The final bell to freshman year rang with triumph. Cheers echoed out from the outsiders within the other classrooms. The insiders in Garrison's room, however, simple continued to talk. Books were slowly eased shut and people rose to their feet without a single trace of rush. Giggles were exchanged as heels clicked and book bags zipped. Bags were grabbed and fingers were pointed in the general direction of varying shops and stores and homes. This chatter pressed over the usual stillness to the dimly lit realm of seclusion. It all came to a sudden halt, though, when Garrison slammed her magazine shut with a clatter and bang.
Taking off her eyeglasses, she got to her feet without a pause. The students who faced her were the same bunch who had faced her back when she was a 'he' and first introduced to them in the beginning of third grade. There was no question that Garrison had aged in the proceeding years. Still, she retained whatever looks she had had previously. Her bosom curved her loose fitting blouse and her less than feminine hips did nothing for her shorts. Nevertheless, when she opened her mouth to say a few choice words to the new sophomores of South Park High, the students who openly mocked her shut up to listen.
" Would ya retards hurry up an' get the fuck outta here so I can go the hell home?" Garrison barked, narrowing her blood shot eyes at the lot of them. A ripple of snickers washed through the crowds. The insiders, though, sped up their exit by hurrying to zip up bags and walk towards the door.
While BeBe and Wendy both exclaimed happily to see all the boys later, the boys had no ringing endorsements for anyone. Jimmy and Timmy jokingly saluted everyone as they followed the girls out the door. Butters lingered near it, saying his goodbyes, as Craig and his crew steadily left the back of the room. Token still appeared crestfallen, but the others relieved that this year was over. They started to walk out the door as Kyle shuffled the cards one last time to pack them up all neat and tidy.
" Golly, have a good summer, guys," Butters told the four boys heading out. Token only halfheartedly nodded as he distractedly left the room. He didn't wait for the others as Clyde gave the blond boy a strange, but smiling, look. When he spoke, his tone reflected his look impeccably.
" It's not like we won't see you, dude,"
" Shucks, I know. But still. . ." he mumbled, allowing his words to trail off as he turned his eyes to the side. Clyde snickered under his breath, patting Butters on the shoulder on his way out the door. Tweek just twitched and uttered the uncontrollable sound of caffeine addiction at it's worst.
" GAH!"
Out the shivering lemon blond went, rubbing his fingers over his arms as he stared vacantly at Clyde's mildly smiling face. Craig shuffled after him, flipping Butters the bird as he walked into the crowd of his closest friends. The innocent insider just smiled and giggled, which garnered the attention of the Nazi. Cartman's eyes narrowed slightly, although there was no touch of rage or spite within their yummy orbs.
" Butters. Get over here, you fag," he commanded, pointing to the ground next to where he was standing. Butters jumped at the sound of his voice, then was overcome by a look of confusion and nervousness. He turned back to the three still standing in the doorway, muttering about places to be.
" Aw, hamburgers. . . .Well, bye anyways," Butters told the three insiders with another wave. Craig ignored him as he slipped through Tweek and Clyde to leave. Tweek shook and twitched to the side as he too left without another word. Clyde, however, gave half a wave without any real heart to it.
" Yeah. See ya,"
With that, Craig and his crew of insiders left Garrison's room. Butters watched them leave before scooting over to where the freaky four were grabbing up what little stuff they had with them. The innocent knocked his fists together in that old childhood habit of his. Cautiously, he smiled at them through the long bangs that hung into his baby face. The glow to his gemstone blue eyes had yet to be extinguished and in that moment, it seemed inviting. For that reason alone, they all seemed drawn into smiling back at him. There was just no denying the shadowless pull of such beaming orbs in the face of someone whose entire body language was broken, shattered, and pieced together. The fragility of Butters was toxic, even if it was easily overlooked by the shockingly haunted look of lost purity in his eyes. They couldn't ignore it anymore than the next person. And so, they smiled at him, even if it was just a brief or halting smile.
" Hiya, fellas," Butters greeted them with a small wave, despite the fact that they'd been together for over an hour. Stan's deadpan look returned as it always did while he swung his book bag onto one shoulder.
" Hey,"
" Hi, Butters," Kyle warmly said, resting his bag on the desk top so he could zip it up. Kenny smacked Butters roughly on the back and flashed the innocent a grin reflective of wicked intent. His voice, though, was much more mild when he casually spoke to the wide eyed, weakly smiling boy.
" What's up?"
" Nothin'," he squeaked out without sounding whiny. As his voice was naturally soft, whenever Butters spoke, he brought the level of conversation down to a calmer level. A much calmer level than was usually heard amongst the freaky four, anyways. It wasn't something he appeared to be aware of, however. Instead, he just smiled at them as if that smile was forever plastered on his face. Kenny grinned right back at him in the same way as before.
" Why're you still here?" the activist questioned as he slipped away from his side of the desk. He hesitated next to the innocent. Licking his lips and blinking, he sidestepped the bubbly blond to stand next to the other of similar hair color. His arm brushed the edge of the poor boy's ratty jacket and created a softer smile to form on those catty lips.
" Golly, I'm waitin' for Eric," Butters stated with a bobbing nod of his head. The ponytail that hit him at mid waist bounced when he did. Snatching it up quickly, Kenny gave the end a twirl as he tilted his head. The pouring effect of cold indifference that pooled into those sapphires was enough to shake the foundation of the shy smile gracing the utterly feminine appeal to Butters' face. In fact, the ice in those hollow eyes drew curious looks from the other three of the notorious foursome who turned in the direction of the blond interaction.
" Gotta wait fer yer man?" Kenny teased in an airy voice quite in contradiction to the touch of deplorable depravity in his emotional and physical language. Either way, the lightness to his tone was lost in the suddenly saucer large, and completely fearfully confused, orbs of the innocent.
" What?" Butters didn't demand it, even as his body went stiff with considerable agitation. The hard expressions of his movements never made it to his eyes. He needn't worry. As he was opening his mouth again, Cartman pushed him to the side with one forceful shove of one arm. Lightweight that he was, Butters stumbled to the side.
" Shut up, Kinny," the Nazi barked, the anger in his face running thickly over his words. Those sapphires froze faster than before, hardened to the bigger boy's advances. A finger was pushed deep into the pornographic tee to Kenny's skinny body as Cartman leaned down to eye level to snap his last warning to that indifferent ruffian, " You're the fag here, not me,"
" I beg to differ," Kyle smoothly interjected, coldly peering across the desks to where Cartman was standing. The two looked at him in unison before Kenny broke down in frantic giggles.
" You would," the pervert cooed through his fingers in his vain attempt to stifle the chuckles rocking his tiny frame from side to side. Stan slipped up closer to him and gazed down at him as if he wanted to say something. Before he could, however, Cartman snapped his fingers and pointed innocently at the Jew's unimpressed expression of sheer ice.
" Oh, right. Sorry, Kahl. I forgot all about you an' Stan," he teased good naturedly, despite the wholly wicked smile the formed on his lips. The poor boy shrilly giggled with a choking sound accompanying the noise. The activist just gave the Nazi a rather lengthy look of disapproval that was wrought in subtlety. The Jew, though, felt a shock of jolting fire which rushed from his suddenly white mind to his shivering hands.
" That's not what I meant and you know it," Kyle whispered in a horrendously loud tone. His words quivered as his flesh was set ablaze with an inferno threatening to overthrow his voice in an uncontrollable shriek. As he was opening his mouth for said reveal, he was passively dismissed.
" Whatevah," Cartman waved his hand in a fluid motion of 'talk to the hand' without even visually addressing his rival. The awe at such an abrupt halt to their dance was enough to render Kyle utterly speechless.
