You Can Never Go Back

Chapter Thirteen: So I Found Me A Whore With A Face Just Like Yours

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: The title of this is ever so amusing to me. And fitting for this chapter- which is completely ironic because like I said, I randomly select the songs on iTunes. It's not my fault that my music library shares my humor. I'm aiming to make this chapter much more interesting than the last. I might fail completely, but ehhhh. It's the attempt that counts, no? By the way, I have to thank all my reviewers, but ESPECIALLY my most recent anonymous reviewer who gave me the LONGEST review ever. It was lovely! They did mention that they think I curse a little too much, which I probably do. Fiction therapy. Plus no matter how much I curse, I think the SP boys do it more, and are way more creative about it too. Sadly I'm not good with stringing together my expletives. Le sigh. But SUPER thanks, to all y'all!

Okay, and did anyone think that last episode was completely a testament to Cartman's gayness? He was so anti-women and sex. Which MUST mean he only likes it from men. Insert lewd smiley face here.

I knock on Kenny's door, taking a deep breath. It seems I'm always nervous around front doors these days. Or maybe I'm just scared of the people behind them.

"Whaddayou want?" a voice calls out from behind the door. I stare at the white painted panels and sigh.

"Kenny? Open up."

"Goddamnit, Kyle. It's like, four in the morning. Some of us have to work on Saturdays."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too. Don't make me kick this door down."

It swings open, revealing Kenny in all his glory. Not really. He does happen to only be wearing a pair of jeans that's riding rather low on his hips. He pads toward me, barefoot.

"Yer an asshole, ya know that?"

Ooh. He gets snarky when he's tired. And turns into a total redneck. I snicker at his affected accent.

"We're going out," I announce, roping him towards me with an arm and directing him back into the apartment, where I push him down on his shabby brown sofa. I plop down beside him.

He snarls, "Like hell we are."

"What if I told you we're going to a strip club?"

He frowns at me. Boobs are his kryptonite, gay or not.

Which reminds me.

"Kenny, when we first met…again, and you took me to that white trash trailer party, you were totally chatting up this girl. You even accused me of cock blocking you. What was that about?"

I don't know why this question came to me at the time when my brain should be roughly set on sleeping. I guess I've spent so much time pondering sexuality that any incongruity I see makes me jump at a chance to find straightness in any one of my friends.

"I was?" he shrugs, "Guess so. I toldja already. South Park isn't exactly brimming with boys willing to fuck like rabbits. I take it where I can get it."

"So you'd have sex with a girl?"

"I've done it before, haven't I?" he half sneers, half yawns, "Dun really enjoy it, but it's a'ight if I close my eyes and think of…well, dudes, dude. Anyway, if you get 'em good and drunk, they're usually willing to turn around and try letting me stick it somewhere new. From the back it's easier to imagine."

"Aw, sick dude."

I did not need that mental imagery.

He shrugs again, his mussed blonde hair shining in the dim lighting of his apartment. He almost looks like he has a halo.

Yeah, right. Like Kenny McCormick could ever be an angel.

I make him down an energy drink and dawn a faded gray sweatshirt. It's the first thing I've seen him wear that isn't stained with engine grease. He's just about back to talking in normal dialect by the time we reach the strip joint, which is so brightly lit that it might as well be day time in the parking lot.

"Why'd you want to come here, anyway?"

"I need some estrogen in my life," I reason.

"That's what your mom's for."

I shake my head vehemently, "My mother's gone through menopause every day of her life. There's not an ounce of girl in her."

"I know what you're doing. I don't entirely approve."

"Approve of what?" I lower my eyes. It's the universal signal for back the fuck off, in my mind. Kenny doesn't take the hint.

"This booty-shake-the-gay-away thing isn't going to work. You're going to wake up tomorrow morning- er, afternoon, feeling a hundred bucks broker and still have three gay fucking friends."

"Yeah, well. At least this time if I wake up with hickeys they won't be from you or Cartman."

"Ooh, low blow," he laughs, "You enjoyed it."

"Fuck, Ken. I had to borrow some of my mom's concealer for dinner with Stan the other night."

"Why? Scared he'd get jealous?"

Um. Yes, actually. I don't say anything. I've been wary about dropping details about what went on with Stan; although I think I already leaked a bit too much to my mechanic friend. He at least knows what Stan's been doing with Craig, and somehow he found out a bit about the confession too, although not everything. I'm keeping our conversation on Thursday night mum though. I don't want to have to worry that he'll get jealous too.

One of these days, Kenny and I are going to have to sit down and have a long chat. Maybe that's why I'm dragging him to the strip club. To avoid that day.

