I want all of you to enjoy Halloween (:
I am outside playing, running with my pup
Mommy is upon the porch, calling me to sup.
"Mother, may I stay out, play a little more?"
"Just a few more minutes, then come in through this door."
Later, Mommy stokes my cheek, says, "It's time for bed,"
I yawn and nearly fall asleep when pillow meets my head.
Mother starts a story with, "Once a beanstalk grew,"
But I'm fast in slumber land before the story's through.
Something wakes me later, something that sounds near.
I tiptoe quietly down the hall so Mommy will not hear,
Slipping out the front door, into the midnight dew,
greeting the towns children, out in the dark night blue.
Someone leads us dancing, to that tall black tree,
and we climb like monkeys, laughing merrily.
Halfway up that tall black tree we find a big, wide crack,
and we climb inside the tree into a darkness black.
Deep inside the tree now, no longer having fun.
We cry and scream and can't get out, there's nowhere we can run.
I wish I hadn't snuck out, I'm sorry that I came,
there's something creeping closer now, it's calling me by name.
—Return to Daemon Hall, Andrew Nance
Tweek's point of view:
Just about every female was scantily clad. Bailey was wearing a dinosaur romper with spiked ridges down her spine. The girls from the salon who both seemed to be quite motivated as they conversed with Token were matching in their booty shorts, cropped tops, and policeman hats. Clyde's girlfriend had unclothed down to the bare essentials: her bra and underwear. The two articles were furry to correspond with her given animal and a little chipmunk tail was pinned to her bottom. She had a shapely butt; I was almost jealous of it.
And the men. Well, the men were rather dashing, some of them skimpy like the girls. There were the Blues Brothers who were literally brothers except both were skinny, a lumberjack with an ax but it was fake so I didn't mind, and an Egyptian pharaoh missing his headdress. On the couch feeding the dogs fake eyeballs was Julibob's Spartan replica.
Eight looked a lot more populated than it had originally seemed in my head. I stepped up behind Craig in the mouth of the hallway just as he announced my presence to the group, speaking loudly enough that his voice penetrated that of the music. "Everyone," he said. Heads turned, automatically forcing me into a spotlight position. "This is Tweek." I felt like a shy five year old and grabbed the first thing I could: the back of Craig's thigh.
It startled him, my abrupt clench. He jerked his head around to look at me, must've comprehended the timid aura encompassing me, because he grinned and said to only me, "You definitely need some alcohol in you." I grimaced and pinched the back of his leg causing him to yelp and skitter away. If I drank, there would be no keeping myself in check. I did want to, but were the consequences worth it? This was a conflicting situation and I needed to compromise somehow. Maybe I'd just play a round of beer pong and hopefully lose that way I wouldn't have to play again.
Mine and Craig's competition was the brother duo, first game of the night. It would set the tone for the rest of my party experience. Two pyramids made of red plastic cups were set up on either end of the table. Craig and I were stationed at one of them, the brothers at the other. It turned out we'd be playing bitch cup which mean that the first player from both teams to make the middle cup would have to drop their pants until they made a second cup. I hated this version because I would bet money on how often I made the first shot. Hopefully Craig would be better at beer pong than I was.
But just to ensure my safety, I purposefully missed all of the cups when it was my turn. I'd had to do "eye for eye," a term that meant each opponent was meant look the other in the eye as they made their first shot. The rule would cease once a cup had been made although the specific brother I was up against either sucked or was just as scared about losing his pants in front of Craig Tucker as I was.
On his turn, Craig withheld nothing. He positioned himself for a throw, steadily stared his enemy in the eye, and tossed his ball in a well balanced arc. We all watched it land in the center of the pyramid. Everyone in the room unanimously called out, "Bitch cup!"
Safe.
Craig shamelessly undid his jeans and stepped out of the legs before kicking the article aside. "Those are gone for the night," he promised.
Not safe.
Sweet Jesus, why did he have to do this to me? Now he was only in boxer-briefs and his adorable sweater vest.
When I made the next shot, though a little shaky because of Craig's pantless proximity, he leaned over me and said, "I see that you purposefully gave me bitch cup. Thanks."
I chuckled nervously and grinned up at him as innocently as I could without making a grab at his crotch. "Better you t-than me."
Beer Pong then commenced as Beer Pong always does. Alcohol was split equally and the cups began to stack up. There was an obvious shift in the somber mood when they dwindled further and shooters started asking for rearrangements of the cups like diamonds or a straight line. It meant that the game was cutting close and we were getting serious.
As the first round neared its closing―although few cups didn't always mean a quick end because sometimes two teams could shoot back and forth for that last cup forever just like monopoly―six more people showed up. Craig had taken more half shots for each individual. One had smelled distinctly like marijuana and I wondered if I was going to get crossfaded tonight.
Now that the game was reaching its peak, I felt a competitive streak coming on, and I didn't want to lose. I wanted to play and win and if that meant drinking a lot of beer and getting drunk then I was going to do it.
My and Craig's pyramid had made it down to two single cups when one of the brothers tossed the ball and it bounced―bounced being the key word―against the table.
"House rule!" Craig screamed, but it wasn't only him. It was all of his roommates. Token and Clyde were standing off to the side, Pretty Lady on a chair to see over her boyfriend's shoulder. "House fucking rule!" They shrieked.
Obviously the apartment of Tucker, Donovan, Black and woman didn't condone bouncing.
Before the ball could make it into a cup, Craig's hand jut out and intercepted it. He slapped it away, breathing heavily with excitement from the slip-up. I think he might've strained a few vital blood vessels while playing. I had never witnessed this animated side of him before tonight, never knew that he could get so wrapped up in a game like Beer Pong. He'd even started doing this thing where every time I got ready to shoot, he'd grab my hips and help me move into an advantageous position. Clearly, he cared very much about this game.
