South Park © Matt & Trey.

Thanks, as always :) hope everyone had a fun new year.

The weeks continue to go by. I feel like everything is in a constant state. Things keep repeating. Craig and I continue to fuck. Eric continues to be a huge asshole. I'm getting straight D's in my classes and I continue to whine about every little thing to Kyle, who continues to try and help.

"Hey, Mrs. M," Craig says after we pile through the door after class.

"Hi, Craig," she greets. "How are you?"

"I'm all right. How are you?"

"I'm good," she smiles.

I usher him upstairs and to my room, where almost immediately I begin to feel him up. "I don't want to," he says, rebuffing my advances.

"Why not?" I ask, backing off.

"I feel like it's all we do lately…"

I shrug my shoulders. "Well, that was the agreement. No strings attached. Right?" Craig lets out a soft sigh and takes a seat on my mattress. I sit down next to him and ask, "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to do this anymore," he states.

"Do what?"

"Have sex with you," he specifies.

This is where I begin the interrogation. "Why?" I ask suspiciously. "Did you meet someone else?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, he stares at the floor and I stare at him. "How long has it been since we started doing this?" he wonders.

"A month and a half?" I guess.

"That long…" he murmurs quietly.

"Hey, what's going on?" I cross my arms.

He shakes his head, sighing lightly. "The agreement was no strings attached… easier said than done."

"What do you mean?"

He closes his eyes and rubs both hands down his melancholy expression. He looks like he is having a hard time getting the words out. "I don't want to do this anymore," he finally starts, "because I want something more and I know you can't give that to me." His voice is soft and quiet, as if he's worried I'll get angry at him for not being able to keep up his end of the bargain.

I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Just a long, "Uhh…" I'm honestly taken aback.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to the side to look at me. "If we keep doing this," he continues, "it won't be fair to me. It will only hurt and that is a kind of pain I'm not fond of." His eyes are glassy and his face is flushed. He looks like he might start crying any second, but I know he isn't going to. He won't let himself. He'll probably wait until he's alone and safe in his room. I can't help but wonder if he looked like this when he confessed to Clyde, too.

"Oh," is all I can muster. The word comes out in a deadpan.

"Yeah…" he mumbles.

"When did you start to feel like that?" I ask.

"A while ago," he admits quietly.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I don't know how to respond."

"Whatever," he shrugs. "I'm not asking for anything else from you. I just had to say it."

"Sorry, Craig," I say again.

He shakes his head, holding up a hand. "Don't… Don't apologize."

I sigh quietly.

"I'll let myself out," he says, standing up.

I just nod, unsure of what else to say. I watch him open the door and leave my room. I feel like I got exactly what I was asking for without even asking for it. I got exactly what I wanted without knowing I really wanted it. Now I just need to reach forward and take it… I know I should run after him but I can't bring myself to move.

Jesus fucking Christ.

When I'm finally able to leave my room, I go upstairs to find my mom. "Ma?" I say.

"What is it?" she asks. She's smoking a joint yet again. As long as she isn't shooting meth, I don't care. "Your friend left pretty early and in quite a hurry."

"Yeah," I start. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." I sit down next to her, staring everywhere but in her direction. "I have a hypothetical situation."

"Okay, let's have it." She looks mildly humored, as if she knows exactly what I'm about to bring up.

"Okay," I clear my throat. "What would you do… if I wasn't completely straight?"

"Well," she starts, handing me the joint, "I'd say as long as you're happy, it's fine. That's what really matters, right?"

"Really?" I ask in a stifled voice, inhaling and holding the smoke in before exhaling.

"Of course," she says, taking the joint back.

So, maybe Kyle and Craig aren't the only guys around here who are less than straight. I've given it a little thought after Craig's confession and it would make sense. It's probably why I'm so selfish when it comes to him. "Okay," I pause, "maybe I am a little gay."

She lets out a soft laugh. "I know, baby."

"How?" I can't help but ask.

"Kenny, you're my son and I'm your mother," she says simply. "I just know these things."

"Oh," I mumble. I thought I knew myself. I guess not. I guess we're always learning new things about who we are. It's a never-ending process. I lay my head on her shoulder and she runs her fingers through my hair, still smoking that joint. "Will Dad be mad?" I wonder aloud.

"Who cares what that drunk asshole thinks?" she snorts.

"Me," I admit.

She doesn't say anything for a moment, but I have a feeling she's smiling. Not a mocking or cruel smile, but a sad sort of smile. "I know, baby," she says softly. "He won't be mad." She's only telling me what she thinks I need to hear. I guess I have daddy issues. "Your father loves you," she continues. "That won't change. He's just an angry, bitter man. That's why he drinks, and the drinking makes it worse. He doesn't mean to do the things he does."

"Yeah," I say, sighing. I guess that's why he always says he's sorry when he's violent.

I hear Karen coming downstairs a minute later, careful and quiet as she takes each step. "Kenny?" she asks once reaching the bottom.

"Karen," I say, sitting up straight.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," I tell her.

"You're lying," she calls me out. "You look worried."

"Nah, I'm just being dramatic, Karen," I say. Though I am worried. I wonder if this is how Craig felt. If so, I definitely get why he got so damn upset. It shouldn't be a big deal… but sadly it is.