" Shucks, I'm not gay," Butters chimed in, catching on at last to Kenny's insinuation. To add effect to his assertion, the innocent waved his hands before he idly knocked his knuckles together in nervousness. He was given a desperately irked look from the Nazi as those sugary eyes rolled in a delicate arch.
" Shut up, Butters. Everyone knows you are,"
" But I'm not," he protested, his eyes widening at the very thought. There was a touch of longing within those spiraling orbs, but, still that touch was lost on his voice. The grip to his hands failed to reach either. Seeing all of the touches, though, Cartman just absentmindedly smiled, his eyes moving over those pleading orbs and the frustrated clutch of fingers. He waved him off with both hands as if shooing an animal behaving badly.
" Whatevah,"
" What're you two doin' tonight?" Stan asked plainly, glancing between the innocent and the Nazi. Cartman arched an eyebrow at him, the smile vanishing from his mouth. Butters seemed too distracted to answer. Again, that was perfectly fine with his heavier friend.
" Not havin' sex, if that's what you're tryin' to imply, Marsh," Cartman answered with a generous amount of dark undertones to his rolling voice. The activist cast him a hard look before Kenny snickered. His blue eyes were all aglow once more, lit up like fireworks on the Fourth at midnight. The electric appeal sent a spark throughout the group.
" Yeah, well, you guys are gonna be alone in a house all night together," he cooed through his dirt covered fingers which failed to hide his jeering grin, " Jus' sayin',"
" An' we all know who's window you'll be starin' through all night, you faggot," the Nazi replied, pushing a finger into the side of the poor boy's head. Kenny giggled with delight, bouncing a bit on his heels. In a less excited manner, Stan rolled his eyes and frowned a brief, almost secondary, frown that hadn't even crossed his full face before it was replaced by apathy.
" Who's? Yours? I doubt it," Stan muttered with noted agitation. Cartman shook his head and pressed his finger into the activist's shoulder as the brunette swung his book bag from one shoulder to the next. The grip he held the strap with was hard enough to blanch his knuckles.
" I meant yours," he responded casually. What may have been light shock formed in the aquamarine eyes in that cold slate of an expression. While it flashed like lightning, Kenny smiled widely, his hands lowering in steady intervals.
" Why the hell would I be lookin' at Stan when I could be watchin' you fuck Butters?" the blond asked as his hands fell to his waist as his hips swiveled to face his Nazi friend. Cartman appeared right ready with a snap of his own, but his loud voice was drowned out by a much hotter voice that spun into the air.
" I dunno Kenny," Kyle breathed out in a perilously burning tone. It dripped off his tongue in a rush that swirled his thoughts in a blinding white haze. As he turned his head to look at those watching honey eyes, a smile of perverse nature ripped across his formally frozen face. The fiery emeralds within those bloodied locks were livid, but they were presented only to his one rival with a less than coy invitation, " I think Cartman's on bottom,"
" Fuck you, Jew," Cartman screamed, slamming his hands down onto the desk top hard enough to rattle it. The sugar melted down in the embers to reveal poison. The darkness pooling within fell into the air as he hissed out his acceptance to the hand poised towards him on the hellish ballroom floor, " I ain't gay an' I ain't no one's bitch. Got that?"
The inferno was white hot as it exploded in curling arches to the crescendo of the trembling music of ghostly screeching. The ethereal waltz was a twisting agony of back and forth repression, suppression, oppression. Released, it poured down Kyle's flesh and took control in ways he could not comprehend as his hands pulled back. His smashed them forth onto the desk. His body followed the jerking motion until he was leaning forward into poisonous trap. His lips rested just beyond an inch from his rival's. Every word he said, every word possessed from his mouth, eased over those tainted, waiting lips pulling into a treasonous smile.
" Not even mine?"
" Oh, no, Kahl," the Nazi whispered softly, his eyes lowering to those burning emeralds. The heat of his words danced over Kyle's lips like a haunted memory, sending a painfully cold shudder down the Jew's spine," You're my bitch an' everyone knows it,"
" You could never handle me,"
The rise of the tempo stilled in a breathtaking halt of crackling fire. Ice cold flames rushed through Kyle's blood, engulfing it in a drowning motion of falling into the dark waters of a moonless night in a distant past. Lost, he could only stare through the darkness parading his conscious as Eric eased towards him. Their lips remained apart, but only by the breath they drew in slow, hard motions. The cold fingers of death crept over Kyle's shoulders as he turned his head to avoid the pulsing departure from this realm which threatened his existence. Drawn to the embers, the liquid heat, his head moved again to face that man as those topaz eyes dropped into another color entirely. The horror of scorching heat roared within those deep pools of darkness.
" Try me,"
The way those words melded over Kyle's lips terrified him.
" I'd love to," the Jew drew back with considerable effort. Beyond his scoop of control, his hand raised as though tracing up an invisible wall separating him from the lightless world lost in those eyes. Biting his lower lips before his mouth moved into a smile, he reached through the glass and rested the very tip of his finger on the full cheek of his rival's face. He traced that finger over Cartman's cheek with longing, hesitating the draw back. Blinking, however, he jerked back like he was hurt and ran his shaking hands through his messy hair. Shivering, he snatched up his bag, " But we're going to be late if we do. So maybe some other time, Eric,"
There was a trickle of fury in those harsh eyes as Cartman gave Kyle a penetrating stare. Grinning nevertheless, he turned away and pushed his hair back with one hand. The fire lingered between them, just outside their reach, although it went unnoticed by the others in the room. Their interaction, however, did not fail to be seen. Stan looked from one to the other as he turned towards the smiling and highly amused Kenny.
" What the fuck was that?" he questioned while thumbing over at them. The two enemies carefully peered at the other with vague smiles hovering on their lips. Kenny regarded them with a similar look that was quickly replaced by a sly Cheshire smile and a shrug of one shoulder.
" Jus' some harmless flirtation," the poor boy offered, smoothing his fingers over his hips like he wanted to wipe the dirt from them. There was a soft snicker that gathered all their attention.
" Oh, it's never harmless when it's me and Cartman," Kyle interrupted, coupling his low voice with a fiery smile reflecting the remaining embers inside. His look was granted a warm, sugar look from the Nazi, although his words weren't addressed verbally.
" Uh. . . yeah, sure, whatever. I'm not getting involved," Stan stated firmly while he finally settled on a shoulder for his bag. Moving his hand, he pressed his fingers into Kenny's lower back. As such, he nudged him forward slightly in the direction of the door. A soft smile drowned out the sly intention of the poor boy's previous grin as he stepped towards the exit.
At that notion, the freaky four slipped out of Garrison's dimly lit haven and into the white washout of their usual routine. Stan rested his hand absentmindedly on the low back of Kenny without even acknowledging what it was he was doing. Kenny drew a step closer to the activist as he rubbed his thumbs idly over the hem of his ratty jacket. Kyle stood close to Cartman, matching his every step with his own. In unison, they walked beside the other two into the nearly empty hallway. Butters trailed half a foot behind them, although they still took him to be right beside them. The group moved through the halls as Stan cast a look at his best friend.
" What are you doing tonight?"
" You," Cartman interjected jokingly, pointing at the activist's face. He was given a mildly disgusted look while Kenny scrunched up his nose with a light pucker to his plump lips.
" Fuck you. He is not," Stan snapped while Kyle looked up at the heavier boy without any vile notions. Pouting teasingly, he jabbed a finger into Cartman's shoulder as he suppressed a smile curling in his words.
