You Can Never Go Back

Chapter Nineteen: I Staggered Back to the Underground

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: Woot. A chapter that has absolutely nothing to do with Stan. Okay, that's a lie. But Stan won't be in it, so there. And I feel so bad for Kenny. Why do I do such bad things to him? Aw…Don't worry. Things will end happily for him. Eventually.

Kenny's mouth is hot on mine, and I can feel my body burning, itching to get closer. He yanks me hard towards him, and I can feel him pressing into my thigh, instantly aroused. He stumbles backwards into his apartment, tugging me in after him. We're attached by the lips, by the need coursing through us. The door slams so loud it's like a shot when off when he kicks it with his foot.

He starts leading me towards the couch, but just as my body begins to sag against his, prone to the ministrations of his wandering fingers, he changes course. Now we're going towards the hall, towards his bedroom. We barely make it through the doorframe. He's making noises I've never heard before, and grinding his body hard against mine. His tongue is ravishing me, making me forget, almost.

It's dark in here, the shades pulled against the wintry streets. When my body hits the comforter I feel Kenny's hands fumbling with the top button on my jeans. I wind my hand through his hair, coarser than Stan's, and longer. His tongue is in my ear, licking, nipping, and everything feels so fucking amazing that I feel my vision going dark. Shit. Kenny's fingers are playing along the dip in my hipbone. His lips are attacking mine, his crotch bumping against me in such a way that I'm seeing stars.

"Kyle," he breathes against my mouth, and the name on my lips isn't his. His hand goes under my boxers, and that's about when I freeze.

"Wait, stop."

He isn't waiting. His fingers brush over the head of my cock, and my whole body is at attention, tingles arcing down to my toes.

"Shit, Kenny! Stop!"

His hand stills.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice deeper, huskier than normal. I look down to see his cheeks pink, and not from embarrassing. His cerulean eyes are frightfully clear.

What's wrong is that the feeling's gone. That feeling I came here trying so desperately to hold onto, it's gone.

"I can't do this."

"Why?" he asks, his clear blue eyes watching me, reproachful. He's splayed out on my stomach, and I can feel that he's still raring to go. Fuck.

"Because…"

Because his kisses don't fucking taste like Stan's. I remember the way Stan's mouth on mine made the back of my neck flush and my skin feel too small and my stomach pool with warmth. Kenny's hot. His touch makes me so, so fucking hot. But…there's something missing.

And now I'm officially the biggest prick in the world.

The worst part is, I think Kenny knows. He jumps off me like my skin's on fire, "God, I feel like such an idiot."

"Kenny, no-"

"Get out, Kyle."

"Kenny, shit, I'm-"

With icy calm, he commands, "Get the fuck out. Get out of my house, now."

So I do.

I run home, ignoring the freezing cold snow. I fall, like three times, slipping so that I hit my ass hard enough I can feel it reverberate up through my spine. All I do is get back up and run. I'm so SICK of being me. I'm so SICK of fucking up, all the time. I don't know why I am the way I am. It's not like I asked to be this way. Hell, if I'd had a choice in the matter I'd be tall, black, and making a mint in the NBA. And I'd never, ever have to worry about love.

My parents' car is in the driveway. When I walk through the door, dripping all over the carpet my mom looks up and says, "Kyle, you left your little brother all alone-"

She's seated in front of the TV with my little brother. My dad's nowhere to be seen, but that probably means he's in the little office he set up in the guest room. He's such a workaholic.

"-Bubbalah, are you alright?"

That's not what I expected. I look at her, really look at her, and see that her eyes are narrowed in concern. She's not going to yell. She's not going to scream.

And I look at her and I say, "Mom, I messed up."

Her face softens. She breathes, "Oh, Bubhie, come here."

I walk over to the couch and slump down beside her. Even though I've been bigger than my mom for about seven years, I fit perfectly against her when she wraps her arm around me, "Kyle, honey. Shh."

I don't know why she's telling me to 'shh'. Then I realize the room is filled with this whimpering sound. At first, I think it's coming from the TV. There's some chick flick on, something old with Meg Ryan. I'm surprised Ike even agreed to watch it.

I hiccup, and my mom pulls me tighter. The fabric against her collarbone is wet. I can't see straight. It's because I'm crying. The whimpering, it's not from the television. It's from me.

Okay, this is not acceptable. I take several deep breaths, calming myself. I haven't cried since I was nine and broke my arm snowboarding. One last breath and I pull away slightly from my mom. There weren't even that many tears; just a tiny, round spot of wet on her sweater. She doesn't even glance at it. Both she and Ike are watching the movie, and I can appreciate it. They're giving me space. They know I don't want them to see. I wipe hastily at my face. My lungs feel bubbly and not quite right, like I might puke.

