Perchance to Dream
Disclaimer: See prologue.
Summary: Kyle tries another idea.
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At School IV
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I'm starting to think that Kyle has a death wish. Either that or he's completely lost his Jew-mind. I say this because, for the past two weeks, ever since our dust-up in the alley, Jewboy has been leaving me presents. Gifts, cards, and whatnot. Left in my locker, with no doubt as to who gave them.
The first one I didn't mind. It was a new hat. I needed a new hat. And it went well with my coat. It looked a little on the pricey side, but it was warm and comfortable, damnit. The second one was a gift certificate to a hair salon, for the cost of a haircut. Again, something I needed, something I didn't mind having. But the rest just … well, they're really pissing me off.
Especially the note. The card is always different, but the note is pretty much the same.
Stan,
I'm very sorry. I just want you to be happy again.
Can you do me that favor? Would you please?
I'm really sorry, Stan.
Please?
Kyle
Except he adds another really before the second sorry every day, and another please before his signature every day. So, today being the tenth day he gave me a gift, it read: "Stan, I'm very sorry. I just want you to be happy again. Can you do me that favor? Would you please? I'm really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really sorry, Stan. Please? Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please? Kyle."
And it's only making matters worse that today's gift was an extravagantly fashionable blood-red silk shirt with black dress trousers, along with a perfectly-fitting pair of black dress shoes and socks and a set of INSTRUCTIONS. He wrote a second note that was attached to the hangar bag that under no circumstances was I to not be at Kenny's 18th birthday party, being held at Kyle's house tonight, wearing this, at 9:30 P.M. No exceptions.
I highly doubt Kyle bothered to even ask Kenny about this. Though I doubt Ken would have said no to my presence, but … I have a hard time believing the whole damn party's going to be dressed so nice. Especially considering that there will no doubt be copious amount of liquor flowing at this party of Kenny's. And that when copious amounts of liquor flow, people are generally more focused on the removal of articles of clothing, no matter how good they look in them.
What Kyle hopes to gain by getting me drunk, I have no idea. Why he wants me to look good while I'm getting drunk, I have no idea. He could either want to fuck me, which we've already established as completely impossible, or … be trying to set me up with somebody. As to who that would possibly be, I have no idea, but it would have to be someone Kyle thinks would be a good drunk/pity fuck for me. Which could probably be half the school, even though half the school wouldn't fit into Kyle's house, so…I guess I won't know until I get there.
And yes, I'm going. It may look like I have a choice in the matter, but the truth is, I don't. This party is going to not only be my best chance to find out what the fuck is wrong with that Goddamned Jew, but, well, I hate to say it, but I'm kind of looking forward to maybe getting laid. It's been a damn long time, and I know that sounds terrible of me, but if someone's willing to give, fuck it, I'll take. Plus, if I DON'T go, something I have no reason for, Kyle WILL see the shit beaten out of me. No "I would never hurt you like that" nonsense, he would beat me himself if I disobey this time. No, he wants me there, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'll be there.
But I'm not doing it for him, or out of any sort of lingering obligation or latent feelings of friendship for the bastard, I'm doing it for my own reasons. This is the time to confront him. This is the time to tear him all those new assholes. This is the time to bitch him out for three years of pure, unadulterated torture. This is the time to make him tell me, by causing a scene by yelling and getting everyone's attention, every last detailed reason why I was thrown out of the group. Why I deserved the treatment I got. Why nobody spoke to me for three years except to call me a poor hippie fag and laugh at me while they beat on me. Why EVERYTHING that ever went wrong for me since Dad got fired went unabated, unhindered by somebody I'd considered my best friend. Why Kyle, who COULD have done SO MUCH to help me and my family, instead swept in and took everything from me, turning me overnight from a sports star and a popular guy into a God-damned, motherfucking, cocksucking, pond-scum Melvin!
Kyle, you're going to get it. For these presents, for your mediocre, half-assed, and laughable attempts at "making right." Especially since you're trying to BUY my trust back, MAKE me like you and want to be around you because you have money to throw at me and my "problem." I appreciate the three-month supply of propane, but that's not going to make me trust you again. The new coat is comfortable, but it can't make me forget that you didn't stop my former friends from beating the shit out of me. I'm sure I'm going to look fucking fantastic in those clothes you bought me, but no amount of presents and gifts and trying to put it all on me when really I'm not responding because you have yet to do anything that would make me want to do you that favor, that could make me forgive you for all the wrongs you've done me.
You say you want me happy, you friend-abandoning Jew? Then don't just come waltzing back into my life like you never left me in the first place. That's just beyond fucking stupid and moronic. You were never a stupid moron until you threw me out of the group and started fucking Wendy. You were never a stupid moron until you started running up the middle through 300 pound defensive linemen and 250-pounds-of-pure-muscle linebackers play after play after play. You only became a stupid moron after you made the worst decision of your life: to throw away ten years of friendship because of a shift in my socio-economic paradigm.