" Stan? I thought I was doing you tonight. I guess I'm gonna have to rearrange my schedule," he cooed, waving his hands as though he was rearranging his schedule in the air before him. The Nazi shook his head heartily while he reached forward. He twirled one of the shockingly red locks between his fingers. His sweet gaze dropped from the curl to those pressing green orbs.
" You're not doin' me. I'm doin' you. You ain't gotta rearrange anythin'. You jus' gotta brace that tight Jewish ass," he cautioned softly to the rouge overtaking the pale blanch to Kyle's cheeks. Just as the embers were beginning to burn again, Kenny leaned over slightly. He adjusted his hood so his bejeweled eyes could be seen leering into their private tangle of heated stares. Both eyed him.
" I got some lube you can borrow. I think it's in my locker," the poor boy happily said with a poignant smile of distrust. Kyle jerked back in recoil, closing the gap between Cartman and him almost entirely. The disgusted horror to his whole being entirely washed out every other emotion wholly and completely.
" You keep lube in your locker? At school? "
" Where else the fuck I gonna keep it?" Kenny snapped without seeming to notice the expression the Jew was shooting him. Rather, he appeared annoyed at having to explain himself, for he rolled his eyes and flipped his hood back. His striking blond hair was revealed as it cascaded to his shoulders, " If I keep it at my motherfuckin' house, my fuckin' parent's'll use it!"
" Your parents use your lube?" Kyle implored, tilting his slender body a fraction closer as if that would help him understand better. Kenny shrugged and waved his hand to the side with an air of harshness.
" It ain't like they got money to buy they own," he reminded them coldly. Kyle glanced away, looking like he wanted to express the nod he did without thinking. He didn't get a chance to say it, though. That moment, Stan turned his eyes down to the sapphires peering back at him. The activist bunched up his nose in a muted version of confusion as he asked his question in need of clarification.
" Why do you even have lube?"
" 'Cause it's lube. I need it," Kenny dryly answered. He offered no further explanation, but, then, he didn't need to. Cartman cut in, as was his way, with a snarky snap and a tremendously professional eye roll.
" You use it when you masturbate, Stan. Duh,"
" Screw you," the activist sneered with a temporary glare and the flipping of their favorite hand gesture. Besides them, Butters blinked and rubbed his knuckles together. Biting his lower lip, he turned to regard the other blond with a barely there stare of needy bewilderment.
" Golly, you masturbate at school?" the innocent asked, his eyes wide with what may have been terrified respect. Kenny scoffed at his apparently transparent question by jerking his hood back up to cover his disarming hair.
" Well I sure as fuck don't go to the bathroom to go to the fuckin' bathroom!" the poor boy hissed dramatically, his voice reaching normal levels and sounding louder for it. The sound bounced off the empty halls and blue lockers they passed. Butters, however, continued to press his fragile, broken glass eyes to that dirty face. His answer was not given by the blond he stared at, though.
" Why you think he looks so fuckin' happy when he comes back?" Cartman snapped, his less than pleased attitude shining through his mask of poised indifference for the innocent. His tone went unnoticed by the immune crowds with him. Years of having been exposed to such a fickle temperament mean that not even Kyle remotely acknowledged the frustration of losing patience with something that commonly graced the Nazi's speech. Now was no exception to the rule, for Butters just blinked at the idea.
" Oh. . ." his light voice trailed off as his eyes searched for the meaning. The realization made his eyes widen in shocked awe as he looked away from Kenny with a jerk of his head, " OH! Oh, hamburgers. . ."
" That's nasty," Stan mumbled practically under his breath. His hand slipped away from Kenny's back while he cast him in a mildly, highly muted look of disgust. The blond caught the look and his smile was gone in a hurry. In it's stead was a frown that was covered by the hood when he turned his eyes down towards his tattered shoes. The activist didn't noticed as he scrunched up his nose in distaste, " Do you even know when the last time those bathrooms were cleaned?"
" I can tell you," Kyle absentmindedly informed them, despite the fact he didn't know why he was saying so. Cartman tugged the curl loose and rolled his eyes when his hand was smacked back at last.
" Of course you can," he teased emptily. For his empty voice, there was a burst of bloodied fire within the Jew. He addressed the tone with a curt response of his own.
" And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
" You're Kahl. You know everything about nothin'," the Nazi coldly told him, pushing his fingers through his messy hair. There was a low mark of bite to his words that brought the flare inside to a heightened level. Yet, that full face remained stony and unforgiving.
" I certainly know a lot about you," the Jew retorted haughtily while his emeralds moved up and down the curvy frame of his rival with a small smile. That smile was followed sharply by a smirk that was waved away with a flirty little motion of Cartman's wrist. A trace of ember rolled down Kyle's spine.
" An' I know a lot about you. Your point?" he inquired with catty expressions throughout his tone. The sugar was fading in his tasty eyes, but the hardness of Kyle's emeralds remained. Their conversation, as rocky as it was hot, was interrupted vilely by the cautiously low voice of Kenny. He spoke to the floor as he shuffled beside Stan.
" It's not like I go in there every time I go to the bathroom," he mumbled out, muffling his voice by speaking into his shoulder and the hood of his jacket. He didn't need to clarify what he meant, for his point was well known. Nevertheless, Stan gave him a penetrating stare with surprising upstart to his previously unconcerned timbre.
" Then where the hell do you jack off?" the brunette demanded, his hand gripping at the strap of his bag roughly. He looked like he wanted to sling it to the floor, for whatever reason. To that, Kenny twitched as if he expected something and breathed out his answer. He did not address Stan, however. Instead, he addressed his shoes.
" School locker showers,"
" Oh my Gawd! We takes showers in there, Kenny!" Kyle exclaimed, falling back and away from him with a jerk. He was in the process of shouting something else, probably something much worse, when Cartman rolled his eyes expertly and cut in without asking. He grinned a flashing smile of unspoken meanings.
" That's the general idea behind a shower, Kahl,"
" You think you're funny, but you're really not," the Jew blandly stated, pointing up at Cartman's smiling face. His mouth moved into a frown while the Nazi shrugged in a cast away manner. Doing so made a half smile flicker over his smaller enemy's mouth.
" Whatevah. I can't believe you didn't know. Can't you hear the moaning?" he wasn't asking, even when he asked it in said form. He had barely uttered the sediment when Kyle recoiled so thoroughly from Kenny's side that he actually walked backwards into Cartman's heavy belly.
" OH, Jesus! You do it while we're in the shower?" Kyle shrieked in repulsion, pushing his back into the curve of the Nazi's stomach. He walked as close to Cartman as he could, as though being so close to him would deflect the vile innuendo trickling off the dirty boy. He was not cast off. Rather, a smile crossed Cartman's face as the tiny red headed Jew cowered into his girth.
" Ew," Butters mumbled under his breath, knocking his knuckles together. His soft spoken disapproval went unnoticed as Kenny licked his lips lightly.
" Yeah," he answered Kyle's question with supreme coldness to his voice. The Jew made a face at the response that reflected his earlier reaction, turning his head away. Cartman casually ran a finger over his shoulders, drawing his closer. Kyle moved to the suggestion without a second thought.
" Jesus Christ, Kenny," Stan expressed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a light shake of his head. His face never showed any of the emotions falling over his body language. Yet, when he reached out and lightly rested a hand on Kenny's arm, the turn of his blank face was at that poor boy. Biting his lower lip, the blond stepped closer, into the offered embrace. Neither said a word as they calmly looked in opposing directions.
