kyle is my best friend. my super best friend. the bestest friend a guy could ask for. he listens to my problems without a second thought, hates people just 'cause i hate them too, would drop anyone just to spend time with me.
and when we spend time together, it feels like time is moving faster than it really is. i wish i could spend all my time with him, honestly. i've had this thought since we were kids, that if we just lived together, it'd be like a sleepover every night. i'd never be without the presence of my best friend, well, at least until the day one of us croaked.
of course, that day's a long way away.
i knew it wasn't quite normal to feel this strongly about your best friend. not even your super best friend. i knew i didn't want to just be kyle's super best friend. i'd fallen in love with him, hopelessly and desperately in love. even the little things got to me, the way he would cling to me, or how he shamelessly screamed during horror movies when it was just the two of us watching, the way he laughed at all my jokes, the way he really paid attention to me, the way he'd look at me so warmly, with a smile that could light up the dark side of the moon. i would be lying if i said he wasn't a pretty boy. i'd also be lying if i said he hasn't caught me sneaking a few dreamy glances his direction.
anyways, of course, with love, comes deep, saturated worry.
i started noticing it a while ago. last year, maybe. i thought it'd stop. however, i noticed every little thing kyle did.
every little detail meant the world to him. he seemed to be chasing some sort of perfection that no one else would see as perfection. at all. i told him that there was something clearly wrong. he refused to acknowledge it. he got up to wash his hands about five minutes later.
kyle loved multiples of five.
i tried to convince myself he was really fine, like he said. maybe this was just something small. a weird phase where he's grown a little obsessive over some weird things. maybe, just maybe.
after a few months, i realized, "maybe he's just fuckin' neurotic."
and he is. i take quick notice every time kyle gets stressed and starts starts tapping his fingers or clacking his teeth, one two three four five six seven eight nine ten, or how he would cut up all his food into tiny bites, eating it robotically, or how he washed his hands all the time and refused to touch any door knobs, how he also refused to take less than half an hour to eat. one time he took twenty-nine minutes. i still remember how hard it was to calm him down. he was still shaken when i went to his house later that day. he never even finishes his food, either, he'd always take a few bites, sure, but not that many. he was too goddamn stressed all the time, i thought it'd been ruining his appetite.
he showered twice a day. he said it wasn't enough. that it would never wash off the filth, the stink. when he started saying shit like that, that's when i realized something was up. something really, really bad, not just some weird phase he was going through.
after kyle would eat, he'd make a break for for the restroom. he told me he'd wash his hands three times during this process. once before doing his business, and twice after. this process usually took about ten minutes.
maybe fifteen.
so, naturally, when kyle had left for the bathroom towards the end of lunch and hadn't come back on his usual time schedule, i'd grown a little concerned.
half an hour. i have this class with kyle. kyle's never late. something's up.
i raise my hand, and the teacher already knows. i've never been one to participate.
i make a break for the men's bathroom closest to the cafeteria. my legs weakly carried me.
it's fine.
it's just a coincidence. everything is fine.
you know the schedule he'd operate on was ridiculous. this is good for him.
change is good.
change is especially good when the person is batshit crazy about everything being the same and in order.
everything is fine.
i entered the restroom and my breath hitched. it smelled, vaguely, of blood and vomit.
the restroom tends to stink, but this felt different. deep in my heart, i'd already figured out just about exactly what had happened. i denied it and denied it, i always had.
one of the stalls was occupied. the occupant was kneeling down in front of the toilet. they made no sounds. they weren't using the restroom. what the fuck are they doing?
i already knew, but i was pretending to be confused. maybe it wasn't what i thought.
i also tried to deny who this person was. it was certainly kyle. those are the pants he was wearing today. those are the shoes he was wearing today.
i felt my breath grow heavier.
surely it's fine. maybe it's not even him. besides, what could even have happened? maybe he had just fallen asleep. fallen asleep in the toilet?
well, he was always tired, i guessed.
the smell was just general bathroom stink. everything was fine.
my palms were sweating bullets, my hands and legs all shaking like leaves on a particularly windy autumn day.
this is a horrible idea, i thought.
