South Park © Matt & Trey.
To the anonymous review I got that told me my writing is repetitive: Yeah, it sounds like I'm just re-telling the same story a million times, but I know that. Here, I write to cope with my own issues as I've said before. That isn't to say I'm not up to hearing suggestions for new themes people would like to see me explore. I write for myself and it's cool that other people like it and relate to it, but if they don't then that's fine, too. I'm not forcing you to read it, so if you're bored then you can move on. Writing about it makes me feel better and I know I can do these issues justice. It's an outlet that I lack in other parts in my life, especially considering that I don't go to therapy anymore.
Little known fact, I do write original work - I have three stories in the works, all of which is drastically different than the fanfiction I write. One is surrealism (with a lot of strange stuff), one is fantasy (demons, magic, gore, dun dun dun) and one is weird a mix of supernatural/sci-fi (ooh, with ghosts and dimension jumping).
It took a LOT for me to actually start posting my fics online because I'm an overly anxious person. That's also why I have a harder time letting things go and why I feel like I need to always explain myself (like now lmao). I pretty much feel nauseous every time I see a new review on one of my stories because I always expect it to be bad. Usually it's not tho haha and nice reviews make it worthwhile. I really enjoy sharing.
I repeat these kinds of themes for my fanfiction because fanfiction is my outlet. Here, it's somewhat anonymous. If I were to publish a real book exploring these things, then it would be less anonymous and it would feel like telling a secret to everyone in the world with my name attached.
Sorry for the annoying, petty rant LOL I would have responded privately but you can't do that with anons. Thanks if anyone actually read it :b
Anyway, last chapter before the epilogue~
Kyle retakes the test and ends up getting the same score that he got when he cheated.
"I fucking hate myself," he says, laughing bitterly about it. "I literally feel like all of this was for nothing."
"I'm sorry," I offer sincerely.
"I don't fucking know what to do," he murmurs.
"Try to look at the bright side," I say, though it sounds stupid.
He lets out a breath. "Well, I guess my parents are being easier on me now…" A pause. "That's all I can think of…"
On Wednesday, I tell Dr. Hightower that Kyle ended up telling the truth and that he didn't get in as much trouble as he thought he would for it.
"He retook the test and got the same score," I add. "He's coming down pretty hard on himself because he feels like everything he went through happened for nothing and could have been avoided if he had more faith in himself… I don't really know what to tell him."
"That's a difficult situation," Dr. Hightower says. "There isn't very much you can do. It's something he'll have to learn how to cope with."
"He's been feeling really low lately," I murmur. "I'm worried he'll do something about it… like, hurt himself somehow… I don't know. I'm always worrying about that. I don't want him to do anything bad."
Dr. Hightower nods her head. "You know, Stanley, you're more than welcome to bring him in again. Or I could schedule an appointment to talk to him separately – no charge."
"You'd do that?" I ask.
She nods her head again. "He seems important to you and if he's struggling, I'd like to try and help."
After dinner, I throw on my PJs and then decide to message Kyle via Facebook since I'm worried about him lately.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Hey, are you doing okay?
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: No.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Wanna talk?
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Bleh…
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I just feel like SHIT.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: You know when people keep messaging me asking me if I'm okay.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Sorry…
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: No, I don't mean you.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I just mean random people I don't even talk to.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Maybe they're hoping I'll open up to them and tell them what they're probably dying to know.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Ignore them.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I am.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Ugh I feel so ashamed of myself.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Yeah :(
STANLEY R. MARSH: Wanna spend the night at my house?
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Haha, are you worried I'll try to hurt myself?
STANLEY R. MARSH: Nooo.
STANLEY R. MARSH: I just think you could do with a distraction.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: All right.
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: I'll see you in a few.
STANLEY R. MARSH: Ok!
Me and Kyle haven't had a sleepover in a long time – especially not one with just the two of us. In the past, we've crashed drunk at one another's houses with some other friends… but that doesn't really count. This time, there's no liquor and it's just me and him. Plus… we're together now.
