Addict

A/N: You guys are pretty much awesome. Keep leaving reviews like you're leaving them. Some people said something about how Kyle told on Craig. Oho. You'll see what happened. Or will you. I know some people have expressed the fact that they don't like 'Tophe/Ky. But be patient people, the only pairing that's even near set in stone for me is, of course, Craig and Tweek.
Secret time: I've had this chapter almost done for a while, then I edited it completely, then I edited it back to how it was completely. It was supposed to be longer than what it is now, but, fuck, it's not. Sorry about how short it is...
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't claim to, wouldn't dream of it, got it memorized? Also, the few lines from Othello that I used belong to the one and only William Shakespeare, so don't get delusional and think I'm him.
Warnings and Pairings: You know these by now, kids, no need to reiterate.

Chapter Three: Now I've Made This Bed

Kenny McCormick kind of bothers me. Now as much as, say, Cartman, and not in the same way either. With Kenny it's more when I'm near him something is really off. Like everything he does is this huge façade. Because most of the time Kenny is simply indifferent to everything that doesn't concern himself, except when it comes to three things. Those three things are: sex, illegal substances and relationships.

The first two don't exactly come as a shock. Kenny's like a Sex Education textbook, but that doesn't mean he's a whore. I wouldn't call him that. At least, not to his face. It's the same with illegal substances. He doesn't do them a lot, at least not anymore; he just knows everything there is to know about them. I don't know if he spends a lot of time on the internet or it's all actually from experience, but he's the person to go for about it.

When it comes to relationships, you wouldn't actually think Kenny would know shit about them. He's never really been in one, unless you count the rumored two week fling he had with Bebe in the summer before tenth grade, but no one really does. With Kenny and relationships, I think it's more of a matter of him watching all of us fail miserably at them. He knows exactly what not to do because he's seen every mistake being made. He's the one who got Stan and Wendy back together during ninth grade. Not that it lasted long, but it wouldn't have lasted at all without the blond intervention.

So, Kenny's good at giving advice about those sorts of things. But usually he keeps to himself. He waits for you to come and ask him what you should do. I think he likes to see people need him, have them come to him with their problems for once. It works out well for everyone in the end. The problem is that recently Kenny has taken it upon himself to actually search people out and give them advice.

An even worse problem is that, according to various sources, he has the sudden urge to talk to me. Which is odd, to say the least, because my relationship with Kenny works something like this: it doesn't. If I need something from him, advice, a video game, a ride home from somewhere, I'm comfortable enough to ask him. The same goes for him with me. But are we really friends? Let me put it this way, it's easier for me to have a conversation with Cartman than it is with Kenny.

It all stems back to one very innocent mistake I made in seventh grade. I insulted Butters Stotch. It always comes back to Butters, doesn't it? But, see, I thought that by then, by the time that I was already hanging out behind school rather than in the hallways, by the time that I thought it was cool to have a cigarette permanently attached to my lips, by the time that none of us even talked anymore, I thought that by then it wouldn't really matter if I made fun of Butters, of all people. I thought that in fourth grade it didn't matter.

All of a sudden, in seventh grade, I made one comment about the shirt Butters was wearing – it was seriously flaming, literally, pink flames – and Kenny McCormick punches me in the face five times. What's wrong with this picture? It's like those picture games they have in the newspaper. One is normal, all of us kind of ignoring it, moving on with our days. The other one is what you thought was completely weird and out there, the trailer trash boy in the orange parka standing up for the stuttering, blond boy who dresses like a fag.

Ever since then, even with things how they are now, being around Kenny is like trying to see through this front he puts up. I don't really know how he feels about me. It's been almost five years since that incident, and it's like he still holds a grudge against me for it. I guess I'm not one to talk, considering how I hold grudges longer than anyone has a right to. That's what's so odd about all this though.

We don't talk if we can't help it. If the situation arises, we can make alright conversation. But if Kenny is looking to talk to me, that means he's noticed something and, fuck, is he perceptive, which means that there's a huge chance I don't even know what he's going to talk to me about. And, honestly, I don't feel like discussing anything he'll want to discuss. Not in the least. Which means I have to avoid him at all costs.

