Authors Note: So I had complete writers block for two weeks solid, not to mention absolutely no time for anything. KyleisGod helped me out a lot though, and I finally broke the block and got through it very quickly. Thanks all my reviewers! I didn't get as many last chapter, which may be part of my reason for the block, but I'm sure everyone's been busy with the holidays and everything. Hopefully my count will be up again this chapter? Let me know what you think. Happy (late) Hanukkah, and merry Christmas!
2nd Authors Note: I did some revising at the end of this chappy. Not lots; basically just cleaned it up and made it a bit smoother. Most of you probably wont notice the difference. : P
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Chapter 15- Fairytales
Fairytales are fucking bullshit.
Maybe you've already figured that one out for yourself; maybe you think I'm stupid that it's taken me this long to figure it out. I always knew they were fiction, I'd just never given them much thought before; I'm not a girl. But they're so… fucking misleading, and then people wonder why everyone is so fucked up and why everyone is always unsatisfied; eyeing what everyone else has and wanting it more than what they've already got.
When I was little, Mom used to read me bedtimes stories, and among the stories about sailboats and talking teddy-bears, she'd slip in a fairytale here or there; the kind meant for little girls who are born wanting to be some sort of pink and white princess-bride nightmare. I guess it's because she never had a daughter. I always thought they were pretty fucking stupid and wanted to get back to Peter Pan sword fighting somewhere in Neverland, but I'd listen to them anyway because I didn't want to make her feel bad. I never dreamed of meeting my "prince"; never wanted to fall in love in the first fucking place. But the fairytales have obviously warped some part of my brain, because I can't help but feel bitter about them, like I've been lied to my entire life. They make love sound like the best fucking thing that could ever happen to you; like when you're in love it makes everything better somehow and you can't feel pain anymore, but that's a fucking bucket of horse shit.
It hurts to love Stan. It hurts even more to stop. There's no way to describe how it feels; how my heart bleeds when he smiles at me, how my name on his lips is like needles and pins. He doesn't know how fucking painful it is for me, just to be near him, and he doesn't know how much worse that pain gets when we're apart.
This past two weeks have been a living nightmare. Which is completely fucked up, in a way, since Stan has steadily improved over that time. You'd think I'd be happy about that, and I am; nothing makes me happier than hearing him laugh. It's on the inside that hurts, in places I never knew existed before. I've fallen into this sort of depression, and I dread the ending of the day, when I slip inside my room and climb into bed with nothing there but my loneliness to curl up with. I've gotten too used of sharing my bed and now it feels too big; too empty. And then there's the mornings, which are almost as unbearable, when I have to face him in broad daylight and smile and pretend like my chest isn't caving in and that my heart is fine, when really it's doing somersaults because I'm with him and aching because I can't touch him. And the whole time I'm inwardly telling myself over and over that I don't love Stan and my heart is fine. It's like a mantra:
I don't love Stan, my heart is fine; I don't love Stan, my heart is fine; I don't love Stan, my heart is fine…
Then I go home, beat my fists against my mattress and scream into my pillow because nothing is fucking fine anymore and I don't know what the hell I'm suppose to do about it.
I'm hiding it all well enough, I suppose; but I know Kenny isn't buying anything by the way he watches me. He won't say it to my face, but he thinks I'm an asshole, and he's probably right. I feel so selfish for feeling so miserable.
Fuck, I hate it.
Tonight though, I'm feeling particularly okay. It could be the only reason is because it's Stan's birthday, and no matter how torn up I am about everything, it always feels better when I'm close to him. It's that bond between us, so indescribable, that makes me feel so complete; so alive. I thought we'd lost it for a while there, but I've never been more wrong. It withstood everything without a scratch and may in fact have only gotten stronger. The connection between us blows my fucking mind.
So that's what I'm focusing on as I watch my shoes crunch into the snow, Wendy keeping perfect stride beside me. We're walking to Raisin's together, where Kenny set up the party Stan didn't want in the first place. Somehow, though, Kenny always gets his way; he's got some sort of charm over everyone and nobody can quite put their finger on what it is. It's just too damn hard to say no to him when he really wants something.
… But on the inside, I really wish the four of us could have done something together, alone, like Stan had originally wanted.
