A/N: This chapter includes Bradley from Cartman Sucks, the second episode from season eleven and the vamp kids from season twelve's Ungroundable. If you haven't seen them, you definitely should because they're awesome and relevant to this chapter.

Also, I'm sorry for the late update! I'm so sorry, I forgot I submitted this fic! They normally just sit on my computer. I guess I'll have to actually finish it, haha! I'll try to get it more regular. Another thing, this fic is going to take a more angst-free route. I love angst like I love yaoi, but I have a different premise for this fic. ;P alright, thanks, and enjoy!

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Unless it Trembled With the Strings

A Reason We Exist

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KYLE'S POV.

My first impression of South Park wasn't exactly the best. Naturally, I was expecting a white-bread, hick, and generally pathetic town filled with a bunch of rednecks whose lives revolved around their guns and the local bar. I immediately felt out of place in my heavy coat and scarf, distinctly un-muscular body, pale skin, and this weird, churning feeling in my stomach that I would never belong. I was coming from a city with an impressive, active, and interesting background, and I felt I would have nothing in common with anyone of my new residence. The feeling was depressing as crap, but I couldn't shake it off. It really set back my goal to make new friends before the school year started.

For the first week after moving in, I didn't really leave the house. I was busy unpacking and trying to make the foreign territory I was entering feel more like home, and pretty much transfigure my current room into something identical to my old one. But, every time I looked out the large window next to my bed, it reminded me that it wasn't.

Thus, I eventually gave up resistance to South Park and decided to take on the town. I needed to find the school, certain stores, restaurants, and the like. Embarking on that ever so delightful quest, I had no idea that that venture would lead me to finding myself very familiar with the cemetary.

Well, the events that came after that little endeavor are in the obituaries.

I felt terrible. I felt like it was my fault. After all, how could it not be? I wasn't paying attention; I was listening to Summer Skin as loud as it would go, trying to utterly block out a town I didn't want to be a part of. Obviously, the attempt to walk around in denial was successful, because I couldn't see a freaking truck headed in my direction. I saw that kid, Kenny, smoking at the corner. He was looking at me like he knew something; like my destiny was a pie slammed on my shirt and all over my face. I've been told I wear my heart on my sleeve, after all.

I wish I could have heard his voice. After he died, I was more upset over that complete stranger's death than I was over anything I could ever recall being upset over in my life. I apologized to his family, but they assured me it wasn't my fault. The only relative of Kenny's that even seemed remotely upset was his noticeably southern mother. I found some of his friends and apologized to them, trying to figure out who was closest to him and to who I owed the most sympathetic apology. From what I heard, a raven-haired boy was his best friend. They were the kind of best friends that were attached at the hip.

I took that away from him because I was being oblivious and trying to live my life in denial over the fact that this cruddy mountain town was going to be my new home. My fault. My fault.

Being the only one who cried at Kenny's funeral made me incredibly uncomfortable. Because I (and that one other boy) was crying made me feel like everyone knew and everyone thought it was my fault. Like twisting the knife wound already in my chest. Not to mention I just felt that much more out of place. Some of those tears that I say were for Kenny were also for myself; upset and depressed over moving to a town I wanted no part of.

That one other boy who cried was Kenny's funeral was his best friend, Stan. Of course he would cry; I took his best friend away from him. He almost cried as much as I did.

No one really cared at the burial, either. His parents even left before I did. God, South Park was freaky as hell. I missed the big city.

But then I talked to Stan Marsh, got to know him a little. He wasn't a bad guy. Maybe it was a little weird how well we got along, especially since we were bonding over the loss of a person, but that honestly didn't bother me. I was just so incredibly relieved that I had found someone I could get along with so quickly, even though I killed his best friend. Something told me I would blame myself for that for a while.

So, that being said, I was now contemplating calling or texting Stan. We had each other's numbers since after the burial, but I always thought it was gay to text people after just meeting them. Perhaps going out and meeting new people would be a good idea? Nah.

And then I remembered that my mother had asked me to help my dad move furniture into the house. Perfect excuse. I promptly dialed Stan's number.

"Yeah?" he answered, sleepily.

I tried not to sound overly cheerful, "Hey, Stan? It's Kyle."

"Hey, Kyle."

"What's up?" I said awkwardly, contemplating starting a conversation before asking for a favor.