Which means I have to be in the last place he would expect me. Unfortunately for me, that means no smoking at lunch. That means no asking for cigarettes at lunch. What it means, instead, in the twisted logic of my mind, is that I'm going to stay in the boy's bathroom for forty-five minutes while the rest of my classmates are in the cafeteria. It seems that I really wasn't thinking at all, because about five minutes into my oh-so-smart plan, I'm joined by Stan. Joy.

For a minute he just kind of stares at me. Probably because I'm currently sitting underneath the automatic hand-dryer and letting the warm air blow my bangs into my eyes. Then, he does the unthinkable, and sits next to me. "Dude," he says, seriously, "what the fuck did you do to Kyle?" I feel the smirk form on my face, my middle finger itching to be shoved in his face, to tell him exactly what to do. Somehow I resist it, miraculously, I speak instead.

"You should be asking, what the fuck did Kyle do to me?" I say, in a cheery voice, almost drowned out by the air blowing in my face. I frown and shift a bit so I'm not directly underneath the vent and it stops, just like magic.

"I don't really care what he did to you, Craig," Stan snaps at me. He usually doesn't get this angry. That's Kyle territory, and Stan doesn't invade that, he just waits things out, keeps his frustration to himself, quietly fuming, so I'm a little bit taken aback by how he lashes out now. But, like the pansy he is, he immediately feels bad. "Goddamn it," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing. "Sorry, Craig, it's just…I don't know what you did, but it really got to him, whatever it was."

Now I'm not so sure how to feel about that. Yesterday and all last night I was excited to come to school and watch Kyle get the payback he so rightly deserves. But…I really didn't want Stan to become such a huge part of this. Thinking about it now, what I did could be completely detrimental to their friendship and if that doesn't make me feel like a prick, I don't know what does. I need a cigarette like I need air right now.

Stan continues when I don't say anything. I have no idea what to say. "I mean, he came over to my house after school. The entire time he just sat there, like his life was over or something. I don't get it, what could you do that would be that bad?" I hate the way that he says that, like out of everyone in the world whatever I could have done shouldn't matter. Like I'm just the tiniest little piece of bacteria on the planet. Oh, sure, I can make you sick, but you'll get over it quickly. Well, Kyle always did get sick easily.

"Well he told on me," I whine, immediately realizing how childish that sounds. I might as well have accused Kyle of being a 'tattletale.' I flush lightly under the look Stan gives me.

"He told on you? Oh, yeah, Craig, oh, he must have really deserved what you did then," Stan says sarcastically, leaning his head back against the tiled, bathroom wall. "You know, you're really stupid sometimes. I really just guessed that this was your doing. You don't come to lunch, that whole thing on the bus yesterday, you're avoiding everyone. I just guessed that you had something to do with it, I didn't know anything, but you just admitted to me that you did something. Nice going."

I can't hold it back, I just flip him off, glare at him, let all my anger show. "Fuck you Stan, seriously. So what if I have a guilty conscience?" I spit at him, glaring the entire time.

"No, you don't," Stan tells me, having the audacity to look amused at the situation. "If you had a guilty conscience you wouldn't be hiding in the bathroom during lunch, you'd be telling Kyle you were sorry."

"I'm not hiding from Kyle fucking Broflovski," I cry, groaning inwardly as I drop my head into my hands. "You know Kenny wants to talk to me, right?"

"Oh," Stan mumbles, actually managing to sound sorry for me. "I guess that makes sense. It's just, Craig, what did he do, exactly? And what did you do? It's just…you have to understand. Whatever you did, it made my best friend go away. He's not acting like himself. You get that right? I mean, what if that happened to Tweek? You'd react the same way and you know it."

He's right. Stan and I are a lot alike in that sense. We'll do anything for our best friend. Stan for Kyle and me for Tweek. I guess we kind of get each other that way. I'm always defending Tweek against things people say about him. Stan's always defending Kyle against, well, just Cartman really, but there's nothing 'just' about Cartman and the things he makes fun of Kyle for, so we're basically in the same situation.

