Broken Promises:
Wendy PoV
"Morning." I hear a soft voice as my eyes open, blurred and adjusting to the unusual surroundings. It takes me a few minutes to clock where I was; the hospital and an instant pang of dread seeps through my body.
Surgery day.
Life or death day.
"How you feeling?" Stan's voice sounds again, clearer this time.
How was I feeling? I was feeling like I was about to be messed around with by people I never even knew, my body being in their hands and something I couldn't control. I felt like today would be the day I never thought would come, when I was stood in front of the class informing them of how cruel breast cancer is.
But it had.
And it had come to me.
"Fine." I lie, my voice slightly groggy. I didn't see the point in waking up, it would just make me more adamant to stay awake, which I knew wouldn't be a fight I'd win.
"Hey, it's all gonna be alright." He promises, I didn't know how, because neither of us knew that, no one knew that and if there was something I hated more than anything else, it was broken promises. I restrain myself from saying anything. He was only here to help, he was trying his best, as much as it infuriates me. "You'll be in and out as soon as you know it, and then it'll be done, yeah?"
More lies.
"Yeah." I respond, staring up at the peeling ceiling, hanging off every word he says, my head a cycle of contented torment, wishes which already had an answer, an answer that only fate was aware of.
"Ok Wendy, we've had the heads up to take you down to theatre." A nurse walks over to me, standing at the end of my bed.
"Already?" I panic, snapping out of the unpleasant haze I was quite happily dwelling in. I checked the clock; eight thirty, I had over slept. I had overslept? Of all the days how was that possible?
"If you're not ready we can delay five minutes." She explains. "But the timings aren't overly flexible, we'd like to make this the quickest it can be."
"...Alright." I sigh, after a brief pause, trying to steady myself. I feel a dim pain in my spine and realise it must be the anaesthetic. I didn't realise they were allowed to inject me without checking my permission but in a way I was relieved; I didn't have time to worry about it. I notice my parents enter out of the corner of my eye.
"Oh Wendy, you're going down already?" Mom fusses over me, practically throwing dad her coffee cup.
"As little excitement as we can please, she's under anaesthetic." The nurse explains, I was unsure as to what 'excitement' was supposed to mean, but it definitely didn't define going for a life threatening operation. I receive several taps on the head from my mother, which was supposedly a soothing gesture, before my dad gives me a thumbs up and they disappear from sight.
Stan on the other hand, seemingly intended to follow me right down the corridor, repeating the same old 'you'll be fine, I promise' routine, which was beginning to annoy me as much as when Bebe would put the new Justin Bieber song on loop for the duration of my stay.
My eyes were closing slowly, I feel Stan's fingers intertwine with mine. He leans down for a kiss, but I was too sleepy, the only affection I could hold on to right now was the glimmer of hope spinning around in my head.
Wendy Testaburger. Number three, six, eight, two. Seventeen years of age. Stage two breast cancer. Authorised options available to...
I was slipping away, my eyes fluttering closed, Stan's voice becoming faint, darkness surrounding me.
This was it.
I hated to sound bitter but if one of my 'friends' could be in my shoes right now, they might be a bit more appreciative of what they have.
Kyle PoV
Disgusting.
That's what I was; disgusting.
I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, stiff after finally giving in to my restlessness and accepting the fact I wouldn't sleep.
My legs were as agitated as my mind, tension overcoming them if they remained still for a matter of seconds. I had spent the night tossing and turning, kicking and rearing, but now I lay and let the restlessness swamp me, in a haze of uncomfortable energy and silence.
I had been waiting to hear the arrival of my father last night, most likely drunk and angry still, but I was expecting him to return. A small part of me thought maybe he would regret what he said to me, after spending a few hours away and calming down. I thought maybe he would get back, come into my room and kneel by my bed, disappointment in his eyes but saying he loved me none the less.
But none of these predictions were correct. There had been no drunken rows or apologies. There had been nothing. He hadn't come back, and it was all my fault.
I check my phone; one missed call from Ike but that was before the truth exploded. I decide that lying here dwelling in self hatred was doing nothing for my self esteem, so I pull myself up, throw on some clothes and head out of my bedroom door. It was nine, an acceptable time to go out for a walk, except not in my mothers eyes.
"Where are you going?" I hear her shrill tone as I head straight for the front door. I turn, seeing her stood with a frying pan in her hand, Ike's bewildered expression as he sat at the table with his waffles.
"Out." I reply, bluntly.
"No you're not." She stops me, placing the frying pan down. "You're grounded."
I freeze, my eyes fixated on her, before moving to an awkward Ike who tilts his head to look at his revision guide on the table.
"Why?" I dare to ask.