I had a feeling he was shrugging on the other line. "Nothin' much. You?"

"Well, I have to move some furniture around for my mom. Do wanna lend a hand?" Oh, no beating around the bush. Damn, that was a lot more blunt than I had intended. And, honestly, my dad and I were perfectly capable of moving it on our own. But if I got it done early, I would spare myself a bitchfit from my mother. Plus, I was bored and Stan was the only guy I knew at the moment. Yes, this justifies this.

" Uhh… sure, dude. When do you want me over?"

"Soonish, I guess? Do you know where my house is?" I say, ignoring a little flip of relief my stomach did.

He made something akin to 'hmm' before responding with a yes. Stan then told me he would walk to my house, but he'd need to change out of his pajamas first.

It was three in the afternoon. Stan was a lucky little bitch; my mom never let me sleep that long. Her excuse was something along the lines of it having a negative effect on my health. The only thing bad for my health would be her attitude, man. But whatever, it didn't matter.

So, after contemplating how to spend the next few minutes, I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and waltzed outside to unload some things from the moving van. I didn't know much about Stan, so I didn't know if he was the type to show up an hour late or not. That would kinda suck, because I was the type of guy to sit around for an hour, muttering a colorful assortment of obscenities, and freaking wait in the cold.

Needless to say, I was very relieved to see Stan walking up fifteen, twenty-ish minutes later. He was dressed a lot lighter than I was, but I should've expected that. He was used to the fuck never, ever, ever ending snow, unlike myself.

"Hey, man!" he greeted with a lazy, I-just-woke-up smile on his face. Refreshing.

I grinned and nodded. "Hey," I replied, and pointed to the truck. "My mom'll move the furniture where she wants it. She just wants us to get the heavy stuff in the right rooms."

"Sounds cool," he said. I opened up the back of the moving van and climbed in. I couldn't help but laugh a little at our choice in furniture. From what I had seen through open or open-curtained windows and the few places I had actually gone to, the style here was all the same. It was simple and bold. And here came the Broflovskis and their fancy, expensive methods. I noticed some strange, checkered curtains lying on a couch that we'd later have to move. They looked like some classy diner, or something. Was the fuck was my mom thinking when she bought those?

Stan was looking at them, too, with a very confused facial expression.

"We can burn them later, if you're up for it," I suggested. I positioned myself behind an armoire and grabbed it to indicate I was ready to move the thing.

He shook his head and grabbed the other end. "Nah. They're alright."

"Bullshit, man. They're hideous. I'm definitely going to hide them," I said as we carefully got the wooden heavy-as-shit armoire off the van.

"Dude, I wouldn't know. I think they're cool."

Oh, the wonders of children who have grown up in a five thousand population town. Ugh.

But then I thought about it for a bit. According to all the popular movies, if someone from a big city moves into the middle of nowhere and hates it, they become super popular and get to fuck a vampire or something. And they usually end up loving the town.

Plus, there were the added benefits of not having to be up-to-par with everyone else. If I was lucky, I would get to set the standards myself. And get a vampire.

You know, Stan kinda looked like a vampire.

Actually, on second thought, he was too tan. He must play a few sports or something, because he's looked pretty in-shape. Wendy looked more like a vampire. She even sparkled a bit, I thought. Might've been makeup, though. I never really paid attention to chick things like that.

Conversation between us came easily. We crossed the discussing favorites line over to telling stories from our childhood. I told him a few things about the city and mentioned a few things that I thought that I would have trouble adjusting to, mainly the lack of stores and people.

And then Stan told me about South Park.

Since I had mentioned something on the academic subject (because I focus quite a lot on academics), Stan's eyes got extremely wide and he had this face that told me he was just dying to tell me something. Bursting at the seams, even. So I told him to go ahead, and he did.

Mr/s. Garrison, eh? What a character! And there was no fucking way in hell I was going to tell him I had actually read The Valley of Penises. The reason being primarily because I don't think any excuse could ever justify why I would even have a copy of… that on hand at any given time.

"I heard he might be teaching English next year. We might have him as a teacher," Stan offered.

Author of The Valley of Penises plus teaching English would equal the end of the world, for sure. But I found myself hoping for it anyway. I had never had a teacher even that close to awesome. Or Psycho, whichever.

Unless you count Ike's pedophilic teacher, that one time. Yikes.

