Your poll votes are in and it's 56% to 44%. So here's the outcome you chose!
Stan PoV
"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?"
Her eyes dart from me to Wendy's mother, then to Wendy, lying lifeless in the bed.
"We're not supposed to say anything..." She sighs. "But... I will tell you that-"
She's interrupted by a sudden alarm that sounds in the corridor, she gives me a troubled glance, before dashing out of the room and I turn to hit my head against the wall in frustration. I'm pulled out of my daze by Wendy's mom. I turn to see Cartman, stood in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, rudely, completely forgetting the good terms we had been on for the past few days.
"Told them I was Wendy's cousin." He shrugs.
"...Why?" I narrow my eyes. "So you can get some more breaking news for the morning announcements?"
"I've resigned actually." He says, bluntly and I don't bother trying to conceal the shock in my face.
"Yeah right." I scoff.
"It's true." He nods.
"But... That job is your life." I gush, as if I was in some sort of cheesy romance movie, where Cartman would suddenly look up, say 'you know what Stan? You're right' and leap up into the air, running off into the distance with determination to get his job back.
"Nah, I just liked taking the piss out of people." He says, bluntly.
"...Why the fuck are you here then?" I divert the subject.
"I wanted to check Wendy was alright." He shrugs, which I don't believe for a second. "What's the outcome?"
"We don't even know, so I don't think you're gonna find out anytime soon." I snap, glancing at Mrs Testaburger, who is sat next to Wendy's bedside, biting her fingernails.
"I thought we were trying to put this right, Stan." He puts his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor, forlorn.
"This is a hospital, not 'Jerry Springer'." I point out. "Now get out."
"Stan-" He begins.
"I said get out!" I yell and he looks taken aback, hesitating before turning and leaving the room. I watch him go before returning to Wendy's bedside, my eyes intent on her fragile form.
Bebe PoV
"Ah." Kenny winces, as I gently use a cloth to clean his bashed and bruised face.
"Sorry." I whisper, avoiding eye contact. Part of me wanted to kick him out of Wendy's house and let him deal with the pain, but I couldn't do that. I loved him and I'd never loved anyone before. Not even Clyde.
"Your dad seems like a swell guy." Kenny tries to smile, sarcastically and I freeze at the word. 'Dad', that's what I had called him, without thinking. I hadn't seen him since I was ten years old, he didn't deserve the title 'dad'.
"He's not my dad." I reinforce, but gently and I see Kenny nod out of the corner of my eye. "He's some guy who banged my mom and couldn't face the consequences."
"What a pair hey?" He whispers, glancing down at my stomach. "Let's hope this one doesn't inherit the broken family gene from us both."
"That's not up to him." I hiss, quietly.
"Well then we'll make sure we don't." He continues. "We'll ensure we bring him up with love and security."
"Yeah right." I scoff, pausing to raise an eyebrow before going back to cleaning him up. "We have no money, no family to rely on. We live in a dirty, broken shed with no front door. We have no baby materials. Nothing. If he lives past the first few days I will be shocked."
"Don't talk like that." He begs.
"Well it's true!" I snap, and he winces as I poke at him hard, out of frustration. "Not to mention an alcoholic dad. Neither of us are very smart. What have we got? Really? Why did we even think we'd be able to do this? I should have aborted it whilst I still could. It'd be better off that way, wouldn't have known and I wouldn't have any ties to you what so ever. I could just leave you, without the guilt, and the conscience. I could still be living with my family, I would still be on the cheerleaders. Maybe you wouldn't even have started drinking. We could still be at the top, if we had only used a fucking condom."
"Or you and Clyde had used a condom." He points out, stopping me, mid-rant. "Then again if it's Clyde's then at least it'll come out having a bit of potential. Daddy dearest being a rapist aside, least it wouldn't be a waste of space like me-"
"Don't use that word." I stop him firmly.
"What? Space?" He narrows his eyes, testing me.
"...Ray..." I hesitate, closing my eyes briefly for a second. "Rapist."
"Well that's what he is." He insists and I feel terror rising inside of me. "I might be a lot of things but I'm not that. I actually care about you, Bebe. I love you."
I stare down at the floor, forcing the stinging in my eyes back, clenching the bloody cloth in my fist. He stops talking, focusing his gaze on me, his face falling, I could tell, even if I wasn't looking.
"Sorry..." He whispers, his words barely catching the air. "I'm so, so sorry. I genuinely am."
"I know." I sigh, forcing myself to look up at him, and the tears brimming in his eyes, the glazed shimmer within them, that was enough to prove it to me. We had both fucked up, badly, but we needed to stick together now.
"I'm gonna get help." He tells me, and I'm shocked. It takes me a few seconds to digest the words, before my head tilts to the side. "I promise, I'm going to get help, before the baby arrives."
He meant it, I could tell he understood, and he means it. I inhale a breath, unsure of what to say, before moving into his chest and letting him wrap his shaking arms around me. We were damaged, we were fucked up, but everything can be fixed, if you accept repair.
Kyle PoV
The stinging dances up and down my chest, pain pulsating, boiling my blood as it bubbles to the surface. I tremble, lowering the shard of razor blade and staring down at my most recent artwork.
My skin was torn and ruined, waterfalls of red slowly seeping down my stomach, rippling and resting on the hem of my jeans. I clench my fist, screwing my face up before taking some deep breaths. Why? Why had I felt the need to do this yet again?
