South Park © Matt & Trey.
Sorry for being a dumpster LOL I forget to update :( but yes, nagging me always works so feel free when I'm being lazy.
I'm currently planning a trip to Disney World! I've never been there, so it'll be rad.
"I wasn't trying to hurt him, I guess I just didn't really get what it meant," Kenny says solemnly. "He told me, though. He even cried, which surprised me. He REALLY cried."
It's free period and he's telling me about his talk with Craig.
"Damn," I murmur.
"I think it's a lot of things that probably caused him to cheat," Kenny continues, shrugging. "I mean, I know my work is hard to deal with… but as long as he didn't cheat because he's attracted to someone else, I can forgive him and we can work through it."
I nod my head. "A lot of people wouldn't do that, especially since it's so early in your relationship. They'd just dump him and be done with it."
"Well, I really like him and I think he really likes me," Kenny says, "even if he cheated. I don't think that meant he stopped thinking about me. I think it meant he was thinking too hard about me."
I smile faintly. "I'm glad you can look at it like that."
When Craig finds us, he smiles at Kenny. I can see the braces on his teeth and the dimples in his cheeks. Kenny grins back. I guess the talk they had really set things right between then, 'cause you can't fake that kind of emotion.
Kenny holds out his hand, taking Craig's once he's close enough.
I'm happy that they're happy.
After school, Wendy walks home with me since Kyle has football. I invite her in and we watch TV for a while, chatting mindlessly until the conversation takes a turn.
"So, how are you?" she asks the inevitable question.
"Fine," I tell her. "How are you?"
"Fine," she echoes. "I don't feel guilty or anything anymore."
Wendy felt bad about getting an abortion. Little known fact to all the pro-lifers – no one likes abortions… but sometimes they're necessary.
"That's good," I murmur.
And just like that, the conversation turns towards feminist issues. Wendy starts talking about the comments on a news article she read the other day and it's making me uneasy.
"Wendy, stop…" I plead.
"Y'know, Stan, feminism benefits men, too," she points out.
"I know, Wendy," I say softly. "I'm a feminist… but I'm not really in the mood to talk about feminism right now."
These conversations often lead to talking about abuse and I've already been through enough of that to last a life time. I don't want Wendy bringing up any more news stories. I'm not really in the mood for it.
"What's wrong?" she asks, reading me easily.
"Everything," I mutter. "I just feel so bad lately and it's all I can concentrate on…"
She nods, understanding exactly what I'm referring to. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," I say. "Just… distract me with something pleasant."
And so she does.
On Friday, I end up at yet another party. I lost Kyle, so I'm wandering around trying to find another familiar face to latch onto.
Unfortunately, the only familiar face I see is Cartman's and though he's the last person I want to see, he decides to approach me.
"Hi, Stanny," he greets me teasingly.
"I hate you," I immediately bite out, already growing emotional.
"For stealing Kahl away?" he asks calmly.
I let out a pathetic sob, hating myself more and more with each passing second. I can't even look him in the eye. Still, I think I hate myself more than I could ever hate someone else.
Carman lets out a long sigh and stands up, leaving the room. When I think he's ditching me, he returns with a beer bottle. He dangles it in front of me as I swipe at my eyes.
"You're a horrible person," I whisper hoarsely before reaching forward and taking.
"And you're weak," he retorts, smirking slightly.
"Yeah," I agree shamefully. "I know."
In the morning, I wake up in a bed. First thing I recognize is that it isn't mine. Second thing I recognize… is that it's Kyle's. I breathe a sigh of relief as I sit up, but the pang in my head causes me to cringe and let out a whiny moan.
"You relapsed," I hear.
I squint, glancing to the doorway where Kyle is hovering. He looks upset, but not surprised.
"Yeah," I whisper, staring down at my fidgety hands. "Again."
He sits down with me, letting out a sigh.
"Are you mad?" I ask him.
"Of course not," he says. "I just feel sad for you, because I know how hard you're trying. I wish there was some way it could be made easier."
"Yeah," I laugh bitterly. "Cartman definitely didn't help with that last night…"
Kyle frowns at that. "What do you mean?"
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to force the shame away. "I just… I didn't know where you were. I was looking for someone familiar, but all I could find was Cartman… and he offered me a drink… and I took it…"
Kyle's jaw drops. "That piece of shit!" he hisses.
"I'm weak," I say with a laugh. "It's not all his fault. It's also mine for not being able to say no."
Kyle grits his teeth. "Cartman knows better. He KNOWS this is something you struggle with and he KNOWS he shouldn't be making it even harder for you!"