"Because of what you told me last night." She explains and I frown at her.
"You said you were alright with it." I recall.
"No I said you could stay living here." She corrects me. "And that I still loved you, I never said I was happy with it."
"You're grounding me? For being gay?" I check with her and see Ike look up suddenly. For fucks sake.
"What?" He stares at me, dropping his fork into a pool of syrup. "You're an asshole engineer?"
"...A what?" I divert my attention to him.
"A butt pirate." He states and I narrow my eyes. "A fudge packer."
"...Evidently." I shut him up, bemused by his terminology. "Mom, you can't-"
"No way!" Ike exclaims, interrupting me again. "You're a bender? So that's why dad left!"
"Stop experimenting with all your gay vocabulary." I glare at him.
"Can't refer to it as 'gay', that's an offensive term." He states.
"I didn't mean that..." I trail off. "Wait, I'm being offensive?"
"Kyle you're grounded." Mom interrupts us. "That's the end of it, now go and do some revision in your room."
"...Grounded? For being gay?" I justify and she winces slightly at the word. "I don't know what you think is 'love', but it's not this."
Kenny PoV
"Bebe, please." I hammer on the door, but also clinging on to it to prevent me from falling down. "I'm begging you, just talk to me-"
"Can't you read the sign?" The door flies open, and a tall, muscly man stares down at me. "It says, no sales. So take your... Half drunken whiskey and move on to the next house."
"I'm not selling." I pant, close to staggering into him. "I'm looking for Bebe."
"...Petunia!" He suddenly yells back into the house, beads of sweat appearing on his brow. "There's a kid here, asking for Bebe."
"That'll be Kenny." She mutters, her voice coming closer and he turns to me, anger suddenly flaring in his eyes.
"Kenny?" He barely has chance to say before I take a huge blow to the side of the head, which knocks me down onto the floor. My vision is blurred and my head was spinning, with a consistent buzz sounding from my left ear. I can hear her mothers slight squeak of shock which is then divulged by what seems to be satisfaction. I try to open my mouth to speak but a sharp ache is preventing it from doing so, as the salty taste of blood crawls from my jaw to my tongue. "You got my daughter pregnant?"
"You've done enough damage now Blaine." She says, warily, as I try to pull myself up. My daze subsided into a burst of fury, the sting of his metal fists still imprinted on my cheek. "Leave him."
"He's ruined her future." He snarls at me, as I stagger to my feet, head still spinning from a combination of alcohol or unexpected punches.
"Bebe's dad?" I assume, holding my hand to my face. "Funny, I've never seen you before."
"How is that funny?" He menaces and I dare to look him in the eye. What the fuck was I doing?
"Well... You're giving me a kickin' for ruining her future." I hesitantly slur. "But you haven't even been around to witness any of it."
I manage to withstand the next punch, which infuriates him even more, and without thinking I force myself towards him, swinging and missing before I am knocked down once again, hearing the clatter of one of my teeth on the tarmac beneath me, as the salty taste in my mouth increases. A sharp pang hits me in the stomach as he kicks me harshly, and again.
"Please." I beg him, wheezing and drooling blood onto the floor. I was scrunched up in a ball, tears streaming down my face, shards from the broken whiskey bottle wedged into my hand. This was it, this was how I was going to die.
"Dad stop!" I hear a familiar voice and I take one last blow to the stomach before a pair of cold hands land on my body. "Get off him."
"What're you protecting him for?" Blaine yells at Bebe, and my eyes adjust so that I can see him eyeing up her stomach warily. "Wouldn't you rather I give him a beating? The drunken bastard?"
"Violence isn't the answer." She retorts and it makes me feel extremely guilty. These were the morals that my son had to be taught; not to be like my dad, or Bebe's dad, or me. I wanted to teach him the right ways of life, to grow up being a fighter, but not in the ways I experienced.
I wanted to be a dad, and to do that, I needed help.
Cartman PoV
Usually, if I was writing my morning announcements notes, I would be thoroughly enjoying myself. Especially with the knowledge I had gathered over the past few weeks, which I could deliver to the innocent younger years who were not on study break.
However it was beginning to feel like a struggle, I had no motivation, neither did I want to spill people's secrets, people I didn't even like, people who didn't like me, and had lead me to feel this way. I wander past Kyle's locker, still covered in red spray paint with homophobic insults written all over it. I'd love to drop him in shit, wind him up about it, but I knew it hadn't been him that wrote those things. Kyle wasn't someone who craves attention like that, especially when the rumours were getting closer and closer to the truth... He might be a nerdy, ginger, virginal Jewish rat bag, but he wasn't... All that bad.
What a relief no one could read my interior thoughts.
