A/N I said that the chapters would be several different lengths, as is shown here: Chapter 2 is significantly longer than 1. ^^ Hopefully, this is good news. It's true what SouthParkDoodles says: this story does get better later on, much better, in my opinion. Well, you'll just have to wait and see for that, won't you? *evil laugh* Review/comment, please?
Thanks to ObanesHarvest on ff, as well as Rease-Hunter, beautysavedthebeast, and HeBurntTheWaffles.
Disclaimer I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc.
Stage 2. ([[{e.x.p.o.s.i.t.o.r.y—a.f.t.e.r.m.a.t.h}]])
8:15 pm
July 30th, 2011
South Park, Colorado
YAAAAY!
The loud beep that accompanied Bebe's trying to chat with him scared Tweek Tweak out of his wits. He jumped in his chair with a faint squeak before his gaze zeroed in on the blinking Bebe says… heading on the internet tab he had open to Gmail. Breathing heavily, he clicked—then clicked a few more times, before his cheap mouse registered the movement and opened up his email in the window.
Me: what?
Bebe: you're online!
Indeed, he was online. After a rather… frightening encounter with Craig, he had retired to the upstairs computer, unwilling to face any of the several relatives mulling about downstairs for the time being.
Me: yes
People are still invading my house!
He added this last line on a whim. Perhaps she could help him out here. After all, she had talked him through some rough spots before.
Bebe: yipes
Me: And…and…they're eating my food! D:
We have TOO MUCH food
b-but-nnrg—Craig and I…
The jitters that assaulted him when he spoke aloud somehow managed to wind their way into his typing, as well—partly due to shuddering hands and partly to the fact that he himself was too familiar with his none-too-average speech pattern to alter it when Gmail chatting, even for the sake of it appearing coherent to the other end.
Bebe: TOO much food?
He could practically hear the amused sarcasm in her voice, though he hadn't heard it all summer—she was in Texas, and had been for a while, while he remained in Colorado.
She was still typing.
Yeeeeees?
She wanted to know. About what he and Craig had done. With more than a reasonable number of glances around the room, he fearfully hammered at the keyboard, as though getting down the words quickly would somehow result in a smaller chance of the dark-haired boy seeing them.
Me: Well…
GAH
Okay
So
Erm…
w-we were bored…
Bebe: okay.
Me: We both—nnnnrghhh—were wanting dessert…
Although
He had a different idea of what I had for dessert
Just the memory made Tweek draw his legs in tighter and press his elbows protectively against his chest. To think what would happen if, right now, Craig were to come bursting in that tightly shut door…
Bebe: ah.
He felt tears well up in his eyes as he scrambled to get the words down—every last little detail, for it seemed important that she knew exactly how it had gone about.
Me: I just wanted one of those ice cream sandwiches that we had downstairs in the refrigerator…
Bebe: But you got something else.
Me: y-yeah.
Bebe: are you okay?
Was he okay? No, of course he wasn't. And yet, for a moment, he was assaulted by an insane urge to dismiss the whole thing, to say it was okay, as long as Craig enjoyed it. As long as Craig enjoyed it… what he felt didn't matter… but he didn't say so. She would just get angry at him, anyways, and say that he was acting out of fear, bother him about how immensely pathetic that was.
Me: N-no not really…
Why do you ask?
Bebe: aw…
I take care of chu?
Assuming that 'chu' was some sort of endearing way that she said 'you'—he seemed to remember a similar phrase appearing before when he was chatting with her—he responded as quickly as the keyboard, easily as low-quality as the mouse, would let him.
Me: YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS
Bebe: patpat
Me: I… he… people are still in my house
In his house, and making such a racket downstairs that he had to focus his hearing to concentrate on whether anyone was approaching the door to the room he was in.
I'm alone, was her prompt response. Watching some lame-ass legal drama thing…wait…this is the famous Law & Order? It sucks!
He ignored that last bit for the time being, having really no opinion on the quality of Law & Order, himself. Besides, he didn't want her distracted from the situation at hand. He needed help, and if he was going to give in and let himself get it, he had to take as much as he could.