The doors to their salvation approached in the tense silence. Butters reached out and pushed them open in their creaking, solemn give. Out into the bright and light world they stepped. The steps were cracked cement, but they dropped dramatically into the plush, green grass of the summertime air. They left behind the fading memory of their freshman year in favor of the future of the lazy days of summer. Doing so, they turned off the sidewalk wrapping its broken self about the length of the schoolyard. Instead, the five of them headed in the direction of the main street of South Park suburbia. The bus had already left on its rumbling track, leaving them to their own devices. They walked along until they reached the main road. Here, the group paused in still silence before the activist turned to regard the poor boy within his hesitating grasp.
" You goin' home?" he probed, glancing briefly towards the line of walkway that stretched to the wrong side of the tracks where the dirty blond resigned after hours. Kenny nodded, drawing his hands up to touch his lips before letting them drop back to his sides.
" Yeah. I gotta fuckin' babysit my fuckin' baby sibs. My parents fuckin' goin' out," Kenny explained with considerable bitterness to his every biting, snappish word. A touch of darkness overshadowed his sapphires when he spoke, trickling into his fair features.
" You want me to come over?" Stan asked, tilting his head in the same direction he had just glanced. The bitterness faded into a soft, yet completely emotionless expression devoid of recognizable thought. The look became a smirk when Cartman teasingly interjected, grinning at the activist.
" Shouldn't you take him out to dinner first, Stan?"
" I don't need fuckin' dinner," the poor boy answered, playing into the game. He pushed his hands together as though in prayer while his tone dropped heavier and heavier into mocking, " But it's sweet that you care, Eric,"
" Don't wanna go to another funeral for ya, Ken. Especially not 'cause you died havin' sex with Stan," the Nazi informed him, ignoring the mock in his voice by supplying his own. The smile on Kenny's face never faltered nor did the one on Cartman's. They went back and forth as if this was honestly their main form of communication, " That'd jus' be pathetic,"
" Aw, I'd die fuckin' happy," Kenny cooed, looking up at the much taller boy and smiling a full, wide grin. Cartman's eyes rolled away and up as he flipped the blond the bird.
" Duh. You wouldn't be a fuckin' virgin,"
" Screw you, Cartman," Stan snapped, his eyes gaining a fresh look of agitation. A wave of fury flooded into those light gems in warning. Swallowing the threatening tidal wave, he turned gentle eyes to Kenny, " You want me to come over or not?"
The activist waited out the blond's apparent silence by moving his hand down the arm of the weathered jacket. His fingers brushed the dirty ones at Kenny's waist without force. Regardless, Kenny slipped his fingers in and held onto Stan's hand as soon as the group approached the cross walk towards their neighborhood. They held hands lightly and absentmindedly as they briskly made their way across the street. Lagging behind, the other three walked over the white strips. As they did, Kyle rested his hand on the middle of Butters' back with a featherlike touch. The second they walked off the white stripes, though, he withdrew his hand. Once he did, Cartman reached past the Jew and snatched up Butters' upper arm. He pulled the lightweight innocent into him, side stepping the blankly staring Kyle.
" Let's go, Butters," he ordered in a militant manner. Kyle turned his head away, thus hiding the dead look that briefly transcended his eyes. When he looked back, Cartman wasn't looking, but he cast that heavyweight a darkly iced stare. It went unnoticed for Stan again placed his gaze on the still face of the poor boy.
" Ken?" he repeated, without fully questioning him. There was a second where that feminine face was unreadable. There was not a hint of intention behind his eyes nor a flicker of expression on his lips. Then, without warning, he smiled a truly controlled smile that was as frozen as the stare Kyle was shooting Cartman.
" Nah, it's okay,"
" Okay. If you're sure," Stan allowed his voice to faltered at the end. Gingerly, he slipped his fingers from Kenny's, giving him a weak smile that never reached his eyes. Two sapphires dropped to the separation before jumping back up to the empty expression of the activist. Presenting that cold smile, the poor boy thumbed with both hands in the opposite direction.
" See you fuckers later. I gotta go to the elementary school to pick up my sibs," he told them with half a wave. Stan nodded stiffly, muttering a good bye, while Butters waved happily. Cartman dismissed his farewell with an eye roll and his usual expression of matching notion. Kyle bid him good bye, his fierce expression melting in turn to the fiery orange of their hooded companion.
With that, Kenny turned on his heel and headed down the street in the opposing way. He stuck his hands into his pockets and turned his head to the ground to watch his light, catty steps. Stan watched him go, as though he expected him to twist around and jog back over. His light eyes hovered over his retreating back much longer than they should have. He continued staring even longer, and longer still. In fact, he didn't dare remove his blank stare from that boy until he saw Kenny turning the corner towards the elementary school. Only then did he blink and return his attention to his other friends. He found himself facing a distracted Kyle and no one else. Cartman and Butters were gone.
" Where'd Cartman go?"
" Didn't you see? They walked off," Kyle told him, thumbing towards Butters' house in the distance. He grinned at his best friend, to which Stan offered a meek smile and a shake of the head, " Well, they left. Cartman said they had 'things' to do and they couldn't wait around for us,"
" Oh. Okay," the activist mildly responded as the two began to head down the street towards their houses. They remained in a steady silence that was anything but awkward. Any tension that may had once existed between the two, for whatever reason, had long since disappeared over the course of their eleven year long friendship.
Much of their worlds had changed in those subtle, yet powerful ways. The conflict of childhood had melted into the hysteria of the preteen scene. South Park had always had a knack for breeding the bizarre and strange and their last five years had not gone unaffected. The insiders, those whom had shared with them the experiences of rescuing whales in fourth grade and a tarnished birthday party at the end of fifth, had grown up as weird and wired as before. There had been bouts of screaming as a certain caffeine addict ran from the school when hysteria took hold of his judgment. There had been a fist fight that hospitalized an outsider when rival gang colors were flashed at the Crips members Timmy and Jimmy. There had been flashing bra straps and bad make up choices as the two femme fatales found their place. There had been cold words written in marker on the bathroom stalls, locker slamming statements, and bold appeals to the good nature of mankind in the face of social suicide.
Yet, the most promising moments were sheathed in silent reverie. In flickering light bulbs memories of broken promises, shattered dreams, and ruined evenings. The basement of Eric Cartman's home had seen thousands of hardships as their ages had transformed from ten to fifteen. The shrieking, the crying, the madness, remained locked behind the red painted door. Those days, those nights, stained by the burn of liquor, the haze of smoke, the blaze of furious attempts to grow without withering, had made the insiders what they were. All pretense and all conviction had perished with the grand reveals of personalities bred in a small town, isolated from the norm, the sane, the healthy.
Out of those shadows, Stan and Kyle had slipped into their freshman year, together. They had survived the test of times, though not without their own scars. Said scars, however, lingered in the depths of the unspoken truths. Closer to the surface, there were the smiles forming on their lips as they faced their first summer since starting high school hell. Kyle yawned as he folded his arms behind his curls. Stan just sighed sadly when their footsteps brought them to the doorstep to the Jew's home.
Waving goodbye, Stan left Kyle to unlocking his door and calling out he was home to an empty house. Alone, the activist walked the few doors down to his own house. In the proceeding years, it had aged badly into a nearly paintless house reflective of the lax suburbia in which it stood. Looking past it for a second, he spied the train tracks, and just beyond them, the rotten shack that was the McCormick place. A splash of ice spilled over his blood in a flood that rushed his mind into a blank flurry. He wanted to grit his teeth and throw his bag into the cement steps beneath his curling toes. Instead, he flattened his expressions with a low exhale of shivering, icy breath. The water blending his blood into a cold hurricane withdrew in a hurry. Replacing it was that still expression of apathy which quite literally left Stan feeling nothing other than muted agitation. Sighing at his own emotions, he unlocked the rusted lock to his front door. He pushed it open and slipped inside the living room of his new prison.