I scratch the side of my nose with my knuckle and look at Wendy, trying to stop worrying about Stan so much; but it only makes me more concerned.
I must be out of my mentally impaired mind, but she's my present to him. Not my official present; that I'll have to give him later, when there isn't so much commotion. No… Wendy's my placebo gift, and I pray to Moses it doesn't backfire. I'm not trying to get them back together or anything completely retarded like that; I just want them to make up, because… I think it's the missing piece to his happiness as a whole, no matter how fricken jealous it makes me.
Oh, and it does.
I sigh, staring hard into the snow. The tiny crystals look like piles of white glitter in the lamplight.
"Do you think it's okay that I'm coming?" Wendy breaks into my head. I blink out of my thoughts and look over at her. She's fingering the silver wrapped box in her arms.
"Wendy," I laugh, but it's hollow. She must have asked me this five times by now. "You were invited, weren't you?"
There's a stretch of silence as she purses her lips together, unconvinced. I raise an eyebrow and she looks away. "…God, you're right." She takes in a deep, shaky breath.
"Jesus, Wendy," I tease. "if you were a smoker, I think Colorado would be in the midst of a cigarette drought."
"Aren't you concerned?" She rushes, breath blowing visibly around her face. "I mean, so what if I was invited? Stan didn't invite me. He doesn't even know I'm coming."
"So?" I spit, a little too harsh.
"So," She mocks. "What if it upsets him?"
I look ahead, squinting through the streetlights and shrug. "It's his party and he can cry if he wants to." I state.
Wendy scoffs beside me. "Funny, Kyle, that's really mature." She growls. "This is a little more serious than that. He got really depressed. You of all people-"
"I know." I come to a stop, tugging her arm to make her face me. "I know."
We wait for a car to pass, watching each others eyes until the engine quiets to a dull hum in the distance. I've never seen so much fretfulness clouding her face before, and that only makes me more uneasy.
"You don't think I'm worried?" I ask, still holding her elbow. "I'm scared as fuck that seeing you will break something in him again, and God knows I'd take a dagger to the heart to stop that from happening." I let out a breath, my voice softening. I've got to remember this isn't her fault. "But Wendy, you can't… you can't hide forever because it might upset him. And even if you tried, we live in a small town, you go to the same school; eventually he's going to run into you. What's going to happen then?" I propose.
She bites her lip and looks down, unsure of an answer. I pull her chin back up. Her eyes look haunted.
"I'm not really sure, but I think the only way he can ever get better is if there's peace between you. He needs you to be a part of his life. If you avoid him, he'll think whatever he did was so horrible you can't even forgive him enough to be his friend. He has to know it wasn't anything he did, and only you can tell him that." I swallow thickly and release her arm. "He loves you, Wendy. The worst thing you could do is hide from him."
Her arms are around my neck before I can blink, squeezing me against her. I hug her back, because… I need the comfort right now, too; and I have to admit, it feels pretty good.
"Thank you, Kyle." She whispers, turning her face into the crook of my neck. Her hair tickles under my chin. I hold her, rubbing her back, hoping I'm right about this. I have no idea what I'm going to do if Stan goes apeshit. If that happens I'm going to have to somehow make it up to both him and Wendy.
"We should probably get going." I say after a minute, patting her back in a "there, there" sort of way. She breathes deep against my throat, tightening her arms around me.
"Not yet." Her lips brush against my skin as she speaks. I stiffen and my spine freezes.
"Wuh… Wendy?" I sputter.
She sighs; squeezes tighter, then lets go abruptly, turning before I can see her eyes. She's wiping them with the wrists of her purple mittens. "Sorry," She mutters, then louder, "I'm alright now. Let's go."
She starts off without me, not looking back. I, a bit concerned, blink after her before catching up. I shove my hands inside my pockets, because they still feel naked without Stan's to hold, and walk beside her in silence. Not an awkward silence; just a comfortable, companionable one. I keep glancing at her face, though; wishing she wouldn't look so sad and hoping it's more worry over Stan than hurt because of me. I don't want to be responsible for making anyone feel bad, especially not someone as nice as her.
