Okay, so I'm pretty sure that a lot of you are ready to destroy me for what I did to Stan...? But I have several defenses on my part... firstly, everything will be explained when my parallel story, HOPE, gets to this portion of the story (since, we get to see what Kyle is thinking, as opposed to Stan). And second, when you look carefully, Kyle is merely using the same reasoning that Stan had made when he wanted to leave Clyde. Trust me it's there. And if you still get angry, PM me and I'll be glad to explain.
Clyde fans, be wary of this chapter.
Anyway, this is chapter 22, or basically one of the more... detailed, violent, and explicit chapters... I know some of you are excited (which scares me, because I'm not sure how happy I'd be to read stuff like this...). So here it is! Influenced by Yellowcard and the wonderful playing of piano (aka my profile song on myspace... check it out!).
Ideas in this chapter are partially credited to Venus-gurl and cjmarie, who helped me brainstorm.
"Look who we have here..."
"Let go of me..."
"Why? It's fun seeing you struggle... not that I could undo sheer metal anyway..."
"You have a key... you can unlock me... please?" The room was very dim, and even as Stan did his best to squint in the very dark room he failed to see much. He wanted to see the people conversing, and as quiet as they were Stan could not recognize either voice. He felt half-conscious, and he blamed this state for the inefficiency of his senses.
"No."
"Please?" Stan could sense the general direction of where this voice was coming from, yet he could still not see anything in the dim room. His eyes would get used to the darkness eventually, which was weird because the inability to become adjusted to dark was usually after being used to the presence of light, and here Stan had not been exposed to light when he woke up from his... state.
"You're a fag. Why should I help you?" This voice was easier to recognize now that Stan was concentrating. Clearly that was Cartman. Stan feared for the worse, knowing what he was capable of... perhaps this would be the master plan he thought of? Deciding it was better if he interfered in an attempt to mess up the plan, he prepared to get up and snatch the keys and unlock the poor boy.
"Shit," Stan muttered very quietly under his breath. Metal cuffs were holding him back. Even more, by the way he could feel gravity pulling his feet away from his body (as opposed to towards the surface he was on), he deducted that he was restrained while chained to a wall. Cursing under his breath some more, the boy rested his head against the cold wall (which felt rather rough in contact).
"Why are you doing this to me, Cartman?" said the voice. Stan's hearing sense was picking up, and after that statement it had all become clear... Clyde. He had been the one to call Stan over to the pond... had he been on the whole thing? Of course not, Stan told himself, he wouldn't be begging to be released if he were.
"No one," said Cartman. "No one. No one messes with-"
"Leave him alone," Stan interjected, causing the conversation to halt. His vision was slowly getting better, yet the only thing he could really see was the standing figure (his large silhouette made him easy to identify) and a dim candle resting on a table.
"Stan is that you?" came the exasperated voice of Clyde, but Cartman merely responded for him.
"Don't get your hopes up. I still got the authoritah here. 'Sides, Stan's just as restrained as you are." Cartman walked over to where Stan was being caught, and now Stan could clearly make out the boy's facial features in the dark. "So you're awake now... I thought I knocked you out hard enough so you wouldn't be a problem..."
"I can take care of him," said a female voice, and Cartman nodded and left. Stan gulped as the girl appeared into his limited vision. Wendy. So she was in this too... "Stanley, Stanley... didn't I say that no one fucks with Wendy Testaburger?"
"I'm not fucking with you," Stan said simply. Wendy smirked.
"I could change that. In fact I'd love that."
"Wendy!" Stan yelled, but Wendy only silenced him.
"Come on, Stan," said Wendy seductively. "How could you not want this?" As she said this she cupped her breasts in her hands, giving them a little shake while looking at Stan.
"Not interested," said Stan blankly. He looked over her shoulder, where he could faintly see Cartman pacing in his steps. He could make out their conversation, and Cartman was clearly angry.
"Being gay is the gayest idea ever," said the larger boy. "Just stop being homosexual, goddamnit."
"It's not a choice," said Clyde. "I don't think it is. I mean... I can't just stop liking people and-"
"It's not a choice?" asked Cartman, and Clyde nodded. "Not a choice? NOT A CHOICE?"
"It's not."
"Stan, are you LISTENING to me?" yelled Wendy, slapping Stan out of Clyde's conversation and back into his own.
"Of course, of course..." Stan said distractedly.
"How can you not resist feminine curves?" Wendy asked. "Especially mine! Do you not love these?" Stan raised his eyebrows as the girl lifted her shirt to reveal her breasts. She half-expected him to drool, go mad, make an effort to touch them... anything. Instead Stan chose to just watch, showing as much disinterest as he could. She growled at him, making a noise that most other guys would go wild for. Stan only continued to stare at her blankly, not even caring.
"It's just body fat," he dismissed. Darkness wouldn't be able to conceal the fumes venting from the holes on her head.
"Just WHAT?" she repeated. "Stan, how could you be so cruel. A girl's breasts mean-"
"Nothing except for what bra size she needs to wear," Stan finished.
