Chapter Text
Awakening is tiring. Being awake is tiring. Sleeping is tiring. There really is no between is there? These are probably the thoughts thought by every teenager who has their alarm clock set for 5:45 am. Especially if their school starts at 8:30 am. But, here we are. Kyle's arms come under his pillow to curl it around his ears, groaning. Why, oh, Jesus Christ, why? Why did Kyle have to decide 'Yeah, this is smart!' When it clearly, objectively, isn't. At all.
Kyle sighs as he forms a fist with his left hand and punches down on the alarm clock. With a quick, big gulp of air, he sits up. Kyle can already tell that his hair is, to put it lightly, reminiscent of a flame found in hell. Perhaps one people are tortured in. But it's fine. Everything's fine. Kyle's schedule is fine. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn is fine. Fine. F-I-N-E. Maybe lulling over it being fine makes it less true. Less thinking its fine, more believing. More believing, less convincing needed. Right? Right.
Kyle makes quick work, running over what he has to do. By 7 am, he's to be out of the door and on his way to Park County High. Woo. What a name! Sarcasm aside, it's better then going to South Park Elementary- wait. Rephrase: It would be better then going to South Park Elementary, which, for some reason provided education from kindergarten to senior year, had it not gone bankrupt. Probably. Possibly. Again: No use lulling over it.
Kyle opens the curtain and the window in his room.. The only one, in fact. It's not too big, but the view is alright. Although you see into other people's back yards, in fact, you can see into Kyle's own, it isn't bad. There's quite a few trees, the snow looks like it was kissed personally by Moses, and all around it's a wonder to look out. Especially with the rising sun. Kyle looks around the interior of his window sill for a light and cigarette. His ash tray, a little dish he made in Elementary School pottery or something, still makes Kyle smile. It's of a better time. Of a full life. Of his and Cartman's youth. When Cartman's mother wasn't dead, when Kenny wasn't such a dick who, consequently, did horrible things for the promise of even a lick of money. Of his fourth grade sweethearts, of his friends, of his best friend- super, best friend you could say-
Oh. Maybe lets not thinking about 'better' times. Especially if they aren't filled with better people.
The present is more suitable to think about. It's closer to home. And it has Leslie. Beautiful, oh-so beautiful Leslie. The light, the sunrise, the sunset and the moon's beautiful glow of Kyle's life. The only girl who's stayed with Kyle. The only girl who's ever really, truly loved Kyle. And perhaps the only girl Kyle's also truly loved. She's the only one who makes life bearable, considering his new quartet (though, more like trio) of friends has been on the rocks ever since Liane Cartman's death.
And Kyle understands. He truly does. He couldn't imagine his own mother, Sheila, dying, especially if she was his only family. Even more so if he had killed his own father and fed him to his half-brother, who was surrendered to the foster-care system because he refused to even look at him. So Cartman must be going through an endless wave of pain. Kyle feels bad. He really, very, truly does. Despite all Cartman's done, that isn't a fate to wish on anyone. Especially if that person was reforming, was becoming… less terrible. Some would even say decent!
But for now, it's just been Kyle, Leslie, and a bit of Nichole. Nichole, though being Leslie's best friend- or, at least Kyle's pretty sure. It's hard to gouge how the friendship is going. Not like it matters to Kyle though. The only girl he'll ever look at is Leslie.
By the time Kyle's thoughts are under enough control to tune out until he reaches home again after school, his second cigarette is finished. He takes a look at the time, having to push his curly ginger hair back to actually see it. 6:15 am, it read. Another checklist flashes before his eyes: Get-ready at 6:15 am, breakfast with family at 6:30 am, leave when done (which is usually 7 am). Right. Back on track.
Kyle pushes the dead cigarette into his make-shift ash tray, puts his pack of smokes and lighter back on the window sill, closes the door, draws the curtain and begins dressing. His green eyes follow a line of shirts, half of which he inherited from his father, Gerald. Adding on to that, Kyle barely remembers, nor knows, which were actually Gerald's. Kyle picks up one at random, looking over the shirt. It looks like it's from the 80s, back from when his father was a teenager. It's got three orange stripes on it, with a dark green canvas and a collar made from the base color. It's short-sleeve, and the three large orange stripes are complimented with a yellow boarder. It's ugly, probably. If Kyle had a bone in his body blessed with the knowings of fashion, he'd probably throw it out. But he doesn't, so changes out his shirt, puts it over his lanky torso, and puts on a pair of high-wasted baggy jeans he got from his father, probably.