Porschea is the other reason I'm kind of nervous. I haven't spoken to her since our "date" to the art museum with Wendy and Stan over a month ago. I just hope she's ditzy enough to have forgotten the entire thing; the last thing I need is to make up excuses and figure out how to console yet another person. But Wendy hasn't said anything about her, and, weird as it may be, they have advanced piano lessons together every Tuesday afternoon; so if Porschea was broken up about it, I'm sure Wendy would have told me. Unless she doesn't care… In fact, it doesn't make sense that she'd set me up in the first place.
"Why Porschea?" I ask suddenly, my voice cutting through the air.
Wendy gives me a look. "Huh?"
"Porschea," I repeat carefully. "if you liked… I mean… if I was the one you… if you-"
"Have the hots for you?" she fills in, her eyebrows arching questioningly.
My eyes slice to hers, then fall away quickly. My cheeks are flaming. "Well… yeah." I mumble, kicking an empty soda can out of my path. "Then why'd you pick her for me to go out with? She may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but her looks almost make up for it. You must be incredibly in control of jealousy."
She smirks, looking ahead calmly. "You give me way too much credit. Thank you, but my reasons were nothing but selfish."
I stare at her, confused. "…Okay."
She laughs to herself, pushing hair behind her ear. "Stan wanted to double date, because he wanted to spend more time with you without giving up time with me, and he thought you'd feel more comfortable with a date of your own." She explains. "I wanted to spend more time with you too, and so I agreed."
She lets that sink in, and I, thoroughly embarrassed, am approximately two shades brighter than my hair.
"Oh." I respond, wishing I didn't blush so easily.
She nods thoughtfully, mostly to herself. "When I asked you to describe what you'd be interested in, I decided Porschea was perfect, because she fit your description to a T, so it looked like I was actually trying to find you someone; but she's incredibly dim-witted, and I knew you'd never go for someone like that." She smiles at me, showing all her teeth, and it makes me laugh. "Why do you ask?"
"I'm dreading what's going to happen if I run into her tonight." I admit sheepishly.
"I wouldn't worry too much about that." She grins. "That's the other reason I chose her. She loses interest really easily. It's all about Kenny now. How do you think he got the party at Raisin's for free?"
I frown. I didn't even think to ask Kenny how he got the funding to put this thing together; I'd been too preoccupied trying to find the perfect gift to think of anything else. "How?"
"Porschea's parents own Raisins," Wendy informs me. "Kenny flirted ruthlessly until she agreed to get her parents to let him have the party there, free of charge. Kenny's got that certain charm …"
"Yeah," I agree. "so I've noticed."
Raisin's comes into view, and we both stop simultaneously. Wendy takes a deep breath, holds it, then lets it out slowly. I pull my hand from my pocket and reach over to squeeze her fingers; she squeezes back and cups our hands together.
"Ready?" I ask her. She nods.
It's pure chaos once we slip inside the door. The place is full, and everyone seems to be overly energetic and having a good time.
Everyone except Stan.
It's like Where's Waldo, and takes a few times of sight searching before I spot him sitting at a table, sipping a cup of dark soda through a straw. He's not alone, but he may as well be; he doesn't seem to be paying any attention to Jimmy, Clyde, or (I'm happy to report) the half naked Raisins girl flirting with them. I turn to Wendy, getting close to her face so she can hear me.
"There he is," I speak under the music, pointing. "You okay?"
She nods. "Yeah."
I guide her toward the table, pulling her behind me by the hand, maneuvering in and out of people and Raisin's girls. Stan perks up when we're about half way there, recognizing me in the crowd. He pushes his drink toward the middle of the table and gets up. He hasn't seen Wendy yet.
"He's coming." I tell her; she stiffens noticeably.
My heart is tripping all over itself, but not because I'm nervous about Wendy; it's because he's looking at me, smiling at me, pushing people out of the way because he wants to be with me. My eyes slip down his body, and I have to bite my lip, hard, to make myself look back up.
"Hey." I manage to croak out when he gets closer. It comes out incredibly smooth, though breathless. I feel like I've got a metal band wrapped around my lungs.
He opens his mouth to say something, then pauses about a foot away, and I know that he's spotted Wendy over my shoulder. I glance back at her. She's frozen, too, it seems. I step back, pushing her forward a bit. Neither one of them are moving, and their gazes are locked together. Stan's jaw is still hanging open, suspended in perpetual shock. I pry Wendy's hand from mine and move to Stan, touching his shoulder. He doesn't so much as flinch.