"What's wrong with you?" Wendy said, changing her game plan. She walked up to Stan, who began to feel uncomfortable now that the gap between them was closed in. "You like hurting people so much? Stan, Stan..." She moved in once more, her hand darting towards his legs. Her eyes looked into his, but his gaze did not meet hers; he was intent on seeing what was happening with Clyde. He made no response as Wendy pushed herself on him, and the feeling of her chest against his did not bother him as he tuned his ears to catch the other conversation.
"You fucking homo!" he could hear Cartman yell. "It's all a choice."
"No, it isn't. And even if it were, I wouldn't change for anyone." He heard Cartman sigh, and for some time he doesn't respond. Meanwhile, Wendy pushed herself on the raven-haired boy once more, receiving the same indifferent reaction she got earlier.
"Clyde, Clyde... life's all about decisions. See, here in my hand I-" but Stan did not hear the rest of the statement, for Wendy had finally succeeded in distracting him. In his distraction she began undoing his belt, opening the zipper to his jeans rather slowly.
"Wendy-"
"I can give you things he can't."
"Wendy, no!"
"Maybe this'll help you change your mind."
"Stop Wendy, please!" Stan was practically begging now, but Wendy only smirked wider and reached her intended target. He bit his lip as she continued her ministrations. "Wendy-" touching "-this isn't-" more touching "-changing my mind any." He did his best to remain quiet, not only to not make it seem he was getting something out of this, but also because he didn't want Clyde thinking anything bad of him.
"Of course," she replied, making circular motions. "You know you like it." Stan growled at her stubbornness. She wasn't going to listen to him. He was doomed. As he looked around he did the one thing he knew he could do in that situation; he spat at her. And with the girlish attitude she had, she freaked out, stopping her actions completely. Stan laughed at his minor victory, but his attention was quickly diverted by an acrid smell in the air.
Smoke.
Stan watched as he watched a small light leave from the table with the candle and toward a table, where Stan could now see Clyde strapped on with metal restraints. In Cartman's hand was a cigarette, and Stan assumed that it had been freshly lit with the candle flame. He coughed at the smell of it. When he had stopped, however, he felt a cold hand clamp itself over his mouth, and an even colder and stronger hand forced his jaw open and stuffed a foul tasting handkerchief inside. Stan mumbled as the strong hand wrapped a second scarf around the boy's mouth, preventing all noise from him
"Everything's about choices," said Cartman. "Did I have a choice to light this cigarette? Yes. Do I have a choice to smoke it? Yes. And do I have a choice in." Cartman let his voice trail off, and Stan watched in horror as the cigarette was lowered onto the boy. Wendy left Stan and reached for the candle, also hovering it over Clyde. The candle illuminated Clyde's face, and Stan began to cry softly as he watched Clyde's horrified face watch his captors hurt him. Wendy reached for the hem of the boy's shirt, pulling it up so that his stomach was revealed. Cartman put on a grin, and as he did so he thrust the burning end of the cigarette into the boy's side.
Stan's eyes grew wide as he let out a muffled shock. He could not bear to see Clyde go through this. He did his best to kick, scream... anything to get him off that wall and save him. His ears were filled with Clyde's cries as the smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He hated every second of what was happening, and as much as he didn't want to see him suffer Stan couldn't shut his eyes or peel them away from his torturing.
"Everyone has choices," Cartman reiterated, moving the butt to a different location on his stomach and pressing down once more. Clyde screamed once more, and Wendy moved over to stuff a handkerchief in his mouth. Muffled noises similar to Stan's soon replaced the yelps of pain; Wendy smirked, and as she purposely tilted the candle she was holding she allowed a few drops of candle wax to fall on the boy's cheek. "Everyone has choices, Clyde. Everybody has choices about everything.
"You had the choice to not be gay. You had the choice to not like Stan." As Cartman continued to list more and more things Stan watched Wendy return to his side, feeling uncomfortable having her with a candle inches away from him. "You had the choice to not be gay like that faggot Kyle. You had the choice to not like a guy that had feelings for someone else-"
"He's doing it for me," Wendy whispered into Stan's ear, causing shock to run through him. She spoke again, this time in a more singsong voice. "I told you Stan... don't fuck with Wendy Testaburger...!" Stan's eyes were wide as Cartman continued to place the cigarette end on Clyde's skin. Wendy? Wendy was responsible for this? Then was she using his intelligence to do her bidding?
"Oh what's the matter Clyde?" teased Cartman, and Stan began wondering if he really knew Wendy's true motives. "Don't like that treatment anymore?" Wendy patted Stan on his arm softly before blowing out the light. Soon after the light from the cigarette disappeared again, leaving Stan to a completely dark room. No one made a noise save Clyde, who was trying to endure the lasting pain from the previous treatment. Stan waited in nervousness, unsure what would happen next, and if it would be him or Clyde.