It doesn't take him long to ring the bell before simply swinging open the front door.
"UP HERE!" I call, closing my laptop and setting it on my desk.
When he enters my bedroom, I take in his appearance with a gracious smile.
"Hey," he says, smiling back.
"Hey," I echo.
He's also wearing his PJs – grey sweatpants and a plain, red tee. He drops his overnight bag on the floor and then moves forward to peck me on the lips. It's quick and chaste, the way all of our kisses are.
"Your mom doesn't mind me staying over?"
"Of course not," I say. "And, no, she isn't going to force you into the guest room, either."
"Okay," he chuckles. "Hey, this will be our first official sleepover in a while."
"I know," I say. "It's been a long time."
I turn on the lamp on my nightstand and turn off the main light fixture, causing the room to grow dim. I sit on my bed and pat the spot next to me, wordlessly telling Kyle to sit. When he does, I say, "How would you feel about coming back to therapy with me?"
"Sure," he says. "It was helpful the first time."
"Dr. Hightower said that she'd even be happy to see you alone," I add.
"Well… I don't know about that," Kyle murmurs. "I'll think about it. Maybe a session or two would help…"
"Yeah," I agree. "Sleep on it."
"I will," he promises.
I lie down and he lies next to me so we're side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling aimlessly.
"What are people saying when they message you?" I pry.
He sighs. "They say things like, 'I heard what Cartman did,' and then they ask if I'm okay… and I guess it just rubs me the wrong way since I'm not friends with half the people asking. Like, they seem so nosy. It's none of their fucking business…"
"Yeah," I murmur in agreement. "That's annoying…"
"I don't know what to do…" he groans.
"I wish I could give you some sort of advice…" I say. "All I can say is that you're not alone. I mean… I may not know exactly what you're feeling, but I know what it's like to experience something shitty and then have it fucking broadcasted like that…"
"Yeah," Kyle responds quietly. He sniffles a bit, but he doesn't cry. "I feel like we just… really get one another."
"I feel that way, too," I say.
"You're, like, my soul-mate," he adds with a laugh. "Does that sound cheesy as hell?"
"No, I like it," I say, laughing with him. "I think we belong together."
"Me, too," he says softly.
We continue to talk and he smiles a little. As the night goes on, he seems to lighten.
Around 10PM, we get up and move across the hall – brushing our teeth. Afterward, Kyle stands over the toilet with his back facing me and urinates. It makes me feel stupidly shy, though there's nothing sexual about what he's doing. I glance away and stare at myself in the mirror. I feel myself zone out for a second, but the sound of the toilet flushing brings me back to reality. I move aside and Kyle washes his hands.
"You good?" he asks me.
"Mhm," I mumble.
He heads back into my room, leaving me alone to pee. I do so promptly and when that's taken care of I join Kyle in my bedroom. By now, he's lying down under the covers. I crawl in with him and lie down.
I hear him yawn. "Fuck, I'm tired… I haven't been sleeping well."
"Why?" I pry.
"Stress," he admits.
"Oh…" I say sadly.
"It's okay," he insists. "Don't worry about it."
I perch myself up on an elbow and ask, "Can I try something?"
"Sure," I hear him reply.
With my other hand, I place a palm on his cheek. Then I slowly lean down, pressing my lips to his. This time, the kiss is different. I open my mouth, allowing him in, but only briefly. When I pull away, I lie back down.
"Was that okay?" I ask him.
"Hell yeah," he says.
I smile faintly, though he can't see it. I close my eyes and inch closer to him, resting my head against his side as he stretches an arm around me.
"Goodnight," I murmur groggily.
"Goodnight," he echoes.
Come morning, I wake up first. I crawl over Kyle and get out of bed, moving across the hall to use the bathroom. Afterwards, I head downstairs.
"Is Kyle all right?" my mom immediately pries from her spot at the kitchen table. She's sitting with my dad and they're drinking their morning coffee. Shelly is probably still asleep from her late shift at the bar.