I enter the studio, where the morning announcements are usually read. My haven, the place I had built up and stripped back down again. The place I had convinced everyone Wendy killed the smurfs, the place Gordon Stoltski was shot, the place that so many secrets had been exposed.
I could turn on this microphone right now. I could tell the whole school that Bebe Stevens was pregnant, Kenny McCormick was a raging alcoholic, and the father of her baby. I could announce that Stan had depression and Wendy Testaburger had breast cancer, despite all the charity work. I could say karma was a bitch because once Wendy beat me up over it, or because Stan chose to join the goths and reminisce about pain. Or that it was inevitable this would happen to Bebe and Kenny because it was in the genes. I could sit here and say that I, Eric Cartman, of all people, had anorexia and that despite how much I pretended I hated Kyle, he hadn't written those things on his locker, but it didn't mean they weren't written all over his mind.
I could sit here and ruin even more lives, I could, if I wanted to, if it would make me feel better, like it had been for the duration of my school life.
"Students of South Park High." I cough slightly, as I switch the microphone on without thinking. "These are the morning announcements and I am Eric Cartman... Now let's be honest; no one cares whether it's baked or boiled potatoes with lunch, or whether football is cancelled at lunch today because of the rain... Because you're all sat there thinking about something a lot bigger than that, something more serious. From a fall out with a friend, to a sick relative, maybe a pet just died. Most of you aren't even listening to me, well... I just wanted to say that this will be my last time reading the announcements, because, as of today, I will be resigning from this position."
I pause for a second, taking a deep breath and trying to come to terms with what I just said.
"OH THANK GOD." I hear Principal Victoria suddenly shout and I glare into the distance. Honestly, couldn't some people have a bit of respect?
"Finally, we did it, mmkay." I hear Mr Mackey high five her from the room next door.
Twats.
"So anyway, a new morning announcement reader will be being recruited, with my say obviously." I continue, ignoring the inconsiderate assholes behind me. "Naturally, no one can fill my shoes but I'm prepared to try and find the closest person to the position. Anyone can feel free to try out, at their own risk, unless they are Casey Miller because if I have to hear that little turd's voice again, I will slit my throat... Or if you're Jewish there's no trying out either... Or if you're Mexican... Or a nerd... Or if you're planning on purchasing Pokemon Sun or Moon before me. In fact you can only try out if you buy me the game... So yeah okay not everyone can try out but good luck anyway, this is Eric Cartman, off and out."
Stan PoV
"Did you know?" Mrs Testaburger decides to break the silence, I'm staring down at my 3DS, losing all my races on Mario Kart, whilst she flicks through a magazine, also not focusing at all on the prospects of it. We were both completely distracted, this was just our excuse to not make conversation. Well, until now.
"Know what?" I look up at her, not bothering to press pause on my games console.
"That she had cancer." She puts it, bluntly. I blink at her for a few seconds and double check I am in a hospital.
"Evidently." I indicate to where we are sat. "Otherwise I don't think I'd be in a hospital."
"Are you going to screw her over again?" She diverts the subject and it shocks me slightly, it was very unlike her to use such forward language. "Because she can't take it, you can't keep changing your mind every now and then. She's sensitive, our Wendy, you need to take care of her-"
"And I will." I conclude, before she can finish her speech. "She means everything, I'm not going anywhere."
"Good." She finalises, sourly, studying me up and down with a pouty expression.
"...We all need to stick together, you know." I suddenly blurt out, my voice a lot softer, as she raises her head again. "We can't fight over her, it's not what she wants."
"And you know what she wants?" She scoffs, and I look her in the eye.
"Yeah, she wants stability, she wants love, she wants you and her dad, and Bebe, and me." I tell her. "And she just wants to get better."
"...I'm not-" She begins, as the screech of wheels sounds from outside the door, we both turn instantly, to see a bed being pulled up the hallway, towards us.
"That was quick." I check the time, two o'clock, it was supposed to finish at three. "That must be a good sign, yeah?"
"Yeah..." She nods, clearly emotional as Wendy's bed is slotted into place. I kiss her forehead softly as her mom rushes up the the nurse. "How did it go? Did it go okay? Is she going to be alright? How come it took shorter than expected?"
"All questions will be answered when Wendy has woken up and is functioning alright." She informs her, and I stroke Wendy's jet black hair off her face. No, I needed to know now. I needed to know she was okay.
"Surely you can tell us something, just give us a yes or a no." I beg her, suddenly turning and she glances at me. "Just tell us... Please?"
Thanks for reading! What would you like Wendy's outcome to be? Have your say here and vote in the poll: /kinghanpargeter/status/744958700033576961