"Sh," I hush him when he starts to shout. "I'm pretty sure we've already established that he's evil."
Kyle smiles faintly. "Yeah, I guess we have…"
"Is he bugging you lately?" I ask vaguely, knowing Kyle will understand what I mean.
"Of course," he murmurs. "But apart from that I'm no longer screwing around with every hot person to cross my path," he says. "It just ends up depressing me, so… I'm just going to take care of it myself."
"You're gonna jerk off?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says with a sheepish laugh. "I'm pretty horny and shit, so I, uh, bought a toy." He says the last part quietly.
I chuckle at that. "Was it awkward?"
"Yeah," he laughs again. "I went into the store and kind of tried not to act completely oblivious, even though I had no idea what I was looking for or what half of the things on the shelves were even for." He wrinkles his nose and then asks, "Hey, are you sure you want to be with me when I'm still fucking around with Cartman?"
"Yeah," I say surely. "Plus, it's not like he's really giving you much of a choice. He's blackmailing you."
Kyle wrinkles his nose and glances away from me. "There isn't anything else I can do, Stan."
And I guess he's right about that.
I decide to tell my therapist what Cartman did to me and what he is doing to Kyle.
"I don't know what to do," I whisper. "I don't want Cartman to touch him…"
Dr. Hightower frowns, nodding her head. "That's a sticky situation. He sounds like he has some major problems of his own."
"I don't think he has a conscience," I murmur. "He can't feel empathy… and I feel stupid for blaming him for my relapse… but he made me feel so fucking hopeless I couldn't help but accept the alcohol. When I make my next step with Kyle, I don't want Cartman to be a part of the picture… I keep trying to think of something that will stop him, but I can't come up with anything. Kyle doesn't want anyone to know what he did and he doesn't want to know what Cartman is doing, either… So, he can't really win."
More nodding. More scribbling down notes on her clipboard.
Sometimes I wonder what kinds of things she's writing down. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be offended if I read them. Probably. I'm so fucking sensitive, especially to any kind of criticism.
"What kind of person do you think he seemed like when I brought him in?" I pry.
"He seemed calm, polite, understanding," she starts. "He seemed to care about you and your well-being a lot. He seemed self-sacrificing. He seemed like he puts a lot of pressure on himself."
"So do his parents," I cut in. "They barely acknowledge that he has a problem. They have his entire life planned out and depression isn't a part of it."
Dr. Hightower nods her head. "Parents can make it hard on their children without even realizing it."
"Yeah," I murmur. "I guess I'm lucky 'cause my parents are supportive of everything I do."
"That is detrimental," Dr. Hightower says. "For those lacking support, progress can be difficult."
"Yeah," I agree. "I think Kyle keeps a lot in. I try to get him to open up to me, but he has so many secrets… and it's like he doesn't want to burden me. I wish he told me he was letting Cartman fuck him. I had to find out by accidentally walking in on it and I still can't get the picture out of my head. I wish I could wipe the memory away because it's so gross… The thought of Cartman touching him literally makes me insane. I just… I want Kyle to be happy and he's not and it makes me feel bad for him. I feel like there isn't anything that can be done."
"Just make sure he knows you want to support him," Dr. Hightower says.
"Yeah," I murmur. "I'll try…"
"How is your libido lately?" she asks, changing the topic towards one that's equally sensitive.
"Oh, um…" I pause, trailing off. "I haven't… touched myself… in a long time… but I also haven't been, like, waking up with stained pants, so I haven't been thinking about it." I feel my face heat up as I get the words out. I wish I could talk about this stuff more easily, but I feel so shameful.
"And your medication is still working for you?"
I nod my head. "I don't want to think about how I'd feel without it… I hate crediting my pills for so much, but it is what it is."
"There's no shame in it, Stanley," she says gently. "Medications such as the one you take are simply helping you to feel the way you should."
"I want to be normal," I mumble. "I want to be able to do things with Kyle and not feel sick about it… It's been two years and I'm still so fucking traumatized."
"What you experienced was a very traumatic situation," Dr. Hightower says to me. "These things take time. Don't try to rush yourself. Progress can be a slow process, but you're doing well."
"Am I?" I wonder.
"You are," she says surely.
I can't help but think back to my first session. I was completely numb. My mom walked me in and then left. Dr. Hightower asked me questions and I responded in this dead, mechanical tone of voice. After one session, she wanted me to come back for another. Then another. Then we made it a regular thing. It took a while for me to actually get emotional, but by our fourth session I welcomed the waterworks. It was hard to stay numb after that.
