Addict
A/N: Awesome news, you awesome people! Addict has officially reached the 100,000 word count. I never thought it would be that long, nor did I think it would ever have as many reviews as it has. Both are really thanks to all of you guys, so pat yourself on the back or whatever you want to do. This chapter is sadly devoid of Tweek, but it's pretty obvious how Craig feels – well, just read, you'll see.
Also, only one more chapter after this and then an epilogue. Surprising or what?
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't claim to, wouldn't dream of it, got it memorized?
Chapter Thirteen: Have Faith In What You Feel
"Can I come over?" I nearly fall off my bed. I was expecting Tweek's voice on the other line, telling me the radiator at the hotel was going to explode or something like that, but instead Stan is asking me if he can come over to my house? My house? People don't come over to my house unless they're possessive Jews or paranoid coffee-addicts and that's final. Not even French boys with split-personalities are allowed here. At least not when they're crazy-in-love with said possessive Jew.
Besides its Stan we're talking about. Oh, sure, he's been at Cartman's house for four days, with the sole purpose of being somewhere that Kyle won't go I'm guessing. And, yeah, he has been pathetic and quiet lately, probably in need of someone to be around all the time. But it's still Stan, normal, grounded, typical Stan. He's never been over to my house. I've been over to his, but the last time I was there was for his birthday in fifth grade. I hate to break it to him, but we're not in fifth grade anymore.
"Why?" I ask, looking at the clock next to my bed. Its two minutes after one in the morning. One in the morning, Stan! It figures that the one time he calls me and wants to come over to my house it's one in the fucking morning. Maybe he functions on some weird break-up clock where one in the morning really means 'Call Craig and go over to his house for the first time in the history of your life.' I went to bed pretty early, so at least I'm not tired, but that doesn't mean I'm any happier about the situation.
"Cartman just kicked me out," he says, quietly, to the point where I almost want to ask him to repeat himself because I'm not sure if I got that.
"Why?" I repeat, not in the mood to say much else. And because if the reason Cartman kicked Stan out was because he talks in his sleep he isn't going to have any luck in staying at my house either. I have a pretty good guess what Stan dreams about and I don't feel like hearing about it all night.
"Because I wouldn't play video games in the middle of the night while I'm trying to sleep," Stan says, his tone suddenly an angry one. "Before you ask, Craig, no, you're not the first person I called. I almost just went to Kenny's but there's no way in hell I'm staying at his house. And…and, okay, you are the first person I called. I almost called Kyle but I know he would let me stay over and I can't do that."
"You're insightful," I say, sighing. "Why don't you stay at your own house, though? Seriously, dude, it's probably better if you stay there."
"Uh, alright," he says, "you try it, and then try to tell me its better. My parents think Kyle and I just aren't best friends anymore and think it's a great idea to talk about everything I've ever done with him, well, everything they know I've done with him. I don't know why, but they don't shut up about him. And my sister is visiting from college for Christmas and every few seconds she's asking me why I'm not with him and – you'd think she's the one in love with him."
"Jesus, Stan, fine, come over to my house, but don't expect to like it here," I tell him after a few seconds of silence on my part. Then, without waiting for a response, I hang up on him and throw my cell phone across the room, more angry at myself than anything. Just because I can relate to what Stan is going through, in a weird, fucked up way, admittedly, doesn't mean I have to feel so bad for him. He has to get over Kyle at some point and he shouldn't need my help, or anyone else's, to do it.
My God, I'm the poster child for hypocrites everywhere.
One good thing is that my father is in Las Vegas and that means one less parenting force to be reckoned with. I know my mom won't be happy with Stan arriving in the middle of the night, but hopefully her penchant for my friends will overpower that. Plus, since Stan has never been over before she'll kind of have to make a good impression on him, or at the very least apologize if she kills me in front of him. She'll like Stan, though, he can be polite when he wants to and his normalcy will be a good thing in her book.
It doesn't matter by this point though, whether it was some calculated plan or Stan really meant what he said, I do feel bad for him. I'm not suddenly empathetic or anything, but he got me with those last few words. I never really considered it, that Stan might really be in love Kyle. Sure, I always knew he loved him, in at least the way that best friends love each other. But in love is a lot different. You can love anyone, but you can't be in love with anyone, there's a whole new meaning to the word when you express it like that.