"Just a little down," I say. "Hope it's okay he slept over."
"Of course," Dad tells me.
"He's always welcome," Mom adds.
I grab a pear in the fridge and then get a cup of water before heading back upstairs. I sit at my desk, trying to be quiet as I eat.
Kyle is still dead to the world. It's only 7AM, though. I hope he sleeps for a little while longer, especially since he said he hasn't been sleeping well. Guess I don't blame him for that. A lot of shit has happened to him this year.
I check my emails and then I check Facebook and then I check the school's homework page, seeing if there is anything I need to get done.
I have an essay to write, but I can do that in an hour on my free period. I guess it's bad that I don't put much effort into school, but compared to other things, it doesn't seem to be as important. It takes a backseat.
After eating, I close my laptop. I bring the apple core and empty water glass downstairs and then I decide to get dressed for the day. I put on jeans and a sweater in the bathroom, brushing my teeth once I'm done. Then I return to my room.
Around 8AM, Kyle stirs and his eyes flutter open.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey," he echoes groggily. "What time is it?"
"Early," I tell him. "We have an hour 'til class."
"Good," he murmurs, forcing himself up. "Thanks for last night," he says. "You made me feel a lot better than I felt earlier."
"I'm glad," I say sincerely as he stands up and stretches. "Want coffee or anything to eat?" I offer.
"Coffee would be good," he answers. "I'm kinda groggy. I'm gonna wash my face first, though. I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Okay."
I grab my school things and then head back into the kitchen. By now, my parents are gone. I fill Kyle a thermos of coffee and then wait.
He appears after a moment, wearing the same clothes he slept in.
"Here," I hand him the thermos.
"Thanks," he says.
We put on our shoes and coats before leaving. Since we still have some time, we decide to walk rather than wait for the bus.
"Sleep okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says. "I always sleep pretty well at your house. Your house is comfortable… and so are you."
I smile at that, taking his hand in mine.
Our entire group of friends is excluding Cartman. He doesn't seem to give a rat's ass, though. He's been hanging around Bill and Fosse a lot lately and they're just as horrible as he is.
When free period arrives, Kyle and I head to the library to work on our essays. I write mine sloppily, while Kyle is a lot more precise with his. He looks like he's really concentrating on it. Maybe he feels like there is no room to slip up, especially now that he came out about cheating on his SATs.
Hopefully the universities don't find out about it. If they do, his acceptance might be revoked. I don't really know how that stuff works, but nothing has happened so far, so he's probably in the safe zone.
"Kyle," I say his name.
"Hm?" he mumbles, not bothering to glance away from his laptop.
"You'll be majoring in Statistics, right?" I start. "What do you want to do career-wise?"
He lets out a sigh. "I want to be a Statistical Analyst."
"Holy shit," I say. "What the fuck is that?"
He chuckles at me, finally glancing up. "To try and put it simply, I'll be analysing numeric data and trying to design models and make sure that the data is reliable. I want to specialize in marketing."
"Huh…" I murmur.
He smiles faintly before glancing back down at his laptop and typing away. "I feel like as long as I am out of this town for a while and forced to concentrate on something, then I'll be all right. I like math because there is no maybe. It's just right or wrong. Factual. There's less room for interpretation, unlike in writing"
"Yeah," I say, understanding where he's coming from.
I guess it's nice to hear him talk about his future with confidence. It's nice to hear that he thinks he HAS a future. He never used to.
English is our last class of the day we pass in our essays and then take our usual seats.
Cartman sits on the opposite side of the room. He hasn't tried to give Kyle any shit so far today. Hopefully it'll stay that way.
I don't know what else he could possibly do. I'm going to be optimistic and choose to hope that this is finally over and that he's finally going to fuck off.
Kyle doesn't bother sparing him a glance. He just keeps his head in front and pays attention to the teacher.
Things have been oddly quiet lately, but I'm trying to revel and not take advantage of it because I know it probably won't last. Still, it'd be nice if it did. It feels peaceful.
