Addict
A/N: This chapter is mainly set-up. Not much happens but a lot of it is important. I'd especially pay attention to Christophe and some things that a certain Son of Satan has to say. Both are important and so is the author's note at the bottom. Thanks for all the reviews for the past chapter, by the way.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't claim to, wouldn't dream of it, got it memorized?
Chapter Nine: We Do What We Do
Waking up in church isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'll have to write Father Maxi a thank-you note, like I used to for people who got me presents on my birthday. Most priests, upon finding a seventeen year-old young male who spent the night in a confessional without pants on, would do one of two things. The first thing I won't get into, because not even I want to think about it. The second would be to get very, very angry, call my parents and somehow have me excommunicated. If they even still do that. Father Maxi sees me stumble out of the confessional around seven in the morning and basically acts like 'Oh, goodness, Craig, is that you? Better get off to school!'
Father Maxi isn't stupid. He doesn't think I accidentally fell asleep in the confessional and it's nothing to be worried about, it's just that he's that special kind of smart, the kind that skips over most adults. He doesn't want to know why I was there and he'd rather pretend to be ignorant to the situation, which works out better for both of us. I don't have to explain myself and, likewise, neither does he. Because, you know, I'm not above accusing him of doing something illegal to me just so I don't get in trouble. I'd do it. I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Despite what happened over the weekend I plan on Monday being a good day. Most things don't go according to plan though, so I don't trust this to work out. Worst case scenerio, Tweek told Clyde or Token what happened and they told everyone else and now I'm some kind of loner. I can do that, I can walk around like I don't care and smoke behind school. I'll become the badass loner that no one messes with. I don't want to be him, but I will. It looks like that's where I'm heading if you consider the way my day is starting off.
Let's recap. I woke up in church after taking LSD. I am not going to brag about that to anyone, because it was a stupid mistake. Quite possibly the stupidest mistake ever. Now, I can't go home. I don't know what time I left at last night, but I remember, just barely that it was dark out, not pitch black but the time was settling into night. I'd say it was between nine and ten at night. And I never went home. I can't just waltz into my house to chance, even though I want to because, once again: I am not wearing pants. Somehow, more important than any of that, is the fact that I am starving. I could eat several cows and I'm almost tempted to since there probably are some roaming around the area.
I can solve that, though, without eating any cows. Since my basic plan is to walk to the nearest bus stop, sans pants because I can't do much about that until I get to school, my options for food are limited. Still, there is that Chinese place that no one goes to. I don't know how the guy stays in business, but the food must be alright although I know it's not the cheapest food I could possibly buy right now. The pocket of my hoodie holds a pretty nice surprise though. At some point last night, one of those points that has been lost to me, I attained my mother's credit card and although I hardly look like my name is Renae Nommel, I figure the Chinese dude won't know any better. And he doesn't, he just tells me to have a shitty day.
"Don't worry," I tell him. "I will."
I wish that when I got on the bus I could just get away from Tweek and sit with someone - Christophe, I guess, would be my only option. But he's not, seeing as the last time we talked I essentially called him a cocksucker. That won't be easily forgiven unless I go crying to him, and that's one thing I won't do. I have nowhere to run and after a few seconds of nearly having a seizure trying to figure it out I end up sitting next to Tweek and giving Cartman my food. I'm not hungry all of a sudden, and usually I wouldn't give the food to the fatass, but I make him promise he'll share with Kenny.
However, Kenny is skeptical once the bus picks him up and he sees the food. "How old is it?" he asks, peering into the bag. For all he knows it could have been sitting under my bed with Stripe's cage since July. I shrug and he does the same. "Aw, fuck," he says, "it looks edible anyway. Thanks - wait, why aren't you wearing any pants?"
"Yeah," is all I reply with, my voice monotone. He raises his eyebrows but I give him a look that clearly reminds him where we are. On a bus. Surrounded by people. People who would be more than happy to eavesdrop on every problem I'm having and then spread the word throughout the student body. Besides that, he's right, I'm not wearing any pants and although no one else mentions it I know they all want to. Kenny's the only one with enough balls to do so.
Tweek and I have normal conversation. By 'normal' I mean Tweek thinks gnomes stole all my pants and I don't say anything to discourage that story even though I normally wouldn't let a lie like that - indirect or not, it's still a lie - be told to Tweek. I mention that my birthday is soon. It's actually almost two months away but conversation isn't coming easily right now, so I'm bringing up whatever comes to mind. Tweek makes a point of freaking out about this, apparently having only two months to get me a present is way too much pressure. I don't complain, the fact that he's even worried about it means I didn't screw up too bad.