He's still sleeping on the couch. Being in love with someone doesn't mean you get your own bed. Actually, it would probably be better if he slept in the basement. Chances are, my mom waking up to find some random teenager sleeping in the living room will not result in a happy morning for all. I go downstairs to make sure things are relatively nice and they are. We have this little area down there where my dad watches sports and stuff, since my mom can't stand anything having to do with scoring systems and running around and, honestly, neither can I.
I do get stuck looking at some stuff down there that I haven't seen in ages. There are a few yearbooks and, I'll admit it, that's what catches my eye. There are a couple from middle school and it's funny to see us all in our own little worlds. None of us look happy even if we're smiling in the pictures. The only picture I can find of any of us together is one of Stan and I, ironically enough. I remember the teacher paired us together for science and we had to work together on everything for a whole year. At the time they took the picture Stan has a forced smile and I guess it sort of looks like I'm reading my science book or something, but to me it's pretty obvious that I'm less than interested in what it says.
Our ninth grade yearbook is vastly different. We all managed to be in it a million times because Kyle's mom forced him to work for the yearbook that year and he abused it to take pictures of whatever the fuck we were doing even though most of it has nothing to do with school. There's actually a picture where you can tell I have a cigarette in my hand. I didn't realize I was that stupid in ninth grade. Seriously, how retarded was I?
My nostalgia is interrupted by the fact that I can hear my mom yelling for me to get my ass into the living room right now or I'm not going to have an eighteenth birthday. For a brief moment I stay where I am, weighing the pros and cons of that situation, but in the end it's best to go upstairs since they would never find my body if she killed me and that's not entirely appealing.
Once I get upstairs I can gather what happened. Stan obviously knocked or rang the doorbell and, because I was busy being a reflective fag in the basement, my mom answered the door. Stan didn't wake her up though, I can tell, since she has a glass of something that looks suspiciously like alcohol, but for the sake of my fragile mind, I'll pretend its iced tea. "You," she says, gesturing for me to come closer to the door with the glass. "Did you invite your friend over in the middle of the night?"
"Yeah," I tell her with a nod. Stan looks extremely uncomfortable, mainly because he's still outside and my mom must look like a crazy drunk to him or something. "Mom, it's Stan Marsh, it's not a big deal, let him in the house." We have this amusing moment that should be in a movie or something, because my mom stares at me and Stan just shifts about an inch and I end up walking over and practically dragging him into the house.
"Sharon's son?" my mom says, eyeing Stan wearily and then sighing. "I'm too tired for this. You can explain it to my tomorrow."
"She won't even remember this tomorrow," I assure Stan as I lead him downstairs. I'm trying not to let my anger show, but since when has that ever worked for me? My mom stopped drinking 'iced tea' ages ago, and I can easily figure why she's starting to do it again. Back when my father and she were in counseling for a few 'little' problems, one of the conditions was that she stopped drinking. Drinking 'iced tea,' of course. But when my father isn't here and when her kids are supposed to be sleeping that must not count.
"Oh, she seems really…my mom doesn't like her," Stan admits.
"I don't blame your mom," I tell him, making a face at the thought of how annoying it must be to have my mother, a vicious gossip when she wants to be, talk to you as a friend. She could rival Kyle's mom in bitchiness, but luckily – if you can really use that word – isn't loud and boisterous about things. "Right, well," I say, motioning to the couch, "you can stay here. If you're dying of hunger we have food and you can have some. If you're bored there's this new-fangled thing called a television. So, you know, sweet dreams and all that." I turn to leave until I hear Stan say something.
"I wanted to talk to you." I could care less if Stan wants to talk to me, but, Jesus, he says that really weird. Like, well, he doesn't want to talk and that's a bit of a surprise, so I turn around and raise my eyebrows. Stan looks tired and I don't just mean he looks like he needs to sleep more. He looks physically and emotionally exhausted and I can understand why. Why do I choose times like these to be so giving?
"Fine, I'm not doing anything tomorrow anyway, might as well talk to you," I say, dejectedly. I really don't like the way Stan looks at me though. I am not going to be his sexual savior.