Someone told me once that you don't cry when you're sad. You cry when you're frustrated. And fuck if I'm not. It's not just the way Kenny looked at me, like I'd broken his heart. And it's not how scared Stan was when he raced out of here earlier. It's not even about them, or about love. It's about the fact that I'm supposed to be mastering my destiny, but instead I feel like I'm a total, permanent fuck up. You know that old Blink182 song, What's My Age Again? The lyrics in that song are true. Nobody does like you when you're twenty three. Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. Why don't I go fucking eat worms? Somehow I think it would be more useful to drown myself in Stark's Pond.

Mom glances at me, and says in a brisk, motherly voice, "You feel better now?"

"Y-yeah," I hiccup again.

She smiles, kind, "Good. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Mom, what's love?"

She raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, what's love supposed to feel like?"

"Ah," she nods, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Ike listening in, "Bubhie…have you fallen in love?"

"I don't know."

I don't get it. There it is, the first true thing I've ever said. I just don't get it. This love thing. This caring thing. How am I supposed to know what my heart wants when it beats a million miles a minute at one thing and the next. I know I care for Stan, because I can't even imagine a life without him. But do I love him? Do I love anyone other than myself? Puzzled doesn't describe how I feel now. I feel angry. Like breaking things and screaming bloody murder at the top of my lungs. That can't be what love feels like, can it? But then sometimes I feel soft, like there's warmth pooling in my stomach; golden light, like Kenny's halo and softness, like the way Stan's hair felt under my fingertips.

Mom sighs, "Look, Kyle. You can't over think it. They tell you things…love is gentle, love is kind. And maybe it is, sometimes. Mostly it's hard. You don't have to know who you want to spend your life with to be in love. All you have to know is who you want to be with right now."

"You are such a fag," Ike mutters under his breath.

Mom slaps him over the head with one bejeweled hand. I hope her wedding ring got him in the eye.

"What if I don't know who I want to be with?"

"Then you figure it out. Kyle, you're so young. You kids think you have to know everything once you're in college. You think you've got to break the world to pieces, then put it back together so you can figure out how it works. Bubhie, you've got time. Even if you fall in love right now, it might not be forever."

That might be true.

"Thanks mom."

But even so, I still just don't fucking get it.

I sit back and watch the movie, snuggled against my mother. For the first time in forever, I don't think about anything. Anything at all.

The next day, the snow melts enough for me to go to work. That's not entirely true, actually. None of the snow really melted. They just plowed the hell out of the roads. It still takes longer than usual to get to Denver. I'm stuck behind about fifteen cars going twenty five miles an hour. It's okay. I turn the radio up as high as it will go until the bass pounds through my seat and I can't even hear myself think. Then, at work, I bury myself in spreadsheets; the numbers make it easy to concentrate on anything but me.

Afterwards is the problem. After a minute's deliberation, I walk to Craig's bar. I doubt that Stan or Kenny will be there, and honestly, I like it in the place. It's dim enough that you can forget yourself, and Craig's familiar, but not a big talker.

Or so I think.

The second I walk in, I'm spotted by the dark haired bar owner, who cries, "Fuck, Kyle. You too?"

I don't know what he means, until I see who's sitting in the table he's standing next to. There are Clyde Donovan and Bebe Stevens, looking completely shitfaced and singing a rousing chorus of some pop song I've never heard of. They're the only people in the bar other than a table packed full of girls in cleavage baring shirts who look equally plastered.

"Hiiiiiiiii Kyle!" Bebe shrieks, throwing up her hands so that the slinky baby tee she's wearing rides up and I can see the curve of her bra's underwire.

"Kyle! Duuuude," Clyde slurs.

I can't help it. I grin and say, "Hi guys."

"What the hell is this?" Craig demands, hitting a cleaning rag repeatedly against the table, "Did Kenny put an ad out in The Press for Friends and Family Night or something?"

Guiltily I shift on my patent leather work shoes and ask, "Why Kenny?"

Craig smiles, not very nicely, "He's the only douche who's not scared when I say I'll kill him."

He then says more loudly, "Oye. I'm not giving any of you lot discounts."

"Aw, that's right sweetie," Bebe pat his knee brightly, "You're giving us drinks for free."

"On the house!" Clyde cheers. He looks good. He wasn't at our impromptu reunion, although I know he's been around. I remember Kenny mentioned something about him working on his masters. He still kind of looks like a dumb jock to me, but that could be because he's drunk.

"I'm not a fucking charity, bitch," Craig growls.