As Kyle goes to leave his room to brush his teeth and take a piss (so he doesn't have to do it at school), he doubles back to grab his jacket. It's brown, it's nice. It's baggy, it's something Kyle finds comfort in. Similar to his old green ushanka, which, alas, no longer fits Kyle's head of untameable curls, the brown jacket is his. He chose it, he bought it. It's what he now uses to cover himself. Instead of anyone passing by seeing how lanky Kyle is, the jacket defends him. Defends him from the uncastable gaze which people give him when his small, lanky torso is exposed. Whether it be from a shirt that fits far too tight, or in the locker room, when people who catch a glimpse of him and usually remark how small he is. But with the jacket? Only Leslie gets to see that. Kyle's perfect Leslie. And he makes sure of it.
Following the routine, Kyle's finished getting ready at 6:30 am. Family breakfast ensues, Ike figures out how to offend not only their mother, Sheila, but Gerald as well, which. If we're being honest, is impressive. Kyle has to give him kudos for offending the offender, the troll, Mr Skankhunt42 himself. But, Kyle's saving grace, the leaving of Gerald for work has Kyle following him right out. 6:55 am, he's leaving early. But it's fine. Kyle's not the first to leave the breakfast table, and he finished his breakfast long ago. So all that's left is the small walk to the bus.
The walk isn't long. A minute at most, and while outside his house Kyle can already see everyone at the bus stop. The strangers from kindergarten, the acquaintances from elementary, the friends from middle and the assholes in today's terms. There's everyone. Kenny McCormick, one of Kyle's best-friends ,turned closed off, annoying, popular asshole. Bebe Stevens, Kyle's first kiss and now everyone's first fuck. Jimmy Valmer, the comedian, who's still a comedian but is a true-blooded science nerd. Jason White, just another nerd from elementary school who's now a conservative mega racist football bro.
And then there's Cartman.
Usually, he's ragebaiting everyone at the bus stop, although it stopped working long ago, he still sometimes got reactions from people other then Kyle. But now, he's alone. Standing alone, apart from everyone. Kyle would be tempted to go help- hell, he'd love to help. But he just… can't. It's not his place- well. It is his place, technically. But… it shouldn't be Kyle. Right? Right. Kyle should let someone else handle it. Someone closer. Someone like his mother… oh. Well, it doesn't have to be his mother. Just someone else, someone who isn't Kyle. Because Kyle isn't the one to talk about someone's dead mother; although he's not sure anyone is.
But there! Right there! The glowing sun herself, Leslie. In her full, beautiful, glory. Kyle's sun, Kyle's light. If you were to stare in Kyle's eyes, what's known as the window to the soul, would be filled with Leslie. Thoughts of her, feelings of her, the love, of her. She's the only reason Kyle's life has any spark of joy.
Sure, there's Kyle's family. There's Ike, there's Sheila and Gerald. But lately… it's the same. It's a routine. A routine Kyle strictly follows. But he doesn't want to. Sure, he's gets super stressed out when it isn't followed. When he doesn't wake up properly and falls back asleep, when he tries to excuse himself but is met with "Oh, Kyle. You don't have to be at the bus stop til 7:30! Stay a bit longer". But he just can't stand it. There's like an invisible wall between himself and his family. One that really, really, shouldn't be there. In fact, it's more like there's a wall around Kyle. One that shouldn't be there, but is. And it gets in the way and he can't stop fussing over it and, god, for fuck's sake, why is it like this-
No.
It's fine.
"Kyle!"
And there's Leslie.
"Leslie!" Kyle calls back, smiling with full cheeks.
"I missed you, where were you at lunch?" Leslie frowns.
"The student council meeting- remember? I'm sorry, babe." Kyle smiles softly, albeit a tad guilty. He knows Leslie has other friends, but she mostly hangs out with him. And him with her.