I managed to jerk off the other night, which sounds fucking dumb - definitely not like an accomplishment of an sort. I felt kind of nasty afterwards, but I tried to remind myself that I don't have to feel that way. I have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.
Kyle seems happier lately, which is refreshing. He smiles more lately. I think he's trying hard to move on. He's probably really damn glad that all the shit is over so he CAN move on. It's hard to move on when you're still stuck in a bad situation.
Today, he's coming to therapy with me.
He picks me up in his mom's car and we drive to the mental health center. The drive is quiet. I think Kyle feels a bit nervous since he'll be a more active part of the session this time.
I let out a breath and say, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he says, giving me a quick side glance and smiling. "Just… pensive, I suppose."
"You don't need to worry about what you're going to say," I tell him. "She's going to be asking questions to guide the session, just like last time."
He simply nods his head.
When we pull into the parking lot and park the car, we move into the hospital and walk to the third floor. We sit in the waiting room for a few minutes until the clock strikes the next hour and we're called in.
We pile into the office, sitting on the sofa.
"Hi, boys," Dr. Hightower greets us.
"Hi," I echo, while Kyle simply nods his head.
"So, Kyle, today we'll be talking about you," she starts.
"Yeah, I guess so," he says.
"Now, I went over your medical history," she says, "and you've never tried any kind of medication?"
"I didn't want to," Kyle admits, "but I don't know now… I only saw a doctor when I was an in-patient. That was just for a few days after my hospitalization, though. I refused medications… but I guess that's stupid because I've been self-medicating ever since which is probably a hell of a lot worse."
"How do you self-medicate?"
"Weed, cocaine…" he says with a shrug.
I know he avoids alcohol because of me.
"What is your sleep schedule like?"
"All over the place," he murmurs.
"I'd recommend getting yourself back on schedule," Dr. Hightower suggests. "A healthy sleeping schedule helps with moods and won't worsen your dysthymia."
"What else helps?" Kyle urges.
"Psychotherapy is the most effective treatment," she explains. "An SSRI will also help you to feel more like yourself again."
"Hm," Kyle muses. "I just feel a lot worse lately… It's been a rough year."
"Let's talk about that," Dr. Hightower starts.
"Stan probably told you a lot of stuff," Kyle assumes, "and that's fine. Basically this asshole we know blackmailed me and made me do some shit I didn't want to do. I cheated on my SATs and he found out… So, yeah. Eventually I just decided to come out and admit I cheated. Then he decided to come out and admit that I let him fuck me up the ass."
I can't help but wince at that.
I notice Kyle's jaw tighten. "I just… I really hate him and I feel sick when I have to see him," he murmurs. "I've been thinking about changing schools…" He pauses and glances at me. "I never told you, but I registered late for a few other universities. I just found out that I got into all of them…"
I make an 'o' shape with my mouth. "That would be good, right…?"
"I'd be away from Cartman," he murmurs. "It just sucks that I have to be the one to forego going to the school I was set on. I wish he'd decide to go somewhere else instead…"
"Yeah," I say quietly.
"Kyle," Dr. Hightower cuts in, "how do you feel when you see Cartman?"
He shrugs. "Ashamed, humiliated, embarrassed… all that shit."
"And Stan, how do you feel?"
"Angry," I say. "I want someone to punish him. He's done a lot of bad things and he always seems to get away with it. It's not fair."
Dr. Hightower scribbles down some shit in her clipboard. I'm constantly wondering what kinds of things she's writing, but I know she isn't allowed to say.
The conversation switches towards Kyle's home life, his school life, his relationship with me, his relationship with our other friends. When the topic changes towards his he feels about himself, he starts getting emotional. I recognize the look on his face. He'll probably start crying any minute, but right now he's trying hard not to.
He rolls his eyes. "I put too much pressure on myself because my parents put too much pressure on me. I'm a perfectionist, but I have no faith in myself. Nothing I do seems like enough."