He shivered at the sounds of Clyde's voice once more, which made gagging noises. Seconds later he heard his struggles for breath cease, followed by someone spitting. He heard Clyde's sounds of disgust, and Stan believed that someone had spat into his face. Soon he heard his gagging noises once more, and then as before they ceased. Stan was infuriated; he wanted to see what was happening, yet at the same time no one was making any noises, preventing Stan from having any clue what was happening.
He could hear Clyde panting heavily now, as if having just suffered from a loss of breath. He heard a male voice laugh at this, though Stan couldn't tell if it was Cartman. As Clyde continued to catch his breath he heard a shrill sound, similar to a samurai unsheathing his sword. Stan feared the worst at this point, and was almost at the edge of believing that death was inevitable. Still, he wished that he would give some of the pain to him instead... relieve Clyde... but maybe that was Cartman's intention, to pent him with guilt.
Clyde's cry exploded into the handkerchief, and even with this a loud cry filled the room. Stan could hear Cartman (this time he was sure) crack up as he heard Clyde's attempts at breaking free. He remained in darkness for several more minutes, and just as he was getting used to the darkness a candle was lit once more, completely screwing his vision. Normally a person would shield his eyes with his hands, but because his hands were restrained he was forced to squint instead.
"Life's all about choices," Cartman reiterated once more. "So now... you've been burned with a cigarette, choked to near unconsciousness, and you've been scarred with this blade." He brought a knife into the candlelight, earning a shocked mumble from Stan. "Please tell me that now you choose to change your mind. Don't be like that gay faggot Kyle..." The gag was removed from Clyde's mouth so he could speak though at first the only thing he could do was catch up on his breathing.
"I... choose to... not abandon... those I love..." he managed to say between breaths, infuriating Cartman more. The fat boy arose from a chair and threw a punch to the boy's side, causing him to recoil as much as the restraints would let him. He cringed in pain, yelling as loud as he could while the gags were not in place. Cartman stomped away furiously, while two other people went to a darker corner of the room. "Stan..." Clyde continued, catching the attention of the mentioned boy. "Through me... I might die... But it is by you... that I will... continue to live..." Stan replied by a muffled voice; he had wanted to say something along the lines of "Don't say that! You might still live!" or at least something to let him know he cared, that he was loved, even if at times Stan wanted to stop doing so. Instead the pathetic muffled response was all he got, and it saddened Stan.
Wendy returned with a bucket of water, and as she smiled she let loose its contents. Clyde gasped once again as the water drenched him, and Stan could tell, even without feeling it, that it had been as frigid as iced water. Clyde's teeth chattered, being extremely cold, and warmth was something he definitely did not get. Wendy smiled and left towards the corner, and Stan wished that the candle were a bit closer so he could see what they were doing there.
Cartman returned with several large batteries in his hands, as well as a couple of cords. Wendy also returned with another bucket of water, and as she dumped it onto the boy he yelped in pain; that bucket of water was the exact opposite of being cold. Cartman smiled, admiring the drenched boy in front of him, but in much different and more sadistic ways. He fiddled with something that Stan could not see from where he was, muttering under his breath. Wendy took a handkerchief and stuffed it back in his mouth. Stan's mind was slowly preparing for the worse... slowly...
Yet it still wouldn't cushion the shock that Stan was to receive. Cartman returned to his vision line with several cords, and at first Stan wondered what he could possibly do with those. Cartman had said the words, "it's all about choices, Clyde. The wrong ones you make come back in full circuit," and it took a good three seconds to figure out what he was referring to. The water... the cords... the batteries. It all made sense. Yet even as the cords were attached him, connecting him to a very complex circuit of wires that connected with every other electronic appliance that could possibly continue the circuit, and even as he jolted in his restrained position helplessly... Stan was not prepared. Cartman instructed the third person to remove the candlelight to save Stan the pain. He heard the boy's screaming resound in his head, something that would perhaps torture him forever.
"Leave him there," instructed Cartman. "Leave the boy to the circuit. And leave Stan on the wall to suffer." He heard footsteps run towards the door, and as the door swung open the night was revealed to him for the first time. He saw a boy walk through the door, and then the much bigger Cartman. He saw Wendy step into the doorframe and turn around to him.
"Bye Stan," she said. Not in the wishful and innocent way when she liked him and he liked her back; not in the dismissive way, when she had decided to ditch him for Token; not in the hurt and dejected way, when Stan had denied her request to get back to together; but in a evil, suspicious, and sadistic way. As the door shut he was left to live out Clyde's suffering. The noises of his yells of agony and the table's violent screeching filled his ears unwillingly, and it seemed like hours when they slowly began ceasing. Soon the only noise in the room that was left was the sounds of Stan's sobs.
A person normally crapped his pants before dying, but Stan didn't even need that to know that Clyde had died.
Wow. So I finished that... uhm, I took out about two paragraphs, to make that WendyStan scene... not as explicit. But yeah, that's enough harsh-angst-sadistic writing for tonight. You'd better review now, or else! lol.
And I swear I'm going to work on Hope now.