Chapter 26:

A/N: Hope the last chapter wasn't too much in one go, just really needed to get the Benny stuff out of the way and clear the path. Just a note; I certainly do not mean for any of Stan's PoV to be insulting to those in similar circumstances, I have and am dealing with the illness myself so please do not take it to heart. Thank you to those who reviewed, they really do help if you have the time to drop one in and give me the motivation to write more often!

Stan PoV

"You wanted to see me, Mr Mackey." I greet without knocking on the door. He looks taken aback at my sudden appearance but offers me a seat all the same.

"Yes." He nods, chewing on a toffee whilst observing me. I am pretty certain he is studying my injuries so I pull my hood further over my face and bow my head to make a point. "...You seem, very low Stan."

"Call the cops." I mutter, with just the sound of his jaw on the toffee to guide me.

"I heard about your little falling out with Wendy Testaburger." He inserts and I raise my head to look at him.

"'Little falling out'?" I scoff. "We've been together nine fucking years!"

"Mind your language please." He scolds and I just roll my eyes. "Something tells me it wasn't just this... dispute which has caused you to feel like this. You appear to have been down for a while now."

"Yeah, because my face is smashed in." I state the obvious. "I'm hardly gonna be skipping down the corridors am I?"

"Your mother said you spend most of the time in your room." He continues, ignoring my sarcasm. "That was before the accident happened-"

"Wait, you've spoken to my mother about this?" I shout, angrily banging my fist on the table.

"We've been worried about you Stanley mmkay."

"You have no right!" I yell. "I'm fine, I'm absolutely fucking fine."

We stand in silence while he judges me, then coughs as he opens the drawer to his desk.

"Stan, have you ever been checked out?" He asks me.

"I'm captain of the football team, course I have." I tell him.

"No, I mean, checked out for anything..." He trails off. "At the doctors?"

"What do you mean?" I question.

"...Stan, have you heard of an illness called depression?" He continues, quietly, the words dropping off his tongue so slowly I could virtually see them.

"Well... Yeah." I shrug, Jeez, could he hurry this up already?

"...Do you know anything about depression?" He inquires and I roll my eyes.

"It makes you very sad." I say, bluntly. "Look, is there any point to this because I have practice in ten minutes?"

"I want you to have these." He hands over the leaflets and I study them. 'Finding out of you have depression'. 'How to control your low mood'. 'How to seek help for mental illness'.

"What exactly are these?" I spit, not liking what he was implying.

"Stan, mmkay, I think you should have a look through these leaflets and see whether anything applies to you."

Was he being serious? Was he actually insinuating that I had 'depression'? That was just an excuse people used for being bored, pathetic, pricks. If they didn't want to go for run they would just say 'oh it's ok, I have depression'. Or if they can't hand their homework in on time; 'oh, sorry, it's because I have depression'.

Well at least I could admit I was a bored, pathetic prick and I didn't need excuses.

"No." I throw them back at him. "You can keep your shitty leaflets. I don't need help thank you."

"Stan." Mr Mackey tries to reason with me. "I'm just trying to make sure you're not going to do something stupid mmkay. If you-"

"The only stupid thing I would do, is miss football practice." I snap and then storm out without looking back. How dare he make these kinds of judgements? It was not his place to interpret my feelings. He had no idea what it was like.

I almost couldn't be bothered to go to football practice. I felt like curling up in a ball in the darkness, hating everything and everyone. I didn't feel like the star-quarterback anymore. Not now that my cheerleader girlfriend had dumped me and my face looked like something out of Star Wars. I just didn't feel like the same person I had been a few months back. Everything was changing so quickly and life was moving so fast. I couldn't handle all these decisions, all these life stories. Why couldn't it just stop?

Cartman PoV

"Hey dudes." I greet the girls as I waddle over to them. Lexus gives me a slight wave before taking a drag on her cigarette. My eyes move to where Mercedes is sucking some guy off further up the wall. I wonder what they would do if they got found out? Clearly no one ever bothered to check behind the back of buildings.

"Mercedes is dealing with a regular." Lexus informs me. "But apart from that it's been pretty quiet, things will get busy as soon as people come out for recess after eating lunch though."

"I wish I could eat lunch." I mutter, my stomach rumbling at the thought. I had been weak yesterday and eaten a few squares of chocolate. Partly because I went so light headed and I really didn't want to pass out again and also because mom had been staring me down. It had made me feel so sick though, I wasn't used to the rich taste in my mouth. Plus I always get a queasy feeling in my stomach whenever I eat something now; I knew it was wrong and all the names just repeated themselves over and over.

"Oi you!" She suddenly yells. "Quit thinking about hamburgers and pay attention."

"Sorry." I tell her, snapping back to reality. "I was thinking about something else."

She hands me a cigarette and lights it up. I take a few smooth drags on it. I was getting good at this now; after the first few attempts you manage to stop coughing and spluttering. Plus, it helped with the emptiness; made me feel almost whole again.

