A/N Stage 3. Voila! I don't have much to say here, but... a review would genuinely make my day. Please?
Thanks to ObanesHarvest again. ^^
Disclaimer I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc.
Stage 3. ([[{t.u.r.n.i.n.g—p.o.i.n.t}]])
8:46 pm
July 30th, 2011
South Park, Colorado
Yo
Craig glanced up at the cheery beep from the computer as, yet again, she appeared to come and chat with him. He gritted his teeth in disgust. Could she try, just try, to leave him alone for one goddamn second?
Apparently not.
Me: what?
Bebe: What's up?
Me: Nothing.
It was true. Nothing was up whatsoever. He'd heard Mr. and Mrs. Tweak's suspicious mumbling about a half hour ago, and decided that it was time to get the hell out of there, before they decided to confront him (though he figured that they wouldn't have, even if he'd decided to stay—he struck a rather imposing figure that made an impression on everyone, adults included). So he had headed back to his house, given Stripe a hasty stroke, and flipped on the laptop, to find her there, all ready to bother.
Sitting.
I left the party a while ago.
Bebe: hm.
Me: I don't think the squeaky one noticed.
Bebe: How did things go with Tweek?
Me: How do you mean? It was fine. We talked.
Nothing really happened.
A pure lie, but it really was none of her business, after all. He could do with Tweek what he wished. They were the ones in a relationship, after all. She was just… there. Tweek's old friend. Craig wondered if, this time, he ought to log out of Gmail to escape the annoyance of her pestering him, then decided not to. What was to be gained, anyways? It wasn't like he had anything better to do.
Bebe: Yeah. Huh.
Me: Why do you ask? Huh what?
Bebe: I just know that things between the two of you have been… well, let's be blatant: sexual lately.
Thought something might've happened.
Me: Where have you heard that?
His face was starting to heat up. Tweek, the tattling bastard! Yes, he'd dropped hints to Bebe, of course he had, how couldn't he? But something beyond his smirking implications had been a factor here. It was obvious—Tweek had told her. He had gone and given up and told her….
Spotting the fact that the skittish boy himself was online, Craig twitched his fingers across the pad, preparing to confront him. His index finger had just hit CAPS LOCK when the girl entered another line.
Bebe: ? Kinda hard to miss…
I doubt anyone does.
People have told me.
People you know.
They notice things.
Me: Who?
Bebe: Let's not name names?
I didn't know you were keeping the relationship a secret
But they noticed
Me: Wait… relationship?
Are you talking about…
Bebe: You know what I'm talking about. Let's just say…
His fingers couldn't type fast enough. Fury was coursing through him.
Me: I am going to pound his face in! I told him not to tell!
Bebe: Some people have seen you two on 'dates.'
It wasn't him, don't worry.
Me: No! I know it was that little motherfucker!
Bebe: South Park is a small community, Craig. People notice things.
And why do you call him a motherfucker?
Don't you like him?
Nah, nvm.
I won't push things on you.
Push things on him? Craig didn't even try to figure that out. He was typing furiously into Tweek's chat box, screaming, spouting out all his feelings of anger, and of… well… betrayal. What they had was supposed to be a secret! It was supposed to be just between them….
Me: No, not never mind!
Bebe: okay, then. How does it work?
The truth's out. Tweek didn't tell.
No use denying anything.
So, do you hate him or something?
That psychological blow was more than a little bit painful. No, of course he didn't hate Tweek. If he hated him, then he wouldn't enjoy his time with him so much. He managed to ignore the tiny voice in the back of his mind pointing out that, seeing as what he did with Tweek in their time together was hardly unique to the individual, this was irrelevant.
Me: Who said I hate him?
Bebe: Nobody! It's just that you called him a motherfucker…
Me: Your point? He is one.
Bebe: That doesn't seem very… loving.
Me: Or, he CAN be one… so?
Bebe: I should hope… well, he's a good guy.
A fresh wave of fury rolled through Craig's body, and he vented some of it by screaming a bit more at Tweek before responding to her. For the latter, he chose his words carefully, coldly, wanting to get his message to her to fuck off already across.
Me: You don't know him the way I know him.
Bebe: I don't. But I've been a fairly close acquaintance for yaers. And I know that he's not bad.
Me: yeah, whatever
Bebe: so you don't like him.
Me: Meah, mixed feelings.
That was true enough.
Bebe: And yet you two are still involved.
Me: Well, he's cute. Small, skinny…
shrugs
Bebe: mmm.
Me: What?
Bebe: well…
Me: Are you implying that I don't like him?
Bebe: He loves you.
This time, it was like someone had physically socked Craig in the chest. He choked on the air in his own throat, staring blankly at the screen, and then slowly relaxed back into his chair upon realization of how stiff his back muscles were. He loves you. He did, didn't he? Yeah. He said it on a regular basis. Even when he was afraid, even in the midst of him screaming stop, it hurts—still, he would say that he loved him. Always. Always, he says he loves me.
Almost reflexively, he included none of this emotional overload in his brief response.
Me: I know he does.
