Addict
A/N: First and foremost, the most important thing in the world today...it's Butters' birthday. :3 I'm having butterscotch cookies to celebrate and technically posting this for his birthday. I love birthdays, in case you can't tell. I have a really long story I'll be posting for Stan's birthday eventually - and, well, suffice it to say that, yes, I am a nerd for birthdays.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't claim to, wouldn't dream of it, got it memorized?
Chapter Twelve: When You Go
The next day is akin to the one before the day that started this whole mess. That day in mid-September when the power went out. Except this time I just didn't set my alarm and my charming mother neglected to wake me up. I don't miss the bus by much time though and I ask my half-asleep mother if I can drive the car to school and she obliges. I know when I get home later she'll yell at me for it, but right now I just want to school on time.
Normally I'd just make up some story about why I was late. My dad lost his job and can't pay the electric bills. I'll save that one for some other time. That's almost a double-lie, because I'd later have to lie about how he got his job back and, holy shit, I don't even know what job my father has, much less if he can be fired from it, so that's almost as good as sex. Like I would know or something. Anyway, my mom mumbles something that sounds like she's telling me the keys are on the counter and they are.
I take that as approval to take the car. Never mind that she never actually said I could, I'm taking the damn thing. Really, it's not a bad car. If I knew anything about cars I would probably would think it was a piece of shit, but it runs when I put the key in it and the silver paint job isn't rusting or scratched, so what do I care? Truth be told, I love driving. Tweek hates driving, which shouldn't come as a surprise, he thinks everyone has road rage and they're just waiting for him to drive along so they can bump into his fender or something.
I love driving, a lot. Not like Kenny who uses it as an excuse to go really, really fast and get really, really far away from here. Just because I'm pretty much in control of the entire thing. Whenever my dad would drive me somewhere, which was a lot since he didn't travel as much when I was younger, he would always hit my hand away when I went to turn on the radio or turn up the heat. When I'm driving that's my thing, no one touches my fucking radio or my fucking heating system, because it's my fucking car. At least when I'm driving it it's mine.
I put on stupid CDs or radio stations and put up the volume just because I can. I mean, I'm not singing along or anything, but it's a nice little fuck-you-all without having to actually take the time to actually flip people off. Ah, the joys of having complete control over the volume. It's grand, it really is. But the ride to school is only about five minutes long, since there's no traffic this early in the morning. Plus since no one has their own car besides a few snobby North Park douche bags there isn't exactly a line to park in the student lot.
Meaning, in all my genius of driving to school to not be late I've gotten to school early. God it's just utterly disgusting. The only people here fifteen minutes early are kids in sweater vests and the teachers for fuck's sake. All the teachers that I've ever had in my three years here look at me like something must be wrong. If only they knew how wrong. The fluorescent-lit halls are utterly different without all the other groups of people walking with me. There are a few kids sitting out front of the Chemistry lab, studying. Don't they know that you study at home? And that even then it's just an excuse to hang out with someone?
I swear, I will never understand some people as long as I live.
The first person that I do see who offers me a smile is Miss Something. And, you know, I was starting to doubt yesterday's assessment. Like maybe Kyle actually had punched me hard enough to imagine she looked attractive, but no. Oh no, she looks good today too, maybe even better, because she's wearing her glasses today and clicking down the hall in high heels while she looks over some papers in her hand. It's like when my mom used to work as a secretary at this law office and she took me to Bring Your Kid To Work Day or whatever the fuck. Not that my mom looked hot, but the other secretary did.
Miss Something smiles at me and for a minute I just tug on my hair and then smile back, uncertain. Despite the fact that she looks like she is and must be just out of college, she's still an authority figure, someone I'm really not supposed to be enjoying that much or smiling at for that matter. "Why hello, Craig," she says after we stand there for a few seconds in awkward, heavy silence. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine!" I say, quickly. "I'm fine." She nods at me and we stand there for a few more seconds and then I realize she's waiting for me to say something. "And how about you?" It's a bit embarrassing, really. I'm standing in front of her in a sweater that I don't think has been washed in a week or two, my hat is just barely managing to cover my mess of hair, I'm holding French notes. I look like every other horny eleventh-grader to her, I'm sure.