A few minutes later we're sitting on the couch. I'm trying to make it clear he is not going to sit on my lap or anywhere near it and he gets the hint. "You know, Kyle and I never really did anything," he tells me. I snort and look at him. "No, really, that's why I started to realize something was off about the whole thing. I mean, at first I thought he was just…nervous about it or something, but then after what you did…"
"Whoa, don't blame me for this whole thing," I say, holding up my hands. "That little charade that ended in the entire school knowing that I bat for both teams? Not my idea. It was Christophe's and I really didn't want anything to do with it until he brought Tweek into it." As soon as I mention Tweek I don't want to look at Stan anymore. So far I've been pretty obvious to everyone and while Stan knows how I feel he doesn't the extent to which my feelings go and as far as I'm concerned he has no right to.
"I know," Stan says, his voice bitter. "Kyle told me everything. Long after I need to hear it, naturally. All of a sudden he can tell me everything. It's funny because I thought he was always supposed to do that. I did that. He's always known everything about me. Now I feel like I don't even know him at all. Everything he has done, everything he never really did. There's this whole side to him I never knew about."
"More like what you didn't want to know about him." Stan kind of glares at me, but too fucking bad. I'm not going to tell him what he wants to hear. Things never turn out well when you do that. "I'm not saying Kyle has some double life, but in a way he does. Christophe does the same thing. They're a lot alike. It's almost obvious when you think about it. I didn't notice it, but you know what, Stan? I'm not his best friend."
"Neither am I!" Stan exclaims angrily.
"You don't mean that," I scoff. He can't mean that. If – he can't mean that. That's impossible. If Stan and Kyle can't survive something like this there's no hope for me. We're talking Stan and Kyle, so close that no one would have blinked if they had actually come out. Stan and Kyle, the only two to actually stay relatively close during middle school. It was like natural progression that they went out. The chain of events was natural, the story was practically written down for them, they just had to follow it.
"I do mean that," Stan shoots back at me. "How would you know anyway, Craig? You don't know what happened. Kyle has explained everything to me. Every single thing. More than I probably have a right to know, actually. I know that he used me. Do you even know why they ended their little affair? And I don't mean what you assumed happen or what you heard happen. I doubt you know why."
That's hard to answer. Stan knows I've assumed things and what I've assumed is that Kyle ended things. That maybe Kenny had something to do with it as well. Indirect suggestions, at least, that the Jew might dump the French boy for his best friend. And, I had assumed, Kyle took those suggestions and did something about it, regretted it and gotten rid of Stan. But, now I'm starting to think I was wrong. Apparently there's a lot more going on than I thought.
"Christophe dumped Kyle," I say. Voicing it makes it a lot more final, especially when Stan nods. Suddenly I'm reminded of the note that Christophe left Kyle when he returned the redhead's hat almost a month ago. I knew the note was personal at the time, but maybe it was a lot more personal than I had guessed. I can't imagine Christophe breaking up with someone face to face. He's harsh and cynical, but I wouldn't doubt for a second that the note was his way of breaking up.
"And, yet, Kyle was the one who went back to him," he says, his voice quieter now. "I guess, from what Kyle's told me, they're doing just great." He's scowling at nothing in particular, reaching his hand up to his hair. I can tell he's not used to it being as short as it is now. Ever since he got it cut he's kept it short, but messy, almost like Christophe's. Like, in some sad way, he's trying to be like the one person Kyle loves more than him.
"He told you that?" I ask, almost breathless at the idea. Stan nods, but doesn't say anything, his glare steady. That pisses me off, more than I thought it would. Where does Kyle get off saying things like that to Stan? I'm sure he didn't actually come up to Stan and say something like: 'Hey, way happier without you!' That's not like Kyle. But he must have said something, whether he meant to or not, and after everything that's happened you would think he would understand how something like that would make Stan feel.
"Well, not exactly," Stan says after a few moments. "He just – I asked him how he was doing, you know? At first I could barely talk to him, but then the other day I thought, alright, I have to do this sometime. So I just asked him that stupid little question. He was talking about something, trying out for basketball next year or – I don't know, it doesn't matter. I said 'Kyle, how are you doing?' It was all I could think to say. And he tells me, just turns to me and smiles and tells me things are going great."