So much so that he grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest. I was just a wee little bit woozy, the beginnings of temptation unfurling in the very back of my conscious, but it was enough to get me to lean into him. To feel his thighs against mine. To incline my chin and share a breath with him. "You blow the ball if it spins the rim," he said to me. My eyes narrowed. If he was giving me permission, then house rule was that only girls were allowed to blow. He looked up and asked, "He can blow, right? Because he's really gay."
Oh, thanks. I glared at him because the entire crowd was agreeing that I should be able to blow the ball if it ever managed to spin the rim of a cup. What I should've done was spite him by saying that I was better at fingering, a rule designated to men who flicked the ball out of the cup with their finger when the ball span the rim. It was just that I couldn't lie to Craig and maybe I might've been better at blowing. Maybe. Glancing down at me, my sucky partner realized that I wasn't amused, and kissed my neck apologetically so as not to smear my face paint. I felt no forgiveness, just a little bit...fuck, okay. I'd been wooed.
We missed it when a ball landed in one of our two cups that were left. Their first had missed, but this one―Craig swore and snatched it off the table, glaring at our equal playing field. "I'll take this one," I offered. Removing the cup from his hand, I brought it to my mouth and swallowed down the beer. Craig's next shot missed, and when he punched the wall, I regretted taking the beer from him.
His irritation unsettled me and effected my aim. The ball completely bypassed the table entirely. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." So it was unexpected when one of the first brothers made their shot cleanly into our last cup. "No fucking way." Reaching for his forehead, Craig reconsidered once remembering the face paint and dropped his hand.
Both would need to make it, but they were already halfway there now. From across the table, the brothers shared in their egotism with each other, hollering and laughing. One of them collected the ball and looked right at me. He was smirking because if he made this, they'd win. I watched him throw it and I thought to myself that they weren't allowed to beat us but the stupid ball was making a perfect beeline right for our cup. Craig was too invested in this game to lose and I didn't want to be the one to let that happen.
The ball touched the rim of the cup and lost its steady momentum. It swooped around once before speeding viciously through numerous circles. What happened then, I don't know. I might've died at the unannounced coincidence. Possibly I shit myself over how beautifully timed this opportunity was. But my eyes widened and I bent over so fast and blew so hard that the ball flew right into my face then bounced straight off the table.
All I could hear was boisterous cheering throughout the crowded cavity of the apartment's main room, and all I could feel was the weightlessness of being thrown into the air. Craig had picked me up and was suffocating me in his arms. It was lovely. "Alright," he said. Something was forced into my hand. "You need to make this, okay?"
"Are you going to put me down?" I asked, eyes flickering briskly across his face. He was flushed beneath his face paint and his hair was becoming disheveled. I felt similarly to what I saw.
"I don't think I can," he admitted. "I just need you to make this shot."
His answer calmed me in a way. I liked knowing that Craig could get worked up about stuff and it was cute when he did. But I would miss the cup if I aimed from this unfamiliar angle, though. And I was not going to lose. I wasn't going to throw the game just because I liked the way his arms felt securing me against his torso. "Put me down, get me a shot, and I promise you we'll win."
Hastily agreeing, he set me back onto my feet and asked Pretty Lady to get me something. Secretly I hoped she would know that I couldn't do the vials tonight and get me a shot glass of something―anything―that wasn't tequila instead. While she was doing that, Craig took his ball and didn't even try. He just made it.
"Fuck you," he said, flipping off our opposing team.
Pretty Lady came rushing back, pushing a fucking vial between Token and Clyde's shoulders. There was no reason to refuse it by that point, so I took the slender slip of glass and tossed it back, curling my fingers around the little white ball tucked tightly against the palm of my hand. The alcohol singed my throat, foul on my tongue.
I turned my head and spotted the last cup with a ball already floating in its beer. It must've been the bit of tequila and beer in my system that kept me from over-thinking the throw because my toss was fluid without the stress of thought and it landed in the cup on top of Craig's ball so quickly that, for a second even after I'd made it, we still hadn't won.
Craig and I made it through two more rounds of Beer Pong before getting butchered by Token and Bailey. It'd been embarrassing.
Someone had also brought out marijuana, but I hadn't partaken in that particular substance. I'd gotten tipsy off the beer and had stuck to my wits: shots. I was on my seventh and knew that five of those had been tequila. A couple of more drinking games had coalesced including Flip Cup and California Kings.
I'd been an enemy of Craig's for Flip Cup, and I don't know if it was just me getting turned on by opposing him, but I was feeling some unresolved sexual tension while glaring at each other throughout those few short rounds. Like maybe in his head he was thinking I want to do dirty, dirty things to you and I was relaying my own thoughts―I want you to do dirty, dirty things to me―because I swear to God if it wasn't him then I was picking up on someone's residual sex appeal, or pheromones, or maybe I was just getting really drunk.
The ladies were progressively losing what articles of clothing they had once worn, the music was getting louder, Clyde was trying to convince his girlfriend to talk Bailey into having a threesome with them, and I was getting a call from Thomas. My first instinct was to steal myself away inside of Craig's room and so that's where I went, excusing myself from the throng in the kitchen who were pouring themselves more shots.
"Thomas?" I inquired, answering the phone as I shut the door behind me. The lights were off, and when I turned them on, I just kind of took in the entirety of Craig's room. I mean, it was surreal to me that I was even standing there. It was so blank and boring, little furniture and even less belongings, but his personality was the empty space and his more personal characteristics were in the easel folded beneath his bed and in the pencils and paints on top of his dresser.
This room was comfortable to me. It wasn't pretending to be clean but a colossal problem―the overly organized version―underneath. Not like mine was. I think I liked it because I didn't feel claustrophobic when the door was closed. Craig's personal touch wasn't so overbearing that it left no room for me.
My eyes focused on his bed and I had to think to myself Don't even get yourself started on the bed because I'd begun to wonder recently what else would happen there. There were many things that I could achieve on Craig Tucker's bed and right now wasn't the time to fantasize about them. I did crawl onto it, though. The waves inside were soothing.