The place is packed, to my surprise. We'll be lucky if we get the ugliest stripper here, but I guess that's better than no tits at all. The only seating we can find is directly at the bar, where Kenny promptly orders up a round of drinks. He's firm in his attempts to further destroy my liver.

We watch one of the girls on stage for a while. She's got thunder thighs and a ghetto booty, but her hair is black and silky and makes me think of someone I can't quite recall. And wow, her eyes are cat shaped and blue. I can see why she has this job, even if her body isn't really my type. Wow. Blue. Kenny turns to me with a smile, and I realize he has blue eyes too, clear cerulean, like the sky before twilight. I almost think, just for a second, that I wish they were the color of Ye Olde New England seaport; the color the thrashing waves get right before a winter storm.

Okay. Moses, I don't even think I need the drink. I'm obviously already cracked out.

That being said, I down the entire concoction in front of me without even pausing to realize that I just drank half a glass of tequila. It burns its way down my throat, leaving me coughing and gasping for air.

"Whoa there, buddy," Kenny exclaims, slapping my back. He whispers into my ear, "Breathe. Just breathe, and you'll get through it."

I do. The burning sensation passes.

My eyes are greeted with the sight of soft, milky curves. Someone's breasts are right in front of me. I look up and see Red-er, Passion beaming at me.

"Wow. Never seen someone go down so hard," she chirps, "Should I tell Wanda to get you another drink? Maybe a soda?"

"I'm good," I croak, still hypnotized by those lumps of flesh in front of me. I can tell Kenny's staring too on my side, as I hear the faint drawl of 'boobs' near my ear.

We're such pervs.

"Do you fellows want a dance?" Red asks, shimmying her hips a bit to get us even more enticed. It works. I gulp and nod.

About two lap dances later, I'm sipping on a glass of water and Kenny's got his face buried in some blonde dancer's crotch, which she grinds into his nose. I hope that's sanitary.

Red's perched next to me, telling me some high school story and giggling.

I interrupt her, "So, this gig you got here, does it let you date people?"

Red blinks, her eyes big. They're blue, too, "Well, not many people wanna date a stripper, Kyle."

She leans into me, her breasts molding to the side of my arm, "Why, you asking?"

I think about it. It doesn't take me long. At least I'll get a pity fuck out of it; she is a stripper, after all.

"Sure."

I'm at Craig's bar again. I don't know how I keep letting myself get roped into coming here. It's Monday night, and I had a long day at work. The last thing I need is to spend time with my sexually confused friends and alcohol. That hasn't been working out for me so well as of yet. This time though it's only Stan and I. He was in town and gave me a call. Its part of our 'let's-see-what-happens' gig. I thought perhaps he was in town to fuck Craig, which would fully nullify our contract, but he swears he only came to Denver for business. Since he insisted on dropping by to visit Craig, I figure he's not lying about not seeing him.

Craig's pouring up a round of pitchers when we come in, but even with his back turned I can see from his reflection in the grimy bar mirror that something isn't right. He turns towards us, and I feel Stan stiffen beside me. He always gets so righteous when he thinks a friend is in trouble.

Almost casually, Stan calls out, "Craig. C'mere a second."

Craig delays, pouring us both drinks before he walks around the bar and takes a seat beside Stan, keeping his head low. It does nothing to hide the black and blue area surrounding his eye, or the yellowish bits radiating down his cheekbone. I don't think I've ever seen such a vicious looking black eye.

"Nice shiner you got there," Stan tells Craig, picking up the glass the bartender brought and fiddling with it. He takes a sip, and more than ever I think the two of them looked like brothers, "Where'd you get it?"

"Token."

Stan nearly spits out his drink, "Dude, Token's back in town?"

"For a week. Visiting his 'rents," Craig says, acting more casual than he sounds.

"So what'd you do to get hit?" I ask, almost wishing I hadn't when he and Stan both glare at me. I didn't realize their conversation was private time, so sorry.

Craig is careful about choosing his words, "I visited."

"That's all?"

"With Token, that's all I need to do to piss him off."

Stan frowns. I can tell he wants to say a lot, but I don't really know much about Token and Craig's situation. I can't predict what words are about to come tumbling out of my friend's mouth.

I definitely don't predict this.

"You really have some fucking balls."

Craig turns toward Stan, "What?"

"You know damned well how Token feels about that shit."

"Stan, dude," Craig holds up his hands, "Why are you suddenly on his side?"

