Disclaimer: Still not mine
Affliction
Chapter 5
Kyle
I push around my fish with my fork. I can't get myself to eat it. I'm more worried than hungry. Ike is jabbering about what he did at his friend's house, like anybody cares. I'm trying my best to ignore him. I have to figure out how to hypothetically ask my parents for advice.
"Buhbie," Mom says, directing her attention to me. "You're awfully quiet. Is something wrong?"
I take a sip of my milk. I choose my words carefully. "Mom, Dad. I have a hypothetical question."
Dad puts his utensils on his plate. "Sure, son."
"I, uh, have this paper for my Sociology class on child abuse. What would I do if I suspect child abuse?"
My parents glance at each other, making me wonder if they believe me or not. "The first thing you should do is report it to the police or a person of authority they trust." Mom says.
I push away my plate. There is no way I'll be able to eat anything else tonight. "But wouldn't that put the abused person in more danger?"
"Not if the abused person is with you."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "What if the abused person refuses to go to the police with me?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Ike clear the table please," Dad says. Ike scowls and starts grabbing our dirty plates. Dad turns his attention back to me. "If the child is under 18 you don't need his or her consent. The police will immediately remove the abused person from the dangerous household after an investigation."
"So," I say, a plan formulating in my head. "If, hypothetically, I went to the police because I suspected child abuse, I could without St- I mean the child's consent. And the child would be placed somewhere safe?" I cringe, hoping my parents didn't catch my stumble.
"That's right," Mom answers, bringing her and my father a cup of coffee. "But it wouldn't hurt if you had some evidence of the alleged child abuse. Child abuse is not a subject taken lightly, so if you suspect abuse, make sure you have evidence to back it up."
I nod mutely. Great. How am I going to get evidence if Stan refuses to go to the police with me? This is going to be harder than I thought.
KSK
Several hours later, I'm lying my bed staring at the ceiling. It's so late and I can't sleep. I keep thinking about the conversation I had with my parents during dinner. I can't help but wonder how I'm going to get proof that Stan's being badly abused.
An idea pops in my head. I sit up and get out bed. Quickly I grab my digital camera and place it in a small bag. Then I throw it over my shoulder. As quietly as I can, I sneak down the stairs and out the door. Cold air hits me like a slap in the face. I ignore the goosebumps on my flesh and pounding of my heart as I walk to Stan's house. Once I reach his house, I climb up the tree by his window, like I've done so many times before. I push the window open and enter his room.
Stan's room is dark and quiet. Sleeping soundly in his bed is my best friend in the whole world. I've known him for almost 14 years and I know he can sleep through almost anything. I flip the light beside his bed. Stan shifts, but doesn't wake up. I can't help but smile as I see him. His black hair falls over his eyes making him look sexier than ever. God, why do I keep thinking about him like that?
I focus back on the reason why I'm here: to get pictures of Stan's injuries. I get my camera out of my bag and silently walk over to his bed. His face is full of pain and covered in heavy bruises. I wonder how he is able to keep the bruises from showing during the day. I take a few pictures of his face. Luckily the flash doesn't wake him up. He's sleeping on his side, so I move to his back and pull the sheet off him carefully. Taking a deep breath, I lift up his shirt. His entire back is wrapped up in a see through white cloth. It takes all I have to keep myself from crying out because of what I see.
Stan's back is multi colored because it is covered in lashes, bruises, several cigarette burns, and scars. I can't find a single space on his back that isn't marked up. Some scars look old, others look like they just stopped bleeding. I knew Shelley was abusing him, but I had no idea it was this bad. Has she always been doing this to him? Or is it just recent?
I wonder why he didn't tell me that Shelley was hurting him this badly. Now that I think about it, for years he told me or I saw the abuse Shelley inflicted on him, but I didn't give a damn! I mentally kick myself for not listening to him all these years. No wonder he avoided telling me the truth. He doesn't trust me, and I don't blame him. From the multitude of scars on his body, he's lucky to still be alive. Mesmerized, I trace one of the scars that run from his shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. His body jerks in pain. It must be a recent scar. However, just touching his skin makes shivers run up and down my spine. I've never felt like this before. What is this feeling? It couldn't be...