I feel like nothing has changed since then. I still wear baggy shirts. I'm still shy and uncomfortable with myself. The thought of sex puts me off. The thought of doing it with someone I genuinely want to do it with causes me anxiety. I still have bad dreams. I still think about it a lot. I still wonder why it had to happen to me. i wonder if the guys who did it will ever feel sorry. I wonder if they'll ever get out of prison. I wonder what I'll do if I ever see any of them again.
I worry about all these things. It's hard to think about.
Before I know it, my eyes are wet and when I blink, the first tear falls.
Dr. Hightower pushes a tissue box to the edge of her desk and I take one. "I feel bad," I say wetly. It's a vague and childish confession, but it about sums up my current state of mind.
"What were you thinking about just now that got you so upset?" she pries gently. "Were you in thought, or did you dissociate?"
"I don't know," I murmur. "I was just… thinking about sad stuff. I want to change a lot of things about myself and I feel like what little progress I've made isn't enough."
"What do you want to change?" she asks me.
I sniffle a bit, letting out a shuddery breath. "I just want to be normal. I wish nothing ever happened to me. If I was normal, then I could have a normal relationship with Kyle. I could support him and maybe he'd feel like he could talk to me… and maybe it's dumb to just be worrying about him and not enough about myself, but I can't help it."
"Is there anything you have in mind to help get you started with these changes?" Dr. Hightower asks, not judging.
"No," I murmur. "I wish I could just try exposure therapy, but I feel like that's the wrong route to go down."
"Why's that?"
"I can hardly say the word out loud," I murmur. "I feel like… if I showed myself to Kyle, his opinion of me would change. I mean, I have scars from the attack… and I don't want him to feel bad for me. I don't want him to think about me getting attacked when we're together like that…"
Dr. Hightower nods her head again, writing down some more notes. "It's not necessarily a bad thing to try, Stanley. Exposure therapy helps a lot of people. Just set up boundaries for yourself and perhaps start alone. When you involve Kyle, be sure he knows that you might want to stop suddenly."
"Start alone?" I question. "Like, touch myself?"
"Start slow," she says. "Perhaps first simply try staring at yourself in a mirror without judgement. When you get there, you can take it to the next step."
I frown, contemplating it. "Maybe… Maybe I'll try that."
When I finally get the house to myself, I decide to take a bath rather than a shower. I fill the tub with hot water and then sit in it. No book, no distractions, just me and the clear water. I lean back, staring down at my body – chest, nipples, arms, hands… stomach, penis, thighs, knees, calves, feet.
It's hard not to judge myself. It's hard not to think negative things. I want to bring my legs up towards my chest, but I refrain. It causes me to feel frustration – like I can't even do the simplest of tasks without getting emotional.
To top it all off, I have no self-esteem at all. I don't like what I see and my own body is triggering me worse than any object or word could.
I raise my hands and press my palms to my eyes, sniffling and trying to calm myself down. I feel tension in my arms and legs. It's making me want to curl my toes and scream angrily. God, this is pathetic.
I guess this is enough for one day.
After briskly washing myself, I pull the plug and stand up, grabbing a towel and graciously wrapping it around myself. I walk across the hall and sit on my bed, still wearing the towel around me like a fucking safety blanket.
I still feel anxious. I feel like I need to ground myself. I glance around the room, trying to take note of where I am and not let my mind wander to where I'm not.
I'm in my room.
I'm on my bed.
No one is here.
My carpets are beige.
My walls are brown.
There's a cork board on my wall.
There are photos and notes.
I stand up and wander towards it, staring at everything. There's pictures of me with my friends and notes people have written me to get me past my bad days.
There's one from Wendy that simply says Hey, cutie-pants, don't forget I love you with a large heart. She wrote it last year. I remember her passing it to me in class. Apparently I looked like I was going to cry. I can't even remember why, but her note kind of eased me.
I'm lucky. I'm lucky to have her and Kyle and Kenny and my parents and my sister. All these people who love me and support me.
I let out a breath and finally decide to get dressed. I drop the towel and put on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. With that, I log onto my computer and decide to check Facebook.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Hey.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Hi!
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: How was therapy?
STANLEY R. MARSH: It was a rough session.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I cried a lot.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Aw, why?
STANLEY R. MARSH: I just feel like I'm not making progress.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I want things to move quicker.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I want to be normal.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Yeah, these things take time :(
STANLEY R. MARSH: Too much time.
STANLEY R. MARSH: But enough about that.
STANLEY R. MARSH: How are you?
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: All right.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Cartman just left.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: You probably don't want to hear that though haha…
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Sorry.
STANLEY R. MARSH: It's okay.