The moment the door shut, his father threw streamers and confetti on him in a bout of frantic screaming. Stan stared in dire shock, his face livid with it. Some of that was due to the sheer blinding colors of the confetti. Part of it, though, was directed at the fact that his father really ought to have been at work.
Nevertheless, Randy grabbed his son up into a tight embrace that Stan made quick work of wriggling out of.
" CONGRATS ON FINISHIN' FRESHMAN YEAR, STAN!" his father shouted in his ear, causing him to flinch violently. He attempted to sidestep Randy, but he was no match to the older man's obsessive nature.
" RANDY! NOT IN THE HOUSE!" Sharon's voice echoed throughout the entire house, although both Marsh men knew it to be coming from the kitchen. Randy cast that general direction an irked look, but he didn't remark. In fact, otherwise, he didn't acknowledge his wife's warning. Stan, though, tried to walk around his father. He was stopped with a halting hand motion.
" Uh.. . .hey, Dad," he mumbled, in meek hope that the greeting would seal his release. Unfortunately, he was not presented with the response he wanted. Randy just smiled that wide, expectant smile of his that had led to several problems within the family. A flash of ice jilted the blood of the activist.
" When's the first party?" Randy asked in a voice that still didn't quite qualify as an indoor one. Stan cast him a look which was ignored, forcing him to verbalize his question. For all intents and purposes, he could feel his blood icing and feeling like that made him want to pull back his hand and smash it into whatever was nearest. Knowing the course of doing do, however, he forced his face blank and quenched his attitude into one biting word.
" What?"
" You goin' tonight, huh, big boy? Is it at the Blacks? The Tuckers? The Cartmans? Come on, Stan! You can tell me! I've got some 'protection'," he jokingly nudged his son in the rib cage as he grinned knowingly. Stan squeezed his eyes shut in a vain effort to block out the rising waters of embarrassment at having to have this conversation, " Just in case you meet a 'special' lady,"
" No, Dad,"
" You already got some? Good boy, good boy," Randy commended him with a hearty pat on the shoulder and a toothy showing of his teeth. His son licked his lips as the bubbling waters began to heat in a deeply seeded manner of agitation, " So, where is it? Do I need to drive you?"
" No, there's no party," the activist replied blandly, finally managing to free himself of the grasp he longed to escape. Randy drew back in bewilderment while Stan trooped over to the stairs that would take him to freedom.
" What? Why? It's the last day of school!" the older man protested, storming after him in what could be called outrage. For Randy, however, it wasn't outrageous until it involved booze and himself. Thus, he maintained somewhat of a level head as Stan shrugged without true concern to the callousness of the action.
" I know," he plainly addressed the situation as he began up the stairs. He tried to take them two at a time, but none of his efforts could shake his father. Randy kept at his heels, stalking him from the living room up to the hallway of the second floor that held the bedrooms. As they went, the geologist furthered his question in repetition.
" No party?"
" No party," Stan firmly stated, casting a tired look at his persistent father. Randy looked at him as if he were tempted to believe him. Before he conceded, though, he pointed at Stan and narrowed his eyes in mild suspicion. Fresh frustration nearly overwhelmed the activist in his near desperate need to get away from this tap dance.
" Are you just saying that so I don't crash?" Randy demanded, tilting his head and giving him that look. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose as he placed a hand on the knob to his door. His fingers smoothed over the metal before he gripped it hard enough for the bite to cut into his palm.
" No. There really is no party," he said with as much finality as he could muster in his realm of apathetic attitude. His tone went completely unnoticed by his father. Randy just slumped his shoulders and looked away with a somber expression to his face.
" Oh," he mumbled while his son opened the door to his bedroom. Inhaling a deeply cold breath, Stan glanced back at his father. Randy gave him a wholly defeated, yet slightly hopeful look, " When is the first party then? Tomorrow?"
" I don't know, Dad,"
" Oh,"
" Yeah," Stan sneered with much more bite than before. He hoped his tone would encourage his father to drop to topic and leave him be. His mind was churning as the floodgates threatened to pour into his trembling body. His knuckles were whitening and his body temperature was plunging. A chill was easing over his flesh, done to the bone, and he felt the ice hardening the aqua within his orbs. He allowed it access to his orbs as he pressed a shoulder into his door.
" You sure?" Randy probed, refusing to take the hint. A frost overcame Stan's skin in a electric rush that made him frown in a brief moment. Turning away, he rolled his eyes in a truly bored way. As per usual, his father was immune to his style of charm. Thus, Stan took it upon himself to end this conversation.
" Uh-huh,"
With that, Stan swung the door shut and let it clatter in the doorframe. Rolling his eyes yet again, he threw his bag down on top of a pile of clothes scattered throughout his room. He ignored the computer screen glowing on the desk jumbled with gaming guides and piles of homework crumpled up. He didn't look at the stacks of games and stations littering his floor by the small television he had begged his parents to put in his room. Rather, he kicked off his tattered sneakers and grabbed a comic book from a pile on the floor. He dropped down onto the black and blue sheets of his unmade bed.
Around him, he was bathed in the darkness of his dimly lit world. The curtains were thick and heavy enough to block out any shred of light. The walls were painted in a deep, midnight blue color and lined with posters of animal rights slogans. The majority of the room, however, was his empty haven. There was nothing to remind him of the cruelty he was faced with every moment outside those four walls. In truth, the only thing that connected his world to that one was the picture on the end table.
In it's black frame was a picture showcasing his three closest friends and himself. They were dressed in regular outfits. Thus, he was in jeans, Kyle was in jeans, Kenny was in biker shorts, and Cartman was in an outlandishly wild outfit. It was from the summer before freshman year and they were down at Stark's Pond. All were smiling in their own ways, looking up at the camera held in the Nazi's hand, as he was taller than all of them. Although he knew the exact date and time of the photo, no one else knew that it was taken on a Sunday at three thirty seven. On a Sunday after the four of them had disappeared for eight days down by that lake. After they had just wandered off after being asked to go pick up soda by Sharon Marsh. Nor that he knew the exact time the picture had been taken despite not remembering a single thing about the entire day.
Of course, most of Stan's memories concerning Stark's Pond were blacked out. They had been since he was ten years old.
Gazing at that mysterious picture he couldn't even recall putting in that square frame, Stan vaguely wondered about Kenny. He saw the poor boy grinning up at him from the shadows of his orange hood and he wondered about him. He laid across his pillows, turning away from photo. Feeling the lightest touch of cold to the back of his neck, he hoped that Kenny made it home okay. He hoped he did, without an escort, as he felt darkness swimming up from the waters within. He fell into the moonlight night, into those waters, as slumber overtook him without warning.
The touch of soft fingers on his cheeks as shining eyes swam in the light of the dawning day poured over Stan's mind. In an instant, they were gone and his world was a shockingly dark blue tunnel. He blinked, staring with considerable effort, at the ceiling of his bedroom. At first, he was frantically confused as to where he was and who he was and who was with him. A moment later, he heard a buzzing sound drowned out quickly by the sound of music playing. Rubbing one eye, Stan reached over and fumbled around on his end table for his phone. Recalling coming home from school, however, he pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. He slumped back against his pillow as he did, groggy and disoriented.
" Yeah?" the activist groaned into the receiver, pressing a palm to his mildly warm forehead. He heard a loud sigh directly in his ear. That, of course, didn't help in waking him up, although it did contribute to a slight headache brewing behind his eyes.