Dr. Hightower nods and then asks, "Do you feel like you've been invalidated?"
"I guess, yeah," Kyle says. "Um…" he continues, "I guess… that I don't like myself very much. I always see that quote that says if you don't love yourself then you can't expect anyone else to love you… and I kind of agree with it to an extent, but it also makes me feel really bad."
I'm about to cut in, but I stop myself because I don't know what to say.
"Do you feel like you aren't good enough?" Dr. Hightower probes.
"Yeah," Kyle confesses. His eyes are glazed over. "Uh, I feel like… I'm not worth anything…" When he blinks, the first tear falls. "Damn it," he says to himself.
"Want me to leave?" I ask quietly.
Kyle shakes his head, raising a hand to swipe at his cheeks.
I slide the tissue box towards him and he takes one.
Dr. Hightower looks expectantly sympathetic. "Do you feel guilt?"
"All the time," Kyle admits. "Not just 'cause I cheated and made things shitty for myself… but even over dumb shit."
"Like what, for example?" she pries.
"Like… when something bad happens to me and other people are affected, I always end up feeling bad for them. I hardly ever feel bad FOR myself. I just feel bad in general."
"And what do you do to cope with this?"
Kyle scoffs at himself. "Well, I tried to kill myself."
"Have you hurt yourself since then?"
"Yeah," he mutters and it causes an unpleasant twist in my gut. He glances at me and lets out a sigh, saying, "I don't know how much of me you saw when I was with Cartman… but I'm pretty messed up."
I frown at that and I feel my eyebrows draw together. "What…?"
He sighs again, sounding hopeless. "I started s-self-harming a while back," he admits, sounding very quiet.
"What?" I choke out.
How did he hide a thing like this from me?
"Christ," he whispers, taking a deep breath and moving his hands through his hair. He looks and sounds distressed. "Okay," he starts again, "I've just been really stressed out and it's not like I'm trying to kill myself. I'm just… I can't fucking breathe."
"I didn't know," I whisper.
I wish he'd just fucking TELL me this shit, but he feels like I can't handle it. He keeps it all to himself.
He sniffles, slumping forward. "I'm sorry," he says. "You're probably disappointed."
"No," I tell him. "I'm not."
"I hate disappointing people," he murmurs.
"Kyle, I'm not disappointed…" I reiterate. "Even if you don't like yourself, I like you. In fact, I love you. I don't think that saying is concrete. I think it's situational. It depends what kind of person you are… and I can still love you."
"I'm trying…" he says hoarsely.
"I know you are," I reply.
At the end of the session, Dr. Hightower writes down the titles of some books she recommends that Kyle reads. Knowing him, he'll actually go out and buy them. She also tells Kyle that she wants to start seeing him regularly. So, they set a date for private sessions.
Kyle is still a hot mess. It's weird seeing him so emotional. He does his messier crying once we get in the car. I put a hand on his shoulder and try to ease him, but we're in a cramped car, so it's kind of hard. He sobs in the parking lot for what feels like an hour. His forehead is pressed against the steering wheel and it sounds like he's grieving.
When he finally does calm down, I decide to be the first to talk. "I thought you were doing better," I admit.
He lets out a bitter, angry laugh as he sits back. "I've been overcompensating." He doesn't bother wiping his eyes. Instead, he starts the car and pulls out of the lot.
I wish Kyle would fucking talk to me. Knowing that he feels like he can't makes me wonder if we'll last. Communication is key, right? Well, apparently we don't have as much as I thought we did.
We head to Kyle's house and his mom asks him how his "meeting" went. He says it was fine, even though his eyes are still swollen. We don't linger after that. We just head straight for his bedroom.
"Kyle," I say his name. "We need to talk more… I mean, we won't last if we don't talk. You can't keep all these secrets and bottle up your emotions like that. It's not healthy and, honestly, it makes me feel like you pity me."
He lets out a sharp sigh. "I'm just not used to it," he says "It's really fucking hard for me to say I feel beyond miserable."
"I know…" I sympathize, "and I'm not trying to rush you or force you, but I do feel like we need to take a step towards better communication."
"You're right," he mumbles. "I'm gonna try harder."
Cartman continues to mind his own business. Kyle probably finds immense relief in that. He has been doing therapy weekly, just like me. He's also on a medication, just like me.
It's late now. It's a school night, so I should be in bed… but my thoughts kept me awake like they often do. I'm sitting in the kitchen. I just made tea. I'm trying to stay quiet so I don't wake my parents, though I don't really want to be alone. I hate being alone with my thoughts. I feel like it's a toxic combination because I'm not at a point in my life where I can truly trust myself yet.
Around 1AM, the door opens. Shelly enters the kitchen and jumps when she spots me at the table. "Shit!" she hisses, letting out a breath and putting a hand on her chest. "Damn, Stan… Why are you awake?"
"Can't sleep," I tell her.
She moves towards the kettle and pours herself a cup of tea before joining me, sitting across from me. "So, what's wrong?" she asks. "You're up late."
"I feel like shit," I admit.
"Why?" she questions.
"I wish I was normal," I murmur vaguely.
"I think that's your problem, Stan," Shelly says. "You keep wishing for things to be another way and it's not helping. You can't just make a wish and change the past. You gotta make do with what you have, even if it's not fair."
I can't deny that she's right.
"I'm sorry you were hurt," she continues. "There's no excuse for it and it's not okay… but they're locked away now and they can't hurt you. You're doing well. You're making progress, even if you don't feel like you are."
"Really…?" I murmur.
"Really," she insists. "Usually I'd say try to look on the bright side of things… but sometimes it's honestly fuckin' impossible. I wish I could say something that was more helpful, but…"
"It's hard to know what to say," I finish for her. "I understand."
"How are things with Kyle?" she asks out of the blue.
"Good," I tell her. "We did therapy together. It was sad and hard, but I think it'll bring us closer. He's always so good to me. He helps me and he's there for me and I want to be there for him, but he feels like he's not worth the effort. I don't understand it."
"He's always been too hard on himself," Shelly muses. "It was obvious that it'd eventually mess him up a bit."
"Everyone seems to be a little messed up," I say.
"Everyone is," Shelly agrees. "Everyone has their own struggles. The only reason you notice it is because you're so busy avoiding your own shit."
I nod my head lazily.
Trust me, I fucking know. I've made enough of that my business this year. Craig, Jason, Kenny, Wendy… Kyle. I like to imagine that I've at least eased them all in the slightest amount. I feel like Kenny and Craig are good together. They seem happy. Like me and Kyle, they both have their own struggles… but I think they can work through them.
It's funny, in a sad way, how much we have in common. It seems like all the bad things. It's a tragic kind of comfort to know that you're not alone.
Now all I can do is concentrate on myself and that seems like the scariest thing in the world.
It's Friday night.
Right now I'm sitting in a bar – not the one my sister works at, but a shittier one that doesn't check for IDs.
I haven't yet ordered a drink. I'm hesitating. Since my latest relapse, I've been sober for some weeks, but it doesn't seem like much at all, so here I am about to throw it away.
Eventually, someone sits down next to me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"You okay, kid?" he asks me.
I glance over and see that it's Carl Denkins, the old dairy farmer who saved my life those years back.
I let out a bitter laugh, staring down out of nervousness. "No… I don't think I'll ever be completely okay…" I pause, forcing myself to look up at him. "But I want to be… so, thanks for saving my life."
He offers me a small smile. "Sure, kid. Need a ride home?"
I let out a shuddery breath and glance around the room – at the drunken men, the dancers, the girls in the corner laughing and looking like they're having a good time. None of it is me. Not anymore. I never knew how to pace myself. I never used alcohol to have a good time. I just used it to… stay numb.
I feel so out of place. So, I say, "Yeah, okay."
I feel proud when I get the words out. I feel more in-control than I did when I first stepped into the bar.
