South Park © Matt & Trey.

Yah girl got laid off and wants to die :)

Ever since then, I've been seeing Craig around a lot more and we've been talking. He's been surprisingly open. I guess he isn't as cruel as people say he is. Then again, maybe his drug trip just turned him more permissive.

Towards the end of the month, Kyle gets sick and Kenny gets in deep shit because the school finds out he's a hooker. There isn't much they can do since he's eighteen and his parents don't give a rat's ass. They could hand him over to the cops, but they have no concrete proof to the rumours. They do make him see the school's guidance counsellor, but I'm sure all he's doing is sitting with his arms crossed.

When he leaves the office, he has his hands in his pockets. He doesn't look too thrilled.

"What now?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "I'm probably just going to drop out."

"But we're halfway through senior year," I remind him. "Don't drop out. Just finish the year. You may as well, right?"

He wrinkles his nose and shrugs again. "I dunno if it's worth it, dude. Either way, you can't get much with just a high school degree. They up credentials. All the companies want to see university degrees and, let's be real, I'll never have one of those… So, honestly, I don't think it even matters if I quit now."

I guess he's right about that. "Well," I start, "who do you think told the school on you?"

"Probably Eric," he snorts. He doesn't seem angry about the whole ordeal. It takes a lot to get Kenny angry. He's a pretty calm, reasonable guy. He takes most things in life as a joke, even the sad stuff. "They called my parents… which fucking sucks. My dad is probably gonna punch me in the face when I get home."

I wince at that. "Oh… Well, you can stay at my house for a while. You're always welcome."

"Thanks, but I should just face the music and not prevent the inevitable," he says.

I don't bother arguing with him.

On our way out of the school, we swing by the detention room to grab Cartman and then we walk to Kyle's house. Kenny doesn't bother asking Cartman if it was him who spread the rumour. He probably knows and just doesn't care enough to stir the pot.

It takes us a while to arrive at Kyle's house since he lives in a richer area.

Sheila lets us in and tells us Kyle is in his room. As we pile upstairs, I can't help but remember how sick Kyle would get when we were kids. There were times I'd hardly believe him because it happened so often. I remember when I kept telling people he was lying but then he ended up needing a new kidney because he's diabetic. I still feel bad about that, but I smartened up when I realized how severe the situation is. It took a lot of begging, but Cartman relented and gave Kyle one of his kidneys. I thought that would help fix the bad blood between then… and maybe, for a while, it did… but it didn't last. It never does.

I push open Kyle's bedroom door and he's sitting on his bed looking totally miserable. "Hi, guys," he greets weakly. There's a mop bucket sitting between his legs and he's hovering over it.

"You look and sound pathetic," Cartman adds, giving his two cents.

"I feel it," Kyle whimpers. A split second later he seizes up and shoves his face into the bucket, throwing up. Part of me wonders if he really does have the flu or if he's just hung over again.

"Ew," Cartman mutters, turning his nose away. A split second later, a smile spreads across his face. He takes his cellphone out of his pocket and all I hear is click. Kyle doesn't seem to notice.

"Asshole!" I growl at him. "Don't take photos of Kyle puking!"

"Chill," Cartman says. "I have all kinds of fun pictures and videos on my phone. Wanna see?"

"No!" Kyle snaps, raising his head. There's puke on his chin. It's not a pretty sight. Cartman takes another picture and laughs.

"Anyway," he says, scrolling through his album. "I have one of Craig sucking some senior's dick near the bleachers. I was gonna show you guys the other day, but Stan got all bothered."

I let out a long sigh and Kenny's jaw drops to the floor. "Are you joking?" he asks in a deadpan. "Delete it!"

Cartman shakes his head. "It's going to go in my book of blackmail photos."

"You're… really evil," I tell him before joining Kyle on the bed and saying, "Is it a stomach bug?"

"Feels like it," he says. There's still puke on his chin and it smells pretty potent, but I don't mind. It's just bile. Nothing about him grosses me out.

Kenny sits at the chair in front of Kyle's desk while Cartman paces around the room, sifting through Kyle's things. Kyle doesn't bother telling him to stop. He just watches, frowning.

"So, I decided I'm gonna try and bed Craig," Kenny starts.

I refrain from rolling my eyes.

We continue to listen to Kenny talk about his plan to court Craig. I don't know if he's joking around or not. Kyle pukes a little more. I clean the bucket out when he's done. Cartman gets bored and goes home. Kenny follows a few minutes later, but he wishes Kyle well before disappearing. Now it's just me and him.

"I feel like shit," he moans.

"It'll pass," I tell him gently.

The next day, I walk home with Craig instead of taking the bus. I decide to ask him about Jason in an attempt to test the waters and see how much he's willing to talk to me.

"I hate him most of the time," Craig mutters offhandedly. "Jason, that is… He's an asshole."

"Why?" I pry.

"It started when I went camping with him and some others a couple years ago in the summer," he starts flatly. "We all got pretty drunk and Jason took my clothes and tied me to a tree. He told everyone I went home and in the morning I was left for the hunters to find. I wanted to fucking die."

"Shit," I whisper. "I guess that's more than just. I'd hate him, too."

"He also once switched all the names and numbers on my cellphone a few years ago," Craig starts. "I ended up sending a picture of my ass to my dad."

My jaw drops and before I can help it I start to laugh.

"It's not funny," he says. "I was fucking mortified. He called me and freaked out, demanding to know who I was trying to send nudes to."

I stifle a smile and say, "Sorry, dude, that really sucks."

