry. Angry that no one even bothered to explain to Kenny what had happened to him.

"Go get a mirror Kyle."

"That might not be the best thing for him right now Cart-"

"I said go get him a fucking mirror Kyle!" I hiss, cutting off any argument. His eyes widen for a moment at my anger but he rushes to the room's bathroom.

"Eric?" He's scared.

"It looks pretty bad right now." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "But the stitches will be gone after a couple weeks. And the bruises will fade away just like they always have..." Kyle comes back holding a medicine cabinet sized mirror at his side. I can tell by his expression that he still disapproves of this.

"But?" Kenny prompts. My voice seems to stumble over my tongue and nothing comes out to answer him. I can only grasp his hand.

"Your dad broke a bottle in your face Kenny, right before you passed out" the Jew speaks up. And not for the first time today I wonder how Kyle seems to KNOW these things. "The glass, well, it stuck in everywhere." He holds the mirror up and sets it to rest carefully on Kenny's knees. I hear Kenny's loud intake of breath and watch his visible eye go wide.

"Holy shit." It only comes out as a whisper. His eye darts around the mirror, taking in all the damage. After about a minute of examining himself he looks back up at us. "There's more you aren't...telling me. What is the patch...hiding?" The heart monitor that has been beeping away a steady rhythm this whole time in the background starts to speed up. "What is it h-hiding?" he repeats.

"Kenny you need to calm down" Kyle begs. My best friend's eye darts to me and I nod, agreeing with Kyle. He takes several deep breaths, keeping his gaze locked on me. His breathing and the beeping of the heart monitor are the only audible sounds for several minutes. Eventually the beep slows. We continue to sit in silence until Kenny finally speaks again.

"Did you guys know…that I was born on Friday the 13th? Right...after midnight actually. I was...probably the first baby...born that day... I've always had really terrible...luck too, you know?" Tiers have started to slide down his cheek, but he still stares at me as he continues. "I've been...burned to death and sent to...hell, I've been turned into…a zombie and cut in half...with a chainsaw, I've died of a genetic...muscular disease, I've been...crushed to death, been impaled,...I've exploded, drowned, been shot, electrocuted, and...run over. And it...wasn't until it all just sort of ...stopped happening that...I realized that I'm not really all that…scared of death. But I am scared of not…knowing this you guys. Please?"

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Kenny's POV

I know there are so many ways of dying.
If I told you that they all hurt I'd be lying.
And a few are more painful than the rest.
But now I need to get this off of my chest.
You used to cast my death aside like nothing and forget me.
But then the next day I'd somehow be back so I just let it be.
It hurt to think that my friends and family didn't seem to care.
And in my heart sometimes it felt like it was too much to bear.

Kenny McCormick's personal poetry notebook - 8th grade

When I finally look back into the mirror Kyle is hesitantly holding up for me again the first thing I think is that I may have been better off dying. My breath is coming in short bursts and the heart monitor speeds up again. I can hear Kyle berating Eric for letting me see myself while Eric whispers calming things in my ear. I can't really make out either of their words. The only thing I can concentrate on is the mirror, and the terrible gaping...hole...in my face. I want desperately to touch it, to prove that it isn't real, but I still can't seem to lift my limbs. God damn pain killers! But now at least I know why I'm on so many. Anything that looks this horrible must be painful…

"What are you children doing?" comes a loud voice that I recognize as my doctor. But I can't see him because he's out of my field of vision. Kyle and Eric's heads immediately turn toward the source of the voice though and their eyes widen.

"KENNY?" My mother's voice seems to fill the room. A few seconds later she's in front of me. Her eyes are wide and the look on her face is one of shock, anger, horror, and disgust. I can see her eyes trail down to where Eric's hand is still gripping mine. "Your father was right!" she spits and turns to leave. I feel a terrible tightening in my chest at her words and the room suddenly gets blurry. A wetness trickles down my face despite my best efforts not to cry. I don't even have the strength to wipe the tiers away which makes the them come faster. My heart hurts...

"I'm sorry" I sob, suddenly feeling groggy.

"You bitch!" Kyle growls. I don't hear any response, she must have walked out. My mother could never love a faggot son... She doesn't love me anymore. And I won't be able to go home now. She'll throw me onto the street and I'll die of hypothermia. She'll get Dad out of jail and then he'll come to finish what he started. Not only for being a fag but for getting him arrested too. Oh God! No one loves me anymore! Things around me are starting to get dark.

"Mom...please... I'm sorry..." Jesus, why couldn't I have just died? Why couldn't I have just died? Things slip quickly into blackness.

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Hip Hop
Flipity Flop
Off your rocker
And over the top
Life is a fiction
The world is a lie
So fuck this world
And lets all get high

Kenny McCormick's science notebook - 5th grade

When I wake up I discover several things very quickly. I've obviously regained my ability to move, since I've bolted upright in my bed due to the nightmare that woke me. But about a quarter of a second after I make that happy discovery I also discover that I have a pounding headache. I lay back down in an attempt to lessen the ache but discover that my neck and back are also in a fair amount of pain. Hell, my entire face hurts too to be honest.

In the movies when someone wakes up in the hospital they usually can't remember why they are there at first. Real life is nothing like the cliches of movies. I can remember every horrible feeling I felt when my mother stormed out of this room. 'Your father was right' is now permanently etched into my consciousness. I'm not sure how long I've been out, but the sky outside my window is the color of either sunrise or sunset right now.

After looking out of the window for what feels like hours a nurse comes in and tries talking to me about how I'll be feeling today, since it is apparently sunrise after all. But I'm too focused on the jackhammer in my brain and my own personal thoughts to really pick up on more than the basic concept. I'll be taking pain pills from now on instead of being doped up on whatever it was I was on yesterday. I am handed a pill that she calls Vicodin and a paper cup with some water.

"You're going to want to take that right away sweety. Before the Morphine wears completely off" the nurse says, smiling at me. That gets my attention! Apparently I'm not even fully in pain yet. So I shakily place the tiny white pill on my tongue and drink down all of the water in the cup. "Just give that about an hour hon. You'll feel much better."

'Much better' Yeah right. This nurse doesn't seem to know that in the span of the last day and a half I've been beaten half to death by my father, been disowned by my gay hating mother, was in a coma, found out that the closest thing I have to a real mother is going to die in less than two years, and lost an eye. One little pill is not going to make me feel 'much better' any time soon lady! The sour look I'm giving the nurse is enough to get her to hurry from the room with other important things to do. All I can do is lay back down, careful of my tender neck, and wait for this wonder drug to kick in...

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The end of yet another chapter. How am I doing guys? Still interested? Chapter 8: 'A Shiny Blue One' is already in the works. So stay tuned!

Anyway, I also wanted to add a bit of a note here at the end of the story concerning Vicodin. Vicodin is both a blessing and a bitch. When my husband injured his back a week before our wedding he was prescribed Vicodin so that we could go through with the wedding. He was even able to dance with me, which would have been impossible otherwise due to his pain... But I have also had coworkers that have become addicted to it accidently. Vicodin is in some ways even more addictive than crack and it can happen in the span of only two days of accidental misuse. So please use Vicodin responsibly!