"Maybe he was just happy you were talking," I offer. "I know what that feels like. He probably didn't even realize the implication of what he was saying."
"No, Craig," Stan says, shaking his head, this weird smile on his face. "I saw his eyes when he said it. I'm sure he wasn't thinking. I know he didn't mean to say what he said, he's been really careful not to mention anything. But he did say it, whether he meant to or not. I can't even stand to be near him anymore. That's why I was at Cartman's. Normally he would go there, I know he would, to see me, but going there after that, I was telling him something. I don't want anything to do with Kyle Broflovski anymore."
"You don't mean that," I repeat. But Stan does mean it. I've been identifying with him too much and it's scary. I know that there's no way all this is going to happen to Tweek and I and, furthermore, no way I would ever allow myself to get trapped in it. But what does 'no way' even mean anymore. In sixth grade there was no way I would ever be friends with Stan again. Last year there was no way I was attracted to guys. No way doesn't mean anything a second after you decide on it.
I'm saying he doesn't mean it because I want to believe that if I was in that situation I wouldn't mean it. I want to think that I could go through all of that but still stay best friends with Tweek. But if Stan can get rid of Kyle that easily, if he can really mean what he said, well, once again, I can't even begin to have hope that I would act any differently. And, I'll be honest; this is one of the worst things I've ever felt. I wasn't planning on giving up hope when I gave up Tweek.
"Dude," is all I can say, with a stupid sigh. Really intelligent, I know, but what else am I supposed to say? I can't blame Stan for what he's decided when I can't say exactly what I would do in his situation. I may be a hypocrite, but even that's a bit of a stretch for me.
"I have to admit," he says with a smile that might or might not be completely genuine, "being here is a lot better than being at Cartman's."
"Yeah," I say, skeptically, "I live in a regular wonderland."
"Compared to Cartman's," Stan mutters. "And, besides, you aren't asking me about Wendy."
"Wendy?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at the mention of her.
"Yes, Craig, Wendy," he replies. "Cartman wants to know everything last thing about her. Which is just weird, I don't know everything about her in the first place and even if I did…it's just fucking weird to tell him some of the stuff he wants to know. He thinks I'm lying too, that's why he really made me leave. He asked me about all these things and I told him I didn't know and he thinks I'm lying."
"He asked you about things," I state, blandly. "Since it is Cartman we're talking about here, things could be anything in the world. I can't imagine it's her opinion on anything, since it's her mission in life to make sure we all know how she feels about everything. I'm just trying to think of what both you and Cartman wouldn't know about her." The tone of my voice stays the same, verging on sarcastic, because I have a pretty good idea of what Cartman would ask about; it's just that I have no idea why Stan wouldn't know about it.
Stan looks at a loss for words. He hasn't really lost them, I suppose, but he's struggling to find them. It's because he doesn't want to, I know, he doesn't want to tell me. Definitely, he's reevaluating the situation, wondering why he's talking to me in my basement at two in the morning now. Why it's come to this. Why he didn't go to Kenny's instead, because it would be a hell of a lot easier to tell him this.
"Simply put," he says – and by the sound of his voice I can tell there's nothing 'simply put' about this –, "I'm a virgin. And the information Cartman wants…if I knew it, I wouldn't be."
"Oh, sick," I say, but my voice is more awed than anything. No fucking way! I want to shout that at him and punch him. Actually punch him. No fucking way! "Not the virgin thing, I mean," I quickly let him know when his eyes widen. Yeah, because Stan needs my approval to let him know its okay he's never had sex. I am, after all, so experienced in these matters. "Then I would be sick too." Or not. "I meant Cartman wanting to know about it."
"That's what I said," Stan says.
"Before or after Cartman kicked you out?" I ask, smiling and blinking at him. I am the epitome of innocent. Well, at least I look like it when I want to.
"Cartman didn't kick me out, I left," he tells me.
"You lied about a lot of shit," I say, raising an eyebrow.
