PLEASE READ, THIS IS IMPORTANT! I'm so sorry to say this, