A/N God, these chapters seem to just keep getting shorter and shorter. Nnrgh. Well, this one makes up for it by being the gateway from the so-so part of the story to the awesome part of the story... at least, I see it that way. It's all fun and games from here on out, folks... and by fun and games, I mean, well, love and blood. Yippee. Just hold it out one more week before the chapters get longer and better!

Thanks to NightmareMyLove

Disclaimer I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc.

Stage 8. ([[{h.a.p.p.y—e.a.r.w.i.g.s—l.i.l.i.e.s—p.u.t}]])

10:05 pm

July 30th, 2011

South Park, Colorado

Bebe: feel up for explaining?

There she was, in a third chat box. Neither of the others had a thing going on in them any longer, so he obediently attended to her.

Me: explaining what?

Bebe: your little...code over there jerks head to the right

Me: the FIRST one said Please Help Me

Bebe: okay.

Me: the second one said Email

4u

Bebe: I see.

thx

Me: read it

The silence after surely was that of her looking through it. Through everything that had gone back and forth between he and Craig—the threats, the pleas. But what he hoped she saw was the undercurrent to it all—not something that could be found in the specific words, but rather something about Craig's tone, a sort of… characterization of him, a flavoring that hinted at something else, something more hopeful… something that explained how Craig wasn't all bad.

Bebe: thanks. for showing me. hugs don't worry, we can do this

Me: I-I don't wanna

I don't wanna be there

I can't

did you read the email?

He's ALL I have...

no matter the abuse...

I love him

A few minutes passed there, while Tweek pondered the truth of the words. I love him. He did love him. He'd loved him for as long as he remembered, even as he feared and hated and despised him, he loved him. He loved him. Everything about him—his dark hair, his monotonous, nasally voice, his coldness, the way that he always flipped off anyone to cross him—or to cross paths with him, really, he wasn't picky. As these thoughts and seconds whizzed by, there was still nothing from Bebe. Presumably, she was chatting with Craig. He carefully checked this.

Me: i-is he ok?

Bebe: Depends on your definition

Me: what do you mean?

Bebe: Things are certainly progressing. Are you chatting with him?

Me: no...

what is he saying?

Bebe: okay.

I think he might be... well... I need to be over there…

Me: my parents left for my aunt's house...is there something i should be worried about? i am all alone now...

Bebe: Not for long...

Me: ok

Then he really processed her words, just as he heard the key in the lock a floor below, and his blood seemed to boil. His head buzzed, his stomach dropped, and it was only the sharp crack of his head against the edge of the table that stopped him from slumping to the ground in a half-faint. Weakly, as the point of impact on his skull throbbed in time with the footsteps on the stairs, he managed to type in a few last screams.

wait...

wh-WHAT THE FUCK?

NO NO NO NO PLEASE!

PLEASE!

me: Hold on. Just breathe.

Couldn't breathe. Head spinning. Out of control.

Me: WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE IN TEXAS?

WHY AREN'T YOU HERE

HE'S IN MY HOUSE

The door opened, and there he was, standing at his full height, a furious smirk twisting his lips, eyebrows drawn meanly together below a mess of black hair, twirling the key given to him years ago between his thumb and forefinger.

"Why, hello, there," Craig Tucker purred, advancing.