Author's Note: This is not my story but I'm posting it because the person who wrote it does not wish to sign up for account nor wants the credit for it. So I will direct you to calpernicusstew on tumblr if you want to know who wrote it.

This story will be very graphic, constant trigger warnings. This is going to be a disturbing story, this will not be for the faint of heart.

But it's beautiful and depicts something around the world that is only beginning to gather awareness.

I don't want to give too much away, but much of this material will be sinister. This is not a love story. It's rated M for a reason, but not the reasons you're hoping.

Have you ever heard the sound of raindrops dripping on a leaf? The rain comes to wash everything new, the clouds hover and then dissipate, and the sun finally peeks through the darkness. The contrast of the looming black clouds to the brightness of the sun creates a contrast on the earth; darkness is highlighted and lightness shadowed. There is tone and a new look to our world.

And that's how Butters sees the world every day.

Everything is new and everything is different.

Because with every step you could be getting closer and closer to destiny. To fate. And you may not even know it. That's the beautiful thing about the way the world works; we don't understand it, no matter how hard we try.

Butters can smell the pizza next to him. It makes the car warm, and far warmer than his broken heater can even attempt. The windows and windshield fog up slightly, and he wipes the gathered steam from his vision. He just needs to drive a couple more minutes, drop off this pizza, and then he's off the clock.

Then he would be able to focus on his homework; the pile of economy readings had grown immensely, and tonight was his only night he could actually attempt to dwindle the pile down somewhat. He would curl up in his small apartment next to his college with a lukewarm tea in hand and read by flashlight because he may have skipped out on paying the electric bill again.

His choice was between paying the bill or paying tuition; last month had gone to books.

His car rumbles rather than purrs. The old Chevy is near its final sputter but he pushes it as far as it can go. He has just a couple of months left and then he would graduate. Thankfully he had the choice to follow his parents' wishes; a degree in accounting would go far beyond a degree in English.

Too bad his parents disowned him anyway; otherwise he wouldn't be in this mess. But being a pizza delivery boy is far better than his alternative; and remembering the nights he sold his body makes him wish he had hot water to scrub at his filthy skin.

Butters looks up at the address on the apartment building, then down at the address on the receipt. 2821 North Lexington. This was the area he tries to avoid because he knows that even though selling his body made his skin crawl and caused him to become sick, the temptation is still there. One night alone had managed to pay his rent. One night was enough for a lifetime.

With a soft sigh, the twenty-two year old picks up the pizza (he had made it himself) and opens the door. He tugs on his hat to cover his hair which he let grow to an almost bothersome length at his shoulder, and heads up the icy sidewalk. He's careful to not slip on the black ice and keeps his eyes on the ground so he would avoid tripping on the uneven and cracked pavement. His thin jacket is too little to preserve his warmth; he can feel the heat from his body roll off his shoulders. Butters is left a trembling mess as he approaches the apartment.

The number on the receipt is for the complex 1680. He glances around, spots it one row over, and decides to walk in the snow rather than on the sidewalk; there was less chance of him getting hurt or dropping the pizza that way.

The wind is bitter as it strikes his cheeks. His skin is raw and rough from constantly being exposed to the freezing environment and brittle winds that wrack the state of Colorado. Being at home isn't much of a relief; he often stays awake as he shakes to the core while the cold fills his apartment. He has woken up to his hands around a blown out candle; for a brief moment that fire's flicker was enough to warm him just a little bit.

He is careful as he walks up the three steps and presses the call box outside of the complex. The apartment number is 305, and he hears the phone ring a couple of times before someone picks up.

"Yeah?" he hears a voice that is distorted by the ancient call box.

"I have a pizza for Rodrick?" Butters finds his tone to be questioning rather than expressing a statement. These moments were always nerve-wracking. Damn his social anxiety.

"Gimme a sec," he hears a clatter and a cry before the phone call ends. The lock clicks and he hesitantly enters the apartment building.

Instantly his eyes water as he feels a blast of heat on his face. He wants to just lay down and fall asleep but knows that would probably be the worst place to do so. For now he bites his lip and simply enjoys the gentle thaw of his body as he enters the elevator; the closed space is always warmer than the stairways. And he was going to bask in the heat as long as he possibly could.

Butters presses the button for the third floor and holds tight to the railing as the elevator jerks into motion; maybe this wasn't a good idea. With every foot closer to ascension the old elevator creaks and groans, shaking as it approaches the second, and then the third floor.

The doors slowly open and the blonde quickly exits the elevator; there was no way he was going on there again. Scratching is heard in the walls, accompanied by squeaks of rodents in the ceilings, and he grimaces slightly. A large beetle scuttles by his feet and, before freaking out, Butters questions how the insect is alive in these temperatures.

Butters approaches Apartment 305 and raps his fingers on the door gently. A tinny sounding radio shuts off and he hears a slightly annoyed but slightly turned on moan. Well then; pizza during sex wasn't exactly unheard of.

"Answer the fuckin' door, bitch," he hears the gravelly voice of the man known to him only as Rodrick bark to whoever has the misfortune of being his partner; whether it's long-term or for the night Butters can't help but feel for her.

The sound of someone tripping is soon heard and Rodrick laughs sharply before a bang, followed by shattering glass, is heard against the wall. Butters was beginning to consider leaving the pizza and running without payment, but he really needs whatever measly tip this asshole is going to give him. Even a quarter will help pay for laundry, or Ramen that he can't cook.

The door screeches open and Butters takes a step back. His jaw hangs loose as he catches sight of the person before him with a large cut to her cheek and a swollen eye. Her body is much too thin to be healthy and is marked with dark bruises along her chest and arms. Except as he gazes closer at her broken face he realizes this isn't particularly a she.

"Kenny McCormick?"

Butters Stotch never thought he would ever say that name again. That person in his life had vanished nearly seven years ago without a trace. He had left his friends and family behind with a note that simply said he was going to California because his boss at the strip club he worked at had said he found him a gig that would pay far more than stripping.

"I'm sorry," the quiet voice whimpers and his eyes lower to the ground, "I don't know who that is."

But Butters shakes his head. There is no way this can't be Kenny. Even now, after years, Butters knows he would be able to recognize his former best friend. Not even what appeared to Butters as a year's worth of hormone therapy would allow him to mistake Kenny McCormick for another.

"Kenny, it's Butters!" He gasps in a hushed whisper and takes a glance into the apartment. Trash is strewn everywhere, as are clothes, and it looks as if the place is in far worse condition than Butters' apartment. He finds himself suddenly thankful for what he did have.

"I have your money, keep the change," The smaller man (or is it woman?) says louder this time, and practically shoves the money into Butters' pocket. "Take it and go." As Butters looks at Kenny's hand, he realizes he is missing his pinky on his right hand, and a knuckle on his left index finger.

"Get the fuck in 'ere, ya filthy cunt! I ain't payin' as much as I am fer a viewin'!" Butters hands over the pizza and jumps in alarm when the door slams in his face. Before he loses sight and contact with Kenny, however, he notices something peculiar.

The man, known as Rodrick, has a leash in his hand. And Kenny was wearing the collar.

And just like that the sunlight is lost behind the shadowy clouds. Just like that the leaves fall, and rain turns to scratching ice against the pavement and the snow. Building and building until you can't attempt a venture into the world. You are stuck, isolated, only to remember the comforting sound of raindrops and the first halo of sun after days of rain. Remember that feeling and hold it close.