"I'm alright, thank you," Miss Something says with a little hum and a smile. "Have a good day, Craig." Then she clicks in her high heels further down the hallway until I realize I shouldn't be watching her any longer. I think something is wrong with me. I seem to be the only one who has noticed that Miss Something is, well, oozing sex appeal. I think it's just been too long since I've made out with anyone. That's all.
When I get to my locker I notice that, lo and behold, Stan is at school. For what reason, I don't know, but he has gotten a hair cut, which means I've won our unspoken war of whose hair can grow to the most unreasonable length. Woohoo, my hair is unreasonable, that's definitely cause for celebration. He still looks rather angry at me when he sees me across the hallway, but it's in a sulky way now, like a certain redhead called him to talk about where there relationship was – or rather wasn't – going last night.
"Hey, Craig?" he says, as I'm grabbing my Psychology book and dropping my French notes into my locker.
"Yes, Stan?" I ask, not bothering to look at the raven-haired boy as I slam my locker door and then turn to walk down the hall.
"Kyle." That's all he gets out, before he gives this kind of miserable sigh. It's shaky and I turn to look and realize that besides looking angry and sulky he is genuinely depressed. Not Tweek's dead-eye depression or Christophe's turning-into-my-other-personality depression, but his own brand of my-life-is-now-over depression that seeps into every fiber of his being. All I can think of is, well, at least he won't have to dye his hair black when he starts hanging out with the Goth Kids again.
"Sucks, doesn't it?" I say, rather scathingly. "To not be able to do anything about it, right? Because he's your best friend. He's not just some bitch you can throw to the side by giving her a stupid necklace and promising to call her for sex when you're drunk." We both know I'm referring to Wendy and Stan winces as I mention that relationship, but he cringes even more when I mention 'best friend.' In any other situation the phrase 'best friend' is simply peachy.
Not when you're in love with him.
"It's just…Goddammit!" he cries, kicking a random locker. We walked a good distance down the hallway and now people are starting to actually get to school. The busses are arriving and normal people who aren't insane are getting here on time. Stan looks rather pathetic, staring at the locker he just kicked, not knowing what to say now, although I'm sure he's thinking of a million words to say in his mind. Once again I'm reminded of my stupid, useless fear that one day I'll be in his place and that kind of helps not to get angry and instead to try and offer some consolatory words on the matter.
"If it helps you any," I say, quietly, knowing it won't, "Tweek told me yesterday, in not so many words, that he'd really rather be best friends than anything more. Just came out and told me, like, 'Oh, you love me, that is nice, but I don't really feel the same way.' I don't exactly feel too hot, either." I know it's not going to help him, not really, but he looks at me like maybe it did, at least for right now.
"I have to sit next to him in Psych," he moans, grabbing onto my arm. I shake him off though; I draw the line at him leeching life out of me. I'm not here to comfort Stanley Marsh, thanks. "I have to see him all day," he says as we begin to walk again towards the stairs. "I have to see him at lunch or – maybe I don't. Maybe he'll be with him." He sucks in this huge breath that I know is meant to keep him from crying. Jesus Christ, I always thought Kyle was the emotional one.
"Did you know?" I ask. Stan looks at me, wounded puppy dog eyes, while we walk up the nearly deserted stairs. "About them before, not just now," I clarify and his eyes widen and I immediately know that was the worst thing to say because, fuck, he quite obviously did not know about them before. He doesn't look hurt though, just like he's going to vomit. Oh, God, I bet Kyle pretended he was a virgin or something. Sick, I do not want to think about that, at all. Gross, Kyle Broflovski, in bed, it's a disgusting thought, a terrible thought, I'm probably going to vomit too.
"No," Stan breathes out although he's made it obvious that the word was going to be his answer for a good minute or so now, flailing around like a fish without water or a lover boy without his Jew.
"I didn't until fairly recently," I let him know, like that's going to lessen the blow. He looks like I punched him in the stomach. Shit, I forgot, telling him that I knew before he did – not the best idea. At least 'until fairly recently' is a sweet little three-word lie, I knew over a month ago. Perhaps I can pretend that I mean I found out yesterday or five minutes before I got to school. But that's such a petty lie. No this one…this one could be better than that.