The thing is, Tweek doesn't hold my hand. He doesn't even touch me. Not that we used to touch all the time, but little things like running my hand through his hair or even just accidentally brushing our hands together - that's all off limits. As if holding hands will make me really aroused and I'll jump him during lunch because I simply can't handle it anymore. It hurts to know he's thinking that, and I know he is, Tweek is the only person I know that would actually think that through and decide that, yes, I would jump him. I know there's a chance I would, but it's not like I wouldn't regret it later. I may be impulsive, but I have the basic human emotion of regret.
What sucks most is the fact that it changed everything without changing anything. I'm sure Tweek and I are still best friends, there's no doubt in that, but it's not the same. We can't touch because suddenly that's not friendly and Tweek is afraid I perceive small things like that in a more-than-friends way. That's the worst. If I was a jerk to Tweek I would ditch him right now, because I know he thinks of me differently because of what happened between us.
I'm not a jerk to Tweek though. I think he's the only person I'm nice to and though it hurts to know he sees me differently now I'm not going to change that now. I meet him at every class, I walk him to his locker and I sit next to him at lunch. I even make him come with me when I get pants from my gym locker before school. Who knew I had foresight into events like these? It drives me crazy though. I don't mean crazy like Kyle is so crazy about Stan, I mean crazy like, oh my fucking god if things don't get back to normal I'm going to go crazy.
Everyone notices it. How Tweek and I are carefully separated. Like we're two countries and there's a considerable border between us. We sit next to each other in lunch and that's all I can sat about that. We might as well be on the phone for the amount of distance there is between us. Kyle and Stan are being Supreme Couple Moderators and they watch us in that holier-than-thou way. As soon as lunch ends they completely ambush me and pull me down the art hallway. The art hallway at Park High is no man's land.
"What happened?" Kyle asks, like he's the authority on my relationships.
"Did you guys fight or something?" Stan asks, same tone as the redhead. I feel like this is an intervention in one of Tweek's movies and they're going to tell me how to fix things without hurting his feelings.
"Uh," I say, raising an eyebrow, "since when is this not my problem? I can handle it on my own." Okay, fine, that was bullshit, and even I have a silent laugh at that. I never handle anything on my own, ever. I tell myself I will and sometimes I try to, but I always fuck things up so bad that I need someones help to pull me up and fix things. So I'm not exactly surprised that Kyle and Stan just look at me blankly. "I can handle it...without you guys," I rephrase.
"I think we know a thing or two that could help," Kyle offers, all business like. I wouldn't be surprised if he pulled forms and a pen out of nowhere and told me to sign on the dotted line.
"Yeah, um, Kyle, I don't need any advice on how to give blowjobs in the bathroom before Phys Ed and make sure no one notices. I'm sure that's working out wonderfully for you two and all, but it's just not my thing," I state, blatantly. The two of them blush, Kyle more so since there are a few stray people getting to Ceramics or whatever they teach down here. "I know it's exciting and all, but just because you two are fucking doesn't make you the authority on relationships. I mean, thanks, but, God, no thanks."
"We're not...doing anything like that," Stan tells me, although I don't believe him for a second. Kyle looks embarrassed enough to stay quiet, so Stan's taking over. "But we are best friends, we have been for years and so have you and Tweek. So, yeah, we know a bit at how that works. Maybe not actual relationships, but best friends, yeah, we know about that. Believe me, it's going to suck balls if you lose your best friend over something like this." I could make some lame joke about sucking balls, but I don't.
I just sigh and then say, "Well, what, I have to get to class in about two minutes, so what wisdom can you instill in me during that time?"
"Talk about it," Kyle says, excitedly, finally breaking his vow of silence. "You won't get anywhere if you don't talk about it."
"Wow," I say, dryly, "gee, thanks, Kyle. I could have just thought about it for a while or watched a few sitcoms, but thanks for wasting my time with that one." Though, I have to admit, I really wasn't planning on talking about it with Tweek. I thought I might wait for a few days. Or years. Like when we're both married and Tweek's kids are covered in bubble wrap so they don't die and mine are breaking everything in the house. Give or take a few years, I would eventually talk about it, but right now? I wasn't planning on doing that right now.
