South Park © Matt & Trey
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya

I'm making my rounds with murdering SP characters. I will kill everyone at some point. Kenny catches a break… this time. Hahahoho.

I walk the maze of moments
But everywhere I turn to
Begins a new beginning
But never finds a finish
I walk to the horizon
And there I find another
It all seems so surprising
And then I find that I know

Everything turned to shit this summer, but what's new? It's always been shit. I guess things just got a little worse. That's all.

Stan and Wendy broke up. Again. It still occurs, though not as much as it did when we were little. Every time it happens, he comes to me. We sleep together and he cries and then, no more than a week later, they get back together. He forgets all about me and we go back to normal. It sucks. It sucks being in love with someone who won't ever be able to love you back, but that doesn't stop me from feeling this way. I love Stan, my idiotic, oblivious and very straight best friend.

It'll happen again and I won't have it in me to tell him to stop because I want him so fucking badly I can't say no to him – even when I know this is all I'll ever have. Still, part of me hopes otherwise and Kenny chides me for it, constantly saying I deserve better and constantly telling me I should move on. But I don't know how to move on. I don't know how to stop loving someone. Is it even possible?

Meanwhile, Cartman is up to the same old tricks. He's verbally abusing those around him, even though it's the last thing we all need. Especially after what just happened.

Craig Tucker… He surprised everyone when he ended his own life and he surprised everyone yet again with the cruel note he left behind.

You never knew me
so don't you fucking dare cry for me

CT

It wasn't written to anyone specifically, but Kenny insisted that it was likely a letter to everyone Craig ever came in contact with. I didn't question him. He knew Craig best and it seemed like a very Craig thing to do. It broke Kenny's heart. I wish he never saw that stupid fucking letter. If he didn't see it, then he'd allow himself to grieve and he'd be able to move on. In many cases, there are five stages of grief and Kenny is still stuck in the first – denial.

Craig is selfish. Even after death he continues to hurt people. Craig was a bad boy and Kenny loved it. He's always had a thing for troublemakers. I told him that was fine as long as his bad boy is a good man… but Craig was rotten inside and out. He never hesitated to let the darkest parts of his personality show. Either way, Kenny was drawn in and it was too late. Sweet, pure, naïve, innocent Kenny. He wouldn't listen no matter how many times we warned him it wasn't going to end well. He was in love. He's still in love. I think that's fucking sad.

After Craig died, Kenny dropped out of school and burned all his art because Craig was his muse. Instead, he started writing down his feelings. He says, "The paper is my mind and the ink is the experience. The words taint the paper the way I was tainted." He'll laugh and smile. "Life is beautiful, really it is. Life is so wonderful. I love life and life must love me back for giving me so much!" He sounds fucking crazy because he's trying so hard to put things into perspective and stop the pain. It never seems to work. Kenny always fucks himself over due to this desperate need to feel alive in the largest sense of the word. He wants every beautiful, ugly, raw fucking experience you can imagine. He lives on the edge and he likes it. He gets an idea – a dangerous idea – and he'll shake with anticipation just thinking about how it will all unfold.

That stopped after him and Craig became exclusive. I'm not sure whether or not it was a coincidence or if the two events were related, but Craig is gone now and Kenny is back to his self-destructive nature. Then again, maybe it never stopped. Maybe Craig helped Kenny destroy himself in other ways.

"What do you want in life?" I'll ask him.

"Everything," he'll say, practically screaming the words. "Everything and more!" And all his hopes and all his wishes are just leftover scraps of every good dream he's ever had and every memory he'll never get back. He misses Craig and tries not to dwell on the way things ended. I don't blame him.

I'm on my way to Kenny's house now. When he answers the door, he's smiling, but he looks tired. He's wearing plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt that is sliding off his slim shoulder. His bangs are pushed back in a hairband and there are dark circles around his eyes. I step inside and I don't call him out for pretending to be okay. We both know he's far from it. "How are you?" I ask him nonetheless.

"Fine and dandy," he sing-songs, nodding for me to follow him upstairs.

In his room, I decide to continue questioning him vaguely. "What did you do last night? Work?" Kenny works at a corner store – a simple job for a simple guy. Those are his words, not mine. Kenny is a lot of things, but simple isn't one of them. I think he says it to be ironic.

"It was my day off," he answers, flopping lifelessly onto his bed. "I stole my dad's car and went to a party. It was boring, so I left early."