He told me about a few of his friends and the people I would be getting to know at Park County High when school started again. I didn't really catch all the names, but the tweeker seemed like a fun guy, and so did the kid with a non-verbal obscenity obsession as well as the son of Satan.

Get this: they even had a token black guy!

"For real, dude?" I ask through a fit of heaving from lifting furniture and laughter. He said it like it was some magnificent accomplishment or something, and I was near buckling over in amusement. Note to self: do not laugh while hoisting heavy furniture up a flight of stairs.

"Yeah! We used to rip on him a lot for being richer than the rest of us. He went and tried to join a family of lions once, or something, and Cartman was sent to Juvenile Hall for throwing a rock at him!" Stan said. Damn, I wished that furniture wasn't in the way; I would've killed to see Stan's face right then.

We got the dresser up the stairs after a few more heaves. "That's hilarious, man. What's his name?"

"Token," Stan said, grinning like a fucking monkey. I did, too, but mainly because of his face.

After that very enlightening conversation with Stan, I found myself very excited for the next school year to start. Now, I may have focused a lot on academics in the past, but that does not mean I liked it. At all. So, that being said, my anticipation for school was very foreign. Nothing I could say about the city even compared. Because, really, how many people can say they sent Shamu to the moon in fourth grade?

We got kind of tired after a short while, because the majority of the furniture needed to be taken up the stairs. Dismantling a lot of it was also an enormous pain. Stan suggested we listen to music, so I put on a Killers CD.

"What, no Death Cab for Cutie this time?" he asked, smiling.

I told him that I was listening to DCFC when Kenny died, so I replaced them with the Killers. He barely kept smiling, but his eyes didn't. Damn. I hated bringing down the mood.

We ended up listening to a mixed dance CD of mine that I burned sometime last year. I was embarrassed over a few of the songs I had put on there, but we had a great time laughing at me when some bullshit Lindsay Lohan song came on. Or at least, Stan did. Jerk.

After we finished the majority of the hard work, I grabbed some Coca-cola from the fridge for the two of us. We laughed over a few more jokes, but the conversation seemed to wrap itself up. I hated it when things happened like that, because everything got awkward afterwards. Like it was doing now. We were both using that "gotta get off the phone" voice, and we weren't even intending to.

"I'll call you later, man," he said, smiling. I was growing to like his smile a lot. Out of courtesy, I walked him to the door.

When he opened it, though, I saw this awkward little blonde kid walking around in front of my yard. I think he was playing some weird game by himself. What the fuck…? I swore I heard him singing something involving the words, "Lu, lu lu…"

"Hey, Butters!" Stan yelled, catching the dude's attention and waving him over.

Crap, he knew this kid?

"Hey, fellas!" the kid responded. So his name was Butters, and I soon noticed that he had this awkward fidgety problem. I wondered if he had always done that, because it seemed like something you outgrow before you enter middle school.

Stan waved him over, again, because Butters apparently missed it the first time. "Dude, Kyle, this is Butters. Butters, this is Kyle."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Kyle!" Butters said, a little too cheerfully for my taste. He stuck his hand out, so I shook it out of courtesy. He seemed like a pretty okay kid in general, I guessed.

"Right back at you," I told him.

And then no one had anything to say. Butters kept fidgeting, really nervous about something, and Stan looked like he was about to fall asleep on us. God damn awkward pauses. A gay baby was born somewhere because it.

Not like that's a bad thing. I was probably born in one of those moments.

"Uhm, Stan," Butters stuttered, breaking the silence. "I was actually on my way to your house," Butters told him, taking a moment for a deep breath. "I have something… personal I want to ask your help with."

Needless to say, I felt awkward. Very awkward. "Do you want me to go, then?" I offered.

"N-no, it's okay, Kyle. Everyone's gonna know eventually."

Now I'm curious. Very curious.

"Well, what is it Butters? You wanna come inside, first?" Stan offered. At first, I was a little ticked over how he made himself so welcome, but then it relieved me a little. He felt comfortable enough already to do something like that, so I smiled.

Butters nodded and followed us in, and the three of us sat down on newly-positioned furniture. Once again, Butters took a deep breath, and Stan wasn't even attempting to hide his amusement. "Why don't you get straight to the point?" Stan suggested.