We stand and exit the pub, moving to his truck. As I sit in the passenger's seat, I can't help but remember the last time I was sitting in this exact spot. He probably needed to get the interior replaced. I know I made a mess.
When we pull into my driveway, Kyle is sitting on my front porch. Upon spotting me, he jumps up. I give Carl a sincere thank you and then leave the car. Kyle immediately hugs me.
"I was worried!" he exclaims. "No one was at your house and I didn't know where you were."
"I'm sorry," I say. "I almost relapsed…"
He lets out a sigh. "Come to me next time."
"If I can," I murmur. "I tend not to think about other people when I'm in a bad state. I just… I need release. That's all that's on my mind."
"Yeah," he says softly.
I smile faintly and say, "Wanna come inside? We can talk. Really talk, I mean."
And, so, we do.
The following weekend night, I end up at Kyle's. I feel like I'm ready to take things another step further. We've been talking more and we've been supporting one another. I feel like things are good and honest between us.
Still, it makes me wary. A touch can hold so much intent and not all of it is good. A touch can help or harm and for people like me, the line is thin.
Nonetheless, I put my hesitance aside as I let myself into the Broflovski house. Sheila and Gerald are away for the weekend and Ike is at a sleepover. It'll just be me and Kyle.
I step into Kyle's room, closing and locking the door once I'm inside. I dim the lights, but I don't turn them off. I want him to see me, after all.
"I'm going to take my clothes off," I say, turning to face him.
Kyle is lying in bed with a book. When I get the words out, his lips part in surprise and he asks, "What, why?" He closes the book and sets the book on his nightstand.
"I just… I want you to see me before we do anything more than what we've been doing," I murmur.
He softens. "But why? Are you afraid that I won't like what I see? Trust me, Stan, I will."
"I have scars," I tell him.
"So do I," he replies.
"Can I still do this?" I ask him. "I feel like… I want to, but I also feel like I need to."
He's frowning. "Don't feel like you need to. Take your time. We don't have to do this now."
"I feel okay," he confesses. "I mean, right this second… So, I want to do it now."
"Okay," he says quietly. He sits up in the center of his bed and crosses his legs, watching me.
"I might chicken out halfway," I say with a laugh.
He smiles faintly. "It's okay."
"I keep wondering if this would feel easier if I wasn't attacked," I muse, taking another step into his room. "Probably…"
"Maybe," Kyle whispers.
"How does it feel when you take off your clothes?" I ask him.
"Depends who I'm with," he admits. "When I'm with myself, I don't really think about it. It's just something I do. When I was with… Cartman… it was unpleasant."
"What about the other people you've been with?" I pry. "Was it ever hard?"
"No," he confesses. "Maybe awkward and nervous the first couple times, but… I guess I just kind of got used to my body being naked with another body."
I nod my head and I don't say anything more after that. Instead, I finally reach for the rim of my shirt and begin slowly taking off my clothes. My hands are shaking and I'm nervous, but I wonder if that's a normal feeling.
I stare down at myself as I undress. I feel embarrassed. I try to remind myself that I shouldn't, but it seems impossible. When I glance up, Kyle is staring at me and I feel my face heat up.
"Come here," he whispers, holding out his hand.
"I'm not done," I point out. I'm still wearing my boxer-briefs.
"That's okay," Kyle says. "Come here."
Maybe it's messed up that I feel like I need to do this, but I do. I reach into my waistband and push my shorts down so I'm standing without a stitch of clothing. Kyle stands up and he stares at me. I feel mildly self-conscious, but not as bad as I feel when I'm staring at myself.
"I've never seen you naked before," he murmurs.
I wrap my arms around myself.
"You look beautiful," he adds, moving forward. He puts a palm against my chest. "Your heart is beating really fast."
"I'm nervous," I tell him, forcing a laugh. "You get undressed, too."
"All right," he agrees softly. He takes a step back and begins shrugging out of his clothes. I vaguely recall the last time I saw him naked – when he was beneath Cartman. That memory still upsets me quite a bit, to be honest. I don't like thinking of Kyle with anyone else, especially not someone like Cartman. I watch him undress and I admire him and how different his body is from mine.