"Hey!" Thomas responded enthusiastically before quieting down and adding, "I sure hope I wasn't interrupting anything."
"No. I just need to invest in a waterbed."
"Oh," he half growled. "You're on the bed, I see. Perhaps this conversation can wait." I was in the process of rolling my eyes when he asked, "Who has a waterbed?"
Had I really never mentioned it to him? I loved this thing! "Craig does."
"Well," he chirped, audibly inhaling deeply before spewing: "I can totally hang up and call back later if you're about to do something on that bed specifically anything that has to do with you losing your virginity to Craig Tucker and don't even worry about it because I can run down a condom to you guys just as long as I can join in, yeah?"
When I laughed at his conjoined assumption and offer, I knew that the alcohol in my system was working to impair me. Especially when I sighed dramatically and grumbled, "I wish."
My best friend sniggered as I flopped down onto my back. "Is somebody not giving you enough attention?"
"Not exactly." I wanted to roll around and press my face against the bedsheets but I needed to be careful with my face paint. Obviously I wasn't very drunk if I could still remind myself not to do that. "It's more like I'm not getting the attention that I want."
"Tweek!" He cried, feigning surprise. "Are you telling me that you're...horny?"
"I'm not horny," I objected. "I'm just―" It was just that Craig looked so cute tonight. All of his little buttons were done up and he was wearing a sweater vest and he'd had it all tucked in and then he'd taken off his pants. Other people had to have noticed how goddamn fine his legs were looking. His boxer briefs fit so snug around his thighs and that butt of his and the impact of our stare-down during that competition and God. Just God. "Yeah, okay. I think I'm a little horny."
"And?"
"And what?" It had just taken the life out of me to admit that I was sexually frustrated. What else did he want from my drained corpse?
He sighed impatiently. "And you're going to fix that, right?"
Oh. "N―no, probably not."
"That's because you're not drunk enough. I'm serious when I say this, Tweek: You turn into a fuckable person when you're drunk. So go out there and take a few more shots of tequila. I'll call you back and we can talk once something interesting happens, alright?" Before I could change his mind, he hung up.
I muttered jumbled insults at him while I was forced to get up and return to the living area. Just as I had my hand on the nob, my other on the light switch, the door opened and I shrieked as a massive squirrel appeared. Clyde stepped into the room, pushing me back to allow himself room as he shut the door and locked it. I had thought he'd be dragging two girls in after him, but I'd been wrong.
It was just me and him and for a second I honestly thought that I was quite possibly about to get fucked by Craig Tucker's best friend, not even Token who was at least an admirable partner, but Clyde Donovan. Thomas had been right and I was a fuckable drunk.
"Alright," he said, slapping his hands together with a look of motivation enhancing his painted features. Sweet Jesus, we were about to get kinky. "You. Me." But what I'd heard was, "You. On your knees. Me. In your butt." And oh, was I terrified.
His next instruction cleared the air, though. "Drunk talk."
Except this―please not drunk talk, I wasn't drunk enough for drunk talk―I didn't want to dabble in either.
He grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the bed, lugged me onto the mattress and shoved me down so that I stayed there. We stared at each other from across our very separate and strictly placed seats. This wasn't the kind of talk that would end with us blubbering about what all we liked about one another. This was the same talk that stemmed from the same protection that my own best friends felt toward me. I hadn't even realized while I spent my time with Craig that I was being viewed and judged upon by Clyde.
Stan and Kyle, even my parents, should have prepared me for this. I should've been experienced in the art of reassuring one's intentions. But as he assessed me with his vividly dark and rich eyes, I couldn't think of a single thing to say that would sufficiently represent the genuine goodness of my purpose for being here. My honesty―not one statement came to mind that I could use to defend it. After a tense moment of just sitting there, Clyde said, "I wanted him to be with a girl." Although it hurt, his voice held no accusation, and I wondered if I was the only one who had felt the tension like frost billowing between our bodies as though someone had shaken a dusty curtain.
Clyde looked harder at me, and I knew what he was seeing because I immediately felt that recognizable self-conscious itch in my skin. He was picking at all of my flaws, the mental and the physical. I was the strange boy with the same name twice. My eyes were too big for my head and I imagined these things called the underpants gnomes. We couldn't be friends because girls thought I was weird and boys didn't know what to do with me. I wasn't good at games during recess but I was easy to copy off of when we did puzzles in class. In junior high he'd told me to fuck off for not letting him cheat off my test and I still hadn't been good at sports, so the boys had known where to put me then, and the girls still didn't like me because they'd known I was gay.
Somehow it'd leaked during high school that I had a psychiatrist and Clyde had been one of the first people to ask me when I was switching to a school in the psychiatric ward at Hells Pass Hospital. I'd been embarrassed because he'd said it in front of Craig, and it had been the worst thing because my parents had taken me on a vacation for the rest of the week, and when I'd come back, everyone had honestly believed that I'd left for being mental. Craig had actually acknowledged me that day and he'd looked so surprised to see me.
"I don't know why he likes you." I flinched, completely bypassing the "he likes you" and only hearing "I don't know why."
There was a reverberating thunk that slammed against Craig's door. It jarred me, sounding distinctly like a body. Someone knocked and vigorously jiggled the nob in unison, creating unnecessary noise. "Clyde?" Craig called, voice careening in volume.
"Yeah?" The brunette asked tersely, gaze relentlessly as he continued to pinpoint it at me.
"I'm so drunk, dude. Get out here." His body dropped against the door again.
"I'm busy with Tweek right now. I'll be out in a second. Remember Tweek?" Clyde's solid once-over left me believing as though he wished he didn't.
Craig's tone lowered as I heard him speak against the threshold. "You already have a girlfriend. Get out of my room."
"We're not fucking, dude." I blushed furiously, half glad that I wasn't the only one who'd been thinking questionable thoughts. "I have more dignity than that. If I wanted to fuck, we'd be in my room."
"I don't trust you," Craig grumbled. Clyde rolled his eyes and screamed at his best friend to leave. "He's probably dead. I want to hear his voice. Are you dead, Tweek?"
He could be so precious at times. I hadn't even realized I'd been giggling until Clyde snapped a look in my direction and my body shut itself up. "I'm fine, Craig. Clyde and I are almost done. Just wait f-for us with everybody else."
Something was said beneath his breath, but I couldn't understand him through the door. "You're talking about me, aren't you?" He asked, louder now.
"God, yes!" Clyde shouted, exasperated. "We're talking about you. Now go the fuck away!"
His energy must've triggered something of Craig's, because from the hallway he made this noise like an enraged lion. My eyes widened as an object thick and structured ricocheted against the doorframe. I figured it had been a fist, and Craig's anger should not have turned me on the way it did, but if Clyde hadn't been there, I feared I would've gotten an instant erection. "I want to spend time with my best friend and Tweek!" The brunette was trying not to grin at Craig's reckless behavior. "I'm going to sit on the couch and wait," were his mumbled plans as he departed.
Clyde's aura returned with a vehemence, his presence akin to that of a territorial dog. The moment he'd cracked for Craig was gone, and he needed to be quick because if the truth had been told, then Craig would be waiting for us on the couch with a displeased lion's temper. "You don't even notice it, do you?"
If he was referring to his best friend's tantrum, then no, I had definitely noticed that. There wasn't much that could up my testosterone unless you were an angry Craig. "Huh?"
"It really sucks having to say this, alright? I want you to know that." Clyde shook his head and ran his fingers through his chestnut hair. "Are you an idiot or something? Craig's crushing on you―hard. He can't fucking function without you and it's annoying as hell." There was a stunt in my pulse and I thought to myself that maybe I was going to die and that Clyde had better leave so Craig didn't think it was him who'd killed me. "He talks about you when he's not talking to you and he has to show me every goddamn picture he draws and repeat all this stupid shit that he likes about your face over and over again. He's never been like this before. He's never had a crush before. I mean, when we were little he thought he'd had a crush or two on older girls but that was for the sake of being normal. You're not normal, Tweek. God, your the worst first crush ever."
What the fuck. This was certainly a drunk talk. Where was any of it even coming from? Clyde was going back to when they'd been, like, eleven years old! "When we left South Park, we were supposed to leave you. You and Kenny and your little Tourette's friend. I could've had something nice there, you know. Girls liked me. Red or Mindy, and Token would've had Bebe." He remembered their names. I hadn't thought that he would for disliking the place so much. "So you shouldn't even be allowed to talk to Craig. You're lucky Token likes you otherwise you wouldn't be here. He thinks you're good for him."
I'd always heard about Clyde titled Craig's "jealous girlfriend," but I hadn't known it'd be like this. He was off the bed and pacing back and forth across the room, smearing his face paint with the palms of his hands and hissing when he saw the damage. "I don't even think he remembers which is just retarded," he spat. "But you were the first person he drew. It was shitty, nothing like he does now. We were sitting at my house and he drew your fucking face. Not―not Token's or Kenny's or his sister's. He drew you" ―he pointed at me as though he were scolding me― "and your bigass eyes, so just shut up." I hadn't even said a word that entire time. Clyde stood straight and gasped to return the breath he'd expelled, took in all of this air inside the room until I couldn't even breathe myself.
His back was to me and it sounded like he was making an effort just to compose himself when he ground out between his clenched jaw, "He likes your teeth. And your freckles. And he's never been so psyched about a color until he saw your eyes." The change in his demeanor had been so rapid and I wasn't sure how to understand it or what he was telling me. "I'll find him in here starving or some shit because he's been trying to recreate it all night." Clyde exhaled noisily and clenched his fists at his sides. "And then he decided to really think about things and―he was so excited when he found out about your―...never mind. That's not the point. But at the time, he was working so hard on this one project because he'd finally figured out what he was afraid of." This was the project that I'd confessed a fraction of my fears for. I'd never been told what he'd ended up deciding on.
"He's scared of having no explanation," Clyde said. "And I think he meant you. I think he doesn't know what you're doing to him or why you're making him feel the things he does and it scares him." But that was the extent of my knowledge, too! Those were the unknown things that I felt and that I was afraid of. They had no origin but came from everywhere all at once. "Tweek." The brunette turned around to face me with a new resolve, his features smudged but determined. "Craig has no barriers. He's not cautious and he doesn't know what to expect. People with experience have been hurt. They aren't dumbasses with this kind of thing but Craig's as dumb as anyone could get, alright? You need to be delicate with him because he's―he's very fragile, and you need to let him take his time."
Oh my God. As Clyde turned his back on me to unlock the door, my features unfolded from their frozen exterior and became lax, a jaw-dropped state of―of everything I definitely hadn't foreseen. That had been permission. I had just gotten the best friend's permission. It was the most dire form of acceptance and Clyde Donovan had just given it to me for Craig Tucker. "Hey." My eyes flickered toward his, wary of taking in any more information. That and I was indescribably shocked. Clyde smirked at my reaction. "You need to know that sexual Craig and emotional Craig are two very different people. One goes way faster than the other. It doesn't mean he's inconsiderate, alright?" He waited for me to nod my head dumbly before adding, "It just means his dick is working, and anytime Craig's dick works is a miracle, so you better aim to satisfy." Smirk widening, he opened the door and ushered me out. "Now fuck off."
When I made it out of the hallway, I had every goal in mind of going into the kitchen and grabbing the entire bottle of tequila. Simple shots wouldn't help me now. But as soon as I made it up to the mouth, Pretty Lady was standing there with a long and skinny glass extended and waiting for my grubby little hands. I took it and didn't even bother with a chaser, mildly curious as to why the room was screaming with laughter. "I know you just got mauled but you need to see this," she said, pointing into the living area where the flash of a camera momentarily blinded me. Oh no, was my initial thought. Token was taking pictures.
