Chapter Four: Craig's P.O.V
What is he doing? It's been twenty minutes, and that twitchy little freak was still standing outside, drumming his fingers on that stupid thermos. I swear, it was like an oxygen mask. Damn it, he's so cute. I couldn't tear my eyes off him. This was an unhealthy obsession. What's worse, I'm listening to Peruvian flute music on my mp3. I've been into it ever since I went along with those four assholes. That was the worst time of my life.
A girlish scream brings me out of my reverie. What the fuck? I look to see Tweek jumping around, marbles flying everywhere. Kenny and Cartman pulling another stupid prank. Dickheads. I was still staring at Tweek, and I could have sworn that he stared back. I'm not sure. He turned away so quickly that it could've been a twitch. I risked another glance, and saw that he was now walking with that British blond, Pip. I sighed. Guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow. I've been watching him every day since he started avoiding me after our fight. God, I miss him. Me, Craig Tucker, misses my former best friend and love interest, Tweek Tweak.
There was no way I could ever talk to him again. I hurt him too much. Or at least, I thought I did. He didn't seem too fazed...
He had friends. He smiles and laughs. It must be me, then. Depressed and aggressive me. I walk down the path to my house, hands in my pockets. Flute music still blaring. Seven years. It's been seven years since I've fallen for the coffee addict. I kick a nearby rock and watch it tumble down the sidewalk. I make it to my house with time to spare before Red Racer starts. I kick off my shoes and practically leap up the stairs. I flip on the TV and head over to my guinea pig's cage on my dresser. I reach inside and grab my [furry] best friend, Stripe. I have a special connection with this species. How, or why, I don't know. My mind is brought back to that time in Peru. Nor do I care. All I knew was that I loved Stripe, but somehow, not as much as I loved Tweek. "Right Stripe? At least you love me back." Stripe stares at me with his beady black eyes. I took that as a 'yes'. I need help. I nuzzles Stripe's fur with my nose and lie down on my bed, humming along to Red Racer.
"That was a good episode", I mumble to my furry companion. "Guess I should do my homework". I sigh again. I stand up and stretch, striding over to my dresser once more, and place Stripe back in his cage, grabbing my bag and sitting at my desk. I stared at the Math textbook in my hands. I hate homework. I hated school even more. The only reason I went at all was to see Tweek. Math was the only class we had together, and we sat at polar opposites of each other. I knew he was good at Math. Whenever we got tests back, I would secretly watch his reactions, since my tests never came out well. His eyes would light up like stars, and he'd have the goofiest smile plastered on his face. My heart would skip multiple beats. I wish he would smile at me like that. Man, I sound so gay... I guess that's good, since that is what I am. Strangely, though, I was only gay for Tweek. He was the only person I've ever truly loved, and I don't even talk to the fucker. I'm so messed up. I set down my textbook, and turn to switch off the TV, when a certain book catches my eye on the shelf. I get up and gently pull it free from the other books. I haven't looked at this in ages, let alone touch it. A scrapbook. Tweek's scrapbook. The one he made for my seventh birthday, when we were best friends. Inseparable, like Stan and Kyle, but without the happy ending. I placed it back on the shelf, stuck first one, then both middle fingers at it. I couldn't look at it right now. I couldn't do anything. Abandoning my homework, I crawl under the covers of my bed and drift off. I needed to sleep away the pain. Hopefully, I could sleep forever.
I was having the weirdest dream. I was dreaming of Bob the Builder, hammering away at something. His catchphrase 'Can we fix it?' echoing around him. Jesus, I hated this guy. Why am I dreaming about him?
Suddenly, whatever he was hammering comes into view. It... it was a heart. An honest to God human heart. What the hell?
TAP TAP TAP, goes the hammer. I catch myself staring, bewildered. Bob notices me and speaks: "Craig, your heart has been broken too many times. It might be impossible to mend." What did he mean 'broken too many times'? My heart was fine. I self-consciously move my hand to where my heart should be, only to gasp at the hole in my chest that my hand falls in to. I look down to see a huge gap where my heart should have been. What the fuck? Okay, now I'm freaking out. What did this mean?
Knock knock knock. My eyes spring open and focus on my room. I'm back. I put a hand on my chest and exhaled. My heart was back, too. Damn, useless dream. Broken heart. I wasn't a pussy. Knock knock knock. There's that sound again. I realize it must be my front door. I looked out my window then head downstairs. It's already dark, who could be visiting now? My question was answered as soon as I unlocked the door.
Clyde Donovan burst through the door in all his sensual glory. That's what he calls it, at least. "You could at least have waited for me to open the door, you douche." I flip him off, and step aside to let him in. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, dude. I came to your rescue." Clyde explains as he kicks off his shoes in the same manner as I. Does he think he fucking lives here or something? I glare at him until he picks up his shoes and places them neatly by the door. I relax my expression and bring the subject back. "Rescue me? The fuck you talking about, dude?"
Clyde smiles his signature smile and launches into story mode. "I saw you watching Mr. Twitchypants after school today. My Craig senses were tingling. And you know what it means when my Craig senses tingle... Craig." I actually didn't. I show him this by raising one eyebrow and giving him my signature 'what are you smoking?' look. That he saw me watching Tweek was, in turn, a little nerve-wracking. I didn't want anyone calling me out on it. Like I said, I wasn't a pussy. I just didn't want to have to beat anyone up for spreading rumours, that's all. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Clyde says, as if reading my mind. "So what exactly is it that you want, Donovan?" I start ascending the stairs to my room, not waiting for Clyde to follow me.