"Wendy wants to talk to you," I murmur in his ear. "I think you should listen to what she has to say."
He doesn't respond; so I pat his shoulder, give Wendy a reassuring smile, and walk away, leaving them to deal with it on their own. He's not screaming and he hasn't broken down in tears, so that's a plus. They've gotten off to an okay start, and if anything goes wrong, there are too many witnesses for them to kill each other.
I make my way to the table Stan was sitting at and invite myself to sit down. Jimmy and Clyde don't seem to even notice me; their Raisin's girl is keeping them too entertained by showing skin I'm not interested in looking at and telling a stupid story I care nothing about. I look back at Stan and Wendy, standing in the corner by themselves. She's saying something, tears streaming her cheeks, and suddenly she throws her arms around him. He's hesitant, but hugs her back, closing his eyes; and I know without a doubt that this is exactly what he needed.
My heart throbs as I watch them, but not in a good way. It burns, and I wish I could do something to make it stop hurting so badly. I wrap my arms around my stomach, hugging myself, trying to soothe the ache there, but it only spreads. I'm not sure if it's conceived in the heart and sinks downward, or born in the stomach and comes up, like vomit; but I feel it all over, poisoning my veins.
I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the wooden tabletop. Making myself sick for wanting what I can't have isn't going to do anyone any good. I blink away moisture gathering in my eyes and swallow; it's so dry my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I pull Stan's drink forward, peeking inside. It had looked like soda from far back, because it's dark; but thank God he decided he wanted iced tea today. The straw is slightly chewed, and for some reason this fact makes me smile, and the smiling helps my heart not feel so broken. I sip on it while I watch everybody else, (mostly Kenny across the room, coming on to everything with tits) and eventually order a plate of cheddar poppers and more tea from a Raisin's girl named Lexus, who tries too hard to make me feel special.
She'd just come back and set them on the table, warning me that they're hot, when Cartman slides in next to me and promptly orders chicken wings. He's not exactly rude about it, but "polite" isn't the first word that comes to mind either. I watch him watch Lexus until she disappears; then his eyes cut to mine. His expression is bordering hostility, but calm enough where I'm not too sure.
"What do you want, Cartman?" I demand. Not harsh, just suspicious.
He stares at me, jaw twitching. "What the hell is that?" He throws his hand in the general direction of Stan and Wendy. "After everything that's happened, and you're still trying to get them together?"
"Of course not," I remark, offended. "What, do you think I'm stupid?"
He smirks suddenly, his eyes glinting. "Well, actually-"
"Never mind!" I snap.
"Hey, you set yourself up for that one, Kahl; you know I think you're a stupid Jew." He reminds me, amused.
I scoff rudely, sneering, but don't comment. I don't want to admit that he's right; I did leave myself open for it. I haven't had my defense up around him. There's been a sort of tolerance between us lately, ever since our conversation about Stan in front of the pet shop. I have to say I'm glad for it; it's nice to not constantly be on guard for insults, though I think a little part of me always will be when I'm around him. And things aren't good, exactly… I don't think Cartman and I could ever be friends, it's just not so hostile of a mutual hate anymore.
"I also know you're a fatass." I reply indifferently, mostly out of habit.
"I guess I should live up to my reputation, then." He decides, grabbing a fistful of my poppers and shoving them into his mouth.
I scowl. "Hey-!"
"Here's your chicken wings, sweetie!" Lexus sets the platter on the table. I snatch one with lightning reflexes and rip half the meat off the bone with my teeth, my eyes boring into Cartman's as I chew. Lexus sounds surprised. "Enjoy, and let me know if there's anything else I can get you, cuties." We ignore her as she walks away.
"It doesn't matter, anyways," Cartman states slowly; bitter. "They don't make them fresh, she brought them out too fast."
We fall into another spell of silence, eating both poppers and wings; watching Wendy and Stan in the corner of the room. They aren't hugging anymore, at least, but seeing them together still makes me feel like I've been punched in the stomach. I take another swallow of tea, washing down the food in my mouth and too sick to eat any more. Cartman's stopped too, I realize.