"What happened then?" I ask, sitting next to where he's lying.

"I drove home, trying to ignore the urge to drive off the fucking bridge," he mutters, laughing bitterly.

"Don't do that," I say.

He lets out another callous laugh. "It wouldn't matter, though. Would it? I'd just come back."

"Save yourself a little bit of pain," I tell him.

"I feel like I need to be punished," he whispers meekly. "It's killing me not knowing what I did wrong."

"Maybe you didn't do anything," I offer sincerely. "Maybe Craig was just too fucked up to connect to the world around him?"

Kenny closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I want to go talk to his parents, but I'm afraid they won't want to talk to me. I'm afraid they'll blame me somehow…"

"Why would they do that?" I ask. Everyone likes Kenny. In fact, everyone loves him. It's hard not to. He's an all-around sweet guy – one of the best you'll ever meet, even with the blatant insanity. He'd never hurt a fly. The only person he hurts is himself.

"I was there when it happened," he whispers. "I should've known something was wrong… but… but I didn't. He was being more affectionate than usual. I should've known something was off, but I didn't question it. I just remember thinking it was kind of nice until I realized what was going on. By then there was nothing I could do."

"Oh," I say quietly.

Kenny was the first one to realize Craig was dead. He doesn't talk about it much, so I don't really know how it happened. I'm sure it was traumatic, though. I can't really imagine what it would be like to find the person you love dead.

"Craig was always detached… but I feel like he got worse after we started dating," Kenny admits.

"Why?" I pry gently. I never knew that about Craig. I just thought he was a bit sour. I think his death shocked the entire town. There was a massive funeral and there's even a memorial in town hall. Craig's school picture is on a plaque, his name engraved in fucking gold letters. He looks fucking miserable in the picture. I don't know why they didn't use one of him smiling... but then again, maybe there weren't any. A few days after his burial, the mayor made a speech about suicide awareness. Everyone's eyes are opened now.

"He loved so intensely… it was like he was trying to consume me," Kenny murmurs, laughing slightly. "It was scary sometimes. I feel like if I let him, he would have swallowed me whole. I think I would've let him… It was like he put every feeling he had into his relationship with me instead of sharing his emotions evenly with everything around him."

"Sounds like a selfish kind of love," I say.

"Oh, it was," Kenny agrees. "It was the most selfish kind of love."

"If it's selfish, was it true?" I muse aloud.

"I'd like to think so," he says, "but there are some things even I don't know the answer to. For now, I'll just believe it was real. I'll just believe that, in his own sick and twisted way, he loved me and all the shit he did was because he wanted me so badly."

"If he ever hurt you –" I start to ask, but Kenny cuts me off.

"He didn't," he promises surely. "He could be sincere… He never had his license, you know. I once asked him if he ever planned on getting it. He said no because he was scared he would run over animals on the highway." Kenny smiles almost fondly, only to falter a second later. "Fuck…" his voice breaks. "I love him so much…"

"Then why did he…?" I trail off, not wanting to say it out loud.

"He was sick," Kenny says simply. "Sometimes sick people don't get better. I always had a feeling that might've been true, but now I know for sure."

"Oh," I say softly, understanding what he means by that. Craig wasn't sick in body – he was sick in mind and sometimes that's worse.

Stan comes over late in the night. Since he has a key to my house, I find him lying in my bed when I return from Kenny's. "Hey," he greets me, sitting up as I enter.

"Hey," I echo, taking my sweater off and hanging it on my desk chair.

"Come here," he requests softly, holding out a hand.

I don't waste time. I toss my keys onto my desk and move forward. "What is it?" I ask, though I know exactly where this is heading. I have no complaints.

He takes my hands and pulls me down on top of him as he lies on his back. He doesn't bother answering me. Instead, he locks his hands around my neck and presses his lips to mine. I feel beneath his shirt, resting my palms against the plane of his flat stomach. "Fuck me," he whispers once we part and I don't hesitate to start taking his clothes off.

It always happens like this. I find Stan vulnerable and though I know he is hurting, I can't find it in myself to push him away. Should I? I want this more than anything and if I can't have Stan's love, I'll take this instead. Christ, I sound pathetic. I guess I kind of am.