"Craig," he says, turning to look me in the eye, "you do realize that you accusing me of lying is like Kyle calling someone a self-centered Jew." I laugh a little, but, hell, he's right about that. Kyle is a self-centered Jew, I mean, I'm not a liar. "By the way," Stan begins, sitting forward and reading into the front pocket of the jacket he's wearing to pull something out, "look what I found earlier." I take it from him and look at it for a moment, then back up at him in surprise, or maybe shock. Maybe I'm just a little hurt and then I look back.
"Never thought I would see this again," I say, quietly, to the photograph I hold in my hands.
"One day, Craig," Kenny says, holding up one gloved finger and grinning at me. "Don't think of it as a limitation. Still enough time to change your mind. I can call a few people and they can call a few people and everyone can bring really cheap, shitty beer. You won't even remember it's your birthday, dude. We can all just get fucking wasted." He's still got a thing about having some sort of a party for my birthday.
"I don't doubt you could do it," I tell him, matching his smile, but mine is fake, "I just doubt I would enjoy it."
"Aww, come on." Kenny has everyone on his side, even Stan now. But I think they all just want an excuse to get drunk and not think about anything. If that's the case, I've told them a million times, they should just get drunk then. Since when is there a law that says that isn't allowed? Well, I mean, besides the fact that we legally aren't supposed to have ever tasted alcohol. No one ever said you needed a reason to drink it, so they shouldn't be so worried about it right now.
"I don't blame him," Cartman says. He's walking a few feet behind us and we all turn to look at him in surprise. "I bet poor Craigy boy doesn't feel like celebrating ever since he lost his French fag." Oh, right, Cartman's an asshole. How do I always manage to forget these things? We all turn around again, not before I flip him off of course. I'm angrier than usual, but I'll just attribute that to my lack of sleep. I've been so off balance lately though, ever since – I don't even want to think about it.
"I'm just saying," Kenny just says, "there's no reason not to celebrate a little bit. You know, maybe we won't tell anyone it's your birthday. Make it out to be some sort of coincidence. Hell, play it off as a Christmas party! That way we don't even have to invite the Jew and it's not a big deal. Wouldn't want to infringe on his Hebrew heritage." Kenny has been, out of all of us, the worst towards Kyle. I'll give him one thing, Kenny is one protective son of a bitch.
Stan looks happy at the prospect of a Jewless Christmas party and I can't say I feel any different. None of us are thrilled with Kyle. None of us are even close to being thrilled with him. Cartman's thrilled because of this. We don't hate Kyle, at least I don't. In a way, I sympathize with him. He chose what made him happy and that made everything else fall apart. But he made a huge mistake when he decided to be more than platonic with Stan and that's where I don't feel bad for him.
"Do what you want," I say with a sigh and I can practically see Kenny's mind shift into overdrive as he starts to think about how to orchestrate this. "But don't do it at my house." The blond scowls and mutters something, because now he has to figure out where to have this thing and my house is off limits. Cartman moans about how he's hungry and Stan tells him to shut up, we'll be there soon.
When he says that Stan looks pretty happy. He has the right to, admittedly. We're going to this place we went to years ago by accident. Accident might be the wrong word. It's not like we stumbled in by mistake. We were at the park, in fifth grade, for Stan's birthday. Most people celebrate birthdays on the actual, well, birthday. But Stan was going to be away the weekend of his birthday and somehow we ended up celebrating in late August, a week or so before middle school started. August in South Park is like purgatory between July and winter, the snow was more slush than anything and we begged Stan's mom to take us to the park and, after nearly an hour of pleading with her, she took us.
We were there for about ten minutes before it started raining and we had walked up to the park so we couldn't just drive away. Instead we ran into the nearest place we could find. It's one of those stupid diners that thinks somehow they can transport you back into the 50s just by putting up a few neon signs and making everything pastel colored. That's where we had Stan's birthday, though, and that's where we're going now. Not just us, either.
Everyone who was at the party is going to be there. Except for Kyle and Tweek – and Jimmy of course, but none of us would expect him to be there. Kyle doesn't belong with us anymore, not like that. Tweek has an excuse; he would be here if he wasn't in Seattle. I want him here, terribly. It's been twenty-four hours. I dropped him off at the airport at five in the afternoon yesterday and it's a little after five now. I've never felt this way. Maybe it's just – there's no excuse. I'm empty without Tweek next to me. Without him I can't do anything.