It's amazing really, how powerful jealousy can be. It's a kind of poison; one that's so powerful it cripples every other emotion. Just knowing how Stan feels about Wendy, how she's the only one in the world he wants, makes me feel like there's something horribly wrong with me, and I wonder if the only reason he doesn't want me is because I'm not a girl, or if there's a lot of other factors. I chew on the straw, contemplating, and look back at Cartman.
It's not hard to see why Wendy wouldn't want him. Not that he's bad looking. In fact, he's come a long way since his awkward childhood days. He's not fit, but I'd hardly call him fat anymore. He's big, thick; and his stomach is round and soft, but it suits him somehow. Even his face is pleasant when he isn't scowling. It's his personality that makes it difficult for anyone to truly like him. He's so aggressive, so quick to insult people. But I know that for whatever reason, it's not him. Those are just little things he could change, quite easily if he really wanted it enough. Cartman has the strength in him to do anything he wants to do, so long as he truly wants it, and that's just one of many traits I think Wendy would like about him if only he'd give her the chance to see it.
… But Stan already likes a lot about me. I don't say it to be vain; it's fact, otherwise he wouldn't have chosen me as his best friend. So really, there isn't any reason keeping him from wanting me; he just doesn't. The passion, the attraction… it's just not there for him, and that's a thought that pricks my heart all over. I look back to the corner of the room and blink, surprised when I find it empty. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Wendy, engaged in a new conversation with Porschea.
Stan is nowhere to be seen.
I frown, searching the room frantically, but all I find is Kenny, who waves at me half way across the room and immediately goes back to the two Raisin's girls he's flirting with.
"I guess things could be worse," Cartman says, startling me into looking at him. He's watching Wendy. "We could be stuck talking to that dumb bitch." He hitches his thumb toward Porschea.
His attempt at lightening the mood makes me smile, but it's weary; and he doesn't look much better than I feel. His expression is one of unmistakable longing. I know exactly how he feels.
"I think someone should save her from the agony." I hint.
He looks over at me with large eyes, too caught up in Wendy to twist his face in disgust at me. "…You think?" He asks, honestly doubtful about it.
"I think it's the perfect excuse to talk to her," I tell him. "and you're even more retarded than I originally thought if you don't take advantage of that."
He harrumphs at that; but he's already distracted again, watching her. He grabs a chicken wing and starts picking it to pieces, letting it fall all over the table. "She's probably just going to be a sarcastic little cunt, I'll get pissed off and call her a bitch, and she'll hate me even more."
His lack of confidence surprises me, and I almost laugh. "It's because you're a freakin' asshole all the time, Cartman!" I exclaim. This time he does glower at me. I ignore it. "It's probably going to take her a while to trust you, but… I'm never, ever going to say this again, so listen, okay? I think you're a hell of a guy when you want to be, and I think Wendy would think so, too. But you have to let her see it, or you're going to miss your chance, and now is your chance. A lot of guys like her, Cartman. Charm her before anyone else does, because you can bet your ass they're going to try their damnedest to win her over now that Stan is out of the picture."
His eyes shift to mine for half a second, flitting immediately back to Wendy. She looks over at us, like she's sensed being watched, and flashes a smile as Porschea continues on and on.
"Smile." I force through my teeth, nudging Cartman in the ribs with my elbow. He does for once, or tries to at least. Wendy's smile falters slightly, confused. She doesn't understand why he's being nice to her. But then her smile brightens even more than it was to begin with, and she gives a little wave before turning her attention back to the other girl.
"You see?" I ask, shoving my elbow into him again. He growls and slams his shoulder full force into mine, making me wince. I narrow my eyes at him, nursing my abused skin with my hand.
"It's really as easy as …being nice, isn't it?" He sounds like he's just learned the meaning of life; a huge revelation in his mind. I nod.
"Go for it, Cartman. Make her forget all about-" I catch myself, eyes widening, because I almost said me. "…Stan." I finish lamely, saving myself from immeasurable wrath. "Make her forget about Stan."
He pushes himself up from the table, grabs my drink and, ignoring the misshaped straw, downs the rest of it. He uses his arm to wipe his mouth, muttering a "thanks" into it, hoping I don't hear it all too well. As he walks away, he spits over his shoulder, "Fricken Jew."