" I have to get a job,"
Stan immediately recognized that bitter, though soft, voice on the other end of the line. He glanced at the caller ID out of habit anyways. He saw the words 'KayBee lol EC' and felt a rush of relief. However, he scrunched up his nose as he placed the phone back to his ear in confusion.
" What?"
" My parents say I have to get a summer job," Kyle repeated in a monotone voice that Stan knew was the one he used when ready to scream. Yawning, the activist shrugged his shoulders into the expression of tiredness. Then he shook his head.
" Why?" he asked with genuine concern. His body remained slack on the bed and he didn't change facial expression. Yet, his voice dipped into the reaches of true concern. Nothing could really rile him up quite like facing a full out Kyle Broflovski meltdown. Which was what he was facing if the Jew hadn't had a chance to vent his furious anger elsewhere.
" Because it's time for me to act like an adult," the redhead's voice was heated with resentment. Stan could taste it's fire on his own tongue as he swallowed those harsh words. A chill bolted down his back as his hands tensed up. As he was tired and barely awake, he wasn't sure he was ready to take on a fully loaded Kyle. Yet, he poised the question that perhaps would unleash the fury.
" By getting a job?" he stated as evenly as he could, despite the half frown pulling at his lips. There was no hiding his annoyance at his best friend's parents, though. That trickled into his voice and he wasn't sure he cared. Rather, he listened carefully to the other when he answered. He was looking for signs so he would know when to move the phone from his ear.
" By earning money," Kyle snapped back, sounding as though he was speaking through clenched teeth. Stan blinked at the phone before sighing with honest empathy.
" That sucks, dude," the activist muttered as he forced himself to sit up. The comic book he had intended to read fell into his lap. Rolling his eyes, he tossed it onto the floor with the rest of his belongings. Over the phone, he heard a long whine of a sigh that really wasn't much of a whine at all.
" Dude, I know,"
" So, what're you gonna do?" he finally asked, folding his legs underneath himself. A frozen wash of wind smoothed down his back, through his flesh, and into his boiling blood. He didn't know where the suddenly spurt of frustration came from, but he felt it long before that fire exploded on the other line. When he heard it, though, he fed off it. His temperature dropped as a deathly calm flooded his senses in a rush of artic waters.
" I have to get a job. I already tried everything to get out of it. I even threw a hissy fit," Kyle growled over the phone, his tone rising and falling in furious burst of fury. Stan felt his rage and he swallowed it so that it could lower his temperature into the same fluster of his friend, " Do you know when the last time I threw a hissy fit was? I was seven!"
" No, you were ten," Stan reminded him, pointing at nothing. The frozen oblivion vanished in the sudden recollection of that summer day in the sunshine. He was left feeling not a thing, as frightening as that was, " It was at your birthday party. Remember?"
On the other side of the line, Kyle looked down at the phone he was holding out in front of him. He gave it a strangely quizzical stare before he placed it back to his ear. He wet his lips, questioning whether he should continue down a path speaking of said day five years beforehand. He choice to ignore his better judgment and nodded where he was seated on his green and black bedspread.
" What are you talking about? I didn't throw a hissy fit at my birthday party when I was ten," he retorted in a hesitant voice dancing with the embers burning up his blood and flesh. He felt a flush easing over his cheeks and into the glare he presented his floor with. In a way, he saw the nod he knew the activist must have given him in the muted pause that followed.
" Yeah, you did. You don't remember that?" Stan implored with his usual deadpan voice which spoke volumes to those used to it. The Jew looked away, from no one, and firmly shook his head, again, to no one. Somehow, he sensed that the activist could see his body language all the same.
" No, I really don't," Kyle stressed, gripping his sheets as he pressed his toes into the floorboards behind. A jolt of fire engulfed his mind when he heard the next words out of Stan's mouth. The memory was so faded, yet so vivid, in the worse possible manner of speaking. He wished he could just cover his ears and block everything out the way he always wished he could. He couldn't. He heard those words and he felt the familiar sinking sensation within his stomach for them.
" You got into a fight with your mom. You were hysterical,"
" That was not a hissy fit," the Jew replied with as much assertion as he could muster in the moment. He offered no other explanation for his actions. Honestly, he never had. However, this time, he was asked one of the few questions he truly loathed.
" Then what the hell was it?" Stan's voice never made it to agitation. It never quite did when this moment was concerned. There was plenty of fury within that stone cold attitude for the rest of the party, but never for this moment. It was addressed icily, although with care.
" I was defending one of my closest friends," Kyle snapped back in a similar manner as the question asked. The fires within were slowly churning out sparks. They jolted his heart into racing. The feeling was not pleasant. It was all the Jew could do not to hang up the phone in order to just avoid anything left to come. His desire, though, appeared to be well read. None of the needed or warranted inquires were spoken.
" If you say so,"
" I was hysterical because. . . ." his voice caught in his throat as he turned his emerald gaze anywhere but up. He found himself staring down at his left hand with more pressure than he had stared at anything before. His throat ran dry as he slowly bit his lower lip. Even then, even after all that time, he couldn't say it. He simply couldn't say it. He couldn't, he wouldn't, and he didn't. He just closed his eyes until Stan spoke into his ear like his conscience.
" Yeah, I know," Stan stated without a trace of judgment. There was an enormous amount of generous assurance to that voice. Kyle welcomed it wholeheartedly as he eased his eyes open and swallowed cautiously.
" It wasn't a hissy fit," he found himself saying, his mouth moving without him telling it to. In his need to clarify, he heard the words without even feeling them passing through his lips. He just heard them and he heard how hollow they sounded with all of his soul, " I don't know what it was but. . . it wasn't. . .it didn't feel the same,"
" Okay," came Stan's final comment to the matter. Kyle nodded to himself, forcing himself back to the present in order to leave behind that day. As always, it was the activist who suggested an alternative, " So, a summer job, huh?"
" Yeah,"
" Dude. Weak,"
" I know right?" Kyle muttered with a roll of the shoulder. He could feel a smile making its way to his lips as he opened his mouth to say something. Every thought and word he was in the process of forming, however, were knocked from his body with the screaming of a rather shrill, heart stopping voice. Infuriating as it was, he couldn't ignore it.
" BUBBIE! GET OFF THE PHONE! YOU HAVE TO GO JOB HUNTING WITH YOUR FATHER!" came his mother's shout from down below on the first floor of their house. It rumbled through the floorboards like a demonic warning from the underworld. Though that's where it sounded from, Kyle shot his door the dark glare that was directed at his mother. He wanted to scream he wasn't going, but knew better to from experience. Turning away, he pressed his ear harder to the phone. He could nearly taste the confusion on the other end.
" Dude, they're making you go out in the middle of the night lookin' for a job?" the activist exclaimed without the exclaim to his deadpan timbre. The Jew blinked in confusion himself, then moved his eyes to the green lights of his bedroom clock.
" What? Dude, it's seven in the morning," he laughingly informed him, snickering under his breath. He heard Stan scrambling to look at a clock that was probably buried beneath three layers of dirty clothes and magazines.
" What? Really?"
" Yeah. I mean, I know it's early, but damn," Kyle teased, pushing a hand through his barely damp curls. Feeling the wetness, he jumped and jerked his fingers out of the tangles. A whirl of fire touched his spine in the coldest way. He shivered and suppressed it with a bite of his lower lip.
" I didn't know I'd slept that long. . . " Stan's voice buzzed loudly in his ear, drawing his violently back into the moment. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled a chuckle at his best friend's silliness. He repressed the urge to scream and scream and scream and run from his room in a frenzy for the only safe haven he had discovered along the way. Instead, he just smiled harshly and thanked his luck that Stan wasn't actually in the room with him this time.