The blonde nodded. "Okay, well… I thought about it, and even though my parents will probably ground me, I'm gay." He paused. "And…"

Woah, man. This was intense. And in front of a complete stranger, like myself? Kid had balls. "And?"

"And I really, really like Bradley. You know, the one I met when my parents sent me to bicurious camp..." Butters trailed off, looking down at his hands and fidgeting a little.

"Yeah, I know him. Doesn't he live around here?" Stan asked, looking surprisingly comfortable with the situation.

Butters nodded. "Y-yeah. Do you think you could help me out, Stan?"

Fuck, with the way that kid was looking at Stan with those puppy-dog eyes, I highly, highly doubted he would refuse.

"Of course, dude!" Stan said, face lighting up. He abruptly stood up and gave Butters a rather loud high-five, to which the kid tried to hide the fact that it stung. And then Stan looked at me with this ridiculously happy face like he had the greatest idea in the world and said, "Dude, let's go talk to Bradley."

Right. I forgot I was a part of this too.

Not that I mind. I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm gay myself, actually. I think. Well, I'm pretty sure. I had a boyfriend, and I think I still have some of his clothes in my room. We broke up before I moved here, but I've never had a girlfriend to compare the two. I'm bi. But right now was about Bradley, so I decided to keep this bit of information to myself until the moment came up.

"Sure, but now?"

"Why not?"

"Uhm, alright then. Let me go grab a coat."

I ignored Stan snickering at me as I walked up the stairs to my room. It's not my fault I'm not used to the cold dude. I grabbed the first one I found, and walked back into the kitchen to see that Stan was letting Butters out the door.

I grabbed my car keys off the counter, "You ready to go?" He nodded yes, so we piled into my car. And then he laughed, really loudly. That kind of laugh you laugh when you're trying not to.

"What's up?"

"Your coat, dude. It looks gothic or something."

I looked down. Right. Of course I'd grab my ex-boyfriend's coat. And of course, it's the wannabe-gothic coat. God damn.

"No it's not, dude. It's just some fag coat from hot topic or something. It's not mine." He gave me his that-is-bullshit-but-I-will-let-it-slide look, and I rolled my eyes. It's not worth convincing him over. So I said instead, "Where to?"

"I wanna say Bradley's house, but that'd be fucking creepy. Let's try the arcade."

"Directions?"

"Turn left up here, and then right, and then like six minutes later you take another left. It's the street by the porn store," he says casually and blatantly. Right. I hate to think that it'll be me who knows where everything is in relation to the porn store off the top of my head by the end of the year. Ugh. But maybe it won't be so bad after all. I mean, so far everyone seems nice.

"Of course the 'arcade' is next to the porn store," I said jokingly.

"The porn store was right next to where Kenny used to work," Stan mumbled.

Of course it was. God fucking dammit. Kenny was just going to keep coming up, wasn't he? I had to get over that. I felt terrible, sure, but South Park was the kind of town where everyone knows everyone. He was going to keep coming up, so I had to stop feeling so damn terrible every time I heard his name.

The conversation was a little awkward after that, if you could still call it a conversation.

We arrived at the arcade shortly and without difficulty, and we walked in. After a few seconds of looking around, I realized I had no freaking idea what Bradley looked like. And for no discernible reason, I decided not to mention this fact to Stan when we split up.

Thus, I was feeling very confused when a group of goth kids approached me.

Even more so when they told me how "dark" and "mysteriously beautiful" I was.

"Pardon?" I asked, almost stuttering.

The lead of the group of Goths checked me out, eyes lingering on my coat. Damn, I just had to wear the Hot Topic coat today, didn't I?

"I've never seen you before. Did you just move here?"

"Do you have any friends to hang out with yet?"

"That coat. You're so dark, and handsome. You should hang out with us. We're about to go to the mall."

"And your hair is the color of blood. I think you belong with us."

Suddenly that brief thought I had about my moving to South Park becoming something similar to that shitty Twilight movie is having me concerned. The fuck is with these kids? They look a lot younger than me. Freshmen, maybe. But they sure as hell creeped the piss out of me.

So instead of telling them my thoughts exactly, I say, "Actually, I think my hair is more of a clamato juice color."

"Same as blood, basically."

Riiiiiight, so I was just gonna head over in the other direction. You know, away from these kids. Yeah. Real subtly, just like that… and spin around and hey look! There's Stan. I took that opportunity to grab him and practically drag him to the door.