"I had a chat with Bebe and Butters. I'd bet my left nut they're the ones that got Token to come visit, you know?" Stan takes a long gulp of his drink and says idly, "They've kept in contact with him. They told me what he said to you. You've been lying all this time."

"What the hell are you on about?" Craig's ears are turning pink. Not a good sign. I see his middle fingers twitching, which is sort of a grammar school reflex of his. I have no idea what Stan's implying, but its obvious Craig does.

Stan twirls his glass under his fingers, the dratted thing catching the dim light of the bar and sparkling.

"Bebe told me what Token said to you at graduation," almost indignantly Stan raised the glass to his lips and then said, "He did not tell you to fuck off."

"Essentially he did," Craig retorted, angry.

"He told you to wait for him till he finished fucking med school!" Stan practically explodes, jumping out of his seat and taking hold of the collar of Craig's nice white starched shirt. Taken aback the other boy just stared straight into Stan's eyes.

"Yeah," Craig shrugs, "He said that if I still felt the same way after he'd gotten his MD that he'd give us a try. As a couple."

I watch the way Craig's lips twist around the word 'couple', almost like it's leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"So how does that translate into fuck off?" Stan demands. Half the patrons of the bar are staring now. I'm so not getting involved. No. No, no, no.

I swear to Moses, Craig has the most pitiful look on his face when he mutters, "He doesn't want me. He was just saying it because he thought it would get me off his back so he could escape to Califuckingfornia. I mean, he doesn't honestly believe I'm going to hold out while he goes to med school. That's four more years, on top of what I already waited for. In fact, I know he doesn't believe me. After what I got up to in high school, he can't possibly believe it. That wait for me shit was just what he said to deter me."

"You've held out four years already! You're so lost over him that you're definitely going to wait another four. Token knows you're a loyal guy," Stan huffs and pushes a hand through his thick, dark hair, "You're just being a complete and utter moron."

"I am not waiting four years for that bastard," Craig frowns, "He doesn't believe I will. You know it."

"He does," Stan insists, and then asks, "You're not?"

"Not what?"

"Going to wait for him?"

"I already haven't. I've been giving it to you, haven't I?" the skinny bar-owner cocks an eyebrow.

Stan's cheeks redden, and I can tell he's embarrassed that Craig's airing his dirty laundry in front of me. He's ashamed of his relationship with Craig.

For the first time the implications of Stan and my conversation about his loyalty really sinks in. He wants to be loyal…to me. He wants to be with me.

My heart flutters.

Okay. Weird.

"Shut up," Stan ducks his head beneath one long-fingered hand, and I can tell he's starting to get pissed.

"What? Kyle already knows," Craig spares a glance at me, and I can tell he's actually slightly apologetic for bringing me into it, but that he's too wound up about Token to care.

My friend seethes, "Leave. Kyle. Out of this."

I kind of agree.

The bar lighting is making Craig's face look sallow, but I can tell Stan's cheeks are fully flushed. He leans closer to the bar owner, and all I can see is his back. I think he's mouthing something he doesn't want me to hear.

Craig swivels back on his chair, about to get up and march away, "Screw you, Marsh."

"You already have. You're not even that good," Stan comments, gathering up his faded black leather bomber jacket and fishing in the pocket for his car keys. Gee. This was a brief, awkward excursion. I wonder if all our bonding time will be like this.

"You know, I bet the reason Kyle doesn't like you is because you're such a whiny little pussy," Craig sneers, stopped at the trapdoor that lead behind the bar. I guess he didn't like Stan's commentary on his skills in the bedroom. I'd really hoped he was up to ignoring it.

"I told you not to bring Kyle into this," Stan warns.

I tug on the sleeve of his shirt and hiss, "Dude, let it go. I just want to go home now."

Great. Now I sound like a girl.

Stan tugs free of my grip. He drops his jacket and keys onto the barstool, and marches over to Craig, taking hold of the collar of his shirt, "Just mind your own damned business. Maybe you're right. Maybe the reason Token doesn't want to be with you is because he knows you can't stop being such a whore. If there's anything worse than being a flaming queer, it's being a man slut on top of that."

Damn, Stan. What happened to being a pacifist?

Craig takes a swing at him, which doesn't really surprise me. The patrons of the bar are looking on, unsure whether to run and skip out on their tabs, or to sit and watch the action. A lady in a red dress shrieks a little as Stan ducks the punch and loses balance; stumbling into the table she was sharing with what looks to be an underage boy. Stan regains his footing easily, and he lunges forward, striking Craig directly on his already swollen bruise. I watch as Craig reels back, falling backwards onto the trapdoor. It collapses under his weight. It doesn't matter. He's on his feet again, swiping Stan's legs out from under him. My friend falls onto his back with a painful sounding thump. Craig straddles him, driving his fists directly into Stan's face.