"Oh, sweet," Cartman says as we walk inside. He's directing the statement towards the smell of food, but I have the same sentiment. Mostly because, like the yearbooks, this place is epicly nostalgic. I remember where we sat, the booth all the way in the corner, the only one big enough to fit nine ten year-old boys, while Stan's mom sat in the smaller booth behind us, probably wishing the diner served some hard alcohol. Stan is the one to hurry to the booth though, brushing a gloved hand against the Formica tabletop, like somehow he can stir memories up into the air by doing so.
"This is fucking weird, dude," Kenny says. I think he's talking to himself, but I can't be sure. He follows Stan but instead of being a fag like the raven-haired boy he just sits down, sliding all the way to the window. "Really," he says, looking out the window and then back at Stan and I, "really fucking weird." Cartman is busy trying to convince a waitress to give him a free piece of pie. Maybe the whole pie, if she buys his 'I'm a sweet, caring boy' routine.
"Well," Stan says, sitting next to Kenny, "yeah it's weird, but think about it this way: Everything in South Park is weird."
"He's right," I say, sitting across from them.
"Hey – hey guys." Cartman squeezes into the booth with Kenny and Stan, a piece of pie in front of him. "I've got pie and none of you guys do," he gloats in a sing-song voice, that's almost as muffled as Kenny's when he has his hood up, as he stuffs a piece of pie into his mouth. We all ignore him; it's the principal of the thing. Cartman is part of our group whether we like it or not, but that doesn't mean we have to listen to any of the retarded bullshit that spews out of his mouth. Ironically, we talk about retarded bullshit while we wait for our other two members to show up - and when they do it's not exactly a warm welcome.
"Can someone tell me why we have to be here again?" No one tells Clyde, because we all know he's tired. It's before noon after all and he was probably watching porn all night anyway, so he doesn't want to be with us. I mean, the waitresses here are the kind of old ladies you think about when you want to get rid of a hard-on, not the opposite. Clyde looks tired and almost as angry as me, which is the complete one-eighty that his personality does when he hasn't gotten much sleep. Everyone is dressed except for him, he must have rolled out of bed and walked here with Token, who just rolls his eyes at us in greeting.
"Guess what!" Kenny cries, slamming his hands down on the table. Clyde jumps, elbowing my side and try to kick him, but end up kicking Stan instead who shrieks like an eight year-old girl. Basically, we're annoying all the old people and families here. None of the waitresses even bother to ask us what we want to eat although Cartman's eyeing the rest of the pie with unusual zeal.
"What, Kenny?" Stan asks, leaning forward to rub where I kicked his shin. I grin in apology.
"I said guess," the blond demands, leaning back and crossing his arms.
"You won the lottery," Clyde says, using a finger to grab a bit of whipped cream that was left on Cartman's plate from the pie.
"Why the fuck would I be here with you fuck-ups if I won the lottery?" Kenny asks. It's a valid statement. If I won the lottery I think I would be in – goddammit, I'd be in Seattle. Sometimes I really hate myself.
"Did you bang the counselor?" Token asks. That, on the other hand, is not a valid statement.
"Ew, gross," Kenny says, squinting at the words. "I draw the line at anyone who chooses to work at a school. There's something wrong with people like that." He's lying though, He'd have sex with Miss Something, I would, hell, we probably all would and we're all thinking about it right now. "Anyway," Kyle continues, "since you people are all retards and can't guess, I'll just tell you. I'm actually going to college."
"Kenny, you're too poor to go to college," Cartman supplies.
"It's called scholarships, fatass, and you've just proven that you'll never earn one." Kenny sounds pretty sure of himself when he says that, but Clyde makes a noise. It's a total I-didn't-get-enough-sleep Clyde noise. I wonder what kept him up all night and vow to, henceforth, spend the rest of my life killing it so that he does sleep and does not act like a jackass two percent of the time. Anyway, Clyde makes a noise and Kenny looks at him harshly. "What?"