Bebe: So… that doesn't mean anything to you?
Of course it did. Of fucking course it meant something to him. Hell, it meant everything to him. It was what kept him from completely losing himself, when he saw Tweek trembling, whimpering, his whole body bruised, begging, begging for him, Craig, to back off….
Me: shrugs Should it?
Bebe: Yes. Yes, it should.
Don't you CARE about anyone?
Do you have any emotions at all?
His eyes and throat were burning, now, but that didn't matter. The magic of the internet, of communicating with written words, was that you could put up whatever façade suited the mood, and whoever was on the receiving end would be none the wiser.
Me: Yeah, I do. I know he loves me.
Bebe: You know. But do you love him back?
You know. But do you love him back? Eight words, two basic, simple sentences, the more important of the two being a question. What a stupid question, too. How was he supposed to know if he loved Tweek? Should he turn around and check to see if there was a cupid arrow stuck in his ass? Gritting his teeth, he typed the response stiffly, making sure to capitalize and punctuate perfectly, to increase the mask of iciness he was pulling over his online persona.
Me: Why should I tell you?
Bebe: You shouldn't. But you should tell yourself.
Me: Tell myself what? That it's so easy to get sex out of him?
Bebe: Whether or not you love him!
Me: Look at it this way:
He's small.
He's retardedly skinny.
He love me.
…
So?
Bebe: So, give him some RESPECT! If you care about him, show it! If you don't… show it!
Me: Why should I?
Bebe: BECAUSE HE'S A PERSON, TOO!
Me: I think of him more as a "toy" if you will.
Bebe: People. Aren't. Toys.
Me: This one is!
He was lying to himself, of course he was. But… what was the good in the truth? It wasn't like it would help anyone. He used Tweek like a toy; why not call him one?
Bebe: would he say that?
would he call himself a toy?
Me: Nah, probably not.
Definitely not. He may not call himself a toy… Craig thought with a hint of guilt prickling at the back of his mind, but he'd probably call himself something like a servant. Or a tool… yes, maybe a tool… something for me to use, yes. But not to play with. At least he understands that I need him, that I'm not just putting us both through all this crap for… for fun….
Bebe: then he's not.
seriously.
Me: I got this guy wrapped around my little finger.
like, really? He will give me handjobs in the fucking bathroom if I ask!
It's awesome
Bebe: Yup, he will. Because you terrorize him.
Me: Nah, I don't believe it.
He couldn't believe it. Couldn't make himself face what was quite possibly the truth. Tweek had said, before the first time, that it was okay. He had said… anything to help Craig… anything….
Bebe: Would you believe it if you heard it from him?
Me: Maybe. I don't know.
He couldn't… couldn't look reality in the eye. It was much better to agree that they both enjoyed it, or at least were okay with it. So much better.
I think he does some of this stuff for attention
Bebe: Part of your email address is "Tweek." Next to Stripe. I know you love Stripe...
Yes, it was "." Well, at least there was an easy explanation for that, an explanation that implied nothing deeper.
Me: Yeah, because he was my best friend.
Bebe: He was.
But have you ruined that with rape?
It wasn't rape! He wanted to scream this, to take the computer and shake its high-resolution screen and yell at the top of his lungs that it wasn't rape, thatit wasn't rape! Hands trembling ever so slightly, he stayed composed as he entered his reply.
Me: What do you mean?
Bebe: You've ruined any chance of a friendship. Now you can have a loving relationship, or nothing.
or fear.
That's not true, he promised himself hollowly. She didn't know a thing. She didn't understand love—no, of course she didn't. She had no way to fathom how these things worked. She was taking shots in the dark, and they weren't hitting anywhere near on target. Or are they?
No. Of course not.
So he typed another lie, because what good was the truth, really?
Me: smiles oh yeah...he screamed like a bitch...
what do you mean CAN if he doesn't even want to be friends anymore?
Bebe: you can't be friends!
you can't!
you've even taken a huge step forward or one back.
Me: What do you mean?
Bebe: You've either perfected things, or ruined them!
Me: I don't think I have done either, honestly.
Bebe: this is your CHANCE, Craig.
Me: Chance to do what?
Bebe: What you have to do is love him.
or else... the end.
Those words—the end—sent a pang through him so torturous that a tiny groan escaped his lips. No. Whatever happened, things couldn't end. Things couldn't end. This—this shit was what was keeping him alive! Why couldn't she comprehend any of this? She didn't understand how he needed Tweek. What you have to do is love him…
Me: How could I?
Bebe: if you can't, then what you have to do is end it.
Me: I mean, c'mon, we're talking about TWEEK here, right? Yeah... not so much... he's just a little bitchy spaz... that's afraid of his own shadow.
he thinks his shadow is gonna rape him snickers
He wasn't really snickering, of course not. But since when did online personas perfectly reflect the actions of the people behind them, anyways? Since never.
Bebe: and why does he think that?
Me: I don't know…
Bebe: because his best friend did.
It wasn't rape…! But she wouldn't understand that. No use explaining.
Me: yup
me: You, who practically WERE his shadow.