And I was right, hover-handing my mouth as I peeked around a few shoulders with a grin on my face. Craig was not waiting like he said he'd be, nor was he grumpy in the slightest. No, in the time it'd taken Clyde to go on a rampage, Craig had been out here switching his boxer briefs for one of the police girls' short shorts. He'd tucked his shirt in and was now wearing the most conflicting set of clothing. The scene that Token was photographing was of the two girls tipping their hats with one hand, grabbing his crotch with the other.
Craig was mid laugh and noticeably drunk, arms raised in the put-your-hands-up position. I closed my eyes and shook my head, reminding myself that this was still the beginning of the night. Token must've realized I was there because he said, "I don't think Tweek is very into this." He winked at me and motioned me over.
Before I could shake my head, Clyde came up from behind me and nudged me into the center of the gathered group where Craig and the girls were. "Let's get a picture of the two homos together!" He suggested, and at first I thought he was making fun of Craig for supposedly having a crush on me when Bailey was dragged into the pit by Pretty Lady.
Her arms looped around my shoulders as she attempted not to stumble past me. She was giggling and gazing around dizzily, her weight a burden because she was too intoxicated to hold herself up. I kept my arms tight around her waist to keep her on her feet and smiled when recognition ignited her features into a stunningly drunk mess. "Tweek! How are you and Craig?"
I glanced quickly toward him and wavered slightly when I saw that he was on Clyde's back. "W-we're good," I laughed.
"Are we taking a picture?" She wondered, tipping her head back to spot Token upside down. Bailey gasped once she saw the camera pointed in our direction, flung her head back up, and did what I'm guessing was the first thing she could think of―turned us to the side, grabbed a handful of my butt, and made a dat ass face―and I was only guessing because the first thing that I had thought of was to grab her boobs and make an expression like shock.
We were both laughing at our coinciding poses and my head was suddenly an explosion of numb hilarity. Her body nearly fell backward on a level far more intoxicated than mine. I had to grab her again and we were laughing and that's when Pretty Lady suggested, "You know what would be funny? If Craig and Tweek did that same pose."
And then I was being pushed and Craig was sauntering over and his hands were on me, cupping my rear end differently from the way Bailey had. My body knew the dissimilarities well. His hands were larger, more certain of their placement and aware of how firmly they should hold me. I could feel him pressed against my front, knew that he was grinning down at me without having to look. I might've jut my hips into his where I hadn't with Bailey, might've thought many things that I hadn't with Bailey.
I needed to not be horny, damn it.
Once the picture was taken, Craig tipped his head to the side and smirked. I couldn't deny looking away from him this time and blushed beneath the paint on my face. He tapped my butt like he was patting me on the back and said, "Clyde's turn. He gets mad at me when I don't take best friend pictures with him." Just as he'd said, Clyde was standing behind me with his arms across his chest, glaring. Part of me was curious as to whether or not he'd made it into my picture and if I should photobomb his just in case.
But he looked so happy when Craig gave him his attention and I couldn't bring myself to dilute that. Their friendship was his top priority, his most crucial investment. There wasn't a part of me that could spite him for that kind of dedication. The two were posing all over each other, groping and kissing and bending one another over so they could pretend to do the other up the butt. Token had gotten dragged in at one point, forced to touch his best friends inappropriately for the sake of the camera and laughing his repetitive laughter when Clyde got down on his knees to simulate the look of a blow job and Craig got up on his shoulders to kiss Token on the mouth.
People were commenting that Token was such a dog. They said he was lucky for scoring two fine young men. Pretty Lady was forced to submit to the pressure of joining by those who said it was time for a family picture. She instantly picked up the masculine role, clearly the man of the house as she pretended to beat all three of her roommates. Everyone joked that poor Clyde was probably used to such abusive behavior causing his girlfriend to laugh maniacally and him to whimper profusely. It was a sad moment in the life of Clyde Donovan.
"Tweek," Token called, waving me over. I shook my head and held up my hands, not wanting to barge in on a roommate moment. I didn't belong there. "Dude, get over here!" As I shook my head again, he gestured for somebody to push me over, and one of the brothers from Beer Pong did just that. My stumble was blind and I ran right into Token's outstretched arm. He coiled it around my shoulders and hugged me to his side. I liked the way he smelled. "You live with us half of the time. You can at least be in half of the pictures."
Just as he said so, a picture was taken, the flash dazzling out of the corner of my eye. I started laughing because the first picture I'd have with everyone would be of me staring starry-eyed up at Token whose arm was still fashioned around my shoulders like a scarf. He noted our intimate positioning with a nose crinkle and a smile. "Token," I said, matching his expression. I put a hand on the back of his neck and told him, "I think I'm going to kiss you."
"What?" He asked, but I was already pulling him near and tilting my head so that our mouths would touch.
I knew that people were going into hysterics and I knew that the act was being photographed but Token smelled so nice, just clean and gentlemanly. The press of his lips was the most gentle thing, and he let me shift our mouths closer together until I could just barely taste him, a similarly humbling flavor that made me want to wash down my room with him. If I could just make everything I owned as fresh as Token, I wouldn't have the compulsive, tidy problems that I did.
His hand clenched my shoulder, and as I pulled away, my body combusted into an inaudible sigh for finally having gotten to kiss somebody. There was a small orange smudge above his upper lip. Token Black, my thoughts sniggered. He was one of the only men I'd ever kissed.
I couldn't believe that I had just done that and for no particular reason. I don't think anybody else could, either.
"Did you just...?" He attempted to ask, looking at me and then at Pretty Lady who'd stolen the camera to take the picture. "Did he really just do that?"
Pretty Lady clicked the playback button and showed him the screen. I couldn't stop myself as I began to giggle. It was a picture of me kissing Craig's best friend.