Craig sighs. "I know I have this reputation for being a huge slut, but I'm actually not…"

"Who cares?" I say with a shrug. "Nothing wrong with having sex."

"But I'm a virgin," Craig deadpans.

"Oh," I say simply. Somehow, it doesn't surprise me. Craig has never even had a relationship. He's a bit rigid.

In freshmen year, we all used to pull each other's pants down. I don't fucking know why. Boys are idiots. I remember Cartman did it to Craig once in the hallway and he had a fucking fit. He was standing in front of his locker, completely oblivious to what Cartman was about to do. Since he had sweatpants on, they came down easily. A teacher ended up being in the hallway when Craig's pants were below his ass cheeks. Cartman got expelled.

I think that's how the man-whore rumour started, though… because Craig wasn't wearing any underwear. I guess that's pretty stupid, but people like to talk, especially around here. I don't put stock into anything I hear in the halls.

"Cartman has a picture of you giving head," I decide to confess.

"Fuck!" Craig lets out a sigh. "That voyeuristic asshole… It was one time. Experimental. Plus, that was before the braces…" He wrinkles his nose.

"They don't look bad," I tell him. "Besides, Kenny used to have braces and he still sucked dick the entire time…"

Craig just shrugs. "Anyway, I guess this makes me half a virgin. Whatever."

I smile a small smile. "Nah, dude. If you say you're a virgin, then you're a virgin. Virginity is whatever you make it out to be."

"Do you really believe that?" he asks me.

I snort back a laugh and admit, "No, but I want to. It's just hard."

"Yeah," he agrees. "If I'm going to be honest, most of the hate melted away," he adds offhandedly. "I hid it well, but I used to be a pretty emotional person, believe it or not… Now I just kind of exist."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I heard about your drug trip."

"Everyone heard about that," he points out. "I don't know if I miss being able to feel things," he confesses. "Now I have to go to therapy twice a week because my parents are scared I'll kill myself or try to do something dangerous in an attempt to feel."

"Shit," I state. "That's really sad… I'm sorry… but I know what that's like. I go to therapy, too. My parents are also worried I'll hurt myself."

He frowns at me and I can tell he doesn't know what to say. "Sorry…"

I just shrug. "Anyway, continue."

"They used to argue a lot, but after I started fucking up like that all their attention turned towards me," he murmurs. He forces a smile, though it's bleak. "A couple years ago I ended up crying in Mr. Mackey's office."

"Why?" I pry, trying to hide my shock. I can't imagine Craig crying in front of an authority figure. He hates authority figures.

"My parents were fighting a lot," he reveals. "I mean, I'm adopted… I was adopted late, so I always knew it, but I still see them as my parents and it was upsetting. They almost got separated because of it. My dad left for a week, but he came back. They stuck it out for me and Ruby. It ended up being for the best, because it forced them to work through their issues. Now they're closer than ever. Sometimes I think people accept divorce too readily. Sometimes things can be fixed."

I think Craig wants someone to talk to, but no one makes the cut. I guess it means something that I somehow did make the cut.

"Why tell me all of this?" I ask him.

"Because you don't talk about other people," he says. "There's something about you… I don't know. I guess it just makes people want to trust you. I know I don't pay a lot of attention to my surroundings, but you do. Don't think I haven't noticed that much."

I smile at him. "Well, I won't tell."

"I know," he responds simply.

"People talk a lot of shit about you, but if Kyle likes you then clearly there's something special about you," I say. "I guess I wanted to find out what."

"Kyle got drunk and kissed me once," Craig reveals out of the blue. "We were at a party. He pulled back quickly and said it was because I look like you. Then he apologized."

I frown at that. I never really thought about it before, but I suppose we do look alike. We have the same hair color and length, though mine is pin-straight and Craig's is a bit wavier and parted to the side. He's probably only a mere two inches taller than me and perhaps a little more slender. We both have blue eyes and long, dark lashes. He has a freckle below his eye. I have one above my lip. He's a lot paler than me, but I can't deny the rest of the similarities.

Kenny always says that I'm cute and Craig is pretty. It makes me feel childish, but I know he doesn't mean it like that so I just let it slide. He is always mooning over Craig, but Craig hasn't given him the time of day.

"Oh," is all I muster up.

"Don't be mad at him for it," Craig reasons. "I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I feel like I should. He felt pretty stupid about it."

"It's fine," I murmur.

"I probably would have let him do whatever he wanted with me," he admits offhandedly.

"Do you like him?" I wonder.

"No."

"Then why?"

He shrugs. "I'd probably let anyone fuck me if they asked… but no one really asks because they think I'm nuts from doing too many drugs."

"That's kind of sad," I tell him.

He smiles, but it's void of any emotion. "Anyway… Kyle regrets it."

I just shrug. "He doesn't have to regret it. He has no commitment to me. So, it doesn't really matter what he does and who he does it with. I'm sure he's still sleeping around quite a lot. I can't stop him from doing that."

"But you wish you could," Craig finishes my thought.

"Yeah," I confess. "I guess I do… I love him."

"No such thing," Craig says.

An expected response.

"You don't believe in love?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "It's just science."

"Then, do you believe in God?" I retort. "I see you at church every Sunday. You come alone. Your parents aren't forcing you since they never come. Neither does your sister. So, why?"

He's quiet.

"You believe in God but you don't believe in love?" I question him again. "Why?"

He's still quiet.

"Those are the words of someone who has been hurt," I say.

He starts smiling again. It isn't a happy smile. It's bitter and insincere. For a moment, I think he might say something cruel, but he doesn't. Instead, he just says, "I guess so."