Real subtle. Smooth, Broflovski, smooth.

"Dude, what's up?"

I shrugged. "Dunno, those goth kids started like, trying to recruit me to their clan or some dumb shit like that."

Stan frowned at me. "Dude, those aren't the goth kids. Those are the faggy vamp kids. The goth kids here are actually really cool. Most of them have graduated, but they were awesome. Still are."

I raised an eyebrow. "They were awesome?"

"Yeah, dude. I was a goth kid once."

"You. You were a goth kid." I phrased it more like a statement of disbelief rather than an inquiry. He nodded. "Dude, why?"

Stan shrugged. "Both times I was really upset over Wendy breaking up with me. I'm still pretty close friends with them, actually."

"As in, hang out and play video games or occasionally drop a message on their facebook wall kind of friends?" I said jokingly.

He laughed. "As in, they buy me booze when I can't get any from my dad and occasionally cigarettes."

"You don't strike me as a smoker," I noted.

"Picked up the habit from Kenny and Christophe. And Craig. But only when I'm around them." Stan explained, and turned around to glance at who are apparently distinguished as the vamp kids. You know, I'm going to guess Stan was around Kenny a lot, meaning he probably smoked fairly often. It always seemed like fact that most kids in hick towns did. But that probably won't be a problem anymore. Ugh. Kenny,Kenny. I guess I should expect him coming up more than usual when I've befriended his former best friend.

I voiced my more prominent worry aloud, "Dude, they're still staring at me."

"Yeah… well, Bradley's over there, so we should probably talk to him." I looked to where he pointed; the kid looked decent enough. Maybe a little nervous, but so was Butters. Maybe they'd work.

"Isn't that like, stalking?"

"I dunno, you wanna stay here and talk to the vamp kids, then?" Stan suggested, grinning. I think he might have won this one.

"Dude, what is a vamp kid? I never knew there was a difference."

"Vamp kids are prepubescent girls obsessed with Twilight and think they're dark, vampires are romantic, glittering is a vampiric trait, and clamato juice is a sufficient substitute for blood."

"Have they like, never seen 30 Days of Night?"

"Apparently they haven't seen Dracula, either."

The vamp kids took that opportune moment to waltz over to offer me a glass of… clamato juice and tactlessly began shooting me down with the most obscure compliments pertaining to some kind of sparkly, yet still dark, aurora I was apparently giving off.

And then I noticed Stan was talking to Bradley.

God dammit.

"It's snowy and sunny in South Park, not rainy and cloudy. Why the fuck would a vampire move here?" I explain, a little stressed at how arbitrary their questions were.

"So you're not a vampire?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

"Pretty damn."

The group looked frustrated, and an awkward silence settled over us. One of them glanced off to the side, took a sip of clamato juice, and sprung a boner. Well, hot damn.

While I'm busy having a staring contest with the lead vamp kid, some other boy that looks strikingly similar to Stan tapped me on the shoulder and lead me away from the vamp kids and to the smoking section. I don't say anything until he lights a cigarette and that group of creeps had left the area. I also checked to see if Stan was still talking to Bradley, which he was.

"Hey, thanks for that," I said.

"No problem. They harass anyone who shops at Hot Topic. I'd say it kills their sales, but they probably fund the place all on their own," he mumbled to me in what was probably the most monotonous voice I had ever heard on a teenage boy.

I rolled my eyes. "Gotta start wearing my own clothes, then."

"Might be wise," he said. "I'm Craig."

Oh, Stan mentioned smoking with this dude not too long ago. I'd probably be seeing a lot of him once school started up again, so I figured it'd be a good idea to get to know him.

"Kyle. Just moved here from Cali."

"Yeah, I saw you at Bebe's party with Stan. And at Ken's funeral with Stan. And at Shakey's with Stan." He said rather bluntly. That could have just been his voice, though.

"Okay, I get it. I need to make more friends." What a dick. I hung out with Cartman and Wendy once, if that counted for anything. Speaking of those two, I swore I thought I saw them having a little bitchfight on the way here. I wondered if they hung out often, because they seemed like they were more prone to arguing than having any sort of fun.

"No, dude, I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the Super Phun Tyme with Stan and a few other guys with us tomorrow, since you seem to be good friends with him. Except for the fact that he kinda left you alone with the vamp kids." What a master of subtlety you are, Craig.