STANLEY R. MARSH: You can talk about it if you want.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Don't feel like you need to keep secrets.
STANLEY R. MARSH: You can talk to me about anything.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Thanks.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I really appreciate that.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I guess it's just hard to talk about.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: It's easier to pretend it just isn't happening.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I know how you feel.
STANLEY R. MARSH: It doesn't last, though.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Eventually you need to face it... though I still try not to.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Ha, yeah…
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I don't know what to do.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'm beginning to think that all I can to do finish this is admit I cheated.
STANLEY R. MARSH: At least you'd be freed.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: In a sense.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I just don't want to get in trouble.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I don't want my parents to find out and kill me.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I know :(
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'll sleep on it.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I feel like if I have to suck Cartman's dick one more time I'll literally lose my shit.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Ew :(
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Haha.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: This is going to sound mushy, but you make me happy.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I feel like I can actually get through the rough parts in my life with you at my side.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'm really glad our relationship is progressing, but I'm happy to take it slow.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I don't care how slow.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: We can take forever.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: We don't need to get physical or anything, especially not any time soon.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'm just happy standing beside you.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Aw… :)
STANLEY R. MARSH: I was actually feeling a little down about that earlier, worrying that you'd get bored of me or something.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Never!
STANLEY R. MARSH: That makes me feel a lot better.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Good!
STANLEY R. MARSH: And for the record, I feel the same way.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'm glad.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I took a bath earlier.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Really?
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I thought you hated baths.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I do.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I just wanted to try something new.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I wanted to see if I could handle seeing that much of myself for that long.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Were you okay?
STANLEY R. Marsh: Haha, no!
STANLEY R. MARSH: I got anxious fast.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'm sorry.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Take it slow.
STANLEY R. MARSH: That's the plan.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: And don't feel like you need to do it because of me.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Just do it for you.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Okay.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Still… someday I want to do it with you.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I want to do it with you, too, but I can wait.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Don't worry about it, Stan.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I want to take things slow.
STANLEY R. MARSH: So, does this mean we're official?
STANLEY R. MARSH: I wanted to wait to ask you in person, but I'm impatient.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Haha, that's okay.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: What do you want us to be?
STANLEY R. MARSH: It'd be nice if we could be exclusive.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Okay, then let's do it.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'll take you out on a date this weekend.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Haha, okay!
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Anyway, I'm gonna take a nap.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Bye!
STANLEY R. MARSH: Sleep well.
With that, I shut my computer and lean back against my pillow. I find myself smiling and it's a pretty weird feeling, but I actually feel a little bit giddy.
God, talk about fuckin' mood swings.
A couple weeks later, we make our relationship "Facebook official."
Kyle Broflovski is in a relationship with Stanley R. Marsh.
Kenny McCormick, Token Black, Bebe Stevens and 104 others like this.
My mom was happy when I told her. She was one of the first people I told. Next was my dad and Shelly. They all seemed happy for me. I think they were a little surprised, too.
Kyle's parents were okay with it, too, but they warned him not to let me distract him from studies. Ugh.
Kyle wasn't joking when he said we'd take it slow. We haven't even kissed and he hasn't pressured me at all. We've just been hanging out the way we normally do. I think he isn't mentioning it because he feels like he's cheating or something. I don't see it like that, but I do want Cartman out of the picture for Kyle's sake… though, I'll admit I do feel possessive, too.
Kyle is having a rough go of it lately. I think Cartman is really starting to get to him. Maybe his treatment is getting worse.
I'm at his house now and he's pretty emotional. School ended some hours ago and Kyle called me over around seven. I think Cartman was here earlier, but I don't want to ask.
We're sitting on his bed. His eyes are glazed over and he looks like he's trying to numb himself out. I know how he feels.
Kyle sniffs loudly, unceremoniously wiping his nose on his sleeve. "God, I can't fucking do this anymore…" he says in a voice hoarser than his usual tone.
"Then don't," I say. "Confess to cheating. They'll cancel the scores and you can retake the SATs. I looked it up, Kyle. It's not the end of the world."
He lets out a shuddery breath, pulling his knees up and perching his elbows on them. "I feel like I'm slowly but surely losing it," he says hoarsely, running his hands through his curly hair.
"Yeah," I murmur. "I know what that feels like… Just… just don't try to hurt yourself again… please?"
He smiles faintly and it's incredibly forced. "I won't. I've learned. Besides, I don't want to ditch you. You're one of the good things in my life."
"Likewise," I tell him.
"I really like you," he murmurs. "Hell, maybe I even love you, but I've never been in love so I don't know what it's supposed to feel like."
"What does it feel like?" I ask him, feeling a little bit nervous and anxious.