"I don't want to sit next to him," Stan whines, breaking my train of thought as we reach the Psychology classroom.
"No, Stan, don't you get it?" I say, excitedly, practically feeling my blue eyes burn with intensity. "That's what Kyle wants. He's doing all of this to – to detract from your worth." Oh, good one, pretending Stan has 'worth.' "He wants you to feel worthless and helpless and ah…ah! He wants you to be ashamed and embarrassed, acting like you are right now." I don't know why I'm doing this exactly, but it's a rather lavish lie that practically makes me die from the release I feel telling it.
"That doesn't sound like Kyle at all," Stan mumbles, although he looks less upset now. "And weren't you the one," he continues, looking angry, "who messed this all up? Kyle got mad at you yesterday, didn't he?"
"Stan," I say, gravely, putting a hand on his shoulder, "that is because I was flirting with Christophe. It made Kyle jealous. And of course it doesn't sound like Kyle; he's with 'Tophe now, he's not the Kyle you know. Remember ages ago when you got mad at me because Kyle was acting weird and you wanted to know what I did?" His eyes light up, he doesn't look wounded, more so bewildered. "I told Christophe that Kyle liked you and that made Christophe jealous enough to want Kyle back."
"Meaning you started all of this," Stan states, bluntly, pushing my hand off of his shoulder.
"Innocent bystander who did something with no intention of harming anyone, that's all I am," I claim, easily throwing my arm across his shoulders as I drag him into class. Euphoria is rushing over me as he accepts these words and kind of nods. I can see him figuring out things in his head, and can only hope he comes to the conclusion that Kyle is at fault. "What you need to do Stan, is act like it doesn't even matter," I advise him, cocking my head to the side like I'm considering it and then nodding.
"But – but it does!" Stan stammers out, this little exclamation greeting Token and a few other kids in our class that are filing in.
"I know it does," I mutter to him gruffly, pulling him towards the desk he shares with Kyle. "That's why I said 'act,' alright? I know it hurts, believe me, I know, but you can't just fall to pieces because that's what Kyle wants. Grow some fucking balls, Marsh and handle this like a man." With that I roughly push him into his seat and take my own next to Token.
It's not very satisfying though, only about fifty percent of that was a lie. The lie isn't intended to be malicious, I really have nothing against Kyle, he chose what he had to, but he hurt Stan. This is exactly what I'm trying to avoid with Tweek. But it makes me squirm a little bit, because when I compare Tweek and I with Stan and Kyle I know that I would be the one sitting there nervously, waiting for the kid who just dumped me for someone else.
Stan looks kind of prepared, though, and I feel really bad when the bell rings. When the whole class goes by. When the whole day goes by, really. Stan looks prepared all day, like Kyle's going to walk out of his locker when he opens it or something, but Kyle never shows up. I know it's not just that though, that makes Stan look so lost and hurt. It's the fact that Christophe never shows up either.
Kenny accosts me while we're, dare I say it, starting an actual sport in Physical Education. 'Life coach' gave a nice little mini-speech about friendship, cutting it short when he realized, I think, that Stan looked ready to give a speech about what he had learned today, mainly that friendship isn't worth shit when a charming Frenchman decides to steal your best friend. Stan also looked like he was going to puke when 'life coach' put up the lists for who was on each team and he had, of course, put Kyle on Stan's team.
We're playing volleyball in the middle of winter which makes no sense, but then again, what does? My team is Kenny, Tweek and Bebe. Someone decided to bless me with blonds. The powers that be, namely 'life coach,' have overlooked that you need six people on a volleyball team for it to function properly and we're all at a loss of how to set up the nets so that's our main challenge today. Can someone explain to me again why, exactly, I am being forced to take this class?
Of course Kenny isn't worried about setting up volleyball nets, he's more concerned with setting people up, and I know I would get angry when I couldn't get the nets to work so we leave it to Cartman, Clyde and Token who seem to get along fine without us. Tweek realizes the fact that Kenny wants to talk to me and backs off, allowing Bebe to fawn over him. She does, fawn, I mean, and it makes me a little self-assured to know I'm not the only one who finds him cute, but I flip her off nonetheless. What a slut, she's supposed to be after Kyle's sweet ass, not Tweek's.