"Isn't that like a Chuck E Cheese? For fourth graders and shit?"

To this, Craig grew this ridiculous grin. The kind that people wear after telling a really bad joke to a group of wasted friends that makes it contagious as fuck and pretty soon everyone's grinning and they're not sure why. He took a drag and slid his hand in his pocket like he was the coolest kid in the world before. Which he's not. He actually looked pretty silly. "Ours isn't."

"Oh, really now?" I asked skeptically, not bothering to hide it in my voice.

"Nope." He took another drag. Like I said: like he thinks he's the coolest kid in the world. Dude, I don't mind smoking. It kills you, great, and if you wanna die that's cool. I don't. But it's not cool, man. Just because you're holding a cigarette between your fingers doesn't make you cool.

I go ahead and ask for a smoke anyway. Damn ex-boyfriend, getting me into the habit.

"What's so special about your Super Phun Tyme, then?" I asked, lighting up a cigarette.

"You'll have to come with Stan and find out, Kyle."

Right. Of course I will.

Hey, it looked like Cartman and Wendy were here. I guessed they did hang out often, then. Hmm. Well, including Butters and Bebe, I know seven kids in my class. Eight if you count Kenny, which I don't. I'm not sure how old Bradley or the vamp kids are, so I can't count them. But still, that's seven people more than my initial goal of people to meet over the summer! I'm making some fucking sweet progress.

"I might show up, then," I told Craig, before he nodded, stepped on his cig, and walked off to go talk to someone else. I'm not the type of person who is fond of standing around smoking alone when someone he knows is on the other side of the room, so I didn't bother finishing the whole cigarette before I walked over to Stan.

Just as he was finishing the conversation. Awesome, I missed all the good parts. Stan looked happy, so it was probably good news.

"Dude, Bradley's going to ask Butters out tonight. Score one for Butters! You don't realize how huge of a step this is for him."

You know, considering his display of awkwardness in my yard earlier today, I think I actually do.

"Awesome, dude. What now?"

Stan shrugged. "We could hang with Butters and Cartman. I saw them walk in earlier."

"I'm not really in the mood," I told him honestly.

"Neither am I," he said after flashing me a really nice smile. I had a feeling he was pretty popular with the ladies. Or could be, if he wasn't. "We could go to my house and play video games."

"That sounds cool to me."

So the two of us got back into the car, and Stan gave me directions to his house. I didn't really need them, but I didn't want to start feeling at home to this foreign place so quickly. Kinda sucked how easily I was just… fitting in. I was starting to want a really dramatic entrance, you know? But it sorta feels like I've always been here with the way complete strangers are treating me. Everyone here's friendly, and it creeps the piss out of me. Could be the aftermath of Kenny's death.

He lead me up to his room which was in the same position as my little brother's, as all the houses were basically the exact same. His older sister, Shelly, came in and yelled at us before we had even started doing anything, but Stan said to just be glad she didn't throw a chair at us.

He told me to pick out a game to play, and upon noticing he had an Okama Gamesphere sitting in his room, I just about jizzed my pants. Especially when he had Thirst for Blood lying around.

Needless to say, we didn't do anything else for the next few hours. Or the next half a day, your pick.

"Dude, did you know 'okama' is Japanese for gay?" I offered mindlessly inbetween levels at one point.

"Really?" he snickered.

"Yeah, man. Homosexual Gamesphere." I laughed every time I thought about. Fucking Japanese.

"Dude, weak!"

At one point, we did actually move around. Stan had gotten up to go grab some drinks and I had laid out on his floor, stretching or something. I glanced over underneath his bed, when a piece of paper with scribbles caught my attention. A poem. One of those poems that goth kids write. Hah, it looked like he had hung out with him a little more than just for the booze and smokes.

Stan walked in a few minutes later and frowned when he saw what was in my hand.

"Stab your eyes out with razorblades? Your heart has been raped? Really, man?"

"Shut up, asshole."

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A/N: My little sister's birthday is today so I hurried up and wrote this chapter. It's kind-of her present, so it hasn't been beta'd by her yet. :| so forgive any errors, because I'll probably correct them soon! Thanks a bunch for the reviews, everyone, I love every one! Please log in to review so I can reply, to them. ;P (I think I forgot a few, but I don't remember which. Urk.)