"I know, it's just, I'm pretty sure he told the counselor that I was smoking," I say, trying to stress the importance. "I know I shouldn't do it, so it's really my fault. But, dude, you guys all know I do it and I have been doing it for a while now. So why the fuck now? Why does he feel the need to go tell that stupid bitch something that's my business? He doesn't tell her about anyone else who smokes, just me."

"How do you know?" Stan says suddenly. I can practically hear him trying to use logic here..

"What?" I ask, trying my best to sound confused.

"You know what I mean," Stan says slowly. "Did someone tell you that Kyle said something? Or did you just jump to conclusions, Craig?" I blush and he frowns at me, knowingly. I need to stop this. When did I become so transparent? I'm losing my grip on controlling my emotions today. "What, did you just decide that you liked Kyle least of everyone or something?"

"No," I say, whining again. "He looked guilty and wouldn't look at me. Everyone else was acting normal, but that stupid emotional dick…he knew what he had done. I know it was him. You know how Kyle acts when he does something. What else was I supposed to think, considering he has a serious superiority complex and everything?" I know I'm being stubborn and maybe even a bit unfair, but at the moment I don't really care.

"Actually I think he's just the only one of us with morals," Stan mutters with a sigh. "But he was acting a bit weird yesterday before you…talked to Christophe. Holy fuck, after you talked to that stupid French kid that was when he…what the fuck did you tell him?" This is it, this could either be a great moment where I totally out Kyle to his best friend and get back at him in the worst way possible. For something that I'm now, despite my outbursts, kind of doubting the Jew even did.

"It's between him and 'Tophe," I tell him shortly. It's not, it's not between them at all. Which means I'm lying. Which means I get a release and I'm not making this any worse for anyone. My motive might be selfish, but the outcome is selfless. Stan accepts what I have to say and seems to decide it's better to leave me alone for the few remaining minutes of lunch.

I just sit there until I hear the bell at which point a few people come into the bathroom and give me odd looks. I guess I can understand, I am sitting on the floor of the bathroom, staring blankly at the stalls in front of me. I probably look like some creepy fag who has some sort of bathroom fetish. Since I'm not up to risking what feeble reputation I have, I decide I should head to class early. After, of course, showing everyone my favorite finger. Yeah, chances are, if I do have a reputation, it's not a very good one.

I should probably apologize to Kyle. Considering I'm sitting next to him right now. We're reading Othello, still, but we sound angry about it. I don't even know what's going on in the play or who's part I'm playing. I'm sure it's the villain though, as always. Some douche named Iago. I bet he dies in the end and everyone is happy about it. I hate that about tragedies, everyone ends up dying at some point. What's the point in reading something like that?

"Will you hear me, Rod-Roderigo?" I say, questioningly, pretty sure I've just said the name wrong.

Kyle ignores this fact, even though he would usually help me with something like this. I'm not the best at long, complicated words. Once I get them down, I get them, but the first time I try to read them, it's hopeless. "'Faith, I have heard too much," he says, through clenched teeth. Jesus, at least I'm being civil to him. "For your words and performances are no kin to each other."

"You charge me most unjustly," I retaliate, just as angry this time.

"Well, maybe," he says, "you jumped to conclusions you shouldn't have."

"Or maybe I just know you too well," I cry. We're practically yelling now and I look away from him to see that majority of the class is watching with unrestrained interest, blatantly waiting for Kyle to reply. Even our teacher looks mildly curiosity at the situation. Only in South Park would your Shakespeare teacher watch a fight, rather than break it up. "Or maybe I don't know you at all."

That was dramatic. I said it more to the whole class than I did to the Jew sitting next to me. A few girls sigh, probably thinking we're having some sort of lovers spat. Wendy looks ready to wring my neck. I swear I hear Gregory 'tsktsk' at us from underneath his volumized bangs. But I don't stay long enough to listen. I grab the hallway pass and storm out into the hallway, throw the pass into a locker near the stairs and then sit there, next to the locker I just dented, fuming.