"I feel lighter when I'm with you," he says. "I feel like… I wanna keep you safe and shit. I care about you and your well-being a lot. Plus, I'm attracted to you. I wanna be with you and I'm glad we're together."
"I feel that way, too," I confess. "I love you."
Kyle smiles at that and this time it doesn't look so fake. Though his eyes re still red-rimmed and his cheeks are damp, he says, "I love you, too."
I see Craig and Jason speaking in the hallway and this time it doesn't look like they're arguing. I'll make a note to ask Craig about it later because we ALL know how nosy I am.
"What's up?" Kyle asks me when he notices me spacing out.
"Craig and Jason are talking again," I mention.
"So?"
"So, they had a falling out," I explain. "It'd be nice if they patched things up."
Kyle lets out a sigh. "Stan, you always do shit like this."
I frown at that as we stop in front of our lockers. "What?"
"Take a minute and stop concentrating solely on what everyone else is going through and struggling with," Kyle says. "Now… think about yourself for a minute. How do you feel?"
I feel my frown deepen. "Kyle, I don't want to think about myself right now."
"Well, you can't just keep ignoring all your problems and compensating for it by immersing yourself in the problems of others," he reasons.
"Whatever," I say. I don't like where the conversation is headed.
"Why do you drink so much?" Kyle asks.
I shrug my shoulders, contemplating the answer for a moment. "Well," I start, "if I'm to be honest… I drink a lot because it makes things easier to think about. I can think about what happened to me and it doesn't hurt as much. It makes me kind of numb to the memory, distant even… So I can contemplate it and go through the entire event, analyzing the details of it…"
"Why would you want to do that?" he pries, frowning.
"To understand, I suppose," I say. It's an answer that other people probably won't get. "You know, they were all drunk. I remember in the court room they kept saying that and their lawyers kept saying that… as though it'd make them less responsible for what they did to me. They were drunk and they smashed their beer bottles and they hit me with them… They did all this shit to me, but I wasn't drunk and even if I was that wouldn't matter. Still, sometimes I wish I was, then maybe I wouldn't remember or maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much."
"I'm sorry," Kyle says softly. "They're gone now."
I grit my teeth. "Sometimes I think about that… and I hope that they're experiencing in prison what they inflicted upon me in that empty hay field… but then I think about how it felt and I don't think I'd want anyone to experience that. Not even the worst people."
"You're too good," Kyle murmurs, taking my hand as we head to class.
I don't end up seeing Craig again, so I decide to message him via Facebook later in the evening after I eat dinner.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Hey!
CRAIG TUCKER: Hiii
STANLEY R. MARSH: At a risk of sounding like a stalker, I saw you and Jason talking.
CRAIG TUCKER: Haha, we were.
CRAIG TUCKER: It was weird… I didn't expect him to talk to me.
CRAIG TUCKER:Taunts are one thing, but he said something that actually mattered.
CRAIG TUCKER: So, I finally forgave him.
CRAIG TUCKER: We even talked about my eating disorder.
CRAIG TUCKER: I guess he feels like part of it is his fault, but I told him that was fucking stupid.
CRAIG TUCKER: Honestly, I don't know what made me this way… I guess it could be lots of reasons… but it's probably not because of him.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah…
CRAIG TUCKER: He apologized for being a jackass, for hitting me and for constantly telling me to eat more.
CRAIG TUCKER: I think he used to do that to try and correct what he thought he did.
STANLEY R. MARSH: And you forgave him?
CRAIG TUCKER Yeah, it was easier than I thought it'd be… probably 'cause a lot of time has passed.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Happy to hear.
CRAIG TUCKER: So, what about you?
CRAIG TUCKER: How are you?
STANLEY R. MARSH: Okay!
STANLEY R. MARSH: Kyle says I'm too nosy.
CRAIG TUCKER: You are a bit nosy.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I know haha.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Kyle thinks I should concentrate less on others and more on myself.
CRAIG TUCKER: What do YOU think?
STANLEY R. MARSH: He's probably right.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I think I often use other people as distractions.
STANLEY R. MARSH: That's not to say I don't want to help people, though.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I do.
STANLEY R. MARSH: But I also revel in the fact that it's about someone else's problem for once and not mine.
STANLEY R. MARSH: People are always always always making it about me.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I get sick of it.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Sometimes I want distractions from my own problems.
STANLEY R. MARSH: And if I can be distracted while helping someone else, then that's okay.
CRAIG TUCKER: As long as you're not neglecting yourself.
CRAIG TUCKER: Kyle probably thinks you are.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Haha, yeah I think he does.