It's not that far from the truth.
Me: How the hell was I his shadow?
Bebe: you were always there, always by him, always ready to... be there...
and then you turned on him.
even if you were always a bit cold...
you were his friend.
always.
Yeah… yeah, he was. But that was another time. A different time. Things weren't the same, then… There was no going back now, after all. And he never 'turned on' Tweek. Tweek had agreed to what Bebe called rape. He had said that it was okay. He had said so!
Me: How did I turn on him? Is it because he "turned me on?"
Bebe: You BETRAYED HIS TRUST!
No! No, he didn't! I didn't! Still, he wasn't telling her. He couldn't tell her the reason why he needed Tweek so badly. It was none of her business. None of her goddamn business.
Me: So?
Bebe: so...so that means that he has nothing to hold on to now.
Me: Yeah he does! My DICK! Laughs
It hurt, to write like this, to feign uncaring. To pretend that Tweek didn't matter to him whatsoever. But it was his only option. Unless he wanted to tell her about… but, no, that wasn't happening.
Bebe: But you're not the goddamn rope! you're the fucking abyss!
you're what he's falling into now!
Me: That's good.
Bebe: until he hits the ground.
then there'll be nothing more to get out of him.
He'll be gone.
Done with.
Finished.
Fucking dead, for all you'd care.
For all he cared? Tweek was his fucking life! Tweek was everything to him. Tweek wouldn't be dead to him until he was to everything. And by then, if the world was fair at all, he, Craig, would be dead, too.
Me: How will he be finished? Whenever someone or something bothers him he comes to me and complains or freaks out. That's all he does. So I use him. Because honestly, if someone loves you THAT much, you must make at least a little fun of it, am I right?
Bebe: not if you understood it...
you're a thousand times more immature than he is.
Me: yeah, right!
Bebe: Yeah. Right.
Me: He's always screaming about those gnomes, or how he needs more coffee... he's always twitching, & like I said before, he's afraid of his own goddamn SHADOW!
Bebe: He understands love. The closest thing you've come to loving is your fucking GUINEA PIG.
He tensed again, breath slowly sliding through his teeth in a low hiss. The closest thing… he wasn't close to loving Stripe. Stripe was… he reached over involuntarily to poke his fingers through the cage's bars. The little animal scurried over and grasped the tip of one with its little pink feet, nibbling gently at the nail. Boiling, Craig gave Stripe's foot a light squeeze before retreating and typing out his reply.
Me: I love my guinea pig to PIECES!
if you make fun of him, I will fucking slash your stomach open!
Bebe: Then imagine he was an actual person. And he used your body. And he didn't care about you.
It was such a ridiculous concept that Craig was tempted to laugh. Stripe? Using his body? Where did she pull these things out of?
Or, alternatively… say you had those feelings for someone else.
Someone like Tweek.
and say those feelings developed soon...
right when he realized how much reason he had to hate you.
because that's quite possibly what's going to happen.
That one struck a good deal closer to the mark. He instantly began to type, reassuring himself as well as pushing back at her.
Me: I'm bigger than him, I'm stronger than him, & a whole lot more persuasive. I could get him to do ANYTHING for me out of his desperation.
Bebe: Now, you could. But there are people in the world who are bigger and stronger than you, too.
you could be arrested for what you've done.
locked up
medicated, even
Me: What exactly have I done that's so wrong?
Bebe: You've raped your best friend.
and, yes, I have proof
Me: I dunno if I would call it rape...hey, you sat there, a bystander & told him "it's not rape if you both like it."
That, at least, was true. Tweek had been video chatting with her on his iPhone when it happened that once, and though it had been knocked to the ground almost immediately when things heated up, she'd still been there, hearing everything, and even getting glimpses, occasionally. And she'd done nothing the whole time. Commenting when it struck her to. Even eating popcorn at one point, as if the rest wasn't disgusting enough.
Bebe: yup, I stood by. And THAT is how I now have an audio recording of it, which I could use against you in court.
Me: But why didn't you do anything?
You're just as badass as me
you just WATCHED
pathetic
Bebe: no matter what I'd done, it would have happened again.
but if I stayed and recorded it?
solid evidence.
Come on, you didn't think I'd really just stand there, did you?
Me: Actually, I kind of did. You were laughing.
shrugs
Bebe: I'm a good actor when I need to be.
Me: I don't think you care about him at all.
Bebe: I learned plenty of things that night, Craig
Me: like what?
Bebe: that I wouldn't have if I'd gone against you
like that you raped him
that he begged you not to
and, the next day, that he loved you after all that.
But, whether he deemed it 'okay' or not, he was still protesting.
Me: your point?
Bebe: Well, in the bluntest way possible, what you did that night was highly illegal. Aaaaand... if you don't plan to change that, I plan to stop it.
Me: Sure. Good luck with that.
Seconds passed, that slowly stretched into minutes, and still, no Bebe is typing appeared. Finally, he typed in a reluctant line.
Hello?
Bebe: I have my own life to deal with, too, Craig. But rest assured—I'll be back to talk to you, and soon.