I hope that things work themselves out for him; I hope for once, and possibly even the last time in my life, that Cartman gets what he wants this time. Nothing is funny about loving someone who simply doesn't feel the same. It's a hell I'd never wish on anybody, although I'm sure everyone has to go through it at some point in their life; at least once, but probably more. I know I never want this to happen to me again, but that doesn't matter really, because I don't see myself ever falling out of love with Stan; not now that I've realized I already have been my whole life. Why would that change now that the feelings have deepened from childhood with sexual desire and a better understanding of what love is in the first place?
I put a tip on the table, folded under my empty glass, and wonder vaguely if soul-mates really exist; and if they do, then maybe they don't necessarily have to be lovers. Maybe Stan and I are soul-mates of the friendship kind; written together in the stars but not stitched together as one.
But that's just the philosophist geek coming out of me.
Cartman is talking to Wendy when I leave the table, and I can see that she's laughing. As glad as I am about it, I can't help but feel a bit resentful toward him. He stands a chance with the person he wants. He can try, and if he's lucky he might actually get. It just isn't fair. For me there's not the faintest glimmer of hope. I can't try. I can't do anything but hold it in and pretend like I'm not dying on the inside. I haven't gained a single thing from love, and it's not even close to a goddamn fairytale.
I'm aggravating myself. My veins are pulsing with animosity, and I try to ignore it, but that frustrates me even more; I'm too hot and there's too much noise going on in here. I push my way out the door, feeling relieved when the cold air hits my face. I swaddle my arms across my waist and look up at the sky. It's clear and moonless. For some reason the stars are always brighter when it's cold outside.
"…Kyle?"
I jump, my hands falling away from my body; startled at the quiet voice. My heart is thrumming madly, then quickly changes tempo to a beat just as wild, but more pleasurable. I recognize Stan's "aura" through the darkness, and we gravitate toward one another until the material of our sweaters touch.
"What are you doing out here?" He asks gingerly; a habit he's recently adopted when we're alone together. I have no idea why… but it always comes out so sensual; it's maddening to my senses.
"It's too… busy in there right now." I respond, watching his face. "It's your party, though, what are you doing out here?" I shove my hands inside my pockets, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. He gazes upward, hugging himself.
"Just thinking, I guess." He searches the stars, scanning before coming to a stop. His eyes close and he sighs, long and quiet; I have the strongest desire to inhale his breath through my mouth, our lips touching.
"Are you okay, Stan?" My voice quivers. I don't think he knows that I'm staring at him.
"Yeah," he breathes, eyelashes fluttering as they open. His hand reaches out to me, fingers grazing my side. I almost melt and unconsciously reach out for it, and then we just link together. Maybe after all this time, his hand feels naked without mine, too. His palm is warm, and for some reason it sends a shiver up my spine.
"Do you know what I like best about Wendy?" He asks suddenly, still looking up. I try not to feel jealous, but it's so hard. I've always hated when he gushed about Wendy; but I always listened without complaint. That's what a best friend does. I take a deep breath, swallowing sickness.
I can be strong, for him.
"What do you like best about Wendy?" I ask; my voice is kind, gentle. He squeezes my fingers.
"Her heart." He answers simply. "It… she didn't have to show up, you know? She knew it might be weird. She knew I might have called her a whore and kicked out or something, but… she came anyway, just to make sure I was okay. Just… to tell me she still cares about me, and that she's here for me. It really helped a lot, hearing those things, because I know she'd never wanna hurt me on purpose."
I don't really know how to respond to that, so I stand quietly, letting him think; just happy to be near him, connected by touch. I wouldn't trade our friendship for anything, even if it eased the ache in my stomach. No matter how deep it cuts when I have to go home without him, to sleep in a bed that isn't warmed by his body; I hope we'll share moments like this throughout our lives, with just the two of us.
"…Do you know what I like best about… you?" He murmurs, so soft I almost don't hear him. My heart stops, then restarts again in overdrive. I hadn't expected that question; I have no idea how to answer. He's watching me when I peer over at him.
"W-what… do you like best?" I stammer, nervous. My palm starts to sweat, and I wonder if he notices.
"Everything," he exalts, turning to face me completely. My eyes have adjusted enough to see his features clearly now.
"E-everything?" I parrot, sounding like a reject. I wish I could slap myself and not look retarded for doing it.