STANLEY R. MARSH: But I don't feel like I am.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I feel like I've been making better progress now.
STANLEY R. MARSH: My therapist is helping.
CRAIG TUCKER: How?
STANLEY R. MARSH: This is gonna sound lame but I'm kind of trying to just get used to my own body again.
CRAIG TUCKER: It doesn't sound dumb.
CRAIG TUCKER: I can understand.
CRAIG TUCKER: My body kind of triggers me sometimes.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I feel that, too.
STANLEY R. MARSH: It's hard to see myself, especially naked.
CRAIG TUCKER: Yeah, I get that.
STANLEY R. MARSH: How do you cope?
CRAIG TUCKER: Poorly lol.
CRAIG TUCKER: I try to avoid scales.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah…
CRAIG TUCKER: What about you?
STANLEY R. MARSH: I've just been spending more time with myself.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Like, in a naked sense.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Just staring at myself.
CRAIG TUCKER: Has it helped?
STANLEY R. MARSH: I don't really know.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I feel like I can stand to stare at myself for longer periods…
STANLEY R. MARSH: But I want to be able to be naked with someone else.
CRAIG TUCKER: Kyle?
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I want to EVENTUALLY sleep with him…
CRAIG TUCKER: Yeah.
CRAIG TUCKER: I have a lot of times where I've got a NO-SEX zone up because I feel so shitty about myself.
CRAIG TUCKER: I feel like it frustrates Kenny, though he won't admit it.
CRAIG TUCKER: He's patient.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I know I should try to better myself for my own sake, but I also want to do it for Kyle.
CRAIG TUCKER: I don't think that's a bad thing as long as you're also doing it for yourself.
STANLEY R. MARSH: True.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I just feel like everything I do is stupid.
CRAIG TUCKER: Why?
STANLEY R. MARSH: Because they're all such desperate attempts.
STANLEY R. MARSH: It sounds so dumb.
STANLEY R. MARSH: It's so stereotypical of me.
CRAIG TUCKER: Don't look at it like that.
CRAIG TUCKER: Just look at it like you're testing the waters, seeing what works for you.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I guess so.
CRAIG TUCKER: This is going to sound bad, but I feel better having sex when I'm drunk.
CRAIG TUCKER: I feel like I worry less… and I know that's such a bad habit, but it's true.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Ahh…
STANLEY R. MARSH: Does Kenny know?
CRAIG TUCKER: Yeah, I told him.
CRAIG TUCKER: That's why we haven't been having sex lol.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Aw, I'm sorry…
CRAIG TUCKER: Yeah, so am I lol.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Do you go to therapy?
CRAIG TUCKER: Yeah, I do group on Tuesday evenings.
CRAIG TUCKER: It sucks and I fucking hate it.
CRAIG TUCKER: My therapist thought it would be good for my anxiety.
CRAIG TUCKER: Being in a group makes things harder, though, so I don't say much.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah, I'd imagine…
STANLEY R. MARSH: I do therapy on Wednesdays.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Thankfully it isn't group.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I just go by myself, but I brought Kyle in with me once and other times my parents or sister.
CRAIG TUCKER: Do you find it hard to talk when you're with other people?
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah, kind of.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I feel like I need to censor myself, in a way.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I also feel more shame.
CRAIG TUCKER: Yeah, I feel that.
CRAIG TUCKER: I'm the only guy in my group.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Aw…
CRAIG TUCKER: It makes me feel kind of…
CRAIG TUCKER: Fuck, I don't even know.
CRAIG TUCKER: Just weird, like I can relate a little less?
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah :(
CRAIG TUCKER: Oh, well.
CRAIG TUCKER: Anyway I'm going to Kenny's.
CRAIG TUCKER: He needs math help lol.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Haha okay!
STANLEY R. MARSH: Bye.
CRAIG TUCKER: Byeee.
After that, I close my laptop and decide to take a bath. Halfway through, Shelly interrupts and starts banging on the door.
"Open up, Stan!" she calls. "I need to get ready for work!"
I let out a sigh, pulling the plug. I wrap a large towel around myself and then open the door.
"You were taking a bath?" Shelly asks me, looking surprised.
"Yeah," I say. "Trying…"
She smiles faintly. "Sorry to interrupt."
I just shrug and wander into my room. I close and lock the door, drying off and then dropping the towel. I stare at the lengthy mirror hanging on my door and watch my reflection. I hold my arms our at my sides and then turn around.
It does get easier.
Slowly, but surely.
I just hope nothing happens to hinder what little progress I've made.