"Tell me about it," I request.

"Why should I?"

"Because I've kept all your secrets," I tell him. "I'll keep this one, too. Besides… I think you need to talk about it."

He scoffs, glancing away. "Things with Jason are a bit more complicated than I make it out to be..."

"How?"

He frowns. "I had a crush on Jason… even though he was a piece of shit to me. Well, it was more than a crush. I thought I was in love with him, or whatever… I guess I was a bit of a sadist to settle for a guy who treated me like shit. So, I told him that and he was fine with it. He even said we could see what it'd be like. So, in secret we tried dating for a while... and he was actually nicer to me. I guess he thought that since we were together, it would be wrong to be a complete douche to me. Anyway, long story short, his dad ended up walking in on us kissing on the bed. He started fucking screaming and I was so sure he was going to beat the shit out of both of us. Before it happened, Jason got defensive, insisting that I made the move. Then he punched me in the face and called me a faggot. Jason came to school the next day all bruised up."

I feel my lips part in shock. "Shit… I'm really sorry."

"I left after that," he finishes simply. "I went to Clyde's house and cried for, like, a million years. I don't talk to him much now. He tries to talk to me sometimes, but it's usually just teasing and taunts. I don't really care what he has to say. I hated him so much for doing that to me, putting me through all that shit."

"Shit," I say again. "Yeah, jeez, no wonder… but do you think it'd be easier for you both to move on if you got closure?"

"I don't know," he confesses. "Sometimes I think that since a lot of that hatred melted away that I'd be able to talk to him if he tried to talk to me… but he won't do that again. He's given up. He hasn't tried to truly talk to me since before I did all those mushrooms. Just an asshole-ish comment here and there"

"Why don't you approach him instead, then?" I suggest.

He just shakes his head and then it's quiet – uncomfortably so – and it makes me feel like I've said the wrong thing. I know how hard it can be to make the first move.

"So, hey, where were you adopted from?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Some orphanage in Denver, but my parents were immigrants from Armenia," he explains. "I was five when I got adopted."

I nod my head. "So, you remember the whole process?"

I continue listening to him talk about his past and his parents and growing up and I feel like I've learned a lot today about Craig Tucker.

On the weekend, I invite myself over to Kyle's house. I have to take the bus and when I get there, I let myself in using the hide-a-key. Before I even open the door, I hear music. It's loud. Dexy's Midnight Runners.

Closing the door, I follow where it's coming from. Soon enough, I'm in front of Kyle's bedroom. The door is closed. I open it and what I see is enough to make me want to poke my fucking eyes out.

What the fuck?

What.

The.

Fuck.

Kyle is lying on his bed stark-nude, legs spread apart. Between them, Cartman is kneeling. His pants are hiked below his hips and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what they're doing – especially with the sounds Kyle is emitting. His eyes are closed and his arms are tossed carelessly above his head.

It's a side to him I never thought I'd see. It's a side to him I didn't even think existed.

"What the fuck…?" I deadpan weakly, lips parting in shock.

Kyle's head snaps towards me and his eyes go wide. "Fuck!" he shouts. "D-don't look!" He tries to sit up, but Cartman presses a hand to his chest, keeping him still. "C-Cartman, stop!"

Cartman doesn't stop. He doesn't even bother pulling out. He just stares at me and says, "Stan, we're in the middle of something."

My mouth is still open and, in somewhat of a daze, I turn away and walk back down the stairs. I hover in front of the door, debating on leaving, but I don't. I back a few steps away and turn into the living room, sitting on the sofa. I feel myself zone out and the horrible image of Cartman porking Kyle pervades. I don't want to keep seeing it, but it won't go away.

I don't know how long I'm sitting here, but soon enough I hear loud footsteps coming down the stairs. It has to be Cartman. Only he is that heavy.

"Jew's all yours," he says sweetly as he passes me. I don't bother responding or sparing him a glance. A Few minutes later, I hear the door open and close.

For a while, I can't bring myself to move. I should go upstairs and get answers out of Kyle, but I don't even want answers. I just wish none of this was happening.

I force myself to my feet and head upstairs slowly. By now, Kyle is dressed. He has on a long-sleeved grey shirt and plaid pyjama pants. He's sitting on the floor against his bed, knees drawn to his chest. He looks like he's pretty out of it and he isn't staring at anything in particular, though his eyes are wide and wet.

"Kyle…" I say his name.

He doesn't respond. The first tear falls, but he remains perfectly still and silent.

I move closer, sitting down on the floor next to him. I don't really know what to say to make the situation less uncomfortable.

"So, hey… I didn't think you liked 80's music," I bring up. Since he's refusing to talk, I decide to start.

He lets out a scoff, staring down at the floor before stretching his legs out in front of him. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve before finally speaking. "It's Craig's… I mentioned I was looking for new music. He made me a playlist. I was listening to it when… when Cartman came over…" his voice grows weaker, "and I just didn't get a second to turn it off.

I nod my head slowly, trying not to sound as upset as I feel. "So… you and Cartman?"

He's quiet again. He's not even looking at me. I hear him let out a long breath before finally responding with, "No, not me and Cartman."

"Then what the fuck?" I urge.

"Cartman doesn't even like me like that," Kyle mutters. "He doesn't even like men at all… He just hates me and wants to humiliate me. So… he fucks me and he sees that as the ultimate form of domination."

"Why are you letting him do it?" I ask in outrage, trying to hide my revulsion. "That's fucked up."

I can't wrap my head around why Kyle would let something like this happen.

I sit with him quietly and wait for him to talk, not pushing for him to hurry up.