Some of the customers are getting up. A few are looking at me accusingly. I glare back. He's my friend, so I should be trying to break up the fight, right? Wrong. One of the bar backs is looking at the ruins of the trapdoor mournfully, but he isn't trying to stop it. He looks rightfully frightened of his boss, who is going berserk to be fair. I'm just about to try to pull him off Stan when a loud jangling at the door diverts my attention. All I see is a mass of blue; a whale in a cop uniform. Cartman lunges forward, yanking Craig off Stan with an 'Aye!'

Craig's struggling forward, and Stan's scrambling to his feet, clutching his cheekbone and shooting Craig a baleful glare. He tackles the two boys against the bar, but Cartman holds an arm between them.

"What do you think you two pansies are doing?" He winces as Stan pulls at his arm, "Aye! I said Aye! Respect my authoritah!"

Craig's eyes meet Stan's. They reach an accord. Suddenly they've both turned on Cartman, and they're punching and kicking like feral dogs, until the fat boy is on the ground too. Normally I'd jump at any chance to see Cartman injured, but he's in his cop uniform. I see the lady in red pull out a cell phone. Shit. She's going to call the real authorities.

Now that Cartman's down for the count, Stan and Craig turn back to each other, breathing hard. Stan's got a hand wound in the other boy's hair, yanking hard, and he's driving his fist into Craig's stomach. After each punch Craig's gasping, "Keep it up bitch. I'm not afraid of you."

He's swinging wildly, trying to push Stan away. I don't envy him the job. Craig may have been tough back in high school, but Stan was the baseball team's star pitcher. He packs a lot of power, especially in his pitching arm. I've been on the receiving end of enough of his punches to know he definitely hits harder than the average dude.

With all the drive that made him such a star, he takes Stan down. Now he's the one who's straddling him, hissing venomously, "You should be."

Stan starts beating the shit out of Craig, barraging his abdomen, his shoulders, his neck, and his face. I don't even think he's looking as he hits, just running on pure blind rage.

Cartman's whimpering on the floor, and I can hear static voices over his walkie talkie. Sirens sound off in the distance.

Okay. Fine. Craig's covered in black and blue marks, and I realize that maybe staying out of it isn't an option anymore. I stomp forward, taking hold of Stan's shoulders and dragging him back. He's struggling against me, escaping my grasp. He turns on me, and swings blindly. I receive a fist right to the ribs, and all the breath in my lungs whooshes away.

Now he's looking at me in abject terror, "Shit! Kyle. I didn't mean-"

When I hit, I don't give him the choice of getting back up. My knuckles pound into his cheekbone, and I watch as he drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"That is enough!" I command, furious. Everyone in the bar is looking at me. I see Cartman regaining his sensibilities, although he's still whimpering slightly. He never had a head for pain. My ribs are tender now, but you don't see me acting like a little bitch about it.

"This fight stops here," I announce clearly, meeting not only Craig and Stan's eyes, but every customer who hasn't left and will look at me.

"I'm not scared of you," I look down and tell Stan, breathing hard, "And I never will be."

He does the only thing he knows how to do at this point, which is leap to his feet wildly swing straight towards my stomach. I dodge it, but his knuckles graze by my ribs again. I wince. Oh yeah. That's definitely going to bruise now. Ducking down as my super best friend prepares another punch, I kick my leg out into his shin. He stumbles forward, falling to his knees. I fall on top of him, straddling his waist.

"I'm. Not. Scared. Of. You," I enunciate, taking hold of his wrists.

Stan glares up at me with grudging respect in his eyes. He knows I'm telling the truth.

He falls back against the cold stone of the floor, surrendering to me.

"Shit, Broflovski," Craig hisses in pain, "Couldn't you have done that sooner? My bar's a wreck."

"That's what you get for starting a fight, douchebag," I mutter back. I can feel Stan's breathing between my thighs. His pulse is slowing. He's clutching his eye. I don't know if it was from me or Craig, or a combination of our fists of fury, but he's not going to be looking so hot tomorrow. Wendy's probably going to kill him.

"Guys," Cartman wheezes, "Denver PD is going to be here in a minute. You might want to get out of here."

The lady in red is shooting Cartman a murderous look. I guess she was kind of proud to be doing her civic duty when she called the cops. If there aren't perps, she doesn't get to be a hero.

I don't fucking care. I untangle myself from Stan, finding my feet, and then helping him up. Avoiding Cartman's gaze I mutter a thanks. Even now, I still can't look at him straight.