Kyle tries to break things off with Cartman in one final, desperate attempt, but it doesn't work. So, now he knows what has to be done. He has to make a confession.
After school, I walk with him to the principal's office and he says what he needs to say while I wait outside. I fidget, silently praying that he won't get in too much trouble. I don't want his entire future to be ruined because of a momentary indiscretion. It's not that he can't do it. He was just too scared. Hopefully the teachers will know that, too.
Eventually, a group of people on suits walk inside and I can't help but wonder if they're on the board of education or something. They're probably going to grill Kyle.
He stays in there for a while and I try to be patient, but I'm getting impatient. I pull out my phone and try to play around on it, distracting myself for as long as I can. When Kyle finally leaves, he looks drained.
"What happened?" I ask, standing up immediately.
Kyle lets out a long, weary sigh. "They called my dad and my dad told them I was struggling with depression and that I tried to kill myself and all this other bad shit to try and get me out of it."
"Did it work?" I pry.
He smiles wearily. "Yeah, I guess so… They're going to cancel my previous score and let me retake it."
I smile back. "Do you feel better?"
He lets out a short laugh and then he starts sobbing out of the blue. I don't ask him why, even though it confuses me. I just wrap my arms around his waist. Maybe he's overwhelmed. Maybe these are happy tears. Maybe he's relieved. Maybe he feels freed. I don't know.
After a few minutes, he pulls away and swipes at his cheeks. Then we walk home, since we missed the bus. I hold his hand in mine and we're silent.
"How do you feel?" I ask him when we near his house.
"Worried," he admits. "I'm kind of trying to prepare myself to face my parents' wrath."
I smile faintly. "Maybe they won't be mad."
He snorts at that. "Yeah, I can hope."
Soon, we're at the bottom of his driveway. He lets go of my hand and then holds it up, offering me a wave.
"Wait," I say. I inch closer and then stand on my tip-toes, pecking him on the lips.
He smiles and says, "I'll call you later."
I smile back and say, "Deal."
I watch him go inside before continuing home. I sincerely hope his parents don't give him a hard time. I think if they do he'll only be more upset about the whole thing.
He made a mistake.
Everyone makes mistakes - especially when they're afraid - and I think that as long as he isn't causing another person pain, then he should be allowed to move on with his life.
Cartman, on the other hand, needs to be punished… but I doubt he ever will be. He gets away with everything. It's always been that way.
Around 8PM, Kyle rings me up and decides to tell me how it all went down once he got home.
"I actually feel kind of good," he admits. "I mean, my parents weren't even that mad. I expected them to, like, rip me a new one… but they didn't. They kind of sat me down and we talked about why I felt the need to cheat. I told them that they put too much pressure on me and I felt like it was the only way to guarantee a good score. Ike was there and he kind of backed me up."
"Good!" I exclaim, feeling happy for him.
I hear him laugh and then say, "Yeah. I ended up telling them about the blackmail. I didn't say exactly what it entailed or who it was 'cause I kind of want to try and move past it… They tried prying, but I didn't want to talk. I think they had a hard time being angry at me after that. Plus, I squeezed out a few tears mostly for show."
"Aw…" I murmur, sympathizing. I know how hard it can be to tell people about shit like that.
"It's for the best," Kyle says. "You were right. I mean, it was hard… but I guess it was worth it. I should have done it sooner. I wish I hadn't let Cartman do all that shit to me… he's such a sick fuck."
"Yeah," I agree bitterly. "I hate him."
"Me, too… I don't think I'll ever be able to look at him as long as I live. He'll never say sorry and even if he does, he won't mean it. He has no empathy."
"Yeah," I agree again.
"I'm a hot mess," he says with finality, laughing at himself. "Everyone fucking knows it."
"Let's kill Cartman," I decide jokingly.
I hear him laugh again. "Okay."
The following morning, shit goes down at school when Kyle begins ignoring Cartman. Fat-ass doesn't seem to appreciate it.
"Fine, ignore me," he snaps loudly, grabbing the attention of some nearby students. "But you can't ignore the fact that I've been balls deep in your ass and you loved it, you faggy fuck."
I guess Cartman isn't finished tormenting Kyle. Since Kyle isn't going to be there to use and abuse, Cartman wants to make sure that everyone in the school knows that he used to be.
I fucking hate him so much.
Kyle flushes, spinning around and shoving Cartman. "That's a lie!" His voice is shaking.
"I think we all know it's not," Cartman snorts.
With that, Kyle raises his fists and whirls them at Cartman's face. Then they start duking it out. They haven't fought like this since they were ten years old. This is scarier to watch because they aren't little kids anymore.