"He… he has something on me," Kyle confesses. "He knows something I don't want anyone else to know because if it gets out I'll get in serious shit…"

"What is it…?" I ask, wondering how serious it is.

He lets out a shuddery sigh. "You know how I got a 2200 on my SATs?" I nod my head and he adds, "Well, I cheated and Cartman knows it."

"Kyle…" I murmur his name, trying to hide how fucking shocked I am. "You're one of the smartest kids in school if not the smartest… I bet you could have gotten that score even without cheating… So, why did you?"

"I felt pressured," he whispers. "Like, there was no room for possible failure."

Kyle's parents have big plans for his future. They initially wanted him to attend an ivy league school like Yale of Harvard, but Kyle didn't want to be so far away. So, he settled on the University of Colorado Boulder. That means he'll only be a two hour drive from me. He can come back on weekends. That will be enough for me. I'm just glad he's not going to be out of the state or out of my reach.

"So… how will it end?" I ask him. "Will you have to do this forever?"

"Probably just until Cartman gets tired of it," he mutters. "Who the fuck knows when that's gonna be… He's following me to Boulder next year."

"It's not fair," I whisper.

"Mm…" he mumbles in vague agreement. He reaches a hand up and swipes away another tear. It's weird to see him cry. It's the first time I've seen him cry in years. He's not a crier like I am. People used to tell me I was too oversensitive. Now they wouldn't dare say a thing like that.

"Kyle –" I start, but he cuts me off by letting out a loud and rather sudden sob.

"I don't want to keep doing this," he says, voice breaking.

I latch onto one of his arms and put my head against his shoulder. "I know," I sympathize.

I feel overwhelmed lately – overwhelmed not by my own life but by the lives of the people I'm surrounded by. For once, my own problems are barely entering my mind.

I want to help Craig and I want to help Kyle and I want to help Kenny, but there isn't really a damn thing I can do for any of them. Plus, maybe I have no right to insert myself into situations I have no business being in.

Nonetheless…

"You used to be friends with Craig, right?" I ask, calling out Jason during my free period. I find him in the school's gym, lifting weights. Typical.

He stops and sits up, glancing at me after setting the barbells down. I feel like if I was any other person, he'd either shove me, say something rude or just walk away. But since I'm locally famous victim Stanley Marsh, he does neither. "What of it?"

"Why aren't you friends now?" I ask.

He scoffs. "I'm betting you already know the answer to that. I've seen you hanging around him lately. He probably told you what I did. He loves telling that story."

I force a weary smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right. He did tell me." A pause. "Do you regret it?"

"What part" he asks. "I did a lot of shit to him. I don't regret the pranks. Those were just jokes."

I don't bother telling him that his sense of humor is warped. Instead, I say, "What about the other thing, then?"

"I punched him because I had to," he murmurs. "If I didn't do what I did, then my dad would've done a lot worse to the both of us. My dad beat the shit out of me, but I knew I could handle it. Craig woulda broke. So, no, I don't regret it."

"Does Craig now that?"

"Probably not."

"Do you miss him?"

"I was never truly attracted to him," Jason says pointedly, staring at me. "I was just curious. I mean, I was young… I didn't know what the fuck I wanted. So, I said we could try and figure it out. I probably would've slept with him if my dad didn't interrupt, though… I mean, I'm comfortable enough with myself that I can admire a good looking guy and Craig is definitely a good looking guy."

"Do you miss him?" I ask again, dismissing his attempt at justification.

He doesn't respond. Instead, almost in a daze, he confesses, "His eating habits got really fucked up afterward. I don't know if I had anything to do with it, but sometimes I feel like I did and it makes me fucking guiltier than I already am… I'm not trynna make it all about me, but I just want him to eat."

"You say all the wrong things," I tell him.

He shrugs. "I don't really get this kind of stuff."

"Talk to him," I insist. "I have a feeling he'd answer this time. He's changed."

"Not of his own will," Jason mutters.

"That may be… but you can take advantage of it," I retort. Maybe that's a shitty way to look at it, but it's true and I think it'd be for the best… though it's not my place to say. Craig hinted at it, though. He said he'd talk to Jason if Jason ever tried to approach him again. Maybe this will change things.

Jason snorts back a laugh. "Huh… maybe. Whatever."

I know it's a stupid idea to make everyone else's problems my own business, but it helps keep me distracted when I'm feeling particularly bad.

Plus, I just want to help people. I want to be everyone's friend because I think everyone needs support and they don't always get it from the people in their lives.

So, with that, I tell Jason I'll see him around and then I continue to the library. Instead of seeing Kyle, I see Wendy.

It's weird seeing Wendy at school after everything she's been through. Then again, I guess people might say the same thing about me.

Everyone found out about her abortion. Apparently someone saw us at the clinic. Well, they're just rumours. Wendy hasn't confirmed anything. Neither have I. So, people can keep assuming whatever they want as long as it never gets back to Wendy's parents. They might have mixed feelings about their daughter having an abortion. Her dad is a bit of a redneck, just like every other person in this town. Her mom is Arab-American and pretty liberal, but I still think the thought of her daughter getting pregnant would be a shock. It's a lot for any parent to handle.

Wendy asked me to go with her. I'm not sure why. Well, that's a lie. I think she still feels close to me. We dated for so long and she says I'm the only guy who never fucked her over. Yeah, there are times when I was shitty, but I never actually tried to be an asshole. I was just a dumb kid.