The first time Stan made the demand, I was taken aback. We were drunk, having stolen some of my parents' expensive whisky. In our intoxicated state, Stan was bold enough to ask for a distraction and I was bold enough to accept it. My heart sped up when he got the words out. I was already head over heels for him at that point and maybe he knew. It was an unceremonious question. "Hey, Kyle... Wanna have sex with me?" That's it. We were fourteen. We're eighteen now and we're still making these stupid mistakes. We never mention it once it's over. When it's over we just act like it never happened… but sometimes I feel like we shouldn't keep pretending. Sometimes I feel like I should look him in the eye and tell him I'm in love with him… but no. Things would never be the same if I did that. He wouldn't come to me anymore. Would he stop or would be find someone else to fuck? I don't know. I don't want to think about it. I don't want him in the arms of a stranger.

I shake the thoughts away, trying not to think about yesterday or tomorrow. I'll just think about this very second and I'll just think about how in a few minutes I'm going to have Stan writhing beneath me.

I roll on a condom as he pours lube on his fingers. He gets on his knees, ass in the air as he fingers himself. I can feel my dick twitching. It's been a while since I fucked him. "You're lucky my parents are gone away," I murmur.

He lets out a dry laugh, digging his fingers in deeper. His breath hitches and he lets out a quiet moan, spreading his legs further apart. I can't help but wonder if this is the kind of sex he has with Wendy because he seems so used to it. There has always been a practised ease in his movements and I doubt it's from me. I noticed it the first time we slept together and fuck, it makes me jealous. He's so beautiful and I want him all to myself but it won't ever happen.

Soon he removes his fingers, wiping the sticky residue on his thigh before pointing his rear in my direction. I guess I'm lucky to even get this much of a taste.

I settle behind him and position myself against his ass before slowly pushing forward. I stare down at his back, at the curve of his spine, at his shoulders. We always do it like this. He never lets me look at him. I guess he wants to create a disconnect between us. Maybe he wants to pretend I'm pretty Wendy with a strap on instead of a gangly redhead with a real dick. I don't know.

"Harder…!" he shouts at me. I grab him by the hips and wordlessly comply as he shoves his face into a pillow, muffling his moans.

I guess he likes it rough.

Or maybe he just wants it to hurt.

As soon as we finish, he sits up and stares at me. His eyes are dull and glassy and his nose is red. "You need to wash the sheets," is all he says.

"That's fine," I tell him gently, ripping the condom off and disposing of it.

He starts weeping a moment later. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand in an attempt to stifle his sobs, but it doesn't do any good. He shudders, stomach tightening and shoulders trembling. I let out a silent sigh and sit back on the mattress, throwing my arms around him. I pull him close and he tightens his grip on me before saying, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

The words surprise me. He's never said them before at a time like this. "It's fine," I whisper.

He continues to sob, saying nothing more after that. I keep holding him until he's all cried out, then we go to sleep. Come morning, he'll be gone. He always is.

Around 6AM, I wake up to the sound of shuffling. I open my eyes and see Stan throwing his clothes back on. I don't say anything. I simply watch him until he's gone, then I close my eyes again.

Stan's relationship with Wendy is like a soap opera. When they're good, they're good… but when they're bad, it's like nothing I've ever seen outside of General Hospital or some shit. It's serious melodrama… but I guess everyone has some of that in their life. I'm no different. My family situation is pretty fucked up. It's nothing compared to Kenny's, but still. Everyone who has ever met my mother will understand what I mean.

Whatever. I can't let it bother me. At least she's not as bad as Randy. Randy doesn't love his son. The alcoholic asshole actually admitted to it. Maybe that's part of why Stan is so fucked up and so needy. At least the McCormicks love their children.

I have a few too many drinks the following night and go to Stan's house. Since I'm drunk, I'm overly emotional. This is how it goes. I stifle myself on most days, but when I drink it all comes pouring out of my eyes and fists and mouth.

"What's up?" he asks me as we walk up to his room. He doesn't notice that I'm drunk. "Wendy is coming over in a bit… to talk, but you can stick around if you don't mind the drama that will likely ensue."

Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.

Stan's parents are gone out and Shelly isn't home so, in my stupor, I confront him with the use of very few words when we're standing in his room. It sounds stupid and pathetic and it's no excuse, but my body just moves on its own and before I can even think to stop myself my fist is in his face.