"Seriously," Stan says seriously, "you really should." Then the first bell rings and they have to get to class. No tardies tarnishing their perfect little angel records, I bet. I don't even remember what class I should be going to. I watch them walk away all...stupid and in love and not wanting anyone to know it. It's so desperately obvious and almost sickeningly sweet, how their hands are right next to each others and they want to hold hands but they never do. I bet they'd jump each other in the lunch line and never regret it.
Then I see Christophe. It's not like it's the first time I've seen him in a month. He's been around, ignoring everyone, doing everything alone, smoking more than ever or so I've heard. I never really paid attention to it, which is horrible of me. I know he still cares about me, he was going to come over to my house while I was on acid for fuck's sake. For most other people I'd have to imagine he would have bitched at them and then hung up. Or maybe that's what he did to me, in a roundabout sort of way.
I watch him go to his locker and turn the dial. He's late for class, but so am I, there's a teacher eyeing us wearily, he'll tell us to get to class in a few seconds before the late bell rings, but he doesn't have to do anything right now. I just stand there and realize I'm not watching Christophe at all. It's kind of scary to know it now, to see that over the past month he's been steadily slipping into this. This is why being Christophe's friend has always been risky business.
He doesn't even look at me when he walks past to his next class, even though there's barely an inch between us. He's still wearing those stupid fingerless gloves and the shirt that he burned a cigarette hole in. He apparently cannot get a grasp on the fact that camouflage pants are not meant to be worn, but rather to be burned. I bet later he'll go smoke a cigarette, alone, reading French poetry. I wonder how long he's been the Mole and why it took me so long to see it.
It's scary, knowing he hates me.
If I had to describe my family in one sentence it would be: we have living room. First off, I don't know why I would ever have to do that. Secondly, I don't mean by house standards. I don't know how you distinguish between a family and living room, they seem like the same thing to me and I don't see much difference when someone has both and insists on seeing them as different rooms. To me, they're the same thing, the living rooms just tend to be a little nicer and the family rooms almost always have a television.
I guess that kind of gets across the same point, but my family effectively has only one room that could be considered a family room or a living room. And it's definitely a living room. It all steams from my dad. What I mean is, we're not a family and it's my dad's fault. I don't mean that we don't have family movie nights or whatever, because whoever buys into that shit is a total retard. It doesn't matter how much time you spend with your family. Either you like them and you go out of your way to be around them or you hate them, realize this fact, and stay the fuck away.
My family is in that special third group. The wonderful one that consists of us all hating, yet tolerating, each other and not spending more time around each other than normalcy requires. It all stems from my dad. Or father if I'm pissed off at him, which is a lot of the time. The relationship I have with my father is tentative at best. I'm not sure how to treat him and the same goes with him for me. I was kind of surprise kid, you know, the kind of child that knows his parents considered an abortion.
My parents are not interesting, but I like to pretend they are. It's one of my best lies, one of my stupidest two. Who they are and how they met and all that sort of stuff. Parents are supposed to be like, they're supposed to tell you some grand story about how they fell in love and how great it is to be together and you're supposed to not care and want them to shut up. The problem with my parents is they don't care about one another very much. They're just two people who happen to be married, my lie just spices things up a bit.
The lie comes from Christophe a little bit. His mom is French, obviously, and when I first started lying in middle school I thought that was cool. Never mind that my dad hates French people, in my lie he married one. My mother 'is' a French dancer, she used to be well-known - under a different name, of course - until she broke her ankle and couldn't dance anymore. I think I saw that in a movie one time. And if it was in a movie, well, that means it could happen, right? So that's my mom.
My dad is from England. Not really, of course. In reality my dad grew up in Fairplay, which is about ten miles from South Park, but he's English as far as my lie is concerned. When my mom broke her ankle she got fired from her dance company which was in England, even though she's French. It's a bad lie, I'll admit, it's one of my first. At this point it gets kind of fuzzy, I've told a few different versions of it and they all go in different directions but end up at the same place. Me, of course. Somehow, some way, my dad knocked up my mom. After they got tea and scones, I guess, whatever English people do.
There they were, two poor Europeans and they did the only thing they could think to do. They moved to Colorado. When I told Token this story I don't think I got past 'my mom is French,' because immediately he wanted to know what had happened to her accent. Luckily for me I was telling Token the story in ninth grade and by that point I was a liar extraordinaire, so I scoffed at him and explained that she still has the accent, she just hides it. I said it like he was a retard for even asking the question. But Token, being the smart asshole he is, asked my mom about it and of course she had no idea that she was ever a French dancer or that she had some sort of ankle injury.