"I'm sorry, Token." But not really. Actually, I was very happy that I'd kissed him.
"Dude," he clapped me on the back so goodnatured and lighthearted. "It's cool. We'll think of that as your initiation. God only knows how many times I've been coerced into kissing Craig and Clyde."
Craig... I was immediately reminded of my crush, and leaned into Token's chest to take a peek over his shoulder at the man who I'd kind of―maybe―quite possibly―cheated on just a little bit. He was wearing the biggest grin and I knew that he also thought of that smooch as an initiation of sorts.
"You know that you have to kiss all of us now, right?" He asked, motioning toward Clyde who glared at me for bringing up such a task. Pretty Lady pumped the air with her fist, seemingly excited enough for both her and her boyfriend. "Have at him, Clyde." The brunette was shoved toward me, stumbling as he took the place of Token. "Show him why all the ladies love you."
He grimaced down at me, grabbing me by the shoulders despite the attitude he wore. "You're not a lady," he grumbled, tilting into me anyways. "This is going to ruin my night." It was a quick, disappointing kiss. One that received disapproval in the form of belligerent calls from the group surrounding us. Clyde ignored them.
Token took the camera from Pretty Lady and encouraged her to take the next turn. She sidled up to me and we met nose to nose. "Best for last, right?" She giggled, referring to Craig while taking my hands and placing them on her waist. My eyes shifted and landed on him. He was punching Clyde for being a pansy. When my focus returned to her, she put her arms around my shoulders and bumped our noses together. "Colton was asking about you, so when you kiss Craig, make sure it's a good one."
As she pressed our mouths together and held them like that until the flash went off, I tried to think of who Colton was or why she'd said that. The name wasn't familiar to me, and honestly I was too distracted by the warmth of her lips to formulate a rational thought. For being a girl, I was pretty interested in her mouth, and followed her as she pulled away, keeping her's and mine together for a moment longer before letting her go. She pet the back of my head, whispering into my ear, "Save that for Craig."
Why yes, that sounded like a good idea. A very good idea, and I stepped up to him myself because he was always instigating things first and I wanted to be the generous one for once. Some guy's name was fluttering through my head, blinking in and out of my conscious mind so that I couldn't remember what it was. It might've resembled Craig's and that was who I was consumed by: Craig. He was standing in front of me, so close that I had to turn my head up just to look at him. My hands rose to frame his ribcage, and I lifted onto my toes to rub my lips against his. "You're so cute," I confessed, mumbling into his mouth as I kissed him a second time. "I've wanted to do this all night."
My body tipped forward, chest pushing against his. I could feel his hands balancing my wobbly stance by my elbows. "Don't start talking like that," he grumbled. His voice rumbled in a way that had my breath fanning against his mouth and it felt good once it was gone because it left room for a tight heat to bloom inside of me. The feeling was one that I constantly associated with Craig. One that had never existed with anybody else. "Didn't I warn you that I'm a horny drunk?"
If he did, I definitely hadn't reacted like this. My body shuddered, tendrils of stimulation shooting up my spine. I made to move my arms around him, but he had me by my goddamn elbows and wouldn't let me rise. I was immobilized and he began to inch away. His eyes were murky, shrouded. There was something I needed to be doing, a task I'd been given. Craig's reluctance reminded me of that, but in order to do it, I needed him to be not reluctant.
All he did was tighten his hold when I strained against him. "Craig," I practically whimpered. Something in the tight clench of his hands weakened and I knew that if I could just dig my toes into the floor that I'd be able to break through to him, but there was also something desperate in the way he was clenching so tightly. My conscious mind acknowledged his hesitance and made me wonder if right now in front of all of these people was the time for this.
"I think..." he murmured, really considering whatever was going through his mind. I didn't know what he would say seeing as the last thing out of his mouth had been him clearly stating that he was a horny drunk when he was most definitely intoxicated. "I think that I should really go out and smoke a cigarette."
If not kissing me for that was the same as rejection, then I understood. I got that smoke breaks were important when one had been drinking, that groups periodically ventured out for new scenery because alcohol could make a person short-termed, and I had just been thinking myself that we shouldn't have been kissing anyways.
"Okay." I sounded excessively bummed and his eyes squinted as though he were very sad. "That's fine."
I wasn't reassuring either of us, though.
"Tweek," he murmured. But the sound of my name and the low tone he was speaking with made me want to do something that we obviously weren't going to. Even though I'd decided that it wasn't a good idea to do so, either. "I didn't say that to―"
"What are you talking about?" I lied, lowering down to my heels. I'd apologize for this later, drunkenly and incoherent. I'd probably say a lot of things to him later. "Go smoke."
And then he looked excessively bummed but he grabbed his cigarettes and stalked out the front door while leaving it open as an invitation still wearing those short shorts. I didn't want to look around and see just how obvious the tension had been so I pulled out my phone and stowed away to call Thomas again, but he'd been mad that nothing "juicy" had happened yet and convinced me to drink some more. Our conversation had literally been: hey―hey―anything happen?―no, but I think I just embarrassed myself―so if nothing happened then why are you calling me?―I don't know, but―take a shot in fifteen seconds and I'll do the same and it'll like we're drinking together and maybe it'll inspire you.
So I went back out into the nearly empty apartment while counting to fifteen and grabbed the whole bottle of tequila so that I could down a hearty shot of it as though I were drinking with Thomas. Inspiration hadn't revealed itself and I ended up crouched on the floor with the bottle between my hands as though it would explain to me what had just happened with Craig like three minutes ago. I couldn't actually remember how long it'd been anymore, memory fluctuations and all. No, but I think I just embarrassed myself, I'd said.
"Ugh." I bent toward the cabinet and hit my head against it. "Fuck me."