"I'm having a party on Saturday if you want to come?" Portia suddenly pipes up.

"A party?" I repeat. It was a word I wasn't used to saying, considering I never got invited to any. It was a trend that started back in fourth grade, when the girls threw a stupid spoilt whore party; they invited everyone in the year, even Kyle, even Butters. I had to try and disguise myself to get in but of course, it didn't work. I think the huge watermelon belly gave it away.

"Yeah, house party." She beams. "…At my house."

"As if it wasn't obvious." Lexus drones.

"Portia's house is huge." Mercedes tells me, wiping her mouth and coming over to us whilst her satisfied customer zips up his pants and skips off. "She has a pool and everything."

"And we'll make sure you get lucky." Ferrari winks at me. Get lucky? This could be my chance. I was one of the remaining virgins in my year, I could have sex before Kyle. I can just imagine; rubbing it in, laughing in his Jew-ridden face, humiliating him in front of everyone. Like he had with me for my entire life. "...So, you'll come?"

"Yeah." I nod, smiling at them all. "I'll be there."

Wendy PoV

I was having to push my thoughts of Stan or school work or Bebe's pregnancy aside for today. This day was about me, I made it sound like I was going on some luxury spa trip, but it was the complete opposite. This was no self-pamper day, this could be the worst day of my life.

I hated waiting rooms; the white walls, the quiet atmosphere, the constant ring of telephones going off in reception. The dodgy looks people give you and the wondering of why each person is here. Sick people; coughing in your face or into the magazines they are aimlessly flicking through. But most of all, I hated the waiting. Hearing someone else's name being called out on the overhead announcements. Waiting forever. Yet today of all days, it was killing me the most.

"Wendy Testaburger to room seventeen please." I suddenly hear a voice boom out. "That's Wendy Testaburger to room seventeen."

Shit.

Ok now I didn't want to go. I get up slowly, all eyes staring at me, probably because I was on my own at a hospital when I should be at school. I had imitated my mom's voice on the phone, telling the school I was sick today and couldn't come in. I was very good at impressions. I only realise how much I am shaking as I make my way down the corridor, finding it extremely tiring to move one leg in front of another.

I knock lightly on the door, knowing that if I didn't do it now, I would never do it.

"...Hello." I realise how croaky my voice is when I greet her.

"Take a seat Wendy." Doctor Kuro tells me, seriously and points to a chair. I hesitate before sitting down on it, trying to read her expression. "We've studied all the scans we took and researched any information you have given us. We've had second and third opinions from doctors..."

"And?" I persist. I didn't know why, because I could see it now in her face. My heart had stopped beating; praying that the words wouldn't come out of her mouth. Watching her so carefully I thought I'd slice her skull in half with the beams from my eyes.

"...Wendy... It's not good news." I see her lips move but no sound comes out. Her eyes focused carefully on me. Everything has gone dull and lifeless. "You have stage 2A breast cancer."

I continue to see her lips move up and down, forming the words. My sight began to blur, zoning out of everything. There was a faint, consistent beep in both of my ears that was drowning the sound out. I try to open my mouth to speak but it feels like it is filled with a heap of sand, no words spring to mind, no words can form inside.

It's when I feel her hand on my knee that I suddenly spring back to reality. The warmth shoots through me like a bullet, waking me up, bringing me back to life. I finally manage to blink; my eyes sore and dry from keeping them open for too long. They begin to water, whether it was tears or a reflex action I didn't know. Maybe both.

"I um..." I gulp, trying to create some saliva so that my mouth doesn't remain glued shut. "I... Just don't..."

"We are going to offer you all the help we can." She meets my eyes as I raise my head. "I need you to know that this is not the end. Ok? It's stage 2A, so it hasn't spread very far yet. Survival rates past ten years at this stage are around 85%, so the sooner we operate the better the outcome. However, we will have to consider the chances of it ever coming back, so we will discuss the idea of mastectomy; removal of the breasts. Sorry, I'm probably filling your head with so much at once..."

Survival rates? Operate? Mastectomy? The words were flying round my head like wasps, stinging me every time I thought about one.

"...I won't bother you with any more information right now." She looks at me, concerned. "But I do stress that you let someone know. You did the right thing coming to us when you did, if you had left it any later, it could have been more serious."

"Yeah..." I mutter. "Thanks."

"We'll be in touch very soon about what we plan on doing next." She explains. "As I said earlier, the sooner we operate the better the outcome. So please don't be in denial about this, we need to act as soon as possible... Are you going to be ok?"

"I suppose." Is all I can mumble and then taking my cue to rise and exit through the door. I stand there, staring at the white wall opposite me, transfixed as if I was in some sort of parallel universe. Was this really happening?

I cover my mouth with my hand to prevent myself from screaming out. Tears cloud my eyes as I bite into the flesh, so hard that beads of bright red blood appear. I lean back against the wall, hyperventilating as a crowd of doctors run towards me, grabbing me by my arms or legs. Until everything disappears into darkness.