"You talked to him!" Kenny chirps, like he's a bird or something, pulling me into a half-hug, half-really awkward thing.
"Ah…ha, yes, I did," I reply, patting his shoulder, unsure of what to do. He's the brightest thing in the room. The rest of us are wearing dull grey shirts that barely even have the name of the high school visible in dark green lettering with matching green shorts. Kenny still has on his orange parka, although it's unzipped and the sleeves are rolled up, he's like some sort of beacon of energy, way happier than I've seen him in a while, although that could just be an act.
"I can tell," Kenny says, solemnly as he lets me go, nodding, "I can just tell. So?" He pokes my stomach and I have to writhe away and fight back laughter. "How did it go, you stupid fuck?"
"You're so sweet," I say, batting my eyelashes at him as he grins at me. "And he outright denied me."
"What?" Kenny says, shock filling his eyes. He's suddenly looking across the gym at Tweek who is currently fighting to keep Bebe from touching his hair, screaming something about lice. Bebe is trying to get a word in edgewise, stammering out how she doesn't have lice and will he calm down. It's nice to know that he won't calm down unless I go over there and convince him to do so. "But he likes you," Kenny says slowly, stressing every word.
"You must have been wrong, he made it quite clear he'd rather we were simply friends," I say, with a shrug. I've thought it over and, yeah, it hurts like hell, but I can't do anything about it besides accept the fact and try to move on, so Kenny should be able to deal with it too.
"No, you don't get it, I talked to him and this wasn't supposed to happen!" Kenny spits at the gym floor, looking infuriated. He isn't happy or at all bird-like anymore, just furious and clenching his fists in livid anger. "I told you, you two are practically – no, you two are meant for each other," he continues, glaring at Tweek now. "What the fuck happened to change his mind…"
"Uh, Kenny?" I say, tentatively. Watching him like this amuses me in a way, but I still know it's not a good thing to be on his bad side at times like this. The blond turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow. "I kind of think you're wrong about that." He opens his mouth but, for once, nothing comes out. I've caught him off guard, I'm supposed to be squealing like a schoolgirl about the fact that he thinks we're meant for each other. "What does that even mean? How can two people be meant for each other? It's not that I doubt you, but, how could you even begin to know that?"
"I just know, okay?" Kenny responds, his voice low. I hadn't noticed that people were starting to look at us a bit funny, but he obviously has. Everyone is probaby wondering why we're discussing love during gym class. "I talk to other people besides you and I don't go prancing off to everyone and telling them what they said, it's not something I do alright? I don't suppose you told Butters that I think I don't – that thing I said, did you?"
"Well, no," I admit, calming down a bit. "But this is completely different."
"I can't," Kenny says with a sigh. "I can't understand it, though, Craig. I really thought…when I talked to him, the day before the snow day when I talked to you, he seemed happy at the idea, y'know? He was worried you wouldn't talk to him about it and I told him you would and then I did the whole bitch fit with you so you really would, but I don't just don't get why he would do that. I mean, why…," he finishes with a sigh, gesturing towards Tweek.
By now the volleyball nets are up and we're supposed to be playing. Tweek is using Bebe as protection from the serves that Cartman is, admittedly, aiming very well at the two of them. What Kenny has just told me sinks in and, surprisingly, I'm not angry. I should be, Tweek essentially lied to me and ruined things when he didn't have to. Tweek is the only person I don't lie to and all of a sudden I find out he did that to me? Yeah, it should piss me off. But Kenny's wrong about one thing. For whatever reason, Tweek doesn't want me; we're not meant to be in the least.
"It doesn't matter why," I tell Kenny, "it's what he wants." That's all I need to say, because right now Tweek needs me to save him from some volleyballs. And I know Kenny's marveling at it, wondering what the hell I mean, because Kenny thinks I should be fighting for this, that I should want it more than anything, and that should be enough. He doesn't understand though, I guess, and maybe that's hard for him to admit, but he doesn't get it. I won't fight for Tweek if he doesn't want me to. I may not always be the most rational person, but I know when I'm not wanted and Tweek doesn't want me, no matter what Kenny says.