"Nothing," Clyde says, shaking his head. We all look at him though, like, right, that was nothing. "Well it's just that, you know, no offense Kenny, but it's kind of late to all of a sudden – it…you know, it's not even that you're like Craig." That's original. I flip him off. Then again, I'm not really original either. "Oh, shut up, Craig, I mean you're the whole stereotypical doesn't-apply-himself douche bag. Statistically there can only be one of you, so Kenny you're like…you're the likeable not very smart one."
"I thought that was you, actually," I say. Because I did, maybe minus the 'likeable' part two percent of the time, but otherwise it's pretty accurate. "And, besides, statistically I think we're kind of fucked. Seriously, just consider it for a second. First off, I don't even think we're supposed to have someone who can die and come back to life. And we're way, way over the gay limit."
"True," Clyde admits, grimacing at that last bit. I don't think Clyde has a problem with gay people. Truthfully, how can he? He knows how I feel about Tweek and while I'm sure he and Token probably had some stupid conversation about the whole thing he isn't treating me any differently than he treats anyone else. Hell, talking statistics, where's our homophobic friends who ditches us when he finds out we're not all completely straight? "I'm just saying, though, Kenny, if you go anywhere other than the community college I'll pay your tuition."
"I'd much rather you sucked my balls," Kenny says with a grin.
"Oh, nasty, you guys, that is hella lame," Cartman says, grimacing.
"Oh, don't even go there Cartman," I say, "because I happen to recall a certain incident revolving around – "
If the world was about the explode I am fairly certain this is how we would all react. Stan's eyes get really wide because of course I was just about the reference Kyle. Kenny pretty much jumps onto the table – pretty much because he's basically just leaning across it to try and make me shut up, but he's more worried for the rest of us than himself. Token sighs at a volume I would have thought was impossible, displaying his utter disgust at the predictability that is his friends. Cartman jumps up like Kenny did only he wants to shut me up by punching me in the face. Clyde takes the opportunity to go buy something to eat, or rather, to hopefully get something for free from a gullible waitress.
Naturally Kenny plays the part of moderator, getting Cartman away from me. Cartman is way angrier than I would have expected, but again, he's never been good at taking joke, has he? It's just odd because other people have brought it up before and he usually just brushes it off, but all of a sudden because it's me it's a problem. And that really pisses me off, so of course I flip Cartman off while Kenny drags me towards the front of the diner. We pass Clyde who's bargaining with a tired looking waitress for some form of free food.
"You're retarded, you know that?" Kenny says, letting go of my arm as soon as we get outside.
"I was just making a point," I say defensively.
"I know," he says after a moment, frowning, he reaches out and touches my shoulder, like that's really going to be comforting. "Besides it was a good excuse to talk to you alone for a minute. I really needed to."
"What is it like to drown?" I ask suddenly, the statement surprising even myself. Kenny just sighs and takes his hand off my shoulder. For a minute I think he's going to run a hand through his hair. Something I would do, I guess. Instead he takes the hood of his parka and covers his blond hair with it. I know he's going to tell me and I almost wish I hadn't asked, his eyes look so melancholy now, not like they usually do. In all honesty I don't know how Kenny does it, I would have given up a long time ago if I was him.
"I guess it depends when it happens," he says, slowly, looking down at the ground the entire time. "It was really cold since the pond was frozen. A stupid way to go. If you're ever considering suicide, Craig, don't drown yourself. You feel like knives are stabbing at you, especially here." He puts a hand to his heart. "Then your body wants you to breathe, of course, but when the sky is made of ice, you're kind of stuck with breathing the water all around you. It doesn't work very well."
"I can imagine," I reply, slowly, digging in the pockets of my jacket until I pull out my gloves. It's freezing outside and it's odd that I notice it. I've lived in South Park my entire life and it's not that I'm used to the cold. You never get used to it, you become accustomed to it and aren't surprised by the cold, but it's not like you evolve into some superhuman who can stand below zero temperatures. Still, the only time I really notice the cold is when Tweek isn't with me.
"No," Kenny says, and I knew he would say it, "no, you can't imagine. People always said drowning was one of the worst ways to die. And I always wondered how they knew. Because how could they know if they had never died?" A morbid smile graces his face and he looks at me now. I can only see his eyes now, he's covered up most of his face with the parka and his words are muffled, though I can understand them. "I know. I'm probably the only person in the world who really knows what it feels like to drown."