"You're a cock-blocking son of a bitch," Stan tells Craig, who's still sprawled on the ground, glaring up at him with a look full of more hate than I ever knew he could muster. He musters up his stuff and then marches away with as much dignity as he can, the swelling in his eye mirroring Craig's. I watch the entry door swing back, his silhouette disappearing into the dark street.

I don't follow. Instead I tell the boy on the floor sadly, "Don't worry. He'll get over it."

The dark haired boy shakes his head, dry humor in his eyes, "Not when it comes to you, he won't."

"You didn't cock block him. I was never planning on…"

Craig holds up a hand, "Careful what you say. You never know when you'll have a change of heart."

"Not about this, I won't," I reply firmly.

"We'll see."

I find Stan waiting for me a block away. We made it out of Craig's bar just in time. The cops are practically running into the thing now. I can see their shiny badges from here. They've got their guns drawn. I hope Craig and Cartman can think up something to say.

"You're such a dick," I tell Stan.

"I know," he replies. He even has the grace to look ashamed.

"Why'd you freak out?"

"I can't stand that he's letting his own damned ego get in the way of being with Token. I mean, the guy asked him to wait, but it's Token Black. He's serious when it comes to stuff like this. I doubt it's just some test for Craig. I don't know the reason, but I know there has to be one."

I think of Token, who was always so solemn and reserved in school. When Craig went rebel without a clue, Token was the only one who really stuck by his side. Even Clyde wouldn't put up with his hissy fits at that point, but I think Clyde was just scared of Craig macking on his girls. Token was always intensely loyal. Stan's right. There's got to be some reason he would make Craig wait, other than a test. Hell, maybe he's just trying to sort out his feelings. I can understand that.

"You still shouldn't have gone ballistic."

"He insulted you."

"He didn't," I correct, "I would have beaten his ass for that. He insulted how you feel about me."

"Same thing."

"Not to me," I frown, "Maybe we should just forget about everything."

Stan squeaks, "Everything? Even you considering…?"

"Yeah."

My wrist suddenly finds itself wrapped in Stan's possessive grip. His palm is warm, calloused. My skin tingles where he touches it, "No."

"No? This isn't a multiple choice test. You don't get to just say no."

"I do. I am. Give me another chance."

"Somehow I think you've been getting way too many chances lately."

He grimaces, cobalt eyes searching out my own, "That might be true. Still."

I'm going to regret this.

"Okay."

His hand is still wrapped around my wrist. I look at it pointedly, but he doesn't let go. Instead he says, "I let you say I was bi, before. I'm not, you know."

"So you are gay?"

"I'm not gay, either, damnit."

The atmosphere shifts. His eyes are tired, but I can sense he hasn't got any fight left in him. So I tease, "You just wanna bone me?"

Seriously, he replies, "No, I love you."

I'm not done. With a mischievous smile, I query, "But you like banging Craig?"

"Damnit, Kyle!"

His shout was half strangled by a laugh. It bubbles out of him, unable to be contained any longer. And now I'm laughing too. We're sagging against a light post, howling like idiots. I feel him lean into me, shaking with mirth, his arms wrapping around me. I support his weight, holding him up, still laughing. We walk like that, back to our cars. In between spastic bouts of laughter, we recount how we totally whooped each other's asses.

Oddly enough, things sort of go back to normal after that.

A/N: Wow. That was the most random ass chapter. It took so long because I'm not fond of fight scenes. Well I am, but not of writing them. Don't worry, its the last one. The story will be relatively non-violent from here on out. And the true style-ness will begin soon.

There will be more on Token and Craig's relationship later, and even more about Bebe and Butters. I'm not just inserting that as filler. Red and Kyle's date will take place in two chapters, unless I get impatient and put it in the next one. I'm not fond of this chapter AGAIN, but you guys tell me if you absolutely hated it. Don't worry. I can cry in my room alone. I'm making a sad face at the computer. It would be much more effective if you could see it.

Actually I don't think anything could bring me down, because I just found out I'm officially graduating this May. Damn. Now I have to go find a real job.

Let's see. I'm very into Stan as the sub in the Style relationship, probably because that's hard to find. If anyone knows any good fics where Stan is the 'uke' so to speak- I love how I have to insert Japanese terms in a non-anime fic- let me know. I think keeping everyone in show character- Kyle would be the domineering one in both his relationship with Stan and at least part-time in a relationship with Kenny. I can't believe I gave that thought. The SP fandom is twisting my poor mind. And I love it, of course.