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Meh No-tuh: Well i can safely say this is deffinately the best and most favorite Creek I have begun. So i'm writting quickly. I need to spell check and conclude the next chapter but it'll be up by friday i promise. Tell me what you think, what i should do better and if i'm confusing or screwing the story all to hell.
Read. Now.
Seriousleh, Reeeeead!
"Well…." Tweek began but found himself trailing off as he tried to figure out what to say.
Who had given him the bruise?
It was a toss up between Eric Cartman and Clyde Donavan, he couldn't be sure. That was what he wanted to say. He didn't dare though, Craig might think it was flippant.
He remembered walking into the bathroom, even though he knew better, just after the last bell. He was so sure no one would be there; school was over for Christ sake. He'd just entered when he heard the hateful voice of Cartman.
"Well, well, well." The larger boy had sang. "Look at you! Twitch decided he was coming in our bathroom?"
"Oh no, we can't have that!" the mocking shock in Clyde's voice caused Tweek's head to whip around to face him.
A whimper escaped as he tried to edge back to the door. Clyde noticed and darted forward, shoving him hard and making his head slam into the tiled bathroom wall. And, oh Jesus fuck! The germs what could be on a nasty public bathroom? Oh, oh, oh. Better what isn't in here.
His head bounced forward and hit the wall for a second time when Clyde's hand moved to his throat.
Cartman had moved forward and was now on Tweek's left. His fist had been raised, his pudgy face alight with glee. Tweek's gaze moved between both pairs of pitiless brown eyes and uttered a terrified, a resigned " Oh jesus"
and then a fist had caught him in the side.
After that the rest of the beating was a haze of pain. He remembered a clenched fist impacting his eye, but not who had done it. He had been in too much pain by then.
He remembered being dragged by a fist full of his own hair out onto the parking lot, worried they would take a piece of his scalp out with the force of their dragging.
He remembered being shoved to the ground, smacking his knees and stomach into gravel outside of the school gate, Feeling the sting of blood as his pants ripped at the knees. A knee in his back, grinding his flesh into the stones.
He remembered almost blacking out with the pain as a heavy handed smack landed hard across the back of his head.
He remembered the vicious laughter. All the students yet to leave the parking lot, the school, for the day as they watched Twitch get beat up. How funny they though his blood and pain was.
He remembered people, people just standing watching, eyes averted of full of feigned sympathy. They were so disgusting. Standing and watching and he hated them for it. They didn't care.
But he could not recall who's hand had left his eye swollen and discolored.
"You can't remember?" the disbelieving voice of Craig asked.
Tweek's eyes were closed now and he just shook his head, it figured Craig could read his mind. Maybe he should have an aluminum helmet.
Craig on the other hand, not being able to read minds in the least, had heard Tweek speak his last thought out loud and found himself shocked. His eyes roving over Tweek's body again, this time checking for other wounds.
Who was so frequently beaten down that they simply could not remember who had given them a bruise? What else, what was worse than his eye, had to have happened for him to simply not notice who's fist hit him in the face?
He felt a sick ache in his stomach as he found his eyes drawn, horrified, to Tweek's eye again.
Tweek's voice was the normal low, slightly terrified of everything, sound he was famous for. It was so normal.
"I-it was either Eric, Eric Cartman or… Oh Jesus! You don't want to, to know. It doesn't matter. Shouldn't matter to you, you. Gah."
Carman. The fatass little sociopath, anti-Semitic, bully, lying little shit at nine. He'd grown up even more fat and more violent. That wasn't a surprise. Craig was almost surprised he hadn't thought of it himself.
Almost.
He'd come to the realization, standing in a gas station connivance store, after staring at the back of a blond head of hair with a faint copper patch that he now found himself wincing in sympathy of, that he'd never noticed this kid before.
He could vaguely recall hanging out, video games, Red Racer episodes and sleepovers with an over-caffeinated stuttering little blond named…. Something.
It had taken the entire dinner at City Wok's Chinese restaurant, with a huge bill footed by Token, for him to put a name to the bruised and battered blond.
Tweek Tweak.
And then, with the name, hazy memories of classes at school, Math and English maybe, Lunch times spent glaring at the questionable food. Seeing a blond all by himself. So small and bland that no one really looked at him.
Craig recalled the boy's wide and terrified eyes, had they been so green and defeated then, as Clyde tripped him down the front stairs at Park County high. The boy hadn't looked at the students milling down the stairs with any sort of plea for help, but acceptance.
A boy bullied one too many time, shoved so often, beaten down so hard that he knew no one cared.
And before he knew what he was doing Craig found himself on his bike, leaving a pissed off Clyde to get a ride home from Token. Driving over to the bad side of town, a place filled with despair and druggies.