Me: I… I wanted to, though…
He didn't force me
b-but it was so…
Bebe: that's good
Me: ;n;
A small, frightened, crying emoticon—all to appropriate, and all too similar to how Tweek himself looked right now, with his eyes red and face tearstained, curled up in his padded swivel chair, bitten-nailed fingers curled desperately around the edges of the thick keyboard.
Bebe: it was so what?
Me: it was… like…
I—I get scared with this kind of thing.
No matter if we were alone or with people still in my house.
I normally begin crying because he is… sort of abusive…
A huge understatement. There were bruises throbbing over his whole body, and, whether or not he was initially willing for it all, he had screamed for Craig to stop when it got too intense—and, of course, he hadn't. If that didn't qualify as rape… but, no, of course it wasn't rape. Simply because… it was Craigdoing it, and… well…
Bebe: aw
Me: now my stomach hurts
Bebe: :\
Me: And I am afraid someone downstairs heard us, which is more than likely…
Bebe: ah...
Me: because not only is he slightly abusive but...he's like...rough if that makes sense?
blushes
I'm sorry
Bebe: it does, it does
pats again
where is he now?
Me: Down stairs
Bebe: okay
Me: m-my stomach hurts...
His stomach did, indeed, hurt, with a sort of rolling nausea that would usually have him lying down on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, retching. But he was psychologically glued to the chair. If he got up, then he'd have a chance of running into Craig, not to mention he'd have to tear himself away from Bebe's consoling. And… as the two scenarios collided in his mind, a new and ultimately horrible one was born. If Craig saw, here, that he'd been chatting with her, telling her about… everything, then… the things he'd do to Tweek….
No, he wouldn't be leaving this chair, that was for sure. But, just in case the sourness in his throat was something serious, he hooked his socked toes around the corner of the plastic garbage can under the desk and pulled it a bit closer to himself. You could never be too safe. That was a fact deeply embedded in his chaotic mind.
"Tweek!"
He leapt several inches into the air as the door creaked open. Bebe was still saying something—the words were dashing across the screen, something in all capitals, hopefully it wasn't important—and he hurried to, hand shaking, open a new tab. His palms were sweating and his head buzzing when he finally turned to face whoever had come in.
His parents.
The little spike of relief was ridiculously short-lived, for he soon saw the matching serious expression that was painted across both of their faces.
"Now, Tweek," his father began. He had a low, soothing voice that seemed to draw in customers like a hook, but, right now, nothing could calm the blonde boy. He just shrunk back further, one hand's white-knuckled fingers still wrapped around the edge of the keyboard.
"W-what?" he yelped, quivering as they took a couple of tentative steps forward.
"I know that you're a growing high school boy, but there are some things we need to talk about." As the words issued from his mouth, Mr. Tweak slowly held up what was a clearly used condom, pinching it with the very tips of his fingernails.
"We don't use condoms!" he blabbed, letting go of the keyboard so that he could push himself farther away from the disgusting object. Seemingly, he and Craig weren't the only people at the party who were getting rather out of hand. Though they were all relatively close family… well… odder things had happened in South Park.
"Tweek—"
"We—argh—we didn't!"
"We heard noises," his father sighed, dropping the condom in the very trash can Tweek had been near puking in. "It was your friend Craig, wasn't it?"
Tweek was petrified. Utterly and completely petrified. He scooted yet closer to the wall, until his head accidentally knocked against it. His whole body was shaking absurdly. "I—I—"
At that precise moment, there was a crash from downstairs, followed by a sound rather like vomiting and a cry of "RICHARD!"
Tweek's parents froze, looked at each other, then at the floor, as if they could see through it to the scene below. "Tweek," his father began again, looking pained.
"RICHARD!" The puking noises came again.
"Just don't do it again!" his mother begged as the two of them whirled around and started down the stairs towards what was now surely a chaotic party.
Tweek's breath came out in a shaky stream, his mind spinning with the closeness of his shave. If his parents had really made him talk about it, if he had revealed… and Craig had found out….
An insistent beep from the computer reminded him that Bebe was waiting for him. Shaking, he scooted back up to the keyboard and began to type, each little click making him flinch.
Me: oh god…
Bebe: sry
He hadn't even read whatever she'd been screaming about.
Me: Nn-no, it's not you…
Erm
I'm not quite sure what to say here…
Bebe: whatever you need to.
A relieved thanks burned in his mind, but he didn't waste any words with it.