Suddenly I feel him shift. I snap out of my pondering. I've got to get pictures of his back before he wakes up. Quickly I take several pictures up and down his back, making sure not to miss a single spot. I want to take pictures of his chest, but I don't think my stomach will be able to handle it. I was barely able to get a glimpse of his back without emptying the contents of my stomach.
Once I think I have enough pictures, I pull down his shirt and pull the covers over my best friend. I turn off the light. Stan is still sleeping soundly. Before I can stop myself, I caress his cheek lightly. His skin is so soft. I watch as he smiles in his sleep. I bend down until my lips are close to his ear. "I promise to get the abuse to stop, Stan," I whisper. "No matter what."
I put my camera in my bag. Before I leave through the window, I notice Stan's blue hat on the knob of his closet. Since I figure he won't miss it, I grab it and then leave through the window. I hurry back to my house and under the covers. My heart is pounding hard in my chest. I feel very shaky. I've got to make up for being such a horrible friend to him. I have to save him. I've got to convince him to go to the police with me. There is only one way I think I can do that: by telling him that if he doesn't go to the police then I will. Either way the abuse will be reported. After what seems like tossing and turning, I fall asleep, Stan's hat in my arms.
KSK
I was standing all alone in the middle of a dark hallway. I wondered how I got here. On both sides of the walls were lockers. I must've been at school. I couldn't see anything. All the lights were off. There was complete silence, which was unnerving. An extremely nervous feeling swept through me. I had a bad feeling something was terribly wrong. What the hell is going on?
Suddenly the lights went on, almost blinding me. Stars winked in my eyes as I swayed on my feet, feeling dizzy. Once the world stopped spinning, I noticed a figure down the hall. Leaning against one of the lockers clad in black was my best friend, Stan Marsh. Even from a distance, I could tell something was wrong. I hurried over to him.
Stan's clothes were ripped. I could see the heavy bruises and lashes on his skin, which was soaked in blood. I counted several stab wounds on his battered body. His face was chalky white, his breathing heavy. Stan's beautiful blue eyes partially open. He was barely alive. Tears filled my eyes as I saw how bad of shape he was in. "Oh, Stan," I whispered.
Stan's knees started to give way. I grabbed him around the torso and helped him sit down. I wrapped my arms around him tight. My heart pounded in my chest, my palms all sweaty. I wondered why I had never done this before. "What happened?" I whispered.
He didn't answer. Instead he laid his head on my shoulder and let out a painful sigh. My hand covered one of his stab wounds, hoping to stop the blood flow. I didn't care if I was getting all bloody. All I wanted to hold him and make the pain go away. Stan's chilled breath froze my neck. "Will you protect me?"
I hugged him tightly. "Always," I whispered. "I love you." My last words to him echoed in my brain. It was true. I did love him.
After several minutes, I realized there was no movement from my best friend. I couldn't feel his breath on my neck anymore. I glanced at him. His eyes were closed. I felt his chest. No heartbeat. He was dead. I bowed my head in respect, the tears running down my face faster than I could handle. I had lost the most important person to me. The one I truly loved. I kissed his cheek lovingly. "Goodbye, Stan," I whispered. "I love you."
I bolt up in my bed, gasping hard. What a fucked up dream! I wipe my sweaty brow. I love you continues to ring in my head. My eyes widen in realization, my jaw dropping. That's why I've been feeling so weird around Stan. The sweaty palms, the blushing, the feeling of wanting to protect him forever. I'm in love with him.
My hand clutches my racing heart, a small smile on my face. I'm crazy about him. No wonder Kenny always teasing us about being in love. I have always loved him. more than anything in the world. I was just too stupid to realize it. I wish he felt the same way, but I know he's straight.
Even though I know he doesn't love me, I am determined to save him from the abuse. I'd do anything for him. I hope I am able to save him in time. I lay back in my bed, smelling his hat. It smells so badly of Stan. I feel like he's right beside me. I fall back asleep, determined to convince him to go to the police with me and stop the abuse once and for all.
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