Then we had a little Talk about how it's not alright to tell people that she's French, it would upset my father. We had a Talk when I got home from school today about how it's not alright to leave the house at nine at night and never come home, especially if I'm not going to eat the chicken she spent hours making. Then I told her it doesn't take hours to make chicken and she told me to go to my room. I did so gladly. She often forgets that I have a television in my room.
The point is, I don't know my family. I would much rather that my dad was English and worked for Scotland Yard and had a drunken one-night stand with a French dancer who turns out to be my mother. God knows why they would have moved to Colorado, but if that was the story, I would accept it. It would mean that at some point they had felt something for each other. Call me a fag, but I think that's pretty important. I think that there are some people who just aren't supposed to have kids, especially if they aren't in love with one another. Things don't work out that way.
I know what happened too. I know my parents. They met, they somehow dated for a short time and, had my mom not gotten pregnant they would have broken up through a chain of friends. Like Wendy broke up with Stan in fourth grade, someone would have went up to my dad and told him: "Thomas, Renae wants to break up with you." And that would have been that. But my parents, as much as they might not like each other, as much as they might not be cut out for this parenting thing, they stayed together when I was born. If nothing else, I can admire that.
But we aren't a family. Everyone knows we're not a family. Ask anyone who has ever spent dinner with us.
"If you kids don't have school tomorrow, there's going to be hell to pay," my dad says to his mashed potatoes. He says things like this all the time. He doesn't mean he's going to beat us or something if we don't have school, he's not like that. Well, then again, if he knew I did drugs he'd be pissed off enough to hit me or something, but mostly just to get the hippie out of me. It's not as if I'll be walking into school covered in bruises one of these days, telling everyone I'm fine when I'm not. That sounds like one of those Lifetime movies my mom watches, not my actual life. He means the school will have hell to pay because: "Back in my day, I walked back and forth to school, two miles in all sorts of weather."
"I walk sometimes," I tell the corn in front of me.
"You do not," he says, gruffly. I hear my mom sigh and look up to see her adding mounts of salt to her mashed potatoes. I wonder if she's committing slow suicide. One day she'll just drop dead at dinner and the doctor will ask if any of us noticed her in-taking large amounts of sodium chloride. "What I mean is, they're trying to say the buses can't run in this weather but I walked to school every goddamn day for years and I wasn't in a bus and nothing ever happened to me."
"Honey, how about we just eat, hmm?" my mom asks my dad while she's staring at the salt shaker. I bet she used up all of it and now she's trying to figure out how to somehow fill it up so none of us mention the fact that she's being a salt fiend. She says the word 'honey' like it's venom and it's not so much a polite suggestion as it is her telling my father that he is going to either eat the food she made or next time it's going to have the added ingredient of poison. She would do it too, she's just that kind of a person. "How was school today, Craig?"
Filler conversation, it's a good thing, it comes in handy at the dinner table. Every day she asks this question. I think about my answer more than usual today. How do I explain today? Tweek being right next to me, but feeling like he was miles away, Christophe officially being the Mole now and Kyle and Stan dishing out advice to me when they're the ones who need it the most. "Normal day," I tell her, pushing my corn into my mashed potatoes. The worst part is, I get no rush of happiness when she believes me, because that was the truth.
"How about you, Millie?" my mother says, turning to my sister. My mom isn't about to win any parenting awards, that's true, but she's great at pretending to care. Okay, that's unfair, really. I'm harsh towards my mother because she isn't as invested in my life as other parents are. In other words, if I died she would plan the funeral and go through with it and maybe even cry a little bit when they lowered me into the ground. But it would all just be an act. Somewhere, in that black hole she calls a heart, there's this bit of love for me, I'm sure. But love and caring, while related, are two different things, and as far as I'm concerned, she can love me without giving a fuck about me.
My little sister just shrugs and pushes the food around her plate before she actually gives an answer. She, like me, realizes what's going on here, knows that this all just a little act we put on to amuse each other. She's twelve and really not all that little. She just seems like it compared to other girls I know. More worried about the color of her nail polish than her Shakespeare grade, I guess. I think she's going to grow up to be like Bebe. If Kenny ever touches her I will kick his ass. That's all part of pretending to be a family. "It was alright," she says, shrugging again. "I hope we don't have school tomorrow."
"Oh my fucking God," I say, under my breath. No one looks at me because Millie's words have had profound effect on my father and that has had profound effect on the rest of us here at the dinner table. Our family is some ugly wound on the personification of humanity and my sister feels the needs to throw salt on it, making things way more uncomfortable than they already were. Awesome, I can't wait for the stinging words my father is opening his mouth to say.