We talked a lot about it before and after. She was really out of it when she left the hospital. I had to take her home. I stayed with her until she felt like opening up. She said it was invasive and the worst pain of her life. Then she cried. I knew she would. If I was in her position, I know I'd cry, too.

There hasn't been any slut shaming or anything. I know Wendy. I know how smart she is and I know how careful. She told me she was on the pill and she told me that they always used condoms. This time, however, the condom broke and she forgot her pills at home so she couldn't take them on time. I guess that's all it takes. One little, tiny slip-up.

Shit happens.

I don't hang out with Wendy as much as I used to. We broke up, after all. Things were tense after our breakup, but when I was hospitalized she was the first person I saw when I woke up. Not Kyle, not my parents, not my sister… Wendy. Of course everyone else was in the room with her, though. She was hovering over me, saying my name over and over.

It took me a few minutes to piece things together. For a moment, I thought it was all some tragic dream. But it wasn't. Real life sucks. Dreams are always better for that one reason – they're dreams. They're not real life. Even if you tend to dream about shit that sucks, at least there's the comfort of knowing it isn't real. When this happened to me, my dreams were no longer fictitious. I was constantly reliving what went down on that field.

It was a Friday night, so everyone was still up and about. I guess the news of some kid getting gang-raped spread fast. I had a lot of visitors – more than I would have liked. I didn't really want to see anyone, but it seemed that everyone wanted to see me. At first I thought it was just because they wanted to see if the rumours were true, but I like to think most of them cared at least a little bit about me as a person. I'm trying to be more positive and less negative. It comes in waves.

I was in a lot of pain - in and out. I can't believe they even allowed visitors in to see me. The visit consisted of them all watching me cry for about twenty minutes until they got kicked out by Shelly. The hospital called my parents, but since they were going to take a while to get back into town, they called Shelly. She was in rare form that night. I remember her kicking everyone out, physically shoving them out the door.

Then she shut the door and turned to me. She looked really sad. I couldn't maintain eye contact for very long. I just glanced down at my hands and we didn't talk at all. We still don't.

"Hey, Stan," Wendy says, smiling and pulling me back to the present.

"Hey," I echo my greeting.

I think she's okay now.

"Want to sit?" she asks, pointing to the empty seat across from her.

"Sure," I accept with a smile. "I was going to find Kyle, but I don't think he's in here. He's probably having a cigarette with Craig."

But to tell the truth, I think Kyle is just avoiding me out of some sort of shame or humiliation. I guess I can understand that, though I don't think he should feel embarrassed. I'm not judging him.

"Yeah, I hear they hang out," Wendy says.

"They do," I confirm. "I think they mostly just go to parties and stuff, though."

Wendy smiles a funny smile and then nods her head, gesturing behind me. I turn around and see Kyle and Craig saunter into the library. Kyle doesn't bother sparing me a glance. Him and Craig walk right past me without a damn word.

I make an 'o' shape with my mouth, mildly surprised that Kyle would be so damn rude. I get that he's embarrassed, but I'm his best fucking friend!

"Wow…" Wendy murmurs. "What happened between you two?"

I grit my teeth.

Well, I won't stand for that.

I get up and approach Kyle, grabbing his elbow. "What the hell?" I ask him.

He turns around, but he won't look at me. He looks right past me, like he can't bear to make eye contact. "I don't want to talk, Stan," he says wearily.

"To me?" I practically whine.

Then Kyle looks guilty, like he momentarily forgot he's not supposed to treat me like crap. He glances at Craig and says, "I'll catch up with you later." With a nod, Craig walks off and disappears behind a stack of books. When he's far enough away, Kyle whispers, "I'm sorry…"

I shake my head. "It's fine… I'm not judging you or anything, Kyle. I'm not going to make you talk about things you don't want to talk about… but if you ever want to talk, I'll listen. You always support me. I want to support you, too."

"Thanks," he mutters. "I'm mostly just disgusted with myself and it makes it worse that someone else knows, even if it's you… and I know you're not going to think I'm disgusting or anything, I just wish I could've kept it a secret. It'd be easier to pretend it wasn't happening and when it was finally over I could just move on with my life."

"It's hard to do if you're not enjoying it," I tell him.

Kyle flushes and whispers, "Uh…" He pauses and then leans closer, like he's afraid someone will hear. "Sometimes I like it… not him, but the things he does. I just don't want him to know that because I hate him for blackmailing me… I know it's morally fucked up and I should really, really hate it… but physically I don't and that just makes me feel even worse about myself. I feel like I have no self-respect. Cartman took it all away."

I frown, nodding my head. "He's a bad person."

He sighs. "I hate him for that and I wish he'd disappear... I meant it when I said I didn't want to do it anymore. I guess the fact that I DO actually feel pleasure from the whole thing makes it all even more disgusting."

I take his arm and lead him out of the library and into an empty classroom so we have more privacy. I keep the lights off, shutting the door before sitting on a desk in the front of the room.

"What now?" Kyle murmurs.

"Whatever you want," I tell him.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "I don't really want anything… I just want Cartman to fuck off. I deserve better than him."

"Want me to talk to him?" I offer.

Kyle shakes his head. "It wouldn't do any good. Plus, I got myself into this mess… anyway, I don't really want to think about it." He pauses before challenging me with, "Give me a distraction."

"How?" I ask.

He shrugs, sitting on the desk next to the one I'm sitting on. "Tell me three things. Two truths and one lie. I'll guess which is which."

"Hm…" I muse thoughtfully, trying to think of things Kyle might not know. "All right. I watch porn. I lie daily. I was born premature."

"Um… hm… I'm going to guess that you don't watch porn," he says after a moment of contemplation.