Before seeing him with Cartman, I hadn't seen him naked since we were little children. Naturally, much has changed since then.
I notice some cuts on his arms and legs, but I don't point them out. They make me sad, but I don't say that. I just stay quiet and admire him because he's so boyishly pretty.
"So…" he starts trailing off.
"Does it hurt?" I ask. "I mean… I know what happened to me hurt but that's not really sex, is it? What does it feel like when you did it with Cartman?"
"It still hurt," Kyle admits.
We lie down on the bed and face one another.
"Nervous?" he asks.
"Yeah," I admit quietly.
"Roll over," he instructs.
I do so and we just lie together in my bed and talk. He touches me in an intimate, yet nonsexual way. He just rubs my back.
"Feels good…" I mumble groggily.
It can be nice.
We didn't do anything. We just looked at each other. Kyle had an erection, but he didn't even ask me to touch it. For that, I'm glad. I wouldn't have known what to do because I'm still not quite ready for any kind of sex. Thinking about it just gives me more anxiety. I could barely bring myself to glance down at it.
I was soft. It kind of made me wonder if I'm even capable of getting an erection around another person or if I have performance anxiety… Probably. That in itself just causes me further general anxiety.
I don't want past memories to constantly hinder my present… and last night, they didn't. I wasn't thinking about anything painful.
When the nervousness subsided, we talked and laughed and it felt good between us. It makes me feel like we'll truly be able to weather through anything that comes our way. We've already survived so much.
I wanna be strong and stand on my own, but I think it's all right to lean on someone else when things get too tough.
So, everyone is okay.
Well, sorta.
Eh, not really.
I guess that's a relative term… but I do feel like things are slowly piecing together. I feel like I can have the things I once thought I'd never be able to reach. I feel a little more optimistic. I don't feel as bitter, as sad, as ashamed.
I've been trying not to think too much about the future and the very real reality of Kyle leaving for Denver. I'll probably get pretty upset when he leaves, but I'm going to try not to make him feel bad about it.
Graduation is nearing. It feels like the year sped by. I guess it felt that way because so much happened. A lot of it was bad, but hey, at least it's over now. I have to try not to dwell. That never does any good.
I haven't relapsed yet. Neither has Kyle. Neither has Craig. I guess that counts, but if it does happen I would like to tell them that it's okay. Relapse is normal. It sucks, but it happens. I think they'd say the same to me, too.
Exam season is here. Me and Kyle are at the public library with open textbooks in front of us. He glances up and stares at me, looking unsure.
"What is it?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Are you gonna be okay when I leave?" he asks. "I'll only be in Denver."
"I might be sad about it," I admit, "but I'll be okay. Plus, it'll give me something to look forward on weekends and holidays."
He smiles. "True," he agrees. "I'll miss you, too. Like, a fucking lot."
"Let's not think about it now," I say, since we still have some months 'til then.
"All right," he says.
When I'm with him, I feel comfortable and safe and I don't think as much about all the bad shit that often crosses my mind. It's so far away when I'm with him.
Maybe that sounds dependent of me, but when he's gone I can work on becoming a little more independent.
"I love you," I say out of the blue.
He smiles at that. "I love you, too."
I wonder if Kyle thinks about the future as much as I do. I wonder if I'm a big part of his thoughts. I hope I am. I want him to see potential in me and our relationship. I think he does, but there are times when I still worry because the fear is just a part of who I am now. I don't want it to be, but it's hard. It's really fucking hard.
Kyle spends the night at my house again. We sleep side by side in my bed and come morning I wake up first, just like I usually do. For a while, I watch him sleep and I continue to stare at him as he wakes up.
I love him. I really, really do. I feel like it took a lot for us to finally be together and I'm glad we're finally here.
Kyle shifts in bed, looking at me with groggy eyes. I simply smile. "Good morning."