"If the weather is so bad that you kids don't have school, I'm not going to be able to get a flight to Atlantic City." Everyone freezes, completely. Millie is staring at her plate, probably silently praying to God because all of a sudden He's of use to her. My mother has pursed her lips and I doubt she'll be eating any more tonight. I am staring at my sister, trying to scream at her telepathically. We almost have him halfway across the country, I mean, he could have picked up a hooker and gotten an STD. Alright, that's being a bit over-dramatic. I don't want him to spend our money on a hooker.
I don't know my father does for a living. If I made an educated guess I would have to say he's someone who ruins people's days. Maybe he travels around to all these places and wherever everyone seems a little bit too nice, a little bit too happy, he flys in and acts like a dick to everyone and ruins it. I don't see him having very many other skills. But really, I think he gambles, when I consider where he travels to. Las Vegas, Atlantic City, anywhere that he can fly cheap and make good money. That's what I like to think. He's probably a traveling salesman, but gambling is much more interesting.
Basically, I'm not close to my dad. My sister isn't close to my dad. My mom sure as hell isn't close to my dad. And it goes on throughout out all of us, but stems from the fact that my dad is rarely home. We're all just people sharing space to live in and nothing more, and my father barely even does that. There's a calendar on the side of our fridge. It has pictures of cats. Not because anyone in my family likes cats, but because it was twenty-five percent off on New Year's Eve. The cats don't matter though. It is kind of annoying to be marking something down, only to look up and see a cat in a pumpkin outfit, but that's the the point.
The calendar ties us together by pulling us apart. Besides cats being tortured and forced to wear costumes in order to appease calendar-buyers, there are X's on at least half of the days every month. I'm always the one who turns the calendar to the next month, because nothing that pertains to me, save my birthday, is marked on there. I'm the only one who has time to do something like turn the page of a calendar. Amidst the X's there are little notes about when Allie has practice for ballet or when her next recital is. And the X's, they take a week here, a weekend there, wherever there's an X there's a day that my father is staying in a hotel. And wherever there isn't an X he's staying at one too, my house is a hotel for him, we're just people he puts up with until he goes to the next place.
What I'm trying to say is that the prospect of my father not going to Atlantic City is so bad that we're willing to go to school tomorrow as long as it means he won't be here when we wake up. I'm willing to say that we would go to school over the weekend if it meant he would leave for a week longer. "Oh," my mother finally assures us, "oh I've heard it's not going to be that bad." She pretends she's saying this to my dad, but she's saying it to all of us, herself most of all.
"I heard it is," Millie says, stabbing at her food, stubborn. I have half the mind to stab her.
"Shut up," I hiss instead. She flips me off. I flip her off, my mother sighs and my father throws down the silverware and leaves the room. After flipping us all off, of course.
"Normal day," my mother says, as she stands up and begins to clear off the table. Yeah, normal day. My father is in the living room, watching some manly show like This Old House where they build everything by hand and wear flannel shirts all the time. Or maybe some cop show where they beat people up for no reason and tackle half-naked prostitutes in the street. Either way I go to bed hoping it won't snow too much overnight. At some point in-between sleep and awareness I realize that it's not even a living room anymore. It's just a room.
I don't believe in religion much, I mean, besides the fact that I've seen Jesus at the grocery store, but someone heard me hoping last night. It snowed tons, just enough to the point where Kyle's mom would complain if they let the buses run, but not a full out storm so my dad's flight still went as scheduled, meaning that when I wake up he's halfway to Atlantic City. Plus, my mom made waffles. They're the worst waffles ever, I half believe she stuck the mix in the toaster or something because they don't taste like waffles should, but it's a fucking snow day so what do I care? Millie calls me a pig and tells me she's too old to make snow angels in the same breath.
I am, on the other hand, not to old to make snow angels. It really shouldn't be that exciting for me, since snow is normal for South Park and I could do this any day of the week if I really felt like it. But snow days are a rarity and it just gives me this little boost of energy and I feel like a little kid again. I make a few in the backyard and then remember that snow is wet and go inside to change into dry clothes and try to figure out who to call. Clyde hates snow, he'll be moving to Florida when he can. Token will want to study, and I never want to study. Kyle and Stan are not an option, they'll be alone by being together. Cartman's name doesn't cross my mind and Wendy's does for a little laugh.