"You're right," I respond. I don't even touch myself. I pay the price come morning, but I still can't bring myself to do it. I should probably try, though. It's not convenient to constantly have to be doing the laundry… "I've never watched porn. Do you watch porn?"

"I used to," Kyle confesses, "but I don't really like the idea of getting off to a stranger through a computer screen, so I quit. Plus, too much shady shit goes on in the porn industry, y'know? Anyway, I just kind of let my imagination run wild."

"What do you think about?" I pry, wondering if there is someone or something in particular that gets him going.

He smiles at me slightly. "Just past experiences that I enjoyed."

I nod my head slowly. "Do you ever think about me?" I ask, staring right at him. "I know you like me."

"Yeah, I do like you," he confesses, "and that's why I don't think about you. I don't want you to be part of my fantasies. You didn't consent to me thinking about you like that… So, it wouldn't feel right. I just want you to stay being a part of my reality - no matter what my relationship with you is."

"You can think about me like that if you want," I tell him before I can help myself. I don't know why I say it. I don't want people thinking about me like that, but I wouldn't mind if it was Kyle.

He softens, looking almost sad. "So, you were born premature and you lie a lot?" he asks out of the blue, changing the subject.

"Yeah," I admit. "I had to go in an incubator for a while, but there were no further complications… and, um, yeah… I lie a lot. I don't really know why. It's like second nature to me by now."

Kyle frowns, looking thoughtful. "What kinds of things do you lie about?"

"My feelings, mostly," I start. "People are always asking me how I'm doing, if I'm okay… What the fuck am I supposed to say? What kind of answer do they honestly expect? I know they're just asking to be nice. They don't really want me to start crying to them. They want me to tell them I'm okay because it's easier than having to deal with me. Plus, I guess they probably hope I'm okay just because what happened to me is fucking depressing and it probably makes them uncomfortable…"

"Don't lie to me, okay?" Kyle says. It's not a harsh demand, it sounds more like a hopeful request. "Talk to me when you're having problems."

"I relapsed a little while ago," I confess. "I know I was only sober for a month, but… I was still disappointed in myself."

"Yeah," Kyle says softly. "Did something in particular trigger you to take a drink?"

I pause and try to think back on what happened that night. "I think I just felt down in general… maybe lonely. Sometimes it's like I need to be alone, but then at other times I can't stand it… and I still don't want to have to ask for people to spend time with me. It's like, for some reason, I want people to just know when they should hang around… but that's not realistic. You can't have things without asking for them."

"I understand that," Kyle relates.

"It always seems like you understand me the best," I respond.

"I try to."

We continue talking until the bell rings, telling us free period is over. Me and Kyle walk side-by-side to English class, finding Cartman and Kenny.

Even if Cartman does follow Kyle to Boulder, Kyle won't have to keep doing what he's doing. Cartman might get bored by then… and even if he doesn't, there isn't much he could do. A claim like Kyle cheating on his SATs might not be worth as much when high school is long over.

And truly… I don't think Cartman would ever really tell anyone about it. I think this is all he wants from Kyle. He just wants to humiliate him and make him hate himself.

I wonder if Cartman had anything to do with Kyle's suicide attempt. I'm afraid to even ask.

Sitting through class and watching Cartman torment Kyle by taking his pencils… Well, it's made me realize something. As me and Kyle leave the classroom, I pull on his sleeve.

"Hm?" he asks, glancing at me.

"I don't even want to be Cartman's friend anymore," I murmur. "I always knew he was shit, but I didn't think he was this bad…"

"You have to be his friend," Kyle says pleadingly. "Otherwise people will want to know why you suddenly can't stand him after years of tolerance."

"Ugh," I groan, knowing he's right. "I honestly don't think I can stand to be around him, Kyle. I'll put on a good face, but I really hate him…"

Kyle smiles slightly but falters a split second later, unable to keep up the facade.

My therapist asks me about Kyle. She does this a lot because she knows how much I like him.

My therapist is a nice, old lady who is probably in her sixties. She's my fourth therapist. I didn't like my other ones. My first one was a young guy named Dr. Pal who took everything as a joke. I couldn't open up to him at all. My second was a bald guy named Dr. Kats. He didn't seem to care about me as a person. Every time I got upset he'd just slide a tissue box towards me and stay quiet. My third was an old man named Dr. Pinkerton who was a little behind the times. I didn't feel comfortable with him because, even though doctors aren't supposed to judge their patients, I felt like he was judging me for being gay and what happened to me. Maybe he thought it was stereotypical. Maybe he even thought I should have expected it. I don't really know.

I'm lucky to have my current therapist. Her name is Dr. Hightower. She understands me and she specializes in cases like mine. I feel like I can tell her anything. I feel like I can cry and she always says the right things when I do. She doesn't just slide me a box of tissues and wait for me to shut up. She talks to me like an equal and doesn't use her authority to silence me or make me feel like I'm overreacting.

"I learned that Kyle is having sex with Cartman," I tell her.

She gives a long, thoughtful nod. "By what you've told me about them, they seem like a pretty unlikely pair."

"I know," I admit. "I was surprised, but I saw them…"

"How did it make you feel seeing them in that position?" she asks gently.

"Bad," I say, "but Kyle felt worse. He even cried, which was weird 'cause he doesn't really cry. That's me. I'm the big crybaby who has temper tantrums in the hallways at school and shit."

"It's okay to cry," she says. "In fact, it's a good thing. It hurts to keep things bottled up."