but there's only one way to know for sure.
i kicked open the stall door.
i was met with a rather… unpleasant scene.
my suspicions were right. it was, in fact, kyle. the smell of vomit was, in fact, vomit. kyle's vomit. his head laid in the toilet bowl. he was lifeless.
dead. so i'd realized when i picked up his face and saw blood pouring out his mouth, his eyes open but not really… looking.
when one discovers a body, typically they begin to cry. i didn't. this was the most important person in my life. he is no longer with me. i will never talk to him again. i'd had a crush on this person for so long. i loved him so much.
i still didn't cry. it's not that i didn't want to. it's that i couldn't. my entire body was numbed. i couldn't make any sort of motion. i could hardly even blink. kyle is dead. i'm staring at his lifeless form. he is dead. i'm not crying.
something's wrong with me. i couldn't even tell what i was feeling. i just wanted to believe he was somehow okay. somehow, this very apparent and obvious cadaver was just a very, very sick kyle. but an alive kyle. he's alive and okay. after all, friend's don't die. friends don't just leave and die like that. that's something that happens when you're way older, with gray hair, and you celebrate your friend's passing, knowing they wanted it so desperately after such a long, long life. it's expected, looked forward to, and celebrated at that point. not when you're just a teenager.
kyle wouldn't die like this. kyle wouldn't do this to himself. i would've noticed, right? kyle's smarter than this, right?
i wanted to vomit. i refused. the last thing i wanted to do was puke. it would've been complete disrespect to kyle.
eventually, my body cracked. i lost consciousness. i awoke. I was in a hospital bed, a doctor waiting for me to wake up.
it was just a dream, wasn't it? a horrible nightmare. i could still spend every day with kyle. i could still move in with kyle someday when we're way older. every day could really be like a sleepover. i could maybe even gain some sort of self confidence and tell kyle how i feel. maybe one day we'd be married. and rich. and famous. maybe even happy.
all of that was clear bullshit and i knew it. the look of his body, the way i felt when i saw it. that was real. there's no way it wasn't.
kyle is dead. but i wanted more than anything for someone to tell me he wasn't.
so i asked the only person i could.
"hey, uh, doc," my speech was unsteady, having just woken up after conking out unconscious, oh, and seeing my best friend and love-of-my-life's corpse in a pool of his own vomit and blood, "do you know if… my friend kyle is alright? i passed out after seeing him… presumably dead, but i was thinking… maybe… hopefully… he could be okay, or.. or maybe it was just a dr-"
"i'm really sorry, kyle broflovski, right? he passed. "
i felt sobs try to make their way up my throat and out of my mouth, tears came up, i couldn't refuse them this time. they were burning my face like acid. all i could do was nod. i needed this clarity. it's not kyle to die so young. he was supposed to die when he was way older, after living a satisfied life. he was smart, friendly, interesting… and, no matter what that entailed, he was supposed to be happy. he was supposed to have a happy ending. now, i just wanted to know for sure what ripped his happy ending away.
"h… how did he die?"
the doctor sighed, offering me a slightly gentler look.
"you see, your friend's esophagus ruptured. this is typically due to excessive vomiting. most common in people who drink a lot… or those with eating disorders involving purging."
my face went pale. i knew it. i fucking knew it. i knew it when i saw him in his own vomit. i refused to believe it then, i refused to believe it when i saw the signs before that, how he'd eat so slow, barely anything. just stress, right?
"well, as kyle was not intoxicated, and he showed signs like having bruised knuckles, swollen cheeks, and his teeth not being in the greatest condition, we can assu-"
"actually, stop, this isn't helping."
the doctor didn't get upset, just looked at me sadly. i couldn't take one more second of it. the doctor was taunting me. he knew it was my fault. that i'd seen all the signs and not realized it. that i noticed all of it and assumed he was sick or stressed or something. i never wanted to think anything like that could affect kyle. but it did. and if i wasn't such a coward and faced that fact, maybe i could've helped him. maybe.
i could've helped. i know i could've. we were super best friends, after all.
but i didn't. he's dead and it's my fault.
kyle broflovski is dead, and it is my fault and mine alone.