Synopsis: ONESHOT There are no happy ending when you're living in lies. Sometimes no one's right. Sometimes we're all wrong. S/K
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to stop feeling. I really do. Not just the bad, but the good as well. I've been having trouble differentiating the two lately.
My name's Kyle Broflovski, and I have a problem. I'm not being all emo and shit, going 'Oh, wah wah. My mom won't buy me an Xbox and my dad doesn't understand me.' I have a REAL problem, and it's name is Stan Marsh. Or his name, rather. My best friend since we wore training pants. He likes to call me his boyfriend, but I don't think the term really fits. You can only call someone a boyfriend when the feeling is mutual.
It started roughly a year ago, when Stan's mom passed away from cancer. He was devastated, of course. He had always been close to his mother, for a teenage guy. He called me up at four in the morning when it finally happened, sobbing. I came over and went to the hospital with him and the remaining two members of his family. He clutched onto me the entire time, acting as though I was the only thing holding him to the Earth. Even his sister was crying, and I'd never seen her show any emotion other than anger before. I sort of felt that I was an interference, but when I told Stan that I should go, at the hospital, he just started crying even harder, begging me to stay.
So I did. The entire day, in fact. We ended up going back to his place late at night. He had been asleep so I carried him to his room and set him on his bed. I was just about to go when he suddenly grabbed my hand and jerked me back towards the bed. He sat up, and he kissed me. I had been shocked beyond belief – Stan had never shown any sign of, well of being interested in me, before. I somehow rationalized it with myself that Stan was just really traumatized over his mother's death.
I kissed him back, because I wanted to show him that he was loved. It was the sort of thing a guy would only do for his best friend, the person he cared the most about in the world. We kissed for a few minutes, and then he lay back down, and I lay with him. I wrapped my arms around him in an attempt to comfort him.
At least that's what I thought I had been doing. The next day when we woke up Stan had smiled at me in this 'We've-got-a-secret' sort of way. I should have clued in then, but instead I just smiled back at him. He had been so upset the day before, it was refreshing to see a little bit of happiness on his face.
Maybe that was my problem from the start. I'd only ever wanted him to be happy.
I had been there for him the whole week whenever his family couldn't be. They all seemed to be off in their own little worlds, trying to grasp the fact that Sharon Marsh was no longer among the living.
The biggest shock had come when Stan returned to school, two weeks later. At this point I had thought the whole ordeal was over, that Stan would slowly get back to normal, and we could go back to being best friends.
Stan started smiling at me a lot in the hallways. We'd always done this before, but this time it was different. It was something about him – the way he smiled, or the gleam in his eyes, or the slight blush across his cheeks, - that had changed.
A few days later we had been waiting at the bus stop to go to school. We were the only two there, and Stan had taken my hand and nuzzled against me. I, once again, had shrugged it off as him still being upset, and the need to feel close to someone. So I had let him do it.
And then he started doing it in the hallways at school. He used to invite me over to his house after school to watch TV and play videogames – not anymore. I let him touch me in ways that no girl ever had.
A month later, we had sex. It had felt so wrong. Hurt like a bitch, too. I didn't mind the pain though – Stan was happy, so I was too. At least for the time being.
The entire time, I pictured doing things to girls. Pretty fucked up, eh? Best friend's dick's up your ass and you're thinking about screwing girls. The first time I almost yelled out the name of my crush in sexual euphoria. I had bit my tongue, hard, because if I had, Stan would have been completely devastated.
I tried to force myself to believe that over time, I'd start to feel the same way. I really wished with all my heart that I would. Everything would have been much easier, and we could have been happy together.
A year's passed, and we're still together. About as together as anyone in this state could be, at any rate. Every time we kiss, I feel a sense of dread. I know what I'm doing is so wrong, and I can feel myself getting more damned every time he touches me. Not like it would matter – I'm already living a hell on Earth.
Stan loves me, I'm sure of that. I want to feel the same way back. You have no idea how hard I've tried. How hard I've begged and cried and pleaded with myself and with spirits who ignored me. I can see adoration in his face, and it kills me.
At one point I actually contemplated killing myself, but I couldn't do it. Want to know why? Because Stan would be upset. I had always put the guy before myself and everyone else. I love him, I really do. I just can't help it that I like girls.
I've made myself miserable because of him. My mother basically hates me; even though we're living in the same house, she refuses to talk to me at all. I've turned down so many girls, ignored so many crushes because of him. I've been beaten up at school for being 'gay.' I've virtually made myself completely miserable, but somehow I justify it with how happy I've made Stan.
I've spun myself into an impossible trap, doomed to spend my life alone. Or with Stan, it's really the same thing. If I went back in time, I don't even know if I'd change things. I used to think about telling him, trying to break it off, but I never could. I'd break the poor guy's heart, and I could never live with myself for that. I was also terrified of losing my best friend – if I told him I never liked him, Stan would hate me forever. I'd deserve it. Stan means far too much to me to let him go like that. I never want to be the source of his pain.
Stan smiles at me, and somehow I bring myself to smile back at him. It doesn't make me happy anymore, but somehow just knowing that he is is enough for me.
I don't know what I'm doing with the rest of my life. I'd always pictured myself with kids, married to the woman of my dreams, Stan living across the street or somewhere nearby with his own family. How deluded I was – there is no happy future in store for me. I find myself bitter at everyone man and woman holding hands – I want that so bad for myself, yet I know I can never have it.
Stan whispers 'I love you' to me, and it takes all of my strength to keep from dissolving into tears. For the billionth fucking time, I let him kiss me. I manage to whisper 'I love you too' back at him, but he is not the person I'm thinking of. I deserve to burn in hell. I almost want to – the nice toasty warmth would be a nice change from the cold, dead feeling within myself.
The sick thing is that I only ever wanted him to be happy. Eventually, he'll see through me and he'll realize that I don't like him at all that way. And he'll see how miserable I am, and he'll be miserable. How ironic. He'll never want to talk to me again, and I'll lose the person that means the most to me forever. And it will hurt the both of us, worse than anything I've felt as of yet.
I hope that day never comes. Maybe if I repress my depression enough, I can learn to be happy with Stan. But until that day, I'll let Stan hold me, touch me, love me even though I don't deserve it.
Just as long as he's happy.