I don't know why he doesn't, I'd love for him to explain that to me, why he told Kenny one thing and then made me believe something completely different. But, while I grab one of the volleyballs and throw it directly at Cartman, knocking him to the ground, I think I kind of have an idea of why he did it. I flip Cartman off and smile at Tweek and he smiles back, but I think I get it, especially when I see him smile. I'd probably bet my life on it, actually.
Tweek is worried about everything, he always has been, and with us as best friends he's safe and secure within that zone, but as unthreatening as I mean it to be, the fact that I want things to go further than that is a threat to him. He's worried that it will destroy everything we have right now, that everything will change. Well, alright, that just furthers my belief that my decision is, in fact, final. I will kick this stupid addiction I have, and I don't mean smoking or lying or flipping people off.
I mean this stupid addiction – the one I have to my best friend or, more accurately, the one I have to wanting him as something more than just that.
Time always goes by fastest when you want it to go slow. The ultimate mindfuck, I suppose. Usually when I sit around with Tweek and watch movies I'm bored to death and they drag on for what seems like days. But ever since he told me he was going to be gone for a week the movies are over in the blink of an eye. It's not just the movies either, it's the fact that every minute with Tweek is a second now because I know he'll be gone, both literally and figuratively a lot sooner than I would like him to be.
Yes, Tweek is just leaving for a week and yes he'll be back after that week but it's going to be different or at least I plan on it being different. Maybe Tweek isn't the one leaving; maybe it's me in a way. In a really weird way, yeah, I guess I am. It's not at all like me to just give up like I plan on doing. Typically I would pursue him until he was sick of me and gave in just for respite from how annoying I would, no doubt, be acting.
With Tweek, that's just it, I'm sure I could do that to him, I'm sure he would give in at some point even though he wouldn't want to for whatever reason. With everyone else that never mattered. They didn't have to actually love me or, hell, even like me, they just had to give me what I wanted and I was fine with it. Everyone that I've ever wanted has been just that, someone that I wanted, not like Tweek. I don't just want Tweek, I need him.
I would lose him. I'm relatively sure of that fact. I would hurt him or fuck things up and I know I would because that's what I always do. And after that who's to say if we would even be friends? It's a scary thought and it honestly makes me think a bit more than I generally would. I think I've seen movies where people come to conclusions like this. I would rather have Tweek as my best friend than to have him as something more when he really doesn't want it and then to lose him completely.
The problem is, this isn't a movie. Because in a movie I would come to that conclusion and by some delightful twist of fate Tweek would realize he's madly in love with me and that whatever is preventing him from wanting to be with me is completely nonsensical and then we would sing a song about it or something. In a movie we would be guaranteed a happy ending and the only people who would end up unhappy would be whoever the antagonist is.
Sorry to say, but, if this was a movie, I would be the antagonist. This wouldn't be my movie at all. It would probably be Stan and Kyle's or Kenny's or something. I would be some side character doing stupid things to ruin his life and theirs until they realized I was a bastard and everyone stopped talking to me. By the end of the movie no one would even care that I hadn't gotten what I wanted because I'm not meant to be liked or supported by anyone.
I guess I'm kind of glad my life isn't a movie. I don't like the idea of not being the main character, but I'm just not the kind of person who would be. It's definitely Kyle, I think; he's the epitome of stereotypical main characters. He has the hero-complex for it, thinking he has to save everyone. Or maybe that's more like Kenny. I don't even know anymore, nor do I want to contemplate it. If someone made a movie about South Park, I doubt anyone would even want to watch.
Kyle, though, is being rather emblematic, very main character-esque. He's crushed Stan who, though he tries to hide it, is dissipating before everyone's eyes. Luckily, for us and them, he hasn't had to resort to the Goth Kids. Kenny is talking to Stan more than usual and we're all kind of doing our part to make it seem like nothing has changed, even Kyle. Mainly because nothing did change, they never even really came out and told us they were together despite the fact that it was so obvious. Kyle is helping with Stan but it's just, he has this look in his eyes. I know he would rather be with Christophe when he's hanging out with us or with Stan, but he still does it.