Today is bad. For some reason today I can't keep control of anything. There's no balance, there's no equilibrium. I'm just this explosion of emotions that I can't keep in check and I can't, for the life of me, understand why that is. What is today missing? What makes today different than every other day. I came to school, so far I've gone to all my classes. I skipped lunch, sure, but – I skipped lunch. I don't usually eat lunch; I usually get a few cigarettes from Christophe. But I don't do that everyday, that's not a big deal. I didn't see Tweek. I skipped lunch yesterday, but I saw Tweek right after, talked to him for a few minutes by his locker.

But today? I haven't talked to Tweek once. That doesn't mean anything, though. There must be some other factor I'm not considering. Something, anything, that is affecting me. Not Tweek. I'm not – no matter what some bitchy Miss Something counselor tells me – addicted to him. I don't need him or crave him or anything like that. I clutch at my hat, grab some of my hair in the process, remind myself of a certain blond-haired twitchy best friend I have.

I close my eyes and bite my lip, trying to force myself to think of something else. But I can't. Whether it's about him or about not wanting to think about him, it's like he's the only thing that exists anymore. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know he's my best friend. I know I care about him. I know that's normal. But this isn't normal. I find myself wondering – does Kyle think about Stan this much?

Actually, I should ask him. Since he's sitting next to me now. He doesn't look at me, just stares at the lockers across from us. "The teacher asked me to come find you," he says, quietly. I realize we're in the hallway while classes are going on, so even if we want to fight, it's not going to happen. Kyle is still angry, I can tell, or at the very least he's frustrated with me.

"I'm sorry, Kyle," I mumble, keeping my eyes on the floor. "I told 'Tophe."

"I know," he says. I'm surprised by how soft his tone is and I look at him and feel absolutely terrible. I see what Stan means. Kyle isn't Kyle right now, he looks tired and angry and sad at the same time. Like he doesn't know how to feel about all of this. I never really meant for him to feel like that. I just wanted to get back at him, but maybe I took it a bit too far. No, I definitely did.

"Did you – oh, Jesus, you didn't tell the counselor I was smoking, did you?" I ask, quietly, looking straight ahead at the lockers. Some of them have graffiti on them, about who loves who forever, when they broke up a few weeks ago. About how stupid Jews are, a testament from our favorite, and only, anti-Semitic. Who sucks balls, figuratively and literally. Rumors, secrets, everything is written somewhere in school.

No wonder we all hate each other.

"No," he says, "but I kind of helped." I look at him again, confused. "I told Cartman where you were, by accident, I swear." I groan and go back to clutching my hair. Out of everyone in our group, Cartman is the only one who doesn't know I smoke. And believe me, it's for good reason. Cartman and I get along, or at least we pretend to. But if either one of us finds out something bad about the other it's free use to use against them. Which means Kyle, whether he meant to or not, is sort of at fault here. "It just kind of slipped out, he asked where you were after lunch, we have class together, and I just kind of told him."

"Would it work if I said I just kind of told Christophe what you told me?" I ask tentatively.

He sighs. I sigh. We both fucked up here. I think we can both admit that to each other, but we don't, because we both know what happened and we're both too stubborn to admit it. So we go back to class, finish the scene in civil tones and ignore the people staring at us. Well, Kyle ignores them. By now, you probably know what I do.

I've decided to test this theory. Since I've been so messed up today, all day long, sixth hour should change nothing. I should walk into class, still feel angry, upset, confused, out of my mind with worry about everything. I do, for a few minutes, I change into the gym uniform, go sit on the hardwood floor with Clyde and Token, waiting for 'life coach' to show up from whatever circle of Hell he takes his breaks in.

Then Tweek walks in. I've never paid attention to it before, I think. It's always just kind of been like: Tweek makes me happy. Of course he does, he's my best friend. But now it's something more than that. It's like the sight of him just calms me down, immediately I feel better and he hasn't even said anything. He smiled at me, twitches a little bit as he sits next to me, and I melt.

