To be honest I don't really get what's going on right now... It was probably really stupid to return to South Park. I didn't plan to run into someone from my past. Fucking Stan Marsh. He always shows up at the right time... I shouldn't be here. No. I can't be here, damn it. I'll mess everything up. I'll hurt him. Wait. I already have.

What the hell though? Stan was in love with me? I never knew. Doesn't matter. Too late to fix anything. I can hear him crying, doing his best to stay quiet and I feel bad for him. Why did I have to hurt him like this? I'm messed up beyond belief and I can't do anything right but...

Fuck. I'm sobering up. Damn it!

This time I can't really escape. I can't do anything about it. I can't get back to my high now. Not when Stan is crying, half asleep just next to me. The drugs are in my backpack, and it's too far away to reach. There's no way I could be discrete about it. If I reach out I'll get caught. That's the least that I need right now. My childhood friend looking down on me.

If I were to let myself sober up I'd look down on myself too... I'd probably even hate myself. Who wouldn't though? I'd probably end up hating my life and what I've become. I'd freak out. I'd break. I'd panic. Like that one time in the past when I tried to quit. But fuck that. I don't need to quit, cause when my head is messed up I feel content. Happy. Calm. At peace. So this is enough.

Drugs change people. Trust me, I know. I've experimented with a lot of different ones, just cause I could. Some of them fuck your head up completely and you do more stupid shit than you could ever imagine, others get you insanely trippy and you just sit there talking to your hallucinations... And then there are those drugs that do neither of those things. Heroin is kinda one of those.

Heroin just feels nice. Yeah... Heroin is nice. When I take it I kinda feel calm as fuck and it's like everything in my life is perfect, when in reality I'm a male prostitute wandering the streets, fucking around just to get more money for heroin. It probably sounds like shit to most people but... Most people don't do heroin...? So they can't possibly understand. I'd feel bad if I was properly sober. But that ain't happening. That's just how it is.

I'm alright with this. There's only one problem though. Heroin builds up a tolerance fast. You'll need more and more money as it continues, cause the amount of heroin that got you high just a week ago might not be anywhere near good enough anymore. That's one of the only thing that I really dislike about heroin... and maybe the whole withdrawal thing... When the heroin starts to leave your system there will be a lot of annoying side effects. I myself throw up a lot, and sometimes anxiety hits me pretty hard. There is a possibility that something along those lines might happen any fucking minute now. Please don't happen.

Except for that there isn't much that is bad about heroin. But I'd advice you to not overdose I guess... Doesn't really affect me though, since I'm fucking immortal cause of the entire weird cult of Cthulu thing...

For me the good outweighs the bad with heroin. Many people would think it's really self destructive but what do they know? Not a single fuck. To me it feels kinda like the opposite. I think it's more like self help than anything else.

The withdrawal doesn't seem to kick in strangely enough and I fall asleep, with Stan's sad sniffling still in the background. I feel guilty about making him hurt.

What do I think about Stan? I don't know. I'm too fucked up beyond belief so this is a bad idea. Even though it'd be nice it's still a really bad idea. He's probably still into me, or he wouldn't be laying here fucking bawling. A relationship with Stan is a sweet thought really. But Stan is good. I'm not. I'm a white trash heroin addict with a lot of baggage. Stan can't deal with it. I'm sorry Stan... This is for your own good...

Morning soon arrives. FUCK. The withdrawal is kinda messing me up real bad. When I wake up I'm shaking like a fucking earthquake. I'm shaking worse than Tweek does when he has had way too much coffee and also gets a fucking anxiety attack. And I'm nauseous. So nauseous. So damn nauseous. I sit up and I fight the urge to throw up right here on myself and Stan's couch.

I look towards the bed desperately. Stan is still asleep. Good. I quickly stand up, grab my backpack and make a run towards the bathroom. Please. Don't let this wake him up.

As soon as I get into the bathroom I shut and lock the door behind me. Two seconds later I'm hurling into the toilet.

I vomit worse than Clyde did that one time at a party in 9th grade after he drank way too much rum and then ate like half a ton of cookie dough. It was pretty funny actually. Clyde is a blackout drunk so afterwards he didn't remember a thing from the night. He flipped his shit when he woke up with a massive hangover, naked in Bebe's bathtub. He was covered in his own vomit, and also Cartman's vomit... Cartman got nauseous too sometime that night and he was planning to aim for the toilet but when he found Clyde passed out in the bathtub it just kinda happened. And then he proceeded to take pictures of Clyde. Of course he blackmailed him several times with them. He can probably still do that if he wants.

Anyway. Let's just say that I vomited a lot just now.

I sit up a bit better and I wipe my face with the back of my hand. I feel kinda gross. I'm still shaking, and I can already tell that it's getting even worse. I reach for my backpack and I desperately scramble through it as fast as I can. I find what I'm looking for and I pull up my shirtsleeve. I grab the syringe and inject the content into my left arm in one swift motion. This is my escape. My escape from all of the things that hurt. Maybe I'm just running away... But it works. It makes me feel better.

Right away I can feel the drug starting to spread throughout my bloodstream. When it comes to the different ways of using heroin, I like the injections the most. It kinda gets into the system the fastest. I think it's the easiest way too.