The weirdest thing is how nice Cartman is being to Stan. Although, when I think about it, the two of them always have been friends in an awkward way. It could just be manipulation on Cartman's part, but Stan doesn't like Kyle any less. Oh, yes, through everything Stan still thinks the redhead is worth his time. I don't know why and I don't want to think about why though there are a few things that come to mind. Stan just won't give up on the idea that his darling Jew is ever so perfect.
It's pathetic is all it is, but who am I to talk? We have talked, actually, Stan and I, about how much it sucks. It's mostly Stan talking, though, and mostly me listening because I know he needs that. He doesn't talk me nearly as much as he talks to Kenny and Cartman, of course, but we do talk more than we would have had this all not happened. It's a weird thing to bond over, but we make it work.
Christophe and I avoid anything having to do with the matter. I see him less and less as the days pass and he sees Kyle more and more. When we do talk, mostly on the phone or a few times when Kyle is with Stan and we're both in the mood for a smoke, we talk about everything but what he wants to talk about. I'm sure he'd love to tell me every little detail about his relationship with the redhead, but I'm not hearing any of it. I don't bother him with Tweek and most of the time he just teaches me French.
When Christophe is with Kyle, I think, it kind of changes him. I should have realized the change back when they were dating before, or whatever they want to call it. He becomes the Mole very rarely and has a slightly more tolerant view of God and love and all that shit. He talks more about his stupid his mother is and even mentions his brother from time to time when I thought that topic was long dead. It's for the best that we hang out less, really, since I don't like him as much when he's not so cynical.
Now Kenny is perplexed about everything. He told Kyle to be with Stan, but now Kyle is with Christophe. He thought Tweek and I were going to have a magical, gay little happy ending and that's not going as planned. His advice system is falling apart and I know that's shocking to him because he's told me. For the most part he's morosely happy, which is a paradox in and of itself, but somehow possible with him. It's like things are going well in some ways, but terrible in other ways and he can't keep control over it, much less his emotions.
There is one thing to look forward to amongst all this chaos, Kenny has decided. My birthday, that I don't even want to celebrate. I have an early birthday so I'm turning eighteen while the rest of them are all seventeen. I don't like that or even the idea of being eighteen, really. To be completely honest, though I'm not even that with myself, it scares me a whole fucking lot. Not the whole responsibility shit I know my parents will throw in my face, but just the weight of it. Eighteen and I'm still…everything. I've never done anything worth talking about, I want to go back and do it all over again.
Every time I think about it I want to throw up. I just hate it, fuck, I really do. I try and remind myself that I can buy alcohol legally once I'm eighteen and move out if I really want to. It's weird though, how one day you wake up and suddenly you're legally an adult, when I still feel like a kid half my age. No one else seems worried about it; in fact they've all said something about how lucky I am to be turning eighteen when I am.
Except for Tweek. He doesn't say a word about my birthday and it isn't just because he won't be here for it, there's something else that prevents him from mentioning it. I don't know when Tweek started hiding things from me, but I really don't like it. We spend most of our time together and somehow I'm still unaware of things about him. Fuck, he knows everything about me. Or…maybe that's not accurate.
Tweek doesn't know everything and I become very aware of that fact while we're driving down the highway towards the airport in late December. I somehow managed to do two very impressive things. I convinced my mother, by lying of course, that I should drive Tweek to the airport, because 'there's a chance I might never see him again.' Normally she wouldn't pay the price of gas to drive all the way up here, much less even drive the thing, but she got all sad when I said that and simpered that I could use the car for the whole day if I needed to.
That done I had to convince Tweek's parents that I should drive him there and that I would get there on time and that we would actually show up and I wasn't planning on kidnapping him so he didn't have to go. The kidnapping bit was Tweek's contribution to his parent's mild worry that I was going to go ahead and be a reckless asshole and ruin their little family-vacation-Harbucks-convention thing. No idea where that came from. Since when have I been reckless?
"Are you going to miss me?" Tweek asks, and that's what makes me aware of the fact that Tweek does not know everything about me.