"Oh, you silly goose. Don't apologize! You had a good reason. I wouldn't want this handsome hunk to miss his very important meeting!" Leslie's perfect teeth smile, before moving close and kissing Kyle on the cheek. Kyle blushes a tad.
"Leslie!" Kyle half-whispers, flustered.
"I love it when you get all embarrassed. You're adorable!" Leslie remarks, armed with a small smirk and crinkled under eyelids.
Sometimes it's hard to grapple that he's with Leslie. Leslie is his girlfriend. It's wonderful- beyond wonderful. It's absolutely spectacular. At times of disappear, or when Kyle isn't completely sure he's doing the right thing, there's Leslie. There's Leslie, who makes everything okay. And god, does Kyle love her for that and more. It's as though Kyle's a moth, and Leslie's a flame. She makes everything perfect, she's addictive, like that.
Soon enough, the bus arrives through Kyle and his antics with Leslie. He's proud to have gotten a kiss on her forehead in between Leslie's endless attack on Kyle's flushed face. The kids all around the bus-stop crowd the entrance, Kyle taking hold of Leslie's hand and weaving their way through the crowd so they're able to at least get a seat together, and not be apart of the large group that has to stand along the bus. There's a clear disruption when Kyle cuts in front of people, but from lack of knowledge of his name, nor Leslie's, there's little they can or really will do.
Kyle and Leslie take property of a pair of seats in the middle of the bus. Though it'd be a lie to say its the smack-dab middle, as it's a little more toward the back, it's still definitely considered the middle. Their antics continue, Leslie making sweet remarks and Kyle trying his best to make even sweeter ones back. He can't help but keep his eyes on Leslie, oh so beautiful Leslie. Her perfect, pin-straight black hair is pulled back by her iconic headband, leaving only her bangs to frame her face. And god, do they frame it well. As for her outfit today, she has a yellow tank-top with decorative lace around the square-neck hole, straps and bottom opening. It's marked with a white bow at the top, matching the one she had hot-glued onto her headband once upon a time when they first started dating.
Kyle almost started worrying about the dress code, had it not been for her under shirt. It's hard to notice in the light of the bus, but under her yellow tank-top is a long-sleeve white shirt. Following her body down, Leslie also has a pair of jeans on, that flair out at the bottom, and white running shoes that seem to match the rest of her outfit pretty well. Especially the white bows. It'd be worrying for Leslie to wear to little- she could get cold. But Leslie never seems to get cold. No one really seems to get cold anymore. The girls who hang out in the middle table of the cafeteria or fly high during pep-rallies certainly don't seem to get cold, with all their similar tank tops to Leslie's, only difference is that their constantly dress coded for showing their shoulders. It seems the teachers don't care enough to make them do anything about it, though.
As Kyle and Leslie's chatter continued, Kyle shining brightly but Leslie evidently shining brighter, at least to Kyle, something eventually felt… off. Kyle flickered his head to his side, where the aisle was (as he was in the aisle seat), he sees Cartman. Cartman, staring at him with dead eyes. Cartman, staring at him, with the eyes of a man without family. Without friends. With the eyes of someone recently betrayed.
But that confused Kyle- he was still his friend. Perhaps he was reading into it wrong. Looking slightly past Cartman, though, the seat across the aisle was free. Moderately free, at least. Someone was at the window- but, a seat is a seat. And if Kyle was too much of a pussy to talk to him about his dead mom- no, not a pussy. Just- holding off on it, for now, the least he could do is offer him a seat. He's basically become Kyle's best friend. Other then Leslie, of course.
"Hey uh, Cartman?" Kyle calls to him, just as he was about to walk away, presumably to find a new seat, "Why don't you sit across from us?" Kyle gives an awkward smile.
Cartman's eyes almost look like a flame when he says that, which is weird. Mainly because one of them is the completely opposite of a flame, being a perfect water blue, the other being alike to the bark of a tree. But his eyes gleam, his mouth smiles wide, the kind of smile you can't fight back. The kind of smile, though with lips still touching, is something you just can't help but do.
"Thanks. Thanks, Kyle." He smiles, and now his teeth are showing. And his glowing eyes aren't as innocent as before, and it's as though he's looking straight through Kyle. As though with a devious mix of envy. Cartman seems lost in thought, Kyle supposes.