I think I would be well within my rights to murder you with extreme prejudice. But I can't do that, because that would be a hate crime. Well, of course it would be a fucking hate crime. I hate you. I hate you, you fucking stupid treacherous Jew. Ever hear that money can't buy happiness? Well guess what, Kyle, it's true. You can throw your entire fortune in Jew-gold at me, and I still wouldn't be happy. Because I can't trust you, and because you're doing this out of some twisted and delayed sense of pity.
Why are you trying to do the impossible, Kyle? What do you want from me? You can't possibly expect me to just forgive you after everything you've done…or more accurately, NOT done. You're being ridiculous, Kyle. You've started to lose your mind. It's one thing to completely change the status quo. It's quite another to let the status quo – as amended – to go on for three solid years and then wake up one morning and decide "Hmm, I'm bored, I've only got two more months in school, let's change it all again!" Maybe I don't want to go back. Well, no, that's a lie, of course I want to be back and have things back to normal, but that's not possible anymore. Not just because of the time change, but because things CAN'T go back to the way they were after all this time. I'm not the same person I was three years ago. I can't be lighthearted and jolly after I've been downtrodden, oppressed, and treated like dirt. And if anyone can, that person needs to be whisked off to Area 51 to be examined by Government Scientists, because that person is NOT human.
I'm going to enjoy watching your downfall, Kyle. Once I figure out how the hell to achieve it, I will pull off my OWN little coup against the status quo. And I will enjoy it immensely. And I will laugh, as YOU get your ass beat, and YOU get kicked in the nuts, and YOU get knocked down and have food spilled all over you. And I won't do a damn thing to stop it. In fact, I'll do the opposite. I'll encourage it. I'll slip notes to Cartman making up terrible, offensive things you did to or said about him, and then laugh my ass off while you feebly protest that it wasn't you, that you hadn't done any of those things, and that Cartman needs to not hit you. And then while you shriek and writhe in pain, I'll laugh my skinny poor ass off.
I may not get Wendy back, I may not play football again, but Goddamnit, I'll get my revenge on you for your betrayal, your treachery, your girlfriend-stealing, your lying, your behind-the-scenes directing of the pain inflicted on me by your goons, and EVERYTHING you've done that's hurt me in some way or other. I will hurt you so badly, you'll be in the same social status as me. You'll have no friends, no girlfriends, and no one will ever love you in the school. You'll have to keep your mouth shut so you don't get your ass kicked by people you once trusted with your life.
I don't think you'll be able to handle it. You'll break apart under the pressure. And when you come to me for advice, as you'll almost have to, because no one else is in my situation, I can kick you in the nuts and give you swirlies and fart on your face and then wash, rinse, and repeat. It'll be delicious. You'll figure out once and for all that I can't FUCKING STAND YOU! I can't stand the fucking asshole you've become. Some sort of preppy retard that can't read people for shit anymore, who doesn't understand that no means no, and that I DON'T LIKE YOU! You're messed up, wacko, crazy. You're not Kyle anymore, you're just some idiot that looks like him. You don't deserve anything you have, and so I'm going to make it my mission to make sure you don't have it anymore. You can give me as much as you want, and then I'll make you lose the rest when you fall from grace and hit every branch on the way down before breaking your legs on impact.
And you will fucking LIKE it. If you don't, too bad. I won't stop until you give in and make me pull your face out of the toilet and beg me to stop, telling me that you like it, and that you'll leave me alone for ever and ever and ever and ever if I'll just stop. And then I'll stop, because I'll have gotten what I wanted, and you'll be disgraced. I can go on my merry way, and you can just cry your eyes out and drown in 'em for all I care. I'll have gotten everything I'll ever need in life from you.
I can start this tonight, find your weakness when I call you out for your attempts at bribing me to like you again. And after that, it's just a matter of strategy and exploitation. And if there's anything I learned from Cartman all these years ago, it's strategy and exploitation. I'm not as good at it as Cartman…nobody's as good at it as Cartman, not even Karl Rove.
I can't wait! I'm going to go to Kyle's party for Kenny, looking DAMN sexy, and then I'm going to start ruining this life he's built for himself from the inside out. This is going to be the most delicious plot in the history of delicious plots.
Fuck you, Kyle.
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Notes: This will be the only update in April. I have to devote myself completely to this paper I have due 30 April, that has to be 15 pages long and that I haven't even started yet.
I'm incredibly happy about the amount of reviews I've been getting. 13 on the last chapter. You guys are exceeding every expectation I could possibly have about this fic.
Keep up the good work, and I'll see you in May!
Phoenix II