"Stop!" I shout pleadingly, but it's lost to their ears. I inch closer and try to pull Kyle away, but Cartman ends up accidentally elbowing me in the gut. I fall backwards and Kyle just gets angrier.
Token appears and helps me up before prying Kyle away from the fat-ass. Kyle shakes Token off and approaches me, asking if I'm alright. I insist I'm fine and I drag him away from the scene before a teacher shows up.
"Everyone is gonna know," he mumbles.
I frown at that. "Maybe…" I say, not bothering to sugar-coat the possibility.
"God," he moans, holding his head. "I feel like I'm fucking losing my mind…"
"I don't get why he would want people to know," I muse. "I mean… he took advantage of you… Some people are probably going to be able to piece that together."
Kyle lets out an angry laugh. "Not if he's telling everyone how much I 'LIKED' it..."
"I get what you're going through," I remind him. "So, you can talk to me."
"I don't wanna, like, trigger you…" he murmurs. "Besides, our situations are pretty different…"
"It's okay," I tell him. "I want you to feel like you can tell me anything. Blackmail isn't consent. It's a trap. Cartman fucking knew what he was doing to you and that makes him just as bad as any other rapist pig."
"Hm…" he mumbles. "I don't really want to look at it like that, y'know…?"
"Yeah," I say softly, grabbing his hand. "I can understand that."
No one really wants to admit that something that shitty happened to them. It's hard to admit to yourself, let alone out loud. If my story never went public, I would probably have kept the whole thing to myself, too. I feel like that would have been at least a little easier. For a while, that is… but things always have a way of piling up and blowing up in my face. Denial isn't a permanent state. It only lasts to long. Then it's hard to keep pretending.
Instead of heading to English class, Kyle decides to skip and I skip with him. We head to the back of the school and he takes out a cigarette.
"I wish you'd quit," I mutter.
He smiles faintly. "Yeah, I should probably try to… but I'm always stressed out and quitting would make it worse."
"Yeah," I say, unable to disagree.
"What do you think people are saying about me?" he wonders, blowing smoke in the direction of the wind so it doesn't get in my face.
"They're probably saying more about Cartman than you," I say. "He made himself look like a douche… and I think most people are going to agree that he's shit for making a private thing public. The people who laugh at you are just as bad as he is. I think people are mostly just surprised. "
"I had a choice," he murmurs hazily. "I mean, I always had a choice…"
"Not a very good one," I argue cautiously.
"Still…" he says. "I could've stopped it sooner. I just didn't want to admit I was a cheating piece of shit. Giving Cartman sexual favours seemed like the lesser of two shitty choices."
"Yeah," I whisper. I don't bother trying to argue any more. If Kyle wants to say that he did consent to it, then that's his choice. I guess it's how he's choosing to cope.
Kyle lets out a bitter laugh. "Y'know, he'd always fucking take photos and then send them to me via Snapchat. I don't think he saved any. I think he just wanted me to have to relive all the humiliation after the deed itself was done."
"That's so fucked up," I mutter.
Kyle nods his head. "Mhm… he's twisted."
I let out a breath. "This probably sounds like a pretty macabre question, but what were you thinking when you tried to kill yourself?"
He smiles faintly. "I was thinking… I was miserable. I felt trapped. I felt lonely…."
"What triggered it?" I pry.
"Well, it was after I cheated on the SATs," he says with another bitter laugh. "My parents wouldn't shut up about it. They made me study like crazy and when my test scores came back, they seemed so fucking proud. They wouldn't shut up about that, either… and it made me feel guilty. I felt like a failure and a liar. Then Cartman approached me and he said that he knew and then he propositioned me. Initially, I recoiled and said no… but he was persuasive. He said he'd tell the school and the school would tell my parents. So, I got on my knees and gave him a blowjob. First time I did it and he said I sucked at it and it made me feel so disgusted with myself…" He rolls his eyes at himself. "Anyway, I went home and tried to kill myself."
"Jesus," I whisper. "I'm really sorry, Kyle…"
"Hah… yeah, so am I," he mumbles. "All of this could have been avoided if I didn't cheat. Sometimes I feel like I fucking deserved it. What goes around comes around…"
"You didn't deserve that," I try to reassure him.
He lets out a sharp sigh before taking one last puff of his cigarette and tossing it into a snowbank. "Whatever," he declares. "I'll try to move on."
"Yeah… it's all you really can do after something shitty happens," I murmur. "Just don't force yourself."
After that, we head to my house since no one is home and we won't get in shit for skipping. Oh, well. It's not like we do this often.
We watch Netflix and sit with our shoulders touching, but nothing more.