If this was before, if this was in the time when everything was good- but, wasn't actually good. The time before… before… well. You know. Before. Before him and Kyle's incident, Kyle would be suspicious. Beyond, suspicious, actually. Probably planning how to stop Cartman from doing whatever evil thing he's thinking of. But he's changed. He's put in the word, and in the past 3 years, he's been doing his best to get better. And Kyle trusts him. Trusts that, if he really is thinking of mischief once again, he won't. Trust goes a long way, does it not?
But Cartman must catch Kyle's slightly suspicious, though entirely trustful gaze, as he quickly looks away. And Kyle follows suit, looking back at the radiant as ever, Leslie, and striking conversation again. God, does he love her.
The bus ride continue, and soon enough, it's stopped all the times it had to. Which means this stop is-
"HEADS!"
Well, fuck Kyle in the asshole with a chainsaw- don't do that, actually. He's pretty sure he's straight, he's just annoyed that people decided to start throwing things while still on the bus. Kyle recalls one of them as Jason White, the other, he's not sure. Possibly Kevin Stoley? It's hard to tell. But what Kyle can tell, is that as soon as he gets off the bus, he'll say something horrible and a girl will jump him. And probably win. And nine times out of ten, it'll probably Nelly something.
After a little while, Kyle and Leslie can finally get off the bus, Cartman having already left for whatever reason. Perhaps he's gained a bit of his spark back, gone to do something annoying and outrageous but ultimately isn't anything to be concerned with. Maybe he's going to be alright.
Kyle and Leslie hop off the bus, it having been a 30 minute ride from their town of South Park to Middle Park: The new home of everyone's high school. Including North Park. There was a bit of bad blood at first, but when it all quieted down, life was perfect. Black and white, good and bad. Nothing out of place. Nothing…
Interesting.
But Leslie!
Beautiful Leslie, Perfect Leslie, Spectacular Leslie, on top of everything Leslie.
Leslie begins her walk to her locker, and Kyle follows her. He's slightly trailing behind her, like a lost puppy. Like how he was before Leslie. A lost puppy. His only friend being, surprisingly, Cartman, at 16 years old. Kyle swiftly picks up the pace, and listens to whatever Leslie rambles about. He catches snippets of it over the loud student body's chattering that fills the halls. From what Kyle is able to hear, it seems she's talking about one of the girls in track, and Kyle can't help but hang on every word he hears. The time is 8:15 am, Kyle listening to Leslie talk while she gets her folders out of her locker, preparing for her next periods, and as Kyle walks her to her next class, she links their arms. What could ruin such a perfect moment?
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Other then the arrival of the room, of course.
"Remember Kyle, I have track after school, so I'll meet you at your chemistry class." She smiles.
Leslie leaves Kyle with a kiss on the cheek as she stalks into her classroom, and Kyle begins his way to his own locker. The time is 8:20 am, he has 10 minutes to get his stuff and head to his class. Everything will be simple. Everything is fine. Other then the fact that Leslie's no longer around- the flame that's so enticing is gone. What little light Kyle had in an otherwise dark world is gone for now. But it's fine. Everything will be fine, it has to. How else can Kyle continue?
Kyle quickly flips through his locker, grabbing his books. His next three classes ring through his head; AP English, AP Math and Journalism, one of his electives. Easy day, right? He shoves them in his bag, and chucks it over one of his shoulders, it hanging loosely. Kyle proceeds to weasel his way through the crowded halls of Park County High. Around the massive circle of cheerleaders, with faces he remembers like Bebe Stevens, Wendy Testaburger and Kenny McCormick (Kyle knows- it was a shock seeing Kenny do so many tricks after throwing a random basketball at Kyle's head before a pep rally), up the stairs where troubled kids lurk down below trying their best to skip without getting detention, such as faces like Trent Boyett (God is he scary) and Mark Cotswold, and through the football bros throwing around footballs, with people like Clyde Donovan and David Rodriguez.
And into the AP English classroom Kyle goes, with a minute to spare. The clock reads 8:29 am, and rings the moment he settles down in his chair. Their teacher comes rushing into the class, locking the door behind himself and beginning his lesson. Whatever late suckers having to stay outside or bang on the door and get marked late.