"Is it?" I can't help but ask, even if I can tell the subject isn't what Kenny wants to discuss. "Is it the worst, I mean? Out of everything, is it really the worst way to go?"
"If there's one thing I know," he says, his voice still muffled, but even more so as he looks down at the ground again and sighs, "it's that the way you die doesn't effect how bad it is, not really. It's what you think about at the last moments, the events that contributed to the death. Dying in your sleep can be just as painful as being burned alive. I don't care how much pain you feel. Pain is temporary; it doesn't carry over into the afterlife. Memories and feelings do. And by that, yes, when I drowned, it was the worst way to die, Craig. Happy to hear it?"
"That's a stupid thing to ask," I say, narrowing my eyes.
Kenny just shrugs and removes the hood of his parka, shaking out his blond hair so it falls in his eyes ever so slightly again. I know what that means; he doesn't have to tell me. We aren't talking about death anymore. "In all seriousness Craig, I do need to talk to you about something. I need you to do something for me, but don't worry; I know you're a selfish douche, so this is going to help you too. At least, if it works out it will. I need you to really ask yourself something."
"What?" I say, slowly. My mind is racing, faster than fucking Red Racer could ever hope to go. What the hell does Kenny want me to ask myself and how is that supposed to help both of us? You know, an idea came to me the other day. I wonder if Kenny does things like this to save his soul in a way. Perhaps if he reaches a certain morality level he'll stop having such bad luck and when he does die, at some nice old age, he'll stay that way. Funny, isn't it, that Kenny would rather die and stay dead than have the chance to come back?
"Are you in love with Tweek?" he asks, blatantly stating what some obscure part of my mind has been wondering for a while now. "I don't mean do you love him either, because that's totally different. I want you to ask yourself, completely and honestly and you don't have to tell me because that's none of my business if you don't want it to be. But if you are, if you really know that you are, I think I might know what to do about it." Ah, and he must, because he's smiling even more now than he was at the idea of Clyde sucking his balls.
The photograph Stan gave me comes to mind. I remember that day vividly even though it feels like ages ago. Stan's birthday has a few memorable qualities that are good and some that are bad and some that are in-between. One of the bad ones is Tweek freaking out about the cake, a million dollars to anyone who can remember what he was so scared of. All I know is Cartman threw a part of the cake at Tweek. Why? Well, give me one thing that Cartman does with reasoning behind it and I'll give you ten things he's done simply for the hell of it.
I was more pissed off than I should have been, but Tweek looked ready to cry and had vanilla frosting all over his face and was having the spaz attack of the century. So everyone was preparing for me to flip Cartman off, maybe try to beat him up. Stan's mom was probably getting ready to suggest we all went home before I had the chance. But, and this is what Tweek does to me, I didn't do anything like that. Instead, I threw cake at someone else. Kyle, maybe, maybe not, but I'm the reason that the picture is basically of us all throwing cake at each other and acting like, well, eleven year olds. Stupid as the whole thing is, it reminds me, there is nothing I won't do for Tweek and I can only hope he shares that sentiment.
"Yeah," is all I can say, quietly, and Kenny, with a cry that would put our cheerleaders to shame, drags me back into the diner to join the rest of our friends. Everyone looks a bit shocked by the change in his attitude, but he starts off by explaining that he, Kenny McCormick, matchmaker extraordinaire, has the plan to end all plans and as he launches into what, exactly, we are all going to do, I kind of start to wish I would have lied and said that, no, I'm not in love with Tweek.
Oddly enough, though, this is the first time in years that telling the truth has given me the same euphoric feeling that's usually reserved for lies. I can't help but wonder why that is.
A/N: If you're wondering, Craig's birthday is very close to Christmas. Sort of a nod to my family. Two of my uncles and one of my cousins have birthdays on Christmas. It's not as fun as it sounds so I spared Craig from actually having his birthday on the holiday. And of course Kenny has a plan, he's Kenny. Now, the next chapter is the last one, with the fifteenth being an epilogue.
Okay, because I know a few people are going to be upset about what happened with Kyle and Stan, get your knickers out of that twist and remember, the story isn't over. (:
Until next time, tweekers