"Kyle, mom wants to know if you've got the-" Ike begins, bursting into my room and out of reflex I flip around, scanning the floor in panic, trying to find my hoodie. "Kyle?"
Fuck.
I bend down and whip my jacket off the floor, immediately pulling it over me and zipping it up. I turn to face him, arms protectively wrapped over my chest, trying to blank out the blinding pain.
"Got the what?" I try to divert his attention but he is staring down at my chest, his eyes wide. I look down and am horrified to see blood seeping through the fabric of my jacket. Obviously it would, my cuts are so deep, why did I think that would work? "I fell on something sharp." I babble, the words coming out rather high pitched, it was the best I could think of in the spur of the moment.
"On a razor blade?" His voice is panicked but I frown at him. Why would he say that?
"Huh? No, why..." I trail off as he points to the blade I had left on the edge of my bed, coated in blood.
"You're hurting yourself." He finally looks up at me, his expression puzzled.
"No, no I'm not." I deny, but the tension in my voice said it all. Ike was smart, nothing got past him.
"You are, you're doing it because..." He trails off, glancing at the door. I knew what he was about to do. "Mom!"
"Shut up." I force myself on to him, knocking him back against the wall and pinning him with my forearm. "You say nothing about this." I hiss in his face, his eyes wide with panic. "To no one."
"Mom!" He dares to continue, but more quietly.
"Tell mom, or tell anyone, and you're dead." I threaten him, keeping my voice low and shoving my grip further into his throat, so he whimpers. "This never happened Ike. You got that? HAVE YOU GOT THAT?"
"Yes." He nods his head, abruptly. "Ok Kyle, I won't."
"Good." I finalise, letting him go as he stares, terrified at me for a few seconds before running off. I collapse on my bed, unable to prevent the tears from falling. What was I turning into? This was my little brother, the one I had protected from getting a Bris, the one I wanted to save from his addiction to 'Cartman Brah', and now I was threatening him, pinning him against the wall?
I was slowly turning into someone I hated.
Wendy PoV
My vision is blurred, I see nothing but hazy brightness. I feel around in my mouth, a sharp lump in my throat and a sense of dryness that was sickening me so much I was forced to swallow dry moisture. I feel a sensation in my shoulder, then my arms, then my fingers, and manage to move them slightly so that I can feel the roughness of a sheet beneath me. I move my other fingers, and differently, they caress a softer, much warmer substance. Skin.
I immediately faintly hear an eruption of voices, whispering and yelling my name. Jeez, anyone would think I had been in a coma for eight months, not under sedation for eight hours.
"...Stan..." I mumble, the word hard to produce, but I force it out of me. Just saying one word was like cycling up a mountain. It ached, it felt impossible. "...Shut... Up..."
"Wendy?" I see his face come into view as my eyes adjust a bit more. "Wendy? Are you okay? You've been asleep for a bit."
Wow, genius Stan, tell me something I don't know.
"Ugh..." I manage to groan, which I found a bit easier. "Don't... Don't make noises."
"Why?" He asks, instantly, clearly panicked.
"Because..." I wet my mouth slightly, pausing and trying to build up the strength. It was as if I had been asleep for one hundred years. "...You're a doughnut."
"Oh cheers." He laughs and I turn up the corners of my mouth to form a small smile. "Still managing to insult me then?"
I am about to respond with something witty before I think about the reason why I was in this bed. The surgery.
"Stan." I suddenly panic slightly, adrenaline giving me more strength. "Is it ok? Did everything go to plan?"
"We're waiting to hear from the nurse." He explains.
"Haven't you heard anything already?" I beg.
"No." He tells me. "They couldn't really tell us anything without you being conscious."
"But you must know something." I raise my voice slightly.
"Babe, calm down, it'll be ok." He reassures me. "Don't use all your strength now."
Why shouldn't I? I could be dead in six months.
I don't say this, but he can tell I'm thinking it. At that point the door swings open and my mother comes in, equipped with a team of doctors and nurses.
Shit.
I underestimated how scary this really was.
They knew my fate, they had it written there on a clipboard and they were all staring at me intently, I wasn't getting good vibes from this.
Before they can say anything I burst out into tears, fear drowning me. I'm hyperventilating, I can't breathe, panic is rising inside of me as I choke on my tears.
Stan is trying to console me, but I'm just working myself up more. I was about to be told I was going to die. I was seventeen years old, this was so unfair. There was so much I wanted to do and achieve. So many places I wanted to go, see. Now in this moment, it would all be ripped away from me.
"Wendy please calm down." Stan begs me, clearly upset by my outburst.
"Wendy, deep breaths ok?" One of the doctors tells me. "Just relax, breathe in and out."
It helped, once I focused on breathing and not on working myself up. I couldn't stop myself from shaking, but at least it reduced it. It was miraculous; the way breathing could make you feel so much better.
"Wendy, we've had the results of your operation." He informs me and I find Stan's hand, clenching it harder than expected. "And I'm pleased to tell you, it's gone to plan. We've managed to remove the lump in your breast and..."
But I zone out then, the state of shock and relief was too overwhelming. I look at Stan, who is laughing and virtually crying out of happiness. My mom and dad were holding each other and sobbing with joy. I hear the words 'chemo' and 'cancer' a few times so I know I'm not completely out of the woods.
But I was safe, for now.
This was a blessing.
Stan was right; I was going to be okay.
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