"Hey." The voice was male and I automatically assumed that it was Craig. My head shot up, vision swimming unmethodical directions. I toppled over after snatching a glimpse of lightly colored hair and realized in disappointment that it wasn't Craig who was now taking the alcohol from me or putting their arms around me just to keep me upright. "South Park, right?" I nodded my head, already awkward even when my vision wasn't focused.
He didn't smell like cigarettes and so he hadn't been outside. Not with the others and not with Craig. His black tie caught my eye as well as his matching trousers and ironed shirt. I recognized him as one of the brothers. It was either this one or the other who'd been eyeing me a good fraction of the night. Although I hadn't caught his name, I wanted to call him Colton.
Situating himself down next to me, he asked, "You just decided to come down for Halloween?" I tipped sideways in the direction that was not toward him. "Oh, no you don't." He rerouted me so that I ended up with my face in his chest, face paint forgotten.
Why are you talking to me? "Not really. I―uh." I come down here to feed my monster obsession for Craig. "It's more for Craig. We're" ―God, I did not like saying it but I did― "friends."
When I made to sit up, he helped me straighten. "Craig can be a pretty cool guy. It takes a little bit to get used to him, though. I don't actually think any of us here are his friends. We're more acquainted with Clyde and Token and―" Before he could speak her name, the woman herself wandered past while wearing a deep-set scowl. My initial thought was that her and Clyde had gotten into a fight, but then I remembered that she was the one who had warned me about a boy named Colton and I didn't know if I should be sitting with this one who was currently unnamed. He skipped her the next time he spoke, but I wasn't sure if I was being paranoid or intuitive. "It's just nice to know that he does have friends."
"Yeah." There was an obvious lull where we both kind of just looked at each other and then I started laughing because I could be such a socialite sometimes. I started laughing harder at my own joke.
The unnamed boy smiled. "So you uh, kind of blew my ball and screwed my game. House rule is usually females only."
Beer Pong, I reminded myself. He had to be the brother that'd been taking noticeable glances at me. "It is females only b-but I'm gay so I guess I'm just one of the girls."
"That's harsh," he said. Except the glint in his eye wasn't computing the same meaning. He was more interested than pitiful. Oh, boy. I wanted to slap my forehead. Shut your mouth, you idiot. My expression must've come across as regretful which was because I'd said it to him and not because I'd said it at all, but he wouldn't know the difference. "Don't be offended, but I kind of figured."
"Oh, n-no." My hands waved around and practically whipped him in the face. "I'm not offended. It's s-something that I'm used to."
And then he asked me: "Do you have a boyfriend?"
If I did, his name would be Craig Tucker. I shook my head and giggled over how funny my thoughts could be. The motion caused my stomach to drop and I lost my balance. He put a hand on my knee to right me, but the only thing I felt was uneasy.
"I'm surprised. You're a cute kid."
No, I wanted to say to him. You're supposed to tell me that I look weird and draw me all the time and make me pine over you for years and years because apparently I'm into that kind of stuff. "O-oh." I laughed again, too loud and too awkwardly. This wasn't happening. I need Craig. I need to find Craig.
Pretty Lady stepped out of the bathroom and waved at me from over the counter. She'd known and warned me about this predicament and was now allowing me to use her as an excuse. After apologizing numerous times, I shakily got up off the floor and wobbled over to her. I accidentally called him Colton a bunch of times but hoped that it would work in my favor, that he would think I was creepy for knowing his name without ever asking and leave me be.
"I told you," she whispered harshly, absconding me for being a big drunk idiot. "Are you aware that you just did everything that I told you not to do? I told you to make out with Craig so that you could evade Colton! I'm so pissed at you that my fucking vocabulary is intact when I'm fucking drunk, Tweek. That's not a good thing!"
We were heading out the door and then down two flights of stairs and I had no idea how I'd done it without slipping and releasing my bowels all over the granite slabs. My first breath of fresh air had caused me to realize just how stuffy and intoxicated that apartment now was. The marijuana smoke and the fog coupled with the unusual amount of bodies had permeated into a stagnant party funk.
Out in the shadowed, grassy courtyard I could spot the cherries of numerous cigarettes. I couldn't tell which, but one of them was making my stomach knot anxiously. As I hurriedly pivoted around, Pretty Lady lashed out at me and dragged me forward. "Craig didn't want to kiss me," I blurted out. "I don't want to see him."
"Well, I'm pretty sure that you do want to see him." She continued to surge forward and I could tell that heads were lifting at our arrival. "And you're going to tell him what just happened." A recognizable figure sat straddling a concrete wall. Before throwing me toward him, she reflected against my ear, "Remember the last time you didn't listen to me?"
I stumbled blindly into the short wall, directed closer to a body by their fingers around my wrist. Maybe it was when I registered their scent that I smiled and let them tug me closer. I crawled onto the wall and bypassed whatever personal boundaries that I could, snuggled into their lap because they didn't seem to mind and looped my arms around their back.
There was a cool breeze and Craig was warm in comparison. It was a subtle brush of air that dulled the sharp stink of cigarettes. Inhaling the smell of him was made easier, but then he tugged on a few locks of my hair and blew smoke into my face. "Are you having fun?" he asked. Our mouths were in short proximity of each other, making me unable to respond correctly. I was only aware of the shake of his breath crumbling against my own.
Craig detached one of my arms from around his back, flattened out my hand and placed it against his thigh. It was bare and I think he might've only been wearing those ridiculous shorts, no boxer briefs anymore. I almost made a vulgar comment about how could he even fit in them. My cheeks flared and I leaned forward so that I could hide in the shadow of his hair. "I'm having fun," I eventually said. I'd been murmuring and now I lowered my voice to a near broken whisper. "But I think I just got hit on. Inside. By s-some guy named Colton."
He reacted in quite an unusual way after that.
It was common that when one liked another that they showed protective instincts when territory had been...breeched. But Craig wasn't like that at all. It was possible that instinctual tendencies like mine―that is mine, do not touch that didn't even exist in him because the way he was responding to my current dilemma could be termed only one word: dull.