"I couldn't pick just one thing," He admits, the faintest smile on his lips, even though his eyes are completely serious. "and it made me realize that the one thing I like best about you is everything; you as a whole, not just bits and pieces. You're always here for me when I need you, no questions asked. You're the epitome of a good friend, of a best friend. You're so important to me, Kyle, so special. I can't describe how grateful I am to have you."
Our eyes are glued to each other, held by whatever magic draws me to him. This time, though, I think that he feels it's power, too; it's tugging on his end. His hand moves from mine, sliding onto my right hip, the other finding its way to my left. His fingers curl into my belt loops, drawing me into him; so carefully. His eyes start to close as he leans forward.
My blood comes to a dead standstill.
"What are you doing?" I squeak, making his eyes open. My voice is raised to a pitch three octaves higher than normal.
"Trying to kiss you," He breathes against my mouth, then inches forward again. I turn my head away so he can't catch my lips. His nose hits my cheek.
"Why?" I question, breathless.
He freezes, then pulls back very slowly. We blink at each other. My brain feels like it's been on a tilt-a-whirl; it cant figure out what's happening and why Stan is looking at me like I've just grown the ass of a monkey on my forehead.
"Why?" His eyes narrow in confusion, but his hands continue to grip me. "Are you serious?"
I'm seriously not even sure what my name is right now. He's standing way too damn close and my entire world, at this moment, is Stan Marsh. I nod dumbly, not even quite sure what I'm answering anymore. We stare at each others lips, breathing ragged; then his arms fall to his sides and he takes a step back.
He rakes his fingers through his hair, frustrated. "Because you … I… thought that's what you wanted!"
My heart is throbbing in the bad way again; and suddenly it feels dreadfully cold out here. I ball my fists against my chest, shivering.
"Me?" I ask, letting out a noise that could be a laugh, could be a sob. "I don't-"
"No!" He shakes his head, getting even more upset. His voice is strained; panicked. "No, Kyle, you did want it! You did!"
"Stan," I choke. I can see the heartache in his eyes a second before my vision blurs with tears.
Christ… why now?
"Don't do this to me, Kyle, Please! I wouldn't… I wouldn't have done that if I wasn't sure… if I wasn't positive that you-" He breaks off, crumpling at the waist; burying his face in his hands. His shoulders start to shake. I try to touch him, but he jerks away like he's been burned.
I bite my tongue until I taste blood, trying to calm myself. "Stan, I'm sorry." I whisper. "I was too… I shouldn't have been so touchy when you were-" I swallow, blinking through the tears. "I'm sorry I gave you the wrong idea."
"No," He growls, trembling all over. "it wasn't just that. It wasn't just the way you've been touching me. It was… it was-"
"It was what?"
"Everything!" He cries, throwing his hands up. "Everything that we are together. I… you… know everything about me, you… you call me every morning before school to tell me what you dreamt that night, you always save a spot for me at lunch, you let me eat all the buttery pieces of popcorn because you know I can't stand the plain ones!"
"Stan," I shake my head, laughing miserably. "You're talking about popcorn."
"And I'm right, aren't I?" He challenges, sounding completely logical.
I blink at him; shake my head sadly. "You're confused. I'm sorry… you're upset about Wendy-"
"Oh… fuck Wendy!" He shrieks, making me jerk in surprise. "Look at me, Kyle!" He points at himself. "Look at my fucking face! I am not confused! I know what I feel! I know what's been happening between us! You can't tell me that you don't feel it, because I know damn well that you do!"
I'm quiet as we watch each other, the tension thick like fog around us, gripping my windpipe so that I can't breathe. I've never felt so desperate in my life; so guilty. I can't believe I caused this much damageHe was hurting because of Wendy, and I screwed him up by forcing him to rely on me. What the hell have I done?
"I wanted this," He confesses, calmer; tears streaking his face. "I thought you wanted it, too. Was I wrong?" His voice cracks, and his pain tears my soul to shreds.
I stifle a sob, hating myself for what I have to do. But what other choice do I have? I did this to him, and telling him he's right is only going to feed his false emotions.
I shut my eyes, digging my nails into the flesh of my other arm; concentrating on the crescent-shaped points of pain. My soul starts splintering as soon as I open my mouth.
"…You were wrong." I whimper.
I hear him sob my name miserably into the sky as I turn away and run.
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TO BE CONTINUED…
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-BC3