"He's being blackmailed," I add. "I don't really know how to help him. Well, I can't help him… and even if I could I don't think he'd want me to. He cheated on a pretty major test and Cartman found out, so…"

"Oh, no," she sympathizes, "and how does Kyle feel about all of this?"

"I think he's really conflicted," I say. "I mean, he says he hates Cartman and knows the situation is morally fucked up… but he also said it felt good. I don't know. I'm worried he'll try to hurt himself again."

"Has he tried to hurt himself again since the first time?" Dr. Hightower asks.

"Not really… but maybe this is a way for him to hurt himself," I contemplate.

"It very well could be," she says.

"Or maybe this is just the reason he tried to die in the first place," I add, shrugging. "I don't really know when they started doing that stuff..." A pause. "I feel jealous…" I confess out of the blue. "I know it's fucked up to feel jealous of someone who is taking advantage of Kyle, but… it's like… I don't want other people to have him."

Dr. Hightower smiles a small smile. "That's because you like him."

"And he likes me…" I add, "but I don't think either of us are ready to do anything about it, so I have no right to even ask him to stop fooling around with people. He's still sleeping around a lot. Sometimes I wonder if something like that can be fulfilling. I guess for some people it might be, but I don't know… I feel like Kyle does it for the wrong reasons."

"What would the right reason be?"

"Because you want to, I guess," I start. "The right reason wouldn't have anything to do with hurting yourself or impressing other people…"

"And why do you think Kyle does it?"

"To hurt himself and impress other people," I finish.

Dr. Hightower scribbles some notes on her clipboard and then she looks up at me and smiles. "You should bring Kyle in with you one of these days. I'd like to meet him."

"I'm allowed to do that?" I ask, surprised.

"Of course!"

I smile slightly, biting on the tip of my thumb. After a moment of contemplation I say, "Okay. Yeah, I want to do that. I'll ask him if he wants to come one of these days."

After my session, I decide to visit Tweek since I haven't seen him in a few weeks.

Tweek goes to the same therapist as me. I only know this because I saw him shouting at the receptionist last year, pleading to see Dr. Hightower. She popped out of her office when she heard the commotion. My appointment was next, but I said they could have a moment to talk because whatever was going on with him seemed pretty serious.

When I reach his house, I knock on the door. A few seconds later, Tweek opens the door a crack and says, "What?" The unmistakable scent of marijuana and incense greets me along with his suspicious expression.

Tweek's parents grow pot. Tweek has been delving into their stash for years. I guess it helps with his paranoia, though I hear that for a lot of people it does the opposite.

I've never tried it. I don't want to go down that road. My alcohol problem is bad enough as it is. I don't need to make it worse by adding new substances into the mix.

"Uh… hey," I greet him in return. "Want to hang out?"

He looks hesitant, but he slowly opens the door enough to let me slip inside. "Sh," he hushes me, pressing a finger to his lips before whispering, "I think there is a ghost in the house because I keep hearing stuff."

"Oh," is all I say. I don't really like to humour him, but I know there's no point in reasoning with him, either. Instead, I try to distract him. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something," I start, removing my boots and hanging my coat over the railing.

He waves me into the living room and says, "What's up?"

Tweek is easy to talk to, contrary to popular belief. Those who say otherwise simply don't know him. He's trustworthy, he's kind and he's been through so much, so he's understanding even with the worst things.

He grabs a joint of marijuana sitting in an ashtray on the table and begins smoking it.

"Doesn't that stuff make you more paranoid?" I ask.

"Strangely, no," he says. "It calms me down. It's one of the few things that calms me down."

"What else calms you own?" I wonder.

"Craig makes me calm," he admits.

"Do you like him?" I pry.

Tweek shakes his head. "I don't really like anyone like that. I don't really get attracted to people, sexually. Sure, I've had sex… but it was always meaningless. I'm probably somewhat on the asexual spectrum. I don't like sex that much. I don't really know why I used to insist on having it." A pause. "My relationship with Craig… I just mean… I like him as a friend. Maybe sometimes I get possessive, but he never pushes me away. He understands. He helps me stay grounded when I feel like I'm about to float away. He's calm and clean and tidy. He's all the things I'm not, so he's nice to be around."

I nod and smile. "He's a lot different than I thought he'd be. I think I'm becoming his friend. He talks to me sometimes."

Tweek smiles back, though it's faint. "So, we got side tracked. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Oh, um…" I start, trailing off. "Have you ever experienced anything really bad that, like, messed you up?"

Tweek muses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Well, when I was a kid one of my uncles used to touch me. I had to go to therapy for a really long time. Well, I still go, but I don't have to go as much. I think my parents were scared I'd get someone pregnant and repeat the same mistakes with the kid because that's typically how the story goes… but that's not going to happen. I don't want kids and if I did I wouldn't hurt them."

I feel my heart sink. "Why didn't you tell me…?"

The things you learn about the people in your life can be so damn surprising. You really never know what someone is struggling with.

Tweek shrugs. "By the time I started talking about it with ease, you had already been hurt really bad and I guess I just thought that sharing it with you might've been triggering. I didn't wanna upset anyone with it because it's a sensitive topic for most people. No one likes to think about it."

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "Well, you can talk about it now. I mean, if you want to."

He nods his head and responds with, "Thanks… and you can talk, too, if you want. I assume that there's a reason you're asking me about this kind of stuff, huh?"

"I want to be with someone, but I am worried I'll ruin it," I confess quietly. "I only ever dated Wendy and our relationship was kind of juvenile. It wasn't sexual. We just kissed a bit. I know that his time it'll be different and there will be new expectations…"

"Like sex?" Tweek assumes.