"You always give me free drinks," I point out, motioning for Bebe to slide over. She does, obligingly. Might as well get trashed. I'm still feeling miserable, and there's nothing better than drinking with friends who have nothing to do with the situation.

"That's because I can tolerate you. Barely," Craig rebukes me.

"Hey!" Clyde yelps, pounding his hand on the table, "I'm your best friend, man. Not cool."

Okay. He doesn't need the drink in front of him. I snatch Clyde's glass and take a sip. Whiskey. Blargh. Kenny told me once that real men drink whiskey. I guess I'm not a real man.

Then again, I don't want to think about Kenny. I take a long sip of the drink, ignoring the burn.

"No, you're a freeloading asshole."

A mournful expression crosses Clyde's face. He pouts, "So who's your best friend?"

Craig sighs in defeat, "A freeloading asshole."

"Hey! That's me!" Clyde exclaims, a dopey grin taking over his face.

"Craig!" a loud voice screeches over our table, "We want cosmos!"

I wince. Whoever that was had a damned shrill voice. It was one of the cleavage girls for sure.

"Who is that?" I glance at him.

He frowns, "My baby sister and her sorority sluts."

To her he yells, "Ask the damned bartender, skank. I'm talking to my friends!"

"But you make them better," the girl whines back.

"Kill me. Kill me right now," Craig mutters before leaving to do his job. I watch him go behind the bar, excusing the bartender who works for him so he can make his sister and her friends their drinks.

"He's in a really bad mood," I pronounce to the remainder of the table.

Bebe waves it away, "The day Craig Tucker isn't in a foul temper is the day the dead rise from their grave."

"No, that was Halloween," Clyde says with a chuckle.

"Third grade," I agree.

"Where's my drink?" Clyde wonders aloud, and then yells, "Craig!"

All he gets in reply is, "Shut the fuck up, bastard! I'll get to you."

Clyde sits back in his seat, looking chastened. Bebe rolls her eyes, "Boys. Can't even handle a tiny zombie infestation."

"We handled it," I object.

"Not well. Didn't you cut Kenny in half with a chainsaw?"

Yeah. And now I cut his heart in half too. Fuck. No way am I arguing with a drunk chick, "Where's Butters? I thought you two were like, an item."

"We are," Bebe giggles, "But he decided to go see a slasher film with Cartman."

So that's why fatass isn't answering his phone. Aw, it's nice he has friends. Thinking about Cartman makes me think about Stan, and Kenny, and then I end up swallowing a mouthful of burning guilt. Then I wash it down with whiskey.

"Bebe?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"You know what's going on with Craig and Token, don't you?"

She glances up in surprise.

"Why do you want to know? I hadn't pinned you for nosy."

I shrug, "Just curious."

That's not strictly true. Craig is the only person I know other than Wendy who's had repeated 'close encounters' with Stan. While I doubt neither he nor Stan is a huge fan of fagstastic pillow talk, I guess I feel like understanding Craig's situation might better help me understand Stan. Its bullshit, but it's true.

"O-kay," she narrows her eyes. Whatever. It's not like I need her to believe me. I just need her to be drunk enough to talk. And she is.

Real slow she says, "Craig had a thing for Token through all of senior year. He told Clyde," she points to the other boy, who's propped his head on the table. I think he's asleep, unless he drools like that during most waking hours, "who I was dating at the time, that he didn't really know how he ended up falling for him. I guess they got dared to kiss at some party."

I remember that party. I ended up naked at that party.

"So you know Craig. Stubborn as a bull. He slept around to get rid of his feelings, got a reputation as an even bigger manwhore than he already had. Token of all people was warning him to slow down, but that just pissed him off."

"Naturally."

"At graduation he finally caved and told Token what was going on. Wouldn't you know it? Token had a thing for him too. But Craig's free love philosophy sort of offended his delicate sensibilities."

Hunh. Funny. This sounds familiar. And not just because I heard Craig and Stan arguing over something similar. Stan's been balls deep in so many girls that I had to seriously consider his confession as some sick desire for conquests at first. I don't blame Token.

"He's old fashioned like that."

Bebe obviously disagrees. She would. Back in high school she spread her legs so many times she could have been a cheerleader. No one hated her for it though. She was just too bouncy. Of course, having testicles I was rarely subject to her greatly feared bitchy side.

"So what happened?"

"He made Craig promise to wait for him."

"Oh yeah, all the way through med school."

I remember this part of Stan and Craig's argument.

"No, actually. Only for the first four years of college."

That's not what Craig said.

Bebe finishes off the contents of her glass, which looked like some fruity drink, and says, "But he found out that Craig was fucking around with someone. I'm not sure who. That's when he said Craig would have to wait another four years."