"Don't ask stupid questions," I tell him, simply. If there's one thing I'm terrible at its driving and talking at the same time. I lose concentration on one of them eventually and either say the wrong thing or get into an accident.
"Oh God, I'm sorry," Tweek mutters so I can just barely hear him. I would look over at him to see what he's doing, but I have enough distractions as it is and staring at him wouldn't be helping any. I know him well enough to know what he's doing anyway, probably tugging at some of his golden hair and biting his lip while his mind races through things to say. "Why – gah – why was that a s-stupid question?" he asks after a few minutes.
"Because," I say, not adding much to the single word for a moment as I accelerate and try to think ahead so I don't get lost in my words and crash into anyone, "of course, I will, and you know I will and it's a pointless question. You know the answer to it so you don't need to ask it." It's all a bit choppy and almost cold sounding, but it's only that way because I'm trying to divide my attention as well as I can between the two things I'm doing right now.
"Oh," Tweek says. I see, out of the corner of my eye, that he kind of slouches in his seat.
"Regardless of all that," I say, biting my lip and, admittedly, concentrating more on what I'm saying than I should, "yeah, I will. I'll miss you a lot. You do realize you're going to have to call me all the time."
"I was already going to!" he exclaims, jumping forward in his seat a little. "Just to make sure – ngh – that you d-don't die or something." I smile at that and I know he doesn't understand how or why because in Tweek's mind it's very probable that I'll end up dying and the world will blow up or something while he's in Seattle. So me smiling is weird to him because he considers that very plausible and obviously there's no reason to smile about from his perspective.
"I'm not going to die, Tweek," I assure him as we pull off of the highway, nearing the airport. "I might miss you a lot but not that much."
"Jesus Christ, Craig!" he yells, causing me to nearly crash into the car in front of me because it makes me laugh, though I do try to hide it. "I didn't mean that y-you would do that!"
"I know, calm down," I tell him. We pull up to a red light and in the short moment that we're stopped I run a hand through his messy hair and fix it as best as I can. He shudders a little, but relaxes as the light turns green. "It's only going to be a week. You just have to call me and tell me happy birthday and Christmas and whatever else you feel like telling me. I won't have much to do with you gone anyway."
"You can hang out with Token and Clyde," he offers, softly. I know he's looking at me now. For what, I have no idea, and I don't have the time or ability to look over at him and assess his golden eyes to decide if he's worried or upset or what.
"Not the same without you," I tell him, shortly, with a slight edge to my voice. "And don't tell me I can hang out with Christophe, because he's with Kyle all the time. I'll probably just talk to Stan and Kenny when they're not busy and watch Red Racer and smoke a lot. Nothing dangerous about any of that, really." Well except for the fact that cigarettes have the warning that they could, you know, kill you. But whatever.
"You'll answer whenever I call you?" he asks, once again making his voice barely audible. I don't answer for a few minutes because, well, first off, how the hell am I supposed to answer that? And, anyway, we're pretty much at the airport and I'm concentrating on getting to the right parking lot and not killing anyone in the process.
"Yeah," I finally tell him, "call me at one in the morning if you have to. I'll be a little bitchy, sure, but I'll talk to you."
After that we're quiet, all while I park and stop the car and we just sit there for a few minutes to silence that isn't comfortable but isn't unwelcome either. I think we both need these minutes to think, maybe we both know this is kind of a turning point. That once Tweek gets back something is going change even if neither one of us knows exactly what that change is going to entail. Even if I do somehow, miraculously, get over him while he's gone, I don't know what that will mean for us.
There's always the possibility that I never will get over him. I'm not retarded, I know a week isn't going to fix everything, but I like to think I can make a good start of things and show him, when he gets back, that I do intend to listen to what he wants, whether I understand it or not, and back off. I can only hope that that will be good enough. Tweek is the only person I would ever be willing to do this for. The only person that I care enough about to go through all of this for. The only person that I can sit next to and hold back the urge to be something more than a friend to him for the sole reason that is his rejection of those feelings.
Anyone else would either be mine or be nothing to me, but Tweek can be everything to me without doing everything I want him to.