I mean, I wasn't going to flip and go feral if someone was interested in him and thought that it was an alright idea to pursue him just as long as he informed them that there'd been a misunderstanding and that he'd already been pursued.
But I wasn't going to laugh and say, "Colton can be like that sometimes. His brother is the same way." Craig gestured toward the other brother who was allowing a girl absent her shorts to bum a cigarette off him. And then after a momentary pause: "So, does that mean he beat me to it?"
"Craig!" I snapped. "Seriously?"
"What?" He was laughing as he stubbed out his cigarette and leaned back onto the palms of his hands. My own was still resting on his thigh, and to reprimand him for making me feel foolish, I pinched him with my well-groomed nails. Craig yelped and swatted my hand away but I held on with my pinschers until he whimpered, "Why are you hurting me?"
Because Pretty Lady made this out to be some dire extravaganza. "You're supposed to be protecting me," I grumbled instead.
As I released his skin, he settled his leg back down and asked, "What?"
"I thought you'd be protective!" It was humiliating to admit that for some reason. Possibly because he hadn't protected me. The least he could've done was pass it by Colton's brother and tell him to warn the other that I wasn't a candidate for anyone's sex drive. Or something like that. Anything really.
My crush who was not territorial in the slightest made a distinct sound like snorting. "Why would I be protective? He's not going to do anything."
"You don't know that!" I seethed, preparing to pinch him a second time.
He hiked his legs up and his arms out. "I've been with you all night! How is he going to take advantage of you when I'm right here?"
Yeah, he was drunk if he was this stupid. "Pretty much everyone leaves the house every t-ten minutes for a s-smoke break," I reminded him.
My statement might've actually made an impact if he hadn't then asked, "Are you saying that Colton is going to rape you in, like, one minute and thirty seconds?"
I deadpanned. "It takes you longer to smoke than that!"
Craig and I actually sat outside in the courtyard once everyone had left to go back into the apartment, moved onto the grass and watched kids wander around the different sets of stairs. They knocked on doors as though this were a literal neighborhood. There was a ledge to the left that had won a decoration contest, their festive ribbon tucked into the hat of a scarecrow as though it were a chunk of hair. I didn't like the scarecrow or its smile of sharp teeth even though I could tell that they'd just been painted onto its potato sack face.
The only excuse that was keeping me out there was Craig's thigh pressed against mine and our shoulders as they brushed more frequently than usual. He had one of my hands in his and he was playing with my fingers, bending them and prodding at the knuckle. "Thank you for convincing me to come." His expression was smug from what I could see of it. There was a majority blocked by shadow, but I knew that every face he made had the look of a puppy dog and was ultimately the cutest thing ever. "You're adorable."
As he laughed, his head fell back and it anchored his body so that he dropped backwards into a pool of dim light. "Am I?" I nodded my head and swung one of my legs around to straddle him, biting into my lip to hold onto my giggles as my stomach flip-flopped. Oh, tequila. The wonderful things you're capable of. "What's your favorite thing about me again?"
There was a pulse all over me, throbbing inside of my skin. "Your hips," I told him. My hands slid down his front to cradle his waist. I snuck my thumbs beneath the layers of his shirts to trace the protruding lines of his hipbones. He sighed slow and even while I repeated his question. "What's your favorite t-thing about me?"
"God, I don't know." His chuckle was a deep, relaxing exhale. "There's a lot of things." He hummed shortly in consideration. "I guess whenever I think about you, I always come back to your eyes. So maybe your eyes are my favorite." Craig grinned and added, "I'd be coy like you, but then I'd have to poke your eyes out."
"That" ―my thumbs dug into his skin; I didn't miss the way he braced himself against the ground― "sounds terrible. You're not doing a very good job of charming me."
But fuck it, I was turning myself on. Looking down, I made an attempt to control the expelling heat of my body and the racing of my heart. Except all I could do was grip Craig tighter and think about how his hips had looked in person while I stroked them a second time. My body keeled over and his breath hit my forehead, fast and heavy. His response was rapidly piecing together the image in my head. It was making my thoughts real, possible, accessible. And they were right below me.
My nails scratched his skin lightly as I forced my thoughts to turn. Anyone might come out for a smoke break at any time. Craig leaned up and temporarily ruined my thought process by putting his mouth against mine. God damn it―I fell into the pattern of his kiss, inhaling sharply through my nose when he tucked our mouths together. He sucked so softly that I barely felt it.
"Are you still holding out for that cockblock crush?" His voice was a rumble in the back of his throat. The sound of it flooded my ears and the lightness in my head grew unexpectedly heightened at his attractive tone. My throat worked out a distracted noise of confusion. "You had a chance with Colton and you didn't go for it," he explained.
What? He was questioning me about that now? All of those shots were finally hitting me, especially that last chug. I hunched forward and wanted to press my face against his chest so badly. "I need to off the face paint," I tried to say. My laughter was so abrupt and instantaneous that I covered my mouth with a hand. "Oh no. I think I smeared it."
Craig leaned back and inspected what he probably couldn't see. "It's about time this stuff should come off anyways." He squirmed out from under me and stood. I tripped over my feet to go with him. The grass swam beneath me, and for just a moment, gravity wasn't quite right on earth. It only lasted a second, but my knees gave out and then returned. "You just got really fucking drunk all of sudden," Craig sniggered.
"And you're always cute not all of a sudden." Jabbing him in the chest, I said, "Take that."
"Oh wow. Yeah, we're taking this face paint off and I don't think I'm going to let you socialize for the rest of the night." Taking me by the wrists, Craig led me back to the door.
"But I wanna party!" I told him. "I wanna party with you."
At the door he said, "We are partying. We played Beer Pong a bunch of times and took shots together, remember?"
I reminisced and smiled wistfully. "Yeah." I didn't even care if I sounded just as so.