"Who was he fucking around with?"

"Some guy," Bebe shrugs, "I never found out. I don't even know how Token found out, although I think he talks to Craig's sister."

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. I think she thinks that's underhanded of him.

I start to put together the dots. Token must have found out that Craig was screwing Stan, but he still gave him the benefit of a doubt. I wonder if he knows that Craig was only fucking Stan in the first place because he was lonely. At least, I would think that's why. I remember Craig saying that Token didn't believe in him. It must be hard knowing that the person you want most in the world doesn't trust you.

Shit. I wonder if that's how Stan feels.

But even if he feels that way, why would he run away from me?

In what feels like minutes, it's closing time. Craig approaches the table and says, "Alright. Time to scram."

Bebe jumps to her feet and giggles, "Okay. I just have to find my car keys."

"Nuh unh," Craig crosses his arms, "I called you and Clyde a cab."

He then proceeds to nudge Clyde with his foot, "Get up loser. You're going to stain my table with your toxic saliva."

Clyde grunts, slowly cracking an eyelid, "Craig?"

"You bet your ass. Now get out."

After he and Bebe evacuate, stumbling out into the street and into the awaiting cab, Craig turns to me, "You too, Broflovski."

I frown, "Do you need any help cleaning up?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," he gestures to the other bartender, "I pay people for that."

He groans and adds, "Although tonight I'm lucky if I'm barely drawing even."

Even though he says that, he's a good guy. When I try to offer him money, he refuses. He evens asks if I'm okay to drive. I reassure him that I've only had one drink and make my way outside.

I start when I see the dark figure standing outside, leaning under the neon sign for the bar. At first, my heart stops. I think just for a second that it could be Stan. Only for a second though. Stan's skin isn't that dark, and his hair isn't cut like that and holy shit, it's Token.

"Token. Dude."

"Holy shit! Kyle Broflovski? I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Right back at you," I pound his fist, all masculine like.

"What's been going on?"

I shrug, "Drinking."

Well, duh. I mean, this is a bar.

"I figured. Um…man, is Craig in there?"

"He is," I smile a little, thinking of what Bebe said, "I heard you two are having some problems."

Anger races across Token's face, "He told you?"

"Nope. Bebe told me," I say, and then, "For what it's worth…I'm going through something similar. I empathize."

He sizes me up, "Stan?"

Does everyone know my business? Ha. Token must feel the same way.

"How'd you know?"

"Clyde's a blabbermouth," he shrugs, "He told me Stan's got a little promiscuity problem."

"Little might not be the right word," I sigh, "But that's not really our issue right now."

"It's not Craig and mine's anymore, either," he sighs. Shit. It's like looking into a mirror.

Abruptly I ask, "Do you love him?"

"Craig?"

I roll my eyes, saying nothing. He's getting his MD for God's sake. Figure it out.

"I…love is such a strong word."

"So…you don't love him?"

"I didn't say that," if it wasn't so dark, I'd bet money he's blushing. In a soft voice he says, "I just…I've never clicked with anyone like I click with Craig, you know? Being away from him bites. But sometime being with him hurts too."

Exactly. He just summed up how I feel exactly.

"You should talk to him," I decide.

"No, I'm good just standing here," Token exclaims in a rush.

"Like a stalker?"

"I'm not like a stalker."

"C'mon. How long have you been standing outside this bar? I thought you were supposed to go home like, last week?"

"I've only been standing here for- shit. Okay, and I extended my trip. I'm here 'til Saturday."

"Hope to see you again soon then," I shove my hands deep in the pockets of my work slacks, "We can hang. But for right now, go talk to Craig. And Token, don't make him wait around forever. He's a lonely guy."

"Kyle-"

I open the door of the bar, sticking my head in, "You know, Craig, for a guy who likes his life nice and boring, you sure get yourself into a lot of shit."

"What the hell are you talking about Kyle?"

I grin, "Come on out and see."

Then I turn on my heel and walk away. Behind me, I hear the jingle of the bells as the door opens. Then I hear Craig's voice, "Token?"

I hope they work it out. Someone needs a happy ending. Even if it's never going to be me.

A/N: I'm not big on boys crying. In fact, I hate when I read boys crying in fanfics. BUT for this chapter it seemed kind of necessary, and since I have seen guys cry when they're dealing with this kind of shit, I figured a few tears might be okay. This will be the first and only time Kyle will cry in this fic. GAH. Supposed to be working on a paper. South Park fanfiction is like crack. Okay. Going to go, work on paper, and sleep. Yes. Good night. Please review!