Never, ever, ever, do I 'melt.' As much as I might act like I'm some sort of amazingly experienced person in the ways of love, I'm not at all. In fact, I might kind of be a slut. At least, compared to everyone else in our class. It's been accepted for a while that I'll flirt with anyone as long as I benefit. As far as relationships go, they're few and far between and all heterosexual. But I'm not above being a tease with everyone. Love, though? I've never come close to that. Crashed and burned, but never melted. Now it does though, now I do.

As usual we both lay down when 'life coach' starts today's speech. Most of the time I'm half listening to the man, but today I'm not, today I just lay there and think. Today I have the urge to reach out and feel Tweek's hand in my own, not just hold it, but feel him squeeze my hand, reassuring me that he needs me as much as I need him. Because, fuck, do I need him. He's what keeps me in balance.

We run laps in silence. Somehow everyone seems to know that I don't want anyone but Tweek around. Even Kenny who still has something urgent to tell me is staying out of our way. We do our little running-jog thing. I have to slow down every few minutes, because I'm getting these small bursts of energy, oddly enough, whenever Tweek's hand accidentally brushes against mine. It's like my heart speeds up for a second and I'm on top of the world.

I can do anything when Tweek is right next to me.

Once I realize that, I can feel things changing. It's like, with him right there, I don't have any other urges. There's no need to lie or flip someone off, and I only feel the faint craving for nicotine. I don't need it at all, I just need him. Because he's – my best friend, I remind myself. For some reason, that makes me frown. It shouldn't. Because best friends means you put that person before anyone else. They're the best. Out of everyone. That should satisfy me.

It doesn't though. Best friends just seems too simple. I grin to myself a bit when I remember how Stan and Kyle are 'super best friends' and then quickly frown when I think of how Kyle feels about Stan. I don't want to be like that, ever. Wanting the one person you can't have. That must be a miserable existence. But this isn't the same, this isn't the same at all, I think to myself, stealing a quick glance at Tweek.

He's looking at me, he smiles nervously, I blush and manage a quick half-smile back.

"Are you alright?" he asks, sounding concerned. "Oh, God! You're sick aren't you? Gah, did I get you sick? I was sick a week ago; this is all my fault, isn't it?" He looks so worried about me, like I'm going to drop dead any second and, more importantly, like if I did he wouldn't know what to do with himself. This is normal Tweek, but the way he's acting is effecting me so differently now.

"No, I'm not sick, Tweek, just really tired," I say. It's the truth, really, I need to sleep more. It's not really a lie, because right now I can't even consider lying to Tweek.

I may need Tweek. I may want to be near him. Hell, I might even be addicted to him for all I know. But if there's one thing I know, I am not like Kyle. I am not falling for my best friend. I don't love him – not in that way at least. He's just Tweek, my caffeine-addicted, twitching, blond, best friend who can't button his shirts up right to save his life and who always looks so fucking adorable. Jesus Christ, I need to stop just letting my thoughts run like that. I end up realizing things I wish I could take back.

I'm kind of scared this is how it's going to be from now on. Me, not knowing how to feel about Tweek, or at least not wanting to admit anything. Feeling awkward around my best friend. I really don't need that, especially if you take into consideration the fact that, well, I don't feel awkward around anyone. I'm pretty open with who I am, unapologetic about it, you could say. If someone has a problem with it, I don't really care. Unless they're Tweek.

Whatever you want to say about me is fine. Put me down, tear me to pieces, throw insults in my face, but it's doubtful you'll hurt me. But, Tweek…I know he never would. I know he never would really put me down. Until I give him a reason too. I don't disappoint him, I don't let him see me being weak, I don't let him know that there are completely terrible parts to my personality. I'm sure he sees it when I'm around other people, but when it's just me and Tweek, I don't let those sides show. The real problem I think is that who I am around Tweek isn't really who I am.

No one would call me a nice person or a good person or anything in-between. I'm nice, I care about people, I even help people out. But that's only a very small amount of the time. I could be a good person if I wanted to, but I don't. I'm always going to be that bad guy, the rival, the one jerk that everyone tolerates. I'm not like Cartman, no, Cartman's on a whole different level than I am. No one likes Cartman. But, see, that's what makes me worse. I somehow keep these friends I treat like shit.