I'm left with Kenny and Tweek. I guess, really, Tweek should be the first person I think of. And he is, he's just the last person I want to hand out with right now. In fact, when I think of him I fall onto my bed and remind myself to not think of him. I stare at the ceiling until all I can think about is the word ceiling. Then I think about Kenny. Kenny. We've become...two people who tolerate each other better than used to. Friends, in our own right, but that's about it. I've never actually called him and besides he'll be with Butters or Cartman. But, what the hell, it's worth a try.
I might even get a little Talk To Tweek pep talk from him if he wants nothing to do with me.
Our phone book is buried underneath old issues of Cosmo and gloves without their match in the bottom of our closet. I don't have Kenny's number, so this is my best bet. The phone book is huge and conceited, boasting: 'Greater Denver Area Phone Book' this and: Yellow Pages that. There are six McCormick numbers. I end up calling one guys who sounds like he's high, another who sounds like he's about to drop dead from old age and a girl with a nasally voice - as if I'm one to talk - who says she has a cousin named Kenny. That's a big help.
"I think I called your cousin," I tell him when I finally get the right number.
"Wait, was she a slut?" he asks, like that's a natural question.
"Was I supposed to know she was one over the phone?" I shoot back. He snorts at that and I know he's shrugging. I can tell already that Kenny is one of those people who forgets you can't see what they're doing on the phone. The sort of person who would nod in answer to a question. "Hey, uh, I know this sounds gay or whatever, but do you want to come over or something?" As soon as I ask that there's silence and I frantically want to take it back. If I was a superhero my power would be rewinding things and having a chance to do it over again. It would help me a lot.
"What, can, like, no one else hang out or something?" he asks. I don't like his tone of voice, it's pretty quiet and out there, like he almost doesn't believe me.
"I don't know. I didn't...call anyone else." I'm testing out the words, saying them really slow. Like I'm checking all of them to make sure they're important enough to be said. I don't know why. It's not like Kenny can pass some final judgement on me based upon what I just said. I feel pathetic, caring this much about what someone thinks, but I do. Especially Kenny, and I don't know why that is. Kenny likes everyone and I guess the idea of him not liking me would make me feel shitty. But it's not that important. Hell, I'm asking him to hang out, not asking him to marry me.
"Oh," he says. "Not even...Tweek?"
"Especially not Tweek," I say, realizing that's the truth. I'll call anyone, hang out with anyone, be around anyone except Tweek. I'm avoiding him because of, I don't know, fear that it will be like yesterday. Empty and hollow. I don't like that, I wish I could go back and change things but I can't and it really is stupid. I'm running away from my problems, clinging onto other people. But I don't know what else to do with myself. Right now would be a really good time to have those superpowers. I would rewind all the way back - to fourth grade. Before everything became complicated.
I think I'm about to have a nervous breakdown.
"Fine," Kenny says after a long moment. "I'll meet you at the railroad tracks."
He hangs up before I can say anything else. Which would have been nice because Kenny has to walk out his front door and, awesome for him, there are the railroad tracks. I live across town and it's going to take me a good twenty minutes to walk over there. I've walked farther before, but still, these are the times that I wish I had a car. Walking through a couple feet of snow in five-degree weather is not my idea of fun, but neither is getting a job to pay for a car. Maybe I could work with Porsche at the fast food place. We'd both love that.
I'm not the kind of person who screams. I mean, I don't usually get scared enough to just yell for the purpose of yelling. Normally I don't get freaked out enough by anything to just do that. Nothing really surprises me any more, not in slasher movies, not at haunted houses, or any of that shit. There is one exception to this though. When the Son of Satan pretty much appears out of nowhere and grabs my arm, then I scream. Loud too, kind of girly, one might even say.
"Jesus Christ!" I manage to breathe out after a few seconds, flipping him off in haste.
"He won't save you now," Damien says with his creepy grin. The worst part about that statement is that he's serious. It sounds like a cheesy line you would see in your run-of-the-mill horror movie, but Damien is one hundred percent serious and I can tell by the way he says it.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, honestly confused. Damien doesn't actually go to our school. He did back in third grade or something but our high school has this thing. One of your parents has to be involved in something pertaining to school. My mother, for example, has chaperoned at the past three Homecoming dances. Everyone loves her, she lets them smoke while she does the same. But as for Damien's Father? I can hardly imagine Satan being on the PTA, I'll put it that way, all though he would throw one hell of a prom. Pun intended.