Kyle yawns slightly as his teacher begins the lesson. His eyes are on the board, his pencil tapping on the desk below. Kyle's teacher speaks of Macbeth, of the crazed killing and such, and goes around asking people what of Macbeth they have read so far. While the teachers goes on about Macbeth, in the middle of one of his sentences there's an interrupting bang bang bang on the door. It's only been 5 minutes, so the teacher takes grace and orders Scott Malkinson to open the door- who, Kyle didn't even know was in AP English. Actually, Kyle doesn't really know anyone who's in AP English. He's never paid attention.
And standing in the doorway is the reason why the ginger regrets his decision in not taking attendance himself, or simply just knowing whos in the class. In the doorway, there stands, him. Kyle lets out a small groan, followed by a slightly bigger one as he realizes the only place that isn't taken is the seat directly next to his. How great. How… perfect. Perfect. Just what Kyle needed.
The late black-haired boy who was previously standing in the doorway makes his way to the seat, towering over everyone seated as he moves to the seat next to Kyle. In which the teacher continues his monologue about Macbeth.
It's about five minutes into the speech where there's a soft 'psst, psssst' coming about every 5 seconds it isn't noticed. After about, maybe the 7th one, Kyle whips his head around to face the person making the irritable sounds.
"What." He whispers, angrily.
"Can I just have a pen?" The tardy boy asks.
"No. Don't see why I should give you one, Stan."
"I don't see why you shouldn't, now stop being a little bitch and give me one… please?" Stan asks again.
"Could you just fuck off?" Kyle seethes.
"I could if you gave me a damn pen."
"No."
And the 'psssts' miraculously continue. But they're not soft like they were before. It's like they were designed to be as annoying as possible, in bratty sounding high pitches. And when that didn't work? Stan just began to kick Kyle's desk.
"Oh my god, Stan. Fuck off, your ruining my writing." Kyle whispers.
"You're ruining my writing by not letting me write."
"Just fuck off."
"Just give me a pen."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you, now piss off." Kyle whispers to Stan again, tossing one of his shitty pens to Stan to, hopefully, gain some peace of mind.
The class then continued. Kyle raised his hand whenever he could, as the teacher asked what the class knew about Macbeth. Multiple times, when other students were called upon, they outright refused to say the name "Macbeth". Superstitious bastards. Stan though, Kyle noted, never raised his hand. Never answered any questions. He just wrote on a crinkled piece of paper he must've yoinked from his backpack.
God, why is Kyle taking notes about Stan instead of the beginning of the unit? Jesus Christ, Kyle. You could argue that the bigger question is why Kyle doesn't actually mind all that much thinking about Stan, and his stupid piece of crumbled paper, but that. That Kyle doesn't want to touch, to think about. So topic change: Even though all Kyle can still think about is Stan, upon their latest interaction, it's not good memories he's remembering. It's how Stan was so fast to leave him. Not just when it was to save his own skin, but avoiding him completely. When Kyle was in hot water, nearly facing a juvie charge, Stan wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. Not beside him, not in front standing up for him. No where. Completely gone.
And when Kyle did find Stan? Well, apparently Kyle had ruined Stan's life. Let Kyle say that again: He, himself, Kyle, destroyed Stan's life. Stan who, wasn't close to facing juvie charges, like, at all. Stan who had run. Run to save his own skin- that, Kyle could understand. But Stan kept running. Not just after the incident, not just while Kyle's father was in court, smoothing everything over while Kyle swore up and down that he'd never do that, that it must've been someone else… because he wasn't about to snitch on Stan… It was his fault.
When Kyle was asked why he was there in the first place, then. He said to his mother, to his father, he was bored. A bored 15 year old, looking for something to do after sneaking out, what's surprising? Clearly, his mother believed it. His father didn't, believing Kyle did do the crime. But not that he should do the time. He was oddly… oddly happy about it. Which, to be quite honest pissed Kyle off. Why would you be happy about your kid supposedly caused mass amounts of property damage to a town nearby? What in your right mind would think, "I'm so proud of my son!" When being greeted with an allegation such as that?
But it's fine. It's fine. Every single time it's fine, it will be fine. It is fine.