" When the hell did you go to bed?" he questioned mildly, doing everything to keep his tone even and unstressed. He heard Stan shuffle something and swear under his breath, then there was a sigh in recalling.
" When I got home from school yesterday," came the less than enthusiastic response. At that, the Jew jerked the phone from his ear again to give it a meaningful look that was lost on the buttons. Never mind that, for his words wholly expressed the same look with a biting undercut to their every point.
" You slept for seventeen hours?"
" I guess," the activist shortly stated with a start of defense. The Jew gave a halting laugh, rubbing his fingers over his forehead. His laugh defused the beginning agitation on the brunette's part. He could feel the ease without ever needing to see the look to those aquamarine orbs.
" Dude, take that as a sign," he jeered playfully, pointing at the phone out of habit. He heard an eye roll through the way Stan exhaled, " Stop playing video games til two,"
" NOW, BUBBIE!" Shelia's scream drowned out Stan's answer to the warning. Those emeralds hardened like diamonds as they pulled from the clock to the door in a demonically heated stare. He gritted his teeth, feeling the embers licking into his blood in an enragement ready for its grand finale. His skin came alive as his mind white washed itself in a blood lustful hunger for shrieking and grabbing something heavy, hard, metal, and letting that roaring beast know just what he thought of her commanding nature.
" Don't you have to go?" the fluid touch of that icy voice quenched the flames down to a burning desire which remained in his stomach. Kyle glanced around, as if to look at the activist, but he just smiled something close to the dead look he often saw in Stan's eyes. When he spoke, his voice was awfully even.
" No, it's not serious until she calls me by name,"
" KYLE! NOW! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME, YOUNG MAN!" his mother screeched as if by cue. Kyle couldn't help himself when he spat out his sediment. His tone dropped into that fiery voice shivering with the anger he had practically no control over.
" Now I have to go," he snarled in venom, his hands gripping tight and pressing into the side of his cell phone. He heard a sigh and some more shuffling. Stan bid him farewell with nonchalance and he returned the favor with a sharp snap directed anywhere but at his best friend, " Bye,"
Flipping his green phone shut, Kyle dragged himself off his bed. He jerked on some nice looking shoes to match the button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the pressed black slacks that had grown a bit tight at his hips and bottom. He hadn't had to dress this formally since he had graduated from middle school and his mother had insisted on throwing a party; seeing how he'd gotten straight As and that was just so wonderful to her. Thus, he didn't exactly fit into his only pair of truly formal pants. He hoped his mother didn't say anything, but knew she would if he let her. For that reason alone, he untucked his shirt and wore it in a Tweekquese style: out, messy, and completely covering his lower half.
Dressed accordingly, he left his forest green bedroom and headed for the stairs. He slipped down them, trying to make as little noise as possible. If he came banging down those steps, he would have gotten an earful about it. He went softly, coming to a stop at the end of them. Shelia was waiting for him, standing just beyond the staircase, her hands on her hips in disapproval. Kyle saw her and then his gaze was resting behind her. He stared at that couch, the fires grabbing hold of his shoulders and slamming into the back of his skull in an explosion of shrieking and sobbing.
His brother was laying there, hands folded on his slender stomach. His onyx eyes watched the television screen in an utterly blank manner. The pupils never moved from one object to the next, suggesting powerfully that whatever Ike saw, it was nothing on the screen. From this stance, however, he was drawn by the fiery pressure of those emeralds. His eyes slid from the television to the Jew and there they stayed. A flush overtook Kyle in the moment they embraced in a furious stare that penetrated down to burning and frozen cores of bejeweled essence. The ice in those onyxs then cut away as Ike turned his eyes back to the television. There was an inferno engulfing Kyle, but he saw the dismal, the turnabout, and he was left in a shivering stance of fury.
" You gotta problem there?" the redhead demanded, his tone rocked with the rising and falling of the fires within. He spoke in engulfed anger. When Ike answered, though, it was entirely out of pouring ice. There was not an emotion, not a pulse, to the death written in all the coldness of that solitary word. It rolled off his young tongue with the force, the pressure, the power of the most vile of curse words as if unfit for human hearing.
" Nope,"
" Kyle, leave your brother alone," Shelia broke in, gathering herself the attention she commanded. Kyle snapped his eyes back towards her, but couldn't erase the embers from his voice when he barked out his reply to her order.
" Yes, of course, Mother," he sneered out in a way that was more victorious than mean. He felt the relief washing into his chest even as Shelia gave him a look of true conviction. While she appeared to be fighting with herself, he just felt his shoulders relaxing and his hands unclenching at his sides.
" Don't think I don't hear that tone, Bubbie," his mother warned, wagging her finger at him. She didn't do it in his face like she used to, but the threat was still the same. Kyle merely blinked in her direction, unaffected in an apathetic sort of manner. Shelia didn't seem to notice for she went straight into leading him to the kitchen as if he hadn't just failed to react to her 'ominous' statement. Instead, she just tapped the dining room table where Gerald was sitting, reading the newspaper, " Have fun boys. Be good, Bubbie,"
" Ready to go, son?" Gerald asked gently, folding up the paper and giving him a cautious smile. Sheila beamed at her oldest boy, lightly patting him on the shoulder as if for encouragement. Wetting his lips as his stomach sank into the pits of Hellish flames, the Jew stiffly, coldly, harshly nodded. His curls didn't even move, his neck felt so stiff.
" Sure, dad. Whatever you say,"
Evenly, without a facial expression, Kyle turned from the room and swept out it. He felt his hands touching his arms, holding himself, as he hurried past the couch. From there, he heard the softest sound of death in the form of a light chuckle. It slipped into his sickened stomach as the door was jerked open and the Jew stumbled into the light. Rage, fury, agony, wiped out his mind. White and fire swallowed up his thoughts as he gritted his teeth and slammed his fists into the side of the family car. He ignored the reflection staring back at him with wide, horrified emeralds stained with burning fires. He wanted to run, he knew where to run, but he faced his fate like a man. He stood there as Gerald walked down the driveway.
His father smiled at him and asked if he was ready to go. Gerald didn't go to the driver's side. He stepped up to the Jew and he placed a hand on his back. Kyle felt it. Felt the fire in his blood like a disease, eating through his flesh until he was nothing but the flames. The emeralds within hardened him to it, to all of it, as those fingers pulled down his back and that gentle voice questioned him. He was asked again if he was ready. Ready. He could only nod as he saw his father smiling down at him with those kind, forgiving eyes.
Kyle wanted to slit his throat and laugh in the blood splatter.
The day was fading into night as Stan rolled over on his bed sheets. He looked over at his phone, willing it to ring, even just once. Boredom had consumed his first day of summer, leaving him sprawled out on his bed examining his ceiling. There were no new video games on the market and not a single thing on the television. Without any new thing to attract his attention, he found himself thinking about his friends. He wondered if Cartman had gotten thrown out of Butters' house yet for that mouth of his. He wondered if Kyle had found a job to satisfy his parents. He wondered if Kenny had made it home alright after all. He smiled softly as he thought about Kenny, laying on his ratty, old mattress, drinking a coke, and laughing at something vulgar.
Sighing, he glanced at the door when he heard heavy footsteps banging up the stairs. He figured it was just his father, still pouting about there having been no party, so he didn't pay much attention to it. When his door swung open without so much as a knock the next however, he jumped up from his bed in alarm.