"Yeah," I say weakly.

"Don't do it if you don't want to," he says simply. "If you're with someone you love and who loves you, then it'll be a choice you can make. I'm assuming it's Kyle, right? Well, he'd never pressure you. I don't think he'd even ask you for it because he knows you and he knows what you've been through and he's a good person. He wouldn't cheat, either. Even if he sleeps around now, he'd be different with you. He'd be better because he knows you're worth it."

"Am I…?" I wonder, mostly asking myself.

"Yes," Tweek says surely. "I think the only reason he sleeps around is because he's bored and sad and he can't have the one person he really wants – you. Not that it's your fault or anything. It's probably just something he does to seek comfort, too. I mean… we're all really fucked up and Kyle is no exception. His suicide attempt proved that. No offence to 'im…"

I feel myself frown. "Yeah…"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I dunno if I can really help you out, but… hopefully something I said will make you worry a little less."

I nod my head. "I'm sorry you had shitty experiences, but it's kind of nice to know that I'm not completely alone."

Tweek smiles wearily. "No one is ever alone. Sometimes they just like to think they are because it's easier than talking. Our experiences are always unique, but we can still relate to other people who have shared similar experiences."

"Yeah, I guess so," I say softly. "I know you're not really sexually attracted to people, but are you romantically attracted to people?"

"I haven't been yet," he admits. "Sex was a quick commitment that was over pretty fast. Romance isn't. I doubt I can commit to something for that long. I don't really want romance. If I had to make a guess as to why I insisted on having sex, it's because I wanted to pretend to be like other people for a little while. I wanted to compensate for what happened when I was a kid and so I'd pretend it didn't affect literally every aspect of my life… but it does. So, jokes on me. I guess I thought that I needed to have sex to be normal. I didn't really know asexuality existed in humans, but now that I do I don't feel the need to have sex because there's nothing wrong with the way I feel."

I offer him a smile. "You seem to cope better than I do."

He lets out a little laugh. "Probably not. I'm actually such a freak. I'm overly paranoid and a bit of a shut-in when I'm not working. Everyone thinks so… but it's fine. I don't need school. One day I'll take over my parents' business and that's how I'll make my living."

I nod my head. "It's a nice, clean job… business owner."

"I like the ambiance of cafés," Tweek says. "I like working there a lot."

"I hope I can find a job someday that I like," I muse.

Somehow, talking to Tweek did help. So, I decide to make rounds. Next, I stop at Kenny's house. I let myself in, since it's pointless to wait for someone to answer the door. On my way upstairs, I hear music. Bluesy.

"Amy Winehouse?" I ask as I open the door.

"Hey!" he greets. He's sitting on his bed – a simple mattress on the floor covered in sheets.

"Since when do you listen to Amy Winehouse?" I wonder as I join him.

"Craig made me the playlist. He really likes her stuff."

Craig seems to make playlists for everyone. Music must be one of his favorite things.

"She was talented," I say, adding my own two cents. "So, uh… How are things going with Craig?"

"I'm trynna be his friend," Kenny explains.

"Me, too," I admit. "He talks to me sometimes."

"Me, too," Kenny says. "I used to think he was all secretive, but he's a pretty open book. He says he doesn't like secrets and the power they give people… so he likes to keep all his 'secrets' out in the open. Then they're not really secrets and no one has the power to use them against him."

"That's an interesting way to look at it," I muse.

"Yeah, he's actually coming over tonight," Kenny adds.

"Gonna try and fuck him?" I ask. "He's a virgin, so… be nice."

Kenny waves a dismissive hand at me. "I'm a perfect gentleman in the sack."

He's probably going to end up fucking Craig tonight… especially since Craig seems pretty careless about the whole ordeal. In his own words, he'll do it with anyone. Maybe he just wants to get it over with so he doesn't have to think about it anymore. I think a lot of people in high school end up feeling that way because it's made to be such a huge deal. Virgins are always made fun of and ripped on.

"Well, whatever," I say.

"So, what about you?" he asks. "Gonna see Kyle tonight?"

"Probably," I admit, "but we won't be doing anything inappropriate."

Kenny smiles slightly. "How was therapy? You had therapy today, right?"

"Yeah, it was fine," I say simply. "We talked a lot about Kyle… Dr. Hightower wants me to bring him in."

"Are you going to?"

"Probably," I admit. "I mean, if Kyle wants to."

"He probably will if it's for you," Kenny says with a chuckle. "He does anything you ask."

I roll my eyes at that. I don't bother arguing with him about whether or not that's actually true. I think Kyle helps me all that he can, but when I want to help him… that's a different story. Clearly, he has a hard time opening up. He's proven that.

I bum around with Kenny for a while, trying to convince him not to drop out of school when we're nearly finished. He relents somewhat carelessly, though I'm not sure if that means I've succeeded or not.

When the sun begins to go down I take my leave. When I turn up the street, I see Craig coming towards me.

I hold up my hand and he responds with, "Hi."

"Hey," I say. "Where'd your septum ring go?"

He tilts his chin up, giving me a view up his nose and letting me see the hidden metal.

"You hide it up your nose?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "I can't have it at work. It's against the code, but since it's a horseshoe barbell it's pretty easy to hide. I just flip it upside down."

"Huh…" I muse. "So, on your way to Kenny's?"

Craig nods his head and says, "I don't really know why, but he seems interested in me lately."

"He wants to fuck you," I point out simply, "but maybe it's more than that. He might also have a crush on you."

"Oh," he murmurs.

"Are you going to let him?" I pry.

"We'll see," he says.