He stopped his bike in an alley behind the convenience store and waited. It had been pitch black when he arrived, nearly ten at night and he waited hours. Never once thought to go home, he just needed to see the kid again.
To prove maybe, that Craig had seen him.
Some misguided need to vindicate himself, prove he could see the kid. That the kid existed and was.
And then in the very early hours of the morning he had watched him lock down the store. He'd watched the slim boy practically run from each yellowed circle of artificial light created by the street lamps to the other.
He'd only wanted to see.
Really.
But the boy was so…helpless.
He looked so frightened going from each light to the next, so scared each time he stepped out of each circle, like he thought this time he would die.
Like he needs to be protected. Craig thoughts whispered to him.
So he'd once again thrown caution to the wind and driven up to the boy. Met his frightened green eyes in the shine of his headlights. And demanded he accept a ride home. Any other person in South Park would have leapt at the chance, sold their soul, in fact he thought some of the creepier girls might have done anything.
Not Tweek.
No, Tweek didn't want Craig to kill him on it apparently. He didn't trust Craig. And for some reason that bothered him. It should not have. Tweek had been beaten down for years. He had no reason to trust anyone, let alone Craig.
He'd had to remove himself from the bike and drag the boy onto it.
Now he sat in the run down, empty, lonely apartment of Tweek's and found himself realizing – painfully – that he wasn't the only person who didn't see Tweek.
No one noticed him.
Wait.
That wasn't true.
"Motherfucker." He said quietly. Bulling fag's like Eric-Fucking-Cartman saw him, and they hurt him.
"Who else?" his mouth had formed an ugly snarl as he forced himself to ask.
He really didn't want to know who had hurt the innocent blond. Didn't want to be disillusioned about someone in South Park he might be friends with. Did not want to think a normal person, someone not like Eric Cartman, would hurt anyone this helpless.
At the same time he had to know.
The two options were warring within him and he decided, just because he was a pussy and didn't want to know, meant nothing. If Tweek knew the vicious side of someone he knew, in a more personal way then Craig would, then it was only fair to listen.
He didn't know why he felt that way either.
Some more misplaced guilt for a buddy from eight years gone?
Too strong.
He felt a nagging urge to save and defend and protect this twitchy boy. He felt like he deserved to serve penance when the most he had done was ignore him. Others deserved retribution not him. He wasn't a cocksucking bastard who beat up some one as tiny and defenseless as Tweek.
So he asked.
He did not expect Tweek's answer.
Craig heard Clyde's name fall from the blonds thin pink lips and everything else ground to a halt.
Clyde was beating up Tweek?
He was torturing Tweek.
Craig didn't know what was happening; about ten hours ago he'd been eating with his two best friends and having fun. Now he was in a rundown apartment with someone who was being tortured by his best goddamned friend.
Tweek's actions earlier were now much more understandable.
Earlier he had assumed that Tweek ducking behind the counter to hide from Clyde was embarrassment, or maybe a little quirk of his. Now he could see it for what it was. The boy was hiding.
He was so frightened of Clyde he was hiding.
Did it matter?
Clyde was his best friend.
So his moral compass didn't exactly point north. So he was a bit selfish and self-centered. He might complain and whine and beg rides, but still he was Craig's best friend.
Someone he could rely on, well not exactly. Someone he had so much in common with, like beating up smaller kids in his free time? Someone he cared for and who cared for him…. As long as he was paying for lunch and giving rides to school.
Fuck.
Clyde was a bulling shit, like Eric Cartman. Clyde Donavan was on the same goddamned level as the neo-nazi Eric goddamned Cartman.
Tweek flinched visibly and stuttered to a stop of his run-on sentence when he saw Craig's disbelieving face. Assuming he was to blame he flung himself once more off of the chair and stood against the wall, hands brought defensively up in front of his chest. A whimper escaped, a completely terrified sound that had nothing to do with his twitching.
"I-I-I-I'm, I'm Sorry!" he cried out.
The words tumbled over themselves in his fright and he began to tense and tremble in preparation of whatever Craig planned to do to him.
Great. Lovely. Fan-fucking-tastic. If he wanted me dead before now he's going to want me to suffer! I should have known better. Clyde is his friend. I know that. Tweek thought feverishly.
You used to be his friend too. His treacherous mind supplied helpfully.
Another whimper escaped his throat when he heard the scrape of a chair.
"I'll…. I think I should go." Craig said quietly.
Tweek didn't look up until he heard the door open. Craig stood in the open doorway, the glow of streetlights silhouetting him. His tight leather jacket, black shirt, black jeans and thick biker boots combined with his down turned head made Tweek think of more horrible things. Those boots could crush his head, easy.
But Craig simply whispered "I'm sorry."
Before he was gone, Tweek left in shock staring at the closed door.
He's sorry?
StarGuide2011