" Dad! I told you to knock first!" he exclaimed in what could qualify as guilt in his world of subtle emotions. The last thought he had was of Kenny's sapphire eyes peering up at him before he realized he wasn't facing his father. Rather, it was his best friend. Kyle didn't greet him nor regard him at all. He just sulked over to Stan's bed and fell face down onto it. The activist moved his foot to avoid being hit, even if Kyle was no where near him, " What's up, dude?"
" I had to get a job," the Jew mumbled into the sheets, gripping his hands at his sides. Stan idly nodded as he dropped down onto the bed beside him. He folded his legs underneath himself as he leaned back.
" Yeah, I know. You already told me that," he reminded the redhead without any snarky attitude to his voice. He stared down at the boy as Kyle shifted his position. Thos emeralds were revealed in annoyance as he tilted his head to the side in order to talk without muffling his words.
" No. I really had to get a job," Kyle informed him with a touch of heat. There was a brief silence as the activist rolled that through his mind. Giving him a strange look, he pushed himself forward. His confusion seemed to be expected, if only because the fact was so obvious, it probably should have been addressed in their previous conversation.
" Wait. . ." Stan started, pointing at him before slowly moving his hand to the side. Kyle allowed him his moment of piecing this together like a true friend, " You had to get a job?"
" Yeah. . ."
" You're fifteen. You can't get a job,"
" I'm working illegally," the Jew answered the unspoken question firmly. He didn't sound mad about it, although there was enough fire within his eyes to paint a vivid picture as to how he truly felt. Blinking, Stan appeared to look interested in this for a moment. Then, as always, his face fell into the cold lines of unconcern and disinterest.
" Where?" he implored, searching his own mind for a place where Kyle could work. The answer he was given, however, was shocking enough to render even his blank face surprised. He actually felt himself draw back in said emotions as those few words pierced the air with exacting precision.
" A liquor store,"
" Dude," was the only word Stan could find to fully express his opinion. Kyle nodded absentmindedly as he squeezed his eyes shut. While the Jew attempted to block out his memories, the activist remained quiet in his confused introspection. Turning away, then back again, he scrunched up his nose, " How's that supposed to teach you to be a man?"
" It teaches me how to lie, deceive, cheat, and make money doin' it all," Kyle sneered back without a drip of anger to his even voice. Stan raised his eyebrows as a half smile crossed his lips at the sarcasm that was so gracefully poised in his best friend's words. The technique was just so essentially envy worthy, " How's that not teaching me to be a man?"
" It sounds like something Cartman could teach you in one afternoon," Stan remarked, impressively showing his teeth in a small smile. Kyle rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. To further his point, he jabbed a finger at the photo sitting just beyond Stan's hip. They both gazed at that full, wholly arrogant face grinning up at them from a distant, long lost memory.
" No. It sounds like something Cartman taught me in one afternoon five years ago," the Jew replied hotly, letting his hand fall to the side. Stan was inclined to agree with him and he did so with a nod and a verbal expression of said feelings.
" True," he told him, turning away from the haunting image of the four of them out by Stark's Pond. Shrugging idly, he glanced over at the moaning redhead, " But at least it'll teach you to save that money. That's something Cartman was never good at,"
" Stan," Kyle curtly said, giving him a sideways glance just as harsh. Stan wasn't affected by either the tone nor the gaze. He was utterly immune to the displaced rage that the hotheaded Jew was renown for.
" Yeah?"
" I'm fifteen. I'm working illegally,"
" Yeah,"
" What the hell makes you think I'm going to save my money?" he demanded with a sly, devilish smile that would have made many people shiver for its true intentions. Stan barely noted it as he shrugged and shifted his weight a bit from one side to the other. If it weren't for the completely blank look to his aquamarine eyes and face, he would have looked uncomfortable. As it was, they were there and he didn't.
" If you don't, you'll have to get another job," the activist suggested plainly. His logic was there, but the grin that washed over that pretty face said there was something he hadn't considered yet. A flash of water pooled through Stan's blood as the touch of wickedness making those emeralds appear so close to black darkness.
" How the hell are my parents going to know what the hell I'm making?" Kyle questioned with a familiar touch of arrogance to his smile. It was a touch that his eyes simply glowed with, " It's not like I'm getting a pay stub,"
" Huh. . ." Stan allowed his voice to trail off in admiration for the cold sneakiness that plagued the freaky four and always had. Shrugged just a little more, he peered down at his smiling friend with such devious plans as lying to Shelia Broflovski. Rather than ask about it, he redirected the conversation to meet his own questions, " So. . . what liquor store?"
" The Liquor Stone,"
" The one where all the employees get high in the backroom?" Stan asked with a tilt of his head and a quizzical narrowing of his eyes. He was granted a nod in favor to his guess.
" The one and only,"
" The one where Kenny gets his weed?"
" Yup," Kyle informed him blandly. Stan nodded to the answer before he bunched up his nose in clear and obvious distaste. He pointed down at Kyle as he spoke in a voice wholly expressive of the sour look pouring onto his every facial line in a shocking reveal of emotion.
" You mean that one where they all know us by name like freakin' stalkers 'cause Kenny tried to burn the place down 'cause they refused to sell him liquor after Cartman got into a fight with one of the employees?"
" That's the one,"
" Dude," he replied as he moved his body forward in what could be called mocking sympathy. He lightly patted Kyle on the back with just his fingers, " Good luck with that,"
" What'd you mean, 'good luck with that'?" Kyle questioned as he rolled onto his back and rested his hands on his flat stomach. Stan arched an eyebrow in a knowing way before the Jew waved a hand to the side, " They don't check ids. It's optional,"
" Really?" Stan replied with a hint of hope to his voice. He was presented with a hearty nod and a knowing grin in return to his stare. Kyle spoke with an obnoxious amount of pooling sarcasm, but it was just enough to make Stan actually chuckle under his breath at the show of immaturity.
" Store policy. If they look old enough, then we don't check. If they don't look old enough, this is America and everyone's money is green. And if they look like a cop, yes, we check ID," the Jew gave another nod in mocking notion before he sighed. The immaturity vanished as he rolled his eyes in annoyance, " Only thing I had to learn in training,"
" Training?"
" Took about 15 minutes, give or take," Kyle muttered, flipping his hand from side to side in a motion that said 'sorta maybe' in his body language. Stan solemnly agreed, for not particular reason, then turned his gaze towards the clock he had discovered on the floor that morning. Peering at it, then returning his stare to those emeralds, he halfway smiled.
" So. . . when's your first shift start?" he calmly, complacently asked with the lightest smile to his lips. Over a decade of friendship allowed Kyle to see straight through the gentle facade. Rather then address it outright, however, he childishly replied with a smirk.
" Tomorrow at eight,"
" AM or PM?"
" AM," the Jew answered quickly as he pushed himself onto his side. He pressed his cheek into his elbow as he looked through his red locks to those waiting, questioning eyes of oceanic views, " Wanna get wasted by noon?"
" I'm sure I can bum some cash off my dad," Stan responded with a sly smile of his own. It vanished, however, when Kyle shot him one of the darkest, coldest, hardest stares he had ever seen in all of his fifteen years on the Earth. A shiver actually spread through his whole being at the wicked fury within those deathly iced emeralds.
" Stanley Marsh," Kyle barked, venom rocking his words to the alarmed core of the activist. When those eyes softened as a smile worked it's way onto that suddenly mocking face, " We have been best friends since we were four. I'm not charging you. Not for the first buy,"
" You're awesome, man,"
" I do what I can,"
The two shared a wicked grin as they knocked knuckles in the steady still of the evening before the summer. To them, they saw this job as the opportunity of a lifetime. As the night cascaded from the skies into that midnight bedroom, they had no idea just how right they were. Nor how devastatingly wrong.