Me: o-ok then. Well, nrg, my mom & dad just came up stairs & turned to me, asking me if… well...me & Craig were...you know...
they said they heard things
;n;
I am, nrg, MORTIFIED!
To say the least. Mortified and terrified, because if Craig knew that his parents suspected that… that…
Bebe: ah.
Was that all the usually helpful girl had to offer tonight? "Okay" and "ah…" This isn't helping me! Tweek thought frantically.
Me: this is horrible I KNEW it was a bad idea...he said he has been thinking of it all day...d-did he mention he was going to do it at all?
To you?
I—I was chatting with him online right before he came over
& because he was online, maybe he was talking to you…?
Bebe: oh, he was, but he didn't mention anything :\
Me: ok…
Bebe: not that I remember
Me: i-i am sorry if i am complaining too much i don't wanna anymore if it's bothering you ^^^;
Bebe: it's fine.
Me: o-ok then i am almost done
so, anyways...i-i think he is using me...but i don't wanna tell him that
Bebe: using you how?
Me: ...
using m-my...
b
body
Bebe: okay
Me: I
Don't
actually think he loves me
Bebe: do you love him?
Do I love him? Tweek thought of all the pain Craig had caused him, the torture, so that he'd avoid him by any means at school, so that he'd do things like hide out in a small room, shivering, messaging a person he didn't even know, desperate for help… and then the other things came to mind… how his heart leapt whenever Craig gave up and smirked, or even smiled, a hint of his white teeth showing between perfectly curved lips, eyes shining with genuine happiness… it was so rare that he showed human emotion, but… when he did…
Me: w-well…
Yeah
I do love him
But I don't think he loves me
Bebe: Okay… and tell me why exactly you think this?
Me: Because he always… he always wants sex…
Bebe: okay.
Me: yeah.
He sat there, on tenterhooks, waiting, for the half second that Bebe is typing was the newest line in the now green chat box. Then her words flashed out, one after another, in reassuringly solid black print.
Bebe: I'm assuming you haven't told him.
here-
you're small.
you're skinny.
if he was going to use someone physically...
I doubt he'd choose you.
No offense intended.
Me: well… I would assume he LIKES small skinny boys… he used to like Kyle
Bebe: hm
Me: and he's small and skinny
Bebe: well
Me: i i don't wanna tell him...
Bebe: he used to LIKE Kyle, you say
Me: y-yeah why?
Bebe: so then it's only logical he'd like YOU. not just your body, unless he just liked Kyle's body...what I'm saying is, the pieces don't fit.
bodies don't single people out
so...
Tweek frowned slightly, still throwing glances at the door. What was she trying to say? He tapped away at the keyboard in an attempt to explain better.
Me: when we were only friends he used to say "Kyle's got a hot body" the two of them never talked...
Bebe: okay, I see. so...
Me: i-i don't know i may just be being paranoid...
Bebe: I don't know
time will tell
Me: but whenever he comes to my house, or i go to his, or we go to the movies or something, he is always asking for me to give him a hand job in the bathroom, or at home, all he wants is...you know... in the theater at the movies he always wants to makeout & he rarely says "I love you…"
His chest ached just thinking about it.
Bebe: Hm
Well…
I don't know what to say
Me: well, when you talk to him, does he say anything? Be honest.
Tell the truth.
Bebe: Well…
He doesn't say much anything.
about...anything.
last time, he told me he was petting Stripe.
once, he said that he was working hard to take care of you... to protect you from your fears...
Me: has he ever called me...annoying?
That's sweet...how long ago was that?
Bebe: Around… April, maybe?
Me: the only reason i am wondering is because at school he tells me in his exact words "Shut the fuck up you annoying spaz"
& then he walks away
Bebe: Aw…
Me: So I'm just wondering… if he says anything behind my back
Bebe: I doubt it
Me: I hope not…
Then he saw something on the left side of his screen. Something that made his eyes stretch wide and his heart leap violently into his throat. He struggled for breath through a storm of nnghs and erghs, the small green dot seeming to burn a hole in is corneas. The small green dot, meaning 'available,' next to the name…
Frantically, shaking, he managed to type in the essential words, the words that she had to know.
GAH he—he's online…
You talk to him.
I will wait…
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