In court, his father got him to say that. Exactly what he had told his mother. Out of court, Gerald told Kyle what to do when back in court. And it smoothed over. And it was fine, because everything is fine. And everything will be fine. But Stan still didn't talk to him, didn't interact. Until he did. Until he started saying Kyle had ruined everything for him. Because now 'everything was worse'. Everything was worse because Stan decided not to talk to him (until he decided to insult him) whilst Kyle was under possible charges for mass property damage.
The ring of the bell for end of first period snapped Kyle out of it. He'd be, quite honestly, mad that he zoned out. Of course, Kyle should do better. But, whatever, right? It's fine. The court case turned out fine, Kyle turned out fine. Everything is completely fine.
And then Kyle gets a pen thrown at him.
"What the fuck, man?" Kyle said, picking up the pen that Stan had just thrown in his face.
"It's your pen, dickhead." Stan argued.
"Yeah, well I don't want it anymore. You probably slobbered all over this anyway." Kyle said, throwing it in Stan's own face and walking out to his next class before Stan could respond.
So, the rest of the day continued. Kyle forgot about the court case, about his near-arrest. Because that's what home was for, what the sweet, sweet isolation of his room was for. Thinking those thoughts, crying about those thoughts (Even though Kyle never cries, and you're crazy for thinking he would ever cry thinking about Stan or how he feels his own life is meaningless), experiencing those thoughts over and over in his head. That's what his room is for, what his cigarettes is for, what his lighter, is for.
The final bell rings for home time, and everyone is released. When Kyle is leaving his AP Chemistry class Kyle is greeted by Leslie. Kyle's eyes immediately light up seeing Leslie, and he is reminded of what she said earlier. But seeing Leslie actually there, physically there, really there. Kyle's heart is about to explode with love. He didn't actually expect Leslie to come, assuming she'd get caught up with something. That always happened when Stan promised to meet Kyle at his class after the period- No. Why is Kyle thinking about Stan? Leslie is right there, and, god, is she beautiful.
Kyle and Leslie proceed to Kyle's locker. In the corner of Kyle's eye he notice people; Cartman, Jimmy Valmer, Fucking Bradley Biggles (Seriously, fuck him), that one goth girl, Henrietta? This time, the journey was Kyle's turn to speak, to yap about something- the something being his last period and how Bradley Biggles totally fucked up their experiment.
Kyle doesn't tell Leslie about his interaction with Stan, but not because he doesn't want to. He just… forgot. It's like he said before: That's what his room is for, what the isolation is for. For thinking about that. No good can come of thinking of talking about it in school, where he's there get good grades, do well, so he can go to a great college. Ideally, the same as Leslie. As long as that's what Leslie wants… but surely she does.
"He totally fucked it up- I trust him with one thing, one. But no! No, he just had to put the wrong amount, Jesus Christ." Kyle complains.
"Babe," Leslie smiles, "It's fine. It wasn't your fault, anyway."
"But I'm still getting lowered marks for it! If Tweek was here today everything would've been fine. He gets so scared of mucking it up he can't, and double checks with me every time. But it seems like Bradley's take was 'Pour the chemicals and hope it works!' God."
"Kyle." Leslie tries again. This time, Kyle turns to face Leslie, and she holds his arms just below his shoulders on either side. "It's gonna be okay. You're already top of the Chemistry class, and surely any college would want you. It's okay." Leslie smiles, "Now, I've got to run off to practice or I'll be late. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay! I love you!"
"I love you more!" Kyle yells as she's running to the field. If she hears it, Kyle can't tell. But what Kyle can tell, is that something is off now. Or, something was off before. Now it's not; now it's strange. Really, really strange.
But no, no. It's probably nothing- right? It's not like Leslie being gone is strange, or Leslie being with Kyle is strange. And nothing else changed, did it? Nothing else was in the background of their small walk to Kyle's locker to Leslie's track training, right? It must've been nothing. Or everything. Or maybe Kyle's finally going crazy. Honestly, it's up for debate.