Except for Tweek. I don't give a fuck about anyone but Tweek. Sure, I want to keep my friends, but I have the feeling that I could be okay without them, if they all decide I wasn't worth their time anymore. It wouldn't be great, it wouldn't make me happy, still I'm pretty sure I could deal with it. But, Tweek? I can't feel awkward around him, I can't lose him because I'm a jerk, I just can't. It's not a matter of life and death.

It's more of a matter of sanity, of balance, of keeping things how they should be.

I let out a loud sigh and Tweek looks at me again, concern etched obviously on his face. The bell rings, we can hear it at the track. Everyone stops running and we fall into little groups as we make our way back into the gym and then into the locker room. Token and Clyde are talking about some sort of serial killer that's apparently working his way through Nebraska, Tweek is freaking out because apparently the serial killer has a thing for blonds. Normally I would calm him down, but I'm having a hard time keeping my mind focused on anything.

Just basic movements are functioning right now. Gym shirt off, button up other shirt, shorts off, jeans on, zip, button, sigh. No one pays any attention to me, because Cartman is complaining about how Kyle tripped him while we were running. I think we're all secretly rolling our eyes at the entire situation. The whole fatass vs. Jew thing got a little old by the time we hit middle school, but none of us have the heart to tell them that we'd rather they just shut up.

"Hey, are you alright, Craig?" Clyde asks from across the locker room. He practically yells at me, so suddenly all attention is on me, completely caught off-guard, pulling my hat over my raven hair, mouth half-open, staring dreamily ahead of myself. "You look, like, sick or something."

"Yeah, Jesus, Craig, your face is all red," Stan points out.

I want to retaliate, tell him it's just because – because what? It's not embarrassment, it's because it's so damn hot in this stupid locker room, and everyone is looking at me, and it's so crowded and stuffy and uncomfortable. But instead of telling everyone that, I just let out an angered growl, flip everyone off and then push through Stan and Kyle, making my way into the hallway outside of the locker rooms. I don't know why I'm so angry or if I even have a right to be, but unleashing that on all of them made me feel so much better.

Sometimes I just want to know what the fuck is wrong with me. Why do I do the things I do? No one else acts like me. Everyone else lets themselves be happy once and a while, everyone else has normal ways to make themselves feel better. But I can't do anything normal, can I? I have to make everything difficult. Always have and probably always will. But I don't want to. How am I supposed to function in the real world like this?

I don't think I can. Not like this.

"Craig." I look up to see Tweek looking at me. Always, it's always Tweek. He's the only one who really cares about me, the only one who looks out for me. Everyone else thinks I can fend for myself. Tweek know better, as much of a spaz as he may be. He knows that I have weaknesses that I'm begging for people to notice. I open my mouth, ready to say something to the boy in front of me, Tweek, the one who means everything.

But Kenny McCormick wants to talk to me. And when Kenny wants to talk to you, you can only avoid him so long. I've avoided him all day, but he catches up with me now, sly smile on his face, scooting in-between me and Tweek, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Hello, Craigy boy," he says in a sickeningly singsong voice, his hot breath right against my cheek. "Mind if I steal him away?" Kenny directs this at Tweek, but barely waits for a response before he's dragging me down the hallway.

"We have so much to talk about," he tells me. I don't answer, just turn around as we round a corner, seeing the sad look on Tweek's face, I can't help but feel the same way.

A/N: Ack. This chapter is short. You don't need to tell me what I already know. I'm sorry. Don't be too mad at me? I promise, the next chapter will be longer, especially if you review. Well, also considering, if you don't review who even knows if there will be another chapter… Also, fuck yes, Kenny isn't a slut. Or at least, not as much as he usually seems to be in fics. I believe in slutty Kenny, but I also believe in I-like-sex-but-I-don't-have-it-all-the-time Kenny. So I made Craig a bit of a slut. I think it works for him.
I know I promised Kenny and Butters in this chapter, but believe me, it's all better left for the next one, and oh, they will be in there a lot.
Now review, please, my lovely readers. Let me know what you think.
Until next time, tweekers