He lets out a gasp and falls backwards. "What the fuck?" he shouts, staring up at me with a hurt expression. "What the fuck was that for?" He begins to stand, but I push him back down. "Stop that!" he demands.

I don't. I grab the front of his shirt and kneel down, staring right into his eyes. I'm scaring him. His eyes are wet. He'll start crying any minute. He cries a lot. Then again, so do I. He's always been incredibly sensitive, but I've never been the one to make him cry before. He'll have a bruise. I've never done that before, either. I guess tonight is full of firsts.

"Stop…" he whispers, staring back at me. I part my lips, but before I can respond, his bedroom door opens and Wendy is standing there with fucking Eric Cartman behind her. Of all people! He's going to have a god damn field berating me over this. But at the same time, I really deserve it. I deserve to hear everything he's going to say.

"Get away from him, you animal!" Wendy screams at me accusingly. As she's about to move forward, Cartman puts a hand on her shoulder to stop her. In her stead, he pries me off of her (ex?) boyfriend and drags me out of the room to cool down.

"Kahl, Kahl, Kahl," Cartman says my name, berating me. "Tut, tut… What did you do?"

I let out a loud, angry groan, smacking myself on the head. "I'm such a fucking idiot," I seethe, leaning against the hallway wall. I can hear Stan letting out these shrieking sobs and the sound goes straight to my heart. "Fuck, I'm the worst."

"True," the fatass agrees gladly. "I never took you for the violent type. It doesn't suit you."

I sneer at him. I'd like to deny it and tell him I'm not violent, but I can't. This isn't the first time I got drunk and swung my fists. It's just the first time I showed this side of myself to someone I care about. I guess this makes me trash with a lack of self-control. "Why are you here, anyway?" I ask, glancing at him.

"I was walking home from Kinny's house," he explains. "Damn hoodrat's hella boring lately. Anyway, I saw Wendy on my way and decided I'd tag along for the drama. I didn't expect you to be causing it, but I'm definitely not disappointed."

"Asshole," I murmur, letting out a sigh. "Tell Stan I went home… if he cares to ask."

"Right," Cartman agrees.

I leave the Marsh house and make my way home, stumbling down the road. Stan and Wendy are probably hugging it out now. There's no way she'll yell at him after what I just did. I probably helped them smooth things over a lot faster than they would have if I didn't decide to punch him. God, I'm such a fucking loser.

Around midnight, I get a phone call from none other than Wendy. I sort of expected this. Fortunately, I've sobered up a bit… Hopefully I won't say anything stupid.

"Stan told me what you two have been up to," she starts, sighing audibly. "Look, I know he was the one to start it, but don't touch him ever again. After what you did… you have no right. I don't know about Stan, but I have no tolerance for abuse. He's my boyfriend and that means I want to protect him."

So, they're back together.

"Then stop breaking up with him every five minutes," I tell her tartly. I'm exaggerating. They don't break up quite that often, but they do it at least once a year… sometimes twice.

"Our relationship isn't your business, Kyle," she says calmly.

I know she's right, but I'm so fucking jealous I can't even think straight. "I'm his best friend."

"If he even considers you that after tonight," she says with blatant disgust. "If you didn't want to sleep with him all you had to do was tell him. You made him cry, you know... and he just blames himself. He thinks he pressured you into something you didn't want."

I laugh into the receiver. "You have it wrong, Wendy. I wasn't mad because I didn't want to sleep with him. I was mad because I did and he was using me and I was using him and the entire situation was fucked up because I'm in love with him."

There's a pause.

A sigh.

And then, "Oh."

"So, now you know," I murmur.

"I won't tell him," she responds cautiously, "but you should. It's not fair of you to keep this a secret. He deserves to know what your intentions were each time you touched him like that."

I let out a callous laugh. "No. I haven't told him because I'm trying to do the right thing. I want him to be happy and he's straight and he's in love with you, not me. Telling him I love him would only fuck things up. He'd see me differently and he'd probably put some of the blame on himself. He'll feel like he unknowingly lead me on… but I've felt this way for as long as I can remember."

"You need to be honest, Kyle," Wendy says impatiently. "You owe him a reason for why you hurt him today."

"I know," I murmur. "I'll think of something."

"Don't lie," she warns.

"Yeah," is all I say.

I hang up on her after that. I'll go see Stan tomorrow. I'll tell him I'm sorry. Maybe I'll shed a few tears. Probably.