The short walk to the bus was loud as loud could be. The bus leaves 15 minutes after school, so there was, once again, a crowd around the bus stop. Familiar faces entered Kyle's view again: Clyde Donovan, Jason White, Mark Cotswold, all football bros. Lexsus, Rebecca Cotswold, Tammy Warner, the super senior, Kenny McCormick, all known as sort-of 'sluts'... and Butters Stotch. Who hangs out with them, for some reason. Annie Knitts, Red McArthur, and their sort of pack-leaders, Heidi Turner, Bebe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger. Loners, of sorts, Scott Malkinson, Bradley biggles (Again, hate that guy), Nelly… whats her last name? All of them. All of them who Kyle grew up with, went through the evolution of South Park schooling together.
And most of which turned out to be down-right asswhipes.
There are a few people Kyle doesn't see though. Like Cartman, who Kyle thought he'd be sitting next to the bus with.
Kyle ends up sitting alone.
The walk home was even shorter, somewhere around 2-3 minutes? Kyle was quiet during it. Just, staring at the floor, sometimes looking up to see the kids who walked the same way home as Kyle going into their homes. Someone even goes into the old Marsh residence… which makes Kyle start thinking about something he really doesn't want to think about yet. Not until he walks into his room and shuts the door.
Finally, it's Kyle's turn to break apart from the pack-like of kids whom homes are also the same side of the street as Kyle's. He steps onto the property, regarding the short chain fence that now encases it. Something the mayor made mandatory when he was 12 or something, honestly not important. Swiftly, he pulls out his key, unlocks the door and it swings open calmly.
"I'm home!" Kyle calls out, to be greeted with, surprise! Nothing.
And no, this isn't some home-alone type thing. His family didn't forget about him and go on a holiday; though sometimes it feels like it. But, no. Gerald, Kyle's father, will still be at work, and will only make it home at 9pm after a long ride back from Denver, where his new office is. Sheila, Kyle's mother, picked up a job at a hair salon that stayed around during the 'Jersey Shores' incident. The people there are lovely, though. Kyle's met them. All quite similar to his mother, though.
And Ike, Kyle's little brother, is doing god knows what. Sometimes it reminds Kyle of him when he was Ike's age. Finding the cure for aids, and leaving on a train to kill people who run an annoying TV show he doesn't like.
So, was the 'I'm home!' Useless? Of course it was. But, hey, there still could've been… someone… there. Sheila's days off are on Wednesday and Sunday… Gerald's off on the weekends and weekends only… but Ike. Ike could've been there.
The walk up the stairs isn't slow, but isn't fast, and now Kyle's mind is running rampant with all the thoughts of today. The only clear thing in Kyle's mind is that he needs a cigarette, and needs one badly.
Kyle's door swings open, then swings shut just as quickly, and his bag drops next to his door and leans against the wall. Kyle races to his window sill, drawing the curtains, opening the windows, and collecting a cigarette, lighting it up. The first inhale is good, with a calm exhale. But the second is better, calming, blissful.
Kyle thinks about the day. About Bradley Biggles, about… Stan, about Cartman, about Kenny. And he wonders where it went all wrong. Why did they ever stop being friends? Sure, Kyle and Cartman are still together. But Stan and Kenny are lost. Stan, who used to be Kyle's super-best-friend! Jesus Christ, Stan tried to steal Cartman's kidney for him. Sure, he didn't actually steal it, but Kyle still got the kidney, but it's the thought that counts. They were always together, never apart. Sure, they had their hiccups- like when Stan was diagnosed with aspergers, and Kyle left him. Or when Stan abandoned Kyle to get more points on guitar hero. But they always bounced back.
Kenny was the first to leave, but leave is a generous statement. Kenny still hung out with them up until high school, just not as much. He began to hang out with Butters, first. Kenny was always Butters' favorite. Kyle still thinks to the strange letter Kenny sent them when he went to Hawaii to get Butters. Then it was Tammy Warner, the girl a grade up from them. Also, Kenny's ex-girlfriend. Then it was Rebecca Cotswold, the homeschooled girl, turned massive… for lack of better words, slut. Then it was the raisins girls, then Kenny stopped hanging out with them, and joined the cheer squad with the 'popular' girls. Girls like Bebe Stevens, Wendy Testaburger, Annie Knitts, Red McArthur, Heidi Turner.