When my dad gets home, he's drunk and I'm scared. My mom picks a fight and Karen runs upstairs. I'm praying to God that she won't bring it up. I should be the one to tell him, and definitely not when he's like this. That would only make his reaction worse.

"STOP FIGHTING!" I scream as loud as I can. I can feel my heart beating faster and faster. I'm sick of this. So damn sick of it.

"Kenny?" my mom questions.

"Mind your own business, boy," my dad slurs his warning.

"It's a little hard to do that when you guys keep fighting all the fucking time!" I shout, only to be backhanded across the face and knocked into a table. I expected that to happen.

"Don't hit your fuckin' son!" my mom shouts, clawing at his face.

He pushes her away. "Christ, woman. Calm down!" He won't hit her. He rarely does. I'm the only one he smacks around. Kevin, too, but he isn't around much these days. Now I'm the only boy.

I run upstairs, where Karen is standing at the top. "Are you okay?" she asks.

"My arm kinda hurts," I admit, rubbing it.

"What happened?" she asks quietly, as if she's worried she'll be heard.

"Dad knocked me into a table," I say dryly. It's so not the first time this kind of thing has happened and it certainly won't be the last, we both know that.

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head.

"It's no big deal," I insist. I put a hand on her head and force a smile before turning away. I walk into my room and close the door behind me. I take off my jeans and sweater, throwing on a pair of plaid PJ pants and a long-sleeved shirt. I begin pacing, unsure of where to go from here. A few minutes later, between my pacing, my father walks in. He's still drunk.

"Dad?" I say quietly, unable to speak louder. He doesn't say a word. Instead, he reaches forward and grabs my wrist, pulling up my shirt sleeve. "Dad?" I repeat.

"I did this," he finally states, eyeing the red mark. It'll be a bruise come morning and probably a pretty damn colorful one.

"It's okay," I whisper, trying to stay calm and even-voiced as his grip tightens to a painful extent.

"Is it?" he wonders.

I nod and he finally lets go of me. "I've been hurt worse," I choose my words carefully, refusing to say I've been hurt worse by him.

"What did you want to say?" he asks. "Your mother said you had something to tell me."

"I…I'm…" I trail off, unsure how to say it and unsure I want to at a time like this.

"Spit it out," he demands.

"I was with a boy," I vaguely tell him.

Dad closes his eyes, letting out a breath. He looks disappointed. "So, you're a queer?"

"No…" I pause. "I don't know what I am anymore."

"Who was it?" he asks.

"Craig Tucker…" I say, afraid to give the name, but even more afraid to ignore the question.

"You're scared," he points out. I guess I'm not doing a good job of hiding it.

"No, I'm not," I insist.

"Don't lie to me."

"Are you mad?" I ask, trying to keep my tone even.

"You're my son," is all he says. His voice sounds terse and hard, as if he is angry on top of being disappointed.

"Are you mad?" I ask again, sounding like I'm about to fuckin' cry.

"Only at myself," he mumbles before leaving my room.

But I don't know what he means by that. I put a hand on my chest, swallowing a sob and feeling like I might choke on each breath I take in. Karen enters into the room a minute later and wraps her arms around my midsection. She is silent, but I can tell she's trying to make me feel better. Sometimes there are no words.

"I keep fucking up," I hiss, feeling my eyes grow wet. "God, what the hell is wrong with me?"

"Nothing," Karen insists. "I think he's sad he hurt you," she says softly. "He doesn't want you to grow to accept abuse from people."

"I don't…" I say mechanically, wiping my cheeks off. "I'm fine."

"You're not," she sighs, "and that's okay."

"Is it?" I can't help but wonder.

"Yeah," she insists. "Because you will be." And I think she's trying to convince the both of us of that. "So, you and Craig?" She changes the subject after letting go of me and smiles a small smile.

"You were listening."

"Sorry," she laughs quietly. "Do you like him?"

"I think I do." I like him even more because of his flaws and all the reasons other people don't like him. It's like… once you push past them; you get to see Craig for who he really is – not the guy you see at school and not the guy who's busy carelessly flipping everyone off. You get to see Craig for Craig – the guy he is when he's all alone. You get to see what makes him tick, the things he likes, the things he dislikes, his fears… You get to see what makes him smile and what makes him cry.

Karen smiles. "Ruby doesn't like you, but that's just because she doesn't know you."

"She's made it perfectly clear she hates me," I say tartly.

"She's brash and kind of rude," Karen laughs fondly. "She's like Craig, but in a louder way."

"Yeah, you said that before."

She nods. "She wants the best for her brother."

"And, to her, I'm not the best. I'm probably the worst."

"She's wrong. She just doesn't know you," Karen says once more.

"No, she's right," I correct. "Before I sauntered into Craig's pants, he was as pure as a fuckin' rainbow."

Karen lets out a laugh, "Okay, TMI."

"Sorry," I chuckle.

"I think you're both good for each other."

"I know you do," I say, recalling what she said to me a while back. She thinks Craig and I can learn things from each other. I don't know about that. For now, I'll shake it off.