I look down at my arm. There's many scars and bruised marks along it from the injections. From the newest mark there's a strange yellow liquid oozing out. It got infected again, like it always does. Whatever. I can barely feel anything from it. I've built up a pretty good tolerance to pain over the years now...

My arm isn't the prettiest sight. That's why I picked a long sleeved shirt from Stan's wardrobe. I don't want him to see it. I actually smile at the sight of my arm. It's all totally worth it. I feel great. Life is wonderful really. The syringe falls out of my hand and it drops to the floor. I sigh loudly as I feel the heroin pumping through my bloodstream. It's nice. I feel so relaxed right now. I've fed my addiction and the withdrawal is completely gone.

I fall back on the floor. I lay down and look up at the ceiling, while just feeling happy and content.

I then hear a knock on the bathroom door.

"You alright Kenny?" I can hear Stan asking carefully, sounding sleepy. "Did you just throw up?" I must've been too loud so I woke him up...

"My stomach was kinda upset. I feel better now though so don't worry." I answer. It isn't a lie. Not at all. I just left out some pieces of information. There is a difference... I think...

"You sure?" he questions. "I'm gonna go make breakfast... Do you think you could handle eating something as it is right now?" I can feel my stomach rumble a little.

"Dude I'm alright. I think I can eat." I tell him.

"Okay." Stan answers.

"Thanks for everything, man..." I say, while going back to just enjoying the feeling of having some freshly injected heroin in my system.

"No problem. Anytime Kenny." He says and then we are both silent. I can hear his footsteps as he walks away, towards the kitchen.

Stan definitely still has feelings for me. Damn. He's good looking and I just feel kinda funny thinking about it. There's this thing called sexual attraction and if you aren't sexually attracted to Stan Marsh you're either completely asexual, blind or just plain retarded (like Cartman basically). Stan is REALLY good looking. He has big blue eyes, a beautifully defined jawline, messy, soft, black hair, and a great body. He's pretty tall, quiet a lot taller than short little me and he's muscular but still kinda skinny. His pale skin looks completely flawless. And damn. That ass. Best booty in the universe. 10/10. I can say without a doubt that I'd fuck Stan Marsh anytime if I could. But it'd be a shit idea right now. I'd mess him up, and not in the good way.

When I still lived here in town I never noticed any of these thing. Stan was my best friend at that time and I was with Craig Tucker so he was the only one I had eyes for. But today I can say that I fucking hate Craig Tucker and he can go fuck himself in the ass with a dead fish for all I care.

I continue laying on the floor for a moment, while my mind wanders because of the sweet bliss that is called heroin. I then sit up and wash out my mouth with water from the sink, wanting to get rid of the taste of vomit. It doesn't really work cause I can still faintly taste it. Whatever. Life is great. I pull my sleeve down and the syringe gets shoved into my backpack again.

I leave the bathroom and I put the backpack on the living room floor again before I pop through the door to the kitchen. Stan is standing there in an apron while he's frying something in a pan. I can't properly see what it is from this distance.

Did I mention that my eyesight is kinda bad and I actually need glasses? I refuse though. I'd rather buy heroin than glasses. It's that simple. I can deal with it. I value my current happiness over actually having good living standards. That's just how I prioritize. If it isn't gonna kill me to not buy something then I will most likely buy heroin for the money instead. Heck even if it would kill me I'd still buy heroin. Ah... The benefits of being dumb, addicted and immortal.

"What are you cooking?" I ask, feeling my stomach rumbling again. I wonder... When did I last eat a proper meal? No idea. I basically live on poptarts and ice cream nowadays... Who even cares if I'm malnourished? I'll be fine anyway. I'm good. No. I'm great. For real.

Stan looks towards me and he smiles gently. I notice that he has a very beautiful smile.

"Pancakes." He states.

"Nice..." I simply say. I seem to lack basic skills in communicating with him nowadays. It's kinda awkward talking to your childhood friend who is doing way better than you, while also knowing that they like you in a not so platonic way... And I suppose that I'm not a very talkative person either.

"So what are you planning on doing now? Where are you gonna go?" Stan asks me, and he sounds a little sad. You're so seethrough Stanley.

He's sad cause he knows that I'll leave and he wants me to stay. So now he's gonna try and make me stay for a while. I don't mind. Maybe I'd even get some action... Would be pretty nice. Maybe there wouldn't even be any hurt feeling? Maybe it would just be something casual? Eh, whatever. I still just wanna fuck him.

Could you please just stop thinking with your dick for a second Kenny...?!

"I'm going wherever life takes me..." I answer his question kinda strangely and he smiles again.

"You should stick around here for a while... It's nice with some company." Stan tells me. I knew it. I grin at him. I thought life was good just a moment ago... I think it could get a whole lot better soon. With just some luck and some seduction skills it'll all be perfect.

"Yeah... I think that I'll probably do that. If you can just deal with all of my issues that is..."

"What issues?" Stan asks with a somewhat sad and confused look. I just shrug. It's all too hard to explain really...

"I don't know... I have too many of them." Is all that I say.