During that, the incident with Stan occurred at 15. Six months into the first year of high school. Kyle still mourns it- and he knows. He knows it's dumb, it was all Stan fault, really, at it's core. But he still mourns the loss of friendship. Sometimes, at night when Kyle can't get to sleep, he cries. He thinks of Stan and cries, and then chuckles a bit, because that's so gay.
Kyle sighs, and his cigarette is done. He doesn't know how many he's smoked, but he's glad for another. Kyle watches skies. When he got home, the sun was already starting to crawl away; the winter season coming swiftly. It's September, after all, four weeks into senior year. You can see the stars out, now. They dance, sparkling against the darkening snowy sky. Kyle's family should be home, by now. Or at least, should be soon. Kyle recalls hearing yelling before; that must've been Ike. Leslie should have finished her track training maybe 30 minutes ago. He should probably check his phone, she always texts him when she's done to let Kyle know she's gotten safe home. Kyle always tells her she doesn't have to, but she does anyway.
"Bubbie!" Kyle hears from downstairs, "Time for dinner!"
Dinner. Dinner is at 5:30 pm to 6 pm, so Leslie definitely finished her training. Kyle makes a mental note to check his phone after dinner, shoving the cigarette in his hand to his shitty ashtray. He closes the window, brings the curtain down, and sprays febreze over himself to try and mask the smell of smoke.
Kyle hopes for matzo ball soup tonight. It's familiar and comforting, and it's what Kyle needs right now.
Running has always been Leslie's strong suit. One of her favorite things in the world is running, which is why she's on the school's track team. She works her legs out at the gym every Wednesday, goes to practice every Tuesday and Thursday (like she is, now), and never goes a day without a morning run. She's not easy to out run, even her sort-of best friend, Nichole, can't keep up with her.
Leslie's getting dressed after her shower at school after practice, her classic head band pushing her longer hair back and her tank top shining brightly in her favorite color. Her jeans are a little dirty, though. So are her running shoes. She'll have to clean both later, at home.
She was the last one in, and now she'll be the last one out. The locker room is empty, other then for her. She punches in her locker's code; 0526. It's taking a while, though. Keeps getting jammed. But, no matter, she'll get it soon. Besides, she needs to text Kyle about her training. It's not everyday she has something to gossip about, but now more then ever.
As Leslie tries, she listens to the lock clank against her locker after every failed attempt. She listens to what little she can of a small autumn breeze, through the shallow glass of the high-up windows. She listens to the soft steps of the other person in the room, coming closer. Presumably to help her unlock her locker. Leslie turns around, smiling, and is faced with two devastating sights:
She was the last one into the locker room, and the last one remaining. She should be the only one in there.
A large, sickening man, holding a knife with a grin. As though he had cancer, or something, and killing Leslie was his make-a-wish.
Immediately, Leslie shoots off, running to the door out. Tugging against the handle desperately, as she hears the man's calm and soft-footed approach behind her. Once she realizes that there's no way in hell she's opening that door, she turns around. Seeing the key hanging on a string around the man's neck.
Leslie still listens to the noises around her. To the birds, now frightened and crying, flocking away from nearby trees. To the desperate clawing and shake of her feet, and to her equally desperate begging and crying.
"Please- please. Please, come on, man. I didn't do anything to you. Fuck, back off. This isn't funny." Leslie desperately cries, "THIS ISN'T A JOKE. FUCKING BACK OFF CA-" She ascends to screams.
Her heart is swiftly punctured with the sharp edge of a knife. The man grins, as he stabs a few more times. Listening to Leslie's screams like a lullaby he was sung as a child to help him sleep. After a while, Leslie fully loses consciousness. The game is sincerely over, with the screams now as dead as the girl who let them out. The man pulls out a small book, akin to a planner, and flips to a bookmarked page. He grabs a pen from his pocket, and writes.
The man then picks up one of Leslie's hands, her pointer finger, to be precise, and dips the tippy top to a small pool of blood now gushing out of her wound. He guides the finger to the page of his book, and presses it against the page, leaving a mark of Leslie's blood, in the shape of her finger-print.
The man then dawns the mask he used to prevent cameras from seeing him, covering his face. His gloves are scattered with blood, and so are his throw away clothes. But the grin hidden beneath his mask?
It's the grin of a man who's thinks he's taking back what's his.