"You should probably go," I tell him, finally, my voice sounding weird. It's a mixture of this deep sadness I feel from the situation I'm in and the fact that it's so silent and I'm trying to keep that serene quiet feeling that we have right now. We both get out of the car and for a second I don't know why. I drove him up here but he's not a kid, he's the same age I am and he can find his parents and his plane. It's not a big airport at all; I know he'll be fine.
It's only when he pulls me into a hug that I realize why we both got up, that we really need to say good-bye. Not just to each other, but to everything. He knows this is more than your usual farewell and I know it is. This is probably the last time I'll hug Tweek, I mean the last time I really will. The last time I'll actually hold him and tell him everything is going to be alright, one of my hands finding its way into his hair.
He really smells good, like coffee, which I would have expected, but there's this fainter smell that I recognize as cigarettes, and that's the best thing. Tweek doesn't smoke, his parents don't smoke, no one else he hangs around with smokes. It's because of me that there's the smell of smoke lingering on him and as sick as that sounds, that really makes me happy. Not that he might get second-hand smoke from me or something, it's simply the fact that I've had some affect on him when he's had so many on me without even realizing it.
We part and he takes my hand for a quick moment and doesn't protest when I kiss him on the cheek and tell him he better call me soon softly. He gets his stuff, his suitcase and his thermos, he doesn't need much else, and then he's off on his own, with a parting smile to me, no words needed. Watching him walk away is hard, not only because he's gone, but also because I know Tweek doesn't need my help right now. All he has to do is get on the plane and maybe he'll freak out and think it's going to crash, maybe then he'll think about me or something. I hope he does.
A plane that I know isn't Tweek's takes off in the distance as I get back in the car and I watch it for a few long – obscenely long – minutes until I can barely see it in the sky. It's a bit surreal really. I've been on a plane before, a lot of times, actually, I've been all over the country and even to other countries but it's never really mattered. A week of vacation here or there never bothers anyone. But, somehow, Tweek barely even going across the country is a huge deal between the two of us.
The silence in the car is harder to deal with than I would have thought. I end up turning on the radio to one of those really gay advice stations, where you can call in and ask some guy who pretends to know psychology what you should do with your life. I'm almost tempted to call in and ask him what to do with myself. I doubt he would even know what to say. I hope that Kenny gets one of those shows one day, he'd have the best damn radio advice station in the fucking – in the world. I turn off the radio after a while and sit in silence for the rest of the drive back to my house.
No one is home when I get there and there's some note on the fridge that my mom and sister are at the movies and will be home later. I also look at the cat calendar and, sure enough, under the picture of a cat and a snowman, there's a row of black X's letting me know my dad is in Las Vegas for a week, earning his money however he does so. Let's pray he gets a good hand in poker. Underneath one of the X's you can make out where my mom wrote that it's my birthday. It's really tiny, scrunched handwriting, like she doesn't want me to turn eighteen anymore than I do.
I find the black permanent marker my father uses to cross out the days that he's gone and draw a thick line all the way from today through Christmas and then step back and admire my work. There we go. I've successfully destroyed all of the time that Tweek will be gone. It no longer exists on the ridiculous cat calendar. I go on to X out every single day of the month. Just so my family knows. It doesn't matter if my dad is here or not, he's never at home.
I go to my room and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I don't dream so much as my mind picks up recluse memories and plays them like old home videos. Being in the hospital with Tweek all the way back in third grade. English class in seventh grade when Tweek sat next to me and we never even acted like the other existed. That time that he spilt coffee in Clyde's mom's car and almost had a nervous breakdown. More recent things, too, like watching Red Racer together, that horrible mistake of a kiss and, finally, the faint smell of cigarettes and coffee, my favorite addiction. At around one in the morning, my phone rings and I pick it up.
A/N: We'll see who's on the phone next time. Anyway, I know Craig's age isn't technically canon, but hell, someone needed to have a birthday. And I had actually had it in my mind that he was the oldest from the beginning, just because he's so contrastingly childish in his attitude that it must be divine irony, if you catch my drift. Stan is the youngest, as he should be, in my mind. Not that any of that really matters, but I felt like saying it anyway. Oh, me, I never do shut up, do I? You should review now, because I would appreciate it very much.
Until next time, tweekers