"Looking for Pip," he explains with a little shrug. That's why Damien hangs around this town. Figures that the one person he would fall for is the last person anyone would expect. It's just the kind of shock factor his dad would go for, maybe being a dramatic faggot runs in the family, who knows. I just start to walk away, because as far as I know I'm not Pip and I no longer have any connection to the outcast Brit, so I can escape unscathed. But Damien follows me. "You haven't seen him, have you?"
"No," I say, turning around to face him. "Can't you, like, use your Satan powers to figure out where he is or something?" That was a little ridiculous. Damien doesn't have Satan powers. He has some sort of thing going on with his mind, but Satan powers sounds like some sort of weird show that would get cancelled after one season. He uses his powers a lot less now, just to fuck with Cartman at times, and no one really minds that. I think he's either bored with us or, more likely, we're all bored with him.
However, he is melting the snow, making it easier to walk through. Every step he takes is accompanied by the snow melting all around him at a rapid pace so that the sidewalk is almost completely uncovered. I know he's doing it for no reason other than the simple fact that he can. It's not fair, Damien gets superpowers and I can't even have a real nervous breakdown. "That would be rather nice," he remarks, in a tone that implies he's thinking of implanting a GPS chip into Pip. "I'll have to talk to Father about that. But as of right now all I know is that he is not at home, not at the school and almost everyone has no idea where he is."
"Go ask everyone else then," I say. "You should know where he is, he's practically your pet after all."
Damien's eyes glow at that, as if there's a fire behind them. "Well," he says with a shrug, "it doesn't matter anyway. I think that he's at the church."
"How odd," I say, a smirk on my face. "It seems that the love of your life has decided to go to the one place in the world you can't magically teleport to. I think he might be trying to send you a message." At least, that's what it seems like to me. Quite honestly I don't see how their relationship is anything but a forced one on Damien's part. Pip always has been easy to manipulate, simply because he wants people to like him, but has very few redeeming qualities. As much as he might like Damien's attention, I doubt their relationship is all that pleasant.
"I would shut up if I were you," Damien growls at me. He is a bit scary, really, when he talks like that, but I have to try not to laugh. Just because I've always found it a bit pathetic. The fact that he's so wound up in his life that he thinks the rules of life don't apply to him is hilarious. And, maybe, some of the rules of life don't apply to him, but he can't just act like a douche to everyone and then wonder why no one really likes him.
"Thank God you're not me," I mumble, meaning for him to hear me, pretending I don't want him to.
"You know, I could get my Father - " he starts to say. stopping mid-stride. Ironic, isn't it, that we're right in front of Pip's house now.
"What, you're going to get him to kill me, Damien?" I ask, sarcastically. "That's wonderful, because you know what that will do? It's just going to remind everyone that you're a pussy who hides behind his dad. We're not in third grade. None of us have an once of respect for you, you know that?" Not the smartest thing to say to the Son of Satan and, fuck, does he look pissed at me for it. "Not even Pip," I continue because I'm a complete retard, "you've just something how dragged the poor bastard into your life and he obviously wants out of it."
"No he doesn't," Damien says. But I'm already walking away so I just act like I can't hear him. "No he doesn't." Damien is suddenly right next to me. I hate my life. "You don't know anything about us, so don't pretend like you do," he tells me, all serious, like this actually matters to him when I know it's just a joke, something he's playing around with. "I know how you feel about the Tweak kid. And don't try to tell me that if you could just make him love you, you wouldn't do it. I know you would, Nommel."
That hits me hard. Really fucking hard. Because, okay, he mentioned Tweek and that only serves to remind me how I fucked that up. And he know how I feel about Tweek. Damien knows. How fucking transparent am I that Damien knows? Then, he called me Nommel and everyone knows only Christophe calls me by my last name. So he said that just to be spiteful, although I wouldn't expect any less from the Son of Satan.
I'm almost to the railroad tracks though, so I just flip him off and walk away. He could follow me if he wants to, but he doesn't want to. I don't know where he goes. Maybe to look for Pip or, if the Brit really is at church, to wait for him. Maybe he goes to see his dad and complain about, I don't know, everything in his fucked up life. I don't really care where Damien goes or who he talks to though. It's not my problem.
Kenny is waiting at the railroad tracks. He's basically giving his popsicle a blowjob and winks at me when I roll my eyes. "Isn't it a little cold for that?" I ask, looking down at the railroad tracks. You know, like trains actually come through our town. I don't think I've ever seen a train, but I'm not exactly known for paying attention to anything even when it's as obvious as a train. Kenny just shrugs and throws the popsicle stick into the snow.
"You look, um, tired," Kenny says, although he clearly wants to say I look like shit.
And he would be right. I won't argue with that one. I would up, ate some waffles and played in the snow like I was a kid again. I just flip him off and pull my hat further down over my messy hair. "So do you," I tell him as we start walking down the road. Walking in the middle of the road, actually, because no one is driving through town. You would think that some people in this town would spring for snow tires, but then you remember that our town is full of idiots.
"Well that's because I haven't been sleeping much recently," he says, kicking at a chunk of ice and sending is skidding down the road. I stop walking for a second because the tone of Kenny's voice implies that the reason he isn't sleeping is because he's, well, sleeping with someone. "And yes Craig," he says, without even turning to look at me. I can hear the satisfied smile on his voice. "I'm not sleeping because I'm doing other things, but I'm not doing what you think I am."
"Then what are you doing, if you're not having sex?" I ask. I'm used to talking to Kenny when he's giving me advice. Maybe listening to his problems and a sex joke or two. Not this, really. Normal conversation is hard with him. He's that person in our group of friends that has always been there by association and nothing more.
"Wouldn't you like to know," he says, like he's not going to tell me. I know he's going to tell me, mostly because he's not convincing right now, he just sounds all happy and lovey-dovey. "Well, remember like, ages ago, when you came over to Butters' house and I was there?" I do, just barely, but I nod anyway. "That was only my third time at his house and his parents decided I'm not the kind of boy they want hanging around their son. So I sneak into his house in the middle of the night and I don't sleep in either sense of the word."
"I take it that you deserve him now?" I ask, receiving a punch on the arm from the blond. Apparently it's a bit too early to joke about something he said to me in confidence. Hopefully I'll be able to do it in a month or two. It would kind of make my day to be able to do that. Because my entire life seems to be a joke to some people. "That's...nice that you still see him, though," I say, although I don't really care if Kenny's super-happy to be with Butters all night or not. "I'm sure he, uh, appreciates it and all that."
"So what happened between you and Tweek?" he asks, looking at me innocently.
"Did Kyle and Stan unglue their faces long enough to tell you that I'm not following their advice?" I reply, kind of actually wanting to believe it myself. God forbid he actually notices that somethings wrong between Tweek and I even though it's as obvious as the Great Wall of China. Maybe he's looking for something in return. Kenny doesn't usually share parts of his life story with me, so perhaps he wants to hear part of mine. I don't know how much I want to tell him at this point. Tweek and I - what happened between us - is really personal to me, more so than anything else at this point.
"Goodness no," Kenny says, waving a hand in the air. "They don't unglue their faces, Craig, what are you, crazy?" Then he stops and takes this deep sigh that kind of bothers me. I know he's about to say something that I don't want to hear and my first reaction is to run away and smoke a cigarette because that sounds really amazing right now, but it's not going to happen. My mom hid her cigarettes somewhere, I have no money and no legality in the matter and Christophe isn't even Christophe. "But, I know what happened. I talked to Tweek about it."
"You - what? You talked to...why would you do that?" I whine, sounding pathetic even to myself.
"You're retarded, Craig," is all he has to say on the matter of why he talked to the other blond. He kicks another chunk of ice and takes another deep breath. "I've got an idea though. I'm not going to talk to you, or give you any advice or even...you don't exist. You won't exist to me until you talk to Tweek about it." Then he turns around and walks away. And I could run after him and say something and promise him I'll talk to Tweek, but we both know I won't. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, but I think Kenny has become more of a crutch than even I realized. It's weird, you know, that out of everything that I've been going through, that's what finally causes me to break down.
A/N: I know some of you probably don't give a fuck about Craig's family, but it's pretty important in understanding who he is and how he views other people and relationships. He sees most of them as forced, since that how his parents were and has a very skewed concept of love because of it. So, while it may not have been the most exciting chapter, this one is important, nonetheless.
I've been having a really hard time recently. I just started at a new high school today (no on even bothered to talk to me, aha) and I essentially have no friends. That probably makes you guys think I have a lot of time to write. But it doesn't. Basically I have no...drive. I'm completely depressed and out of it and I still have no internet on my laptop so couple that with the annoying task of retyping an entire chapter...it doesn't sound like much, but it's just not easy for me. I'm sorry. I won't even ask you guys for reviews this time, because I feel like that's been so rude of me. It's not a big deal, I'll get up the next chapter when I can. Thanks for sticking with me though, you guys, as silly as it sounds, I really don't have a lot of positive stuff in my life, but yours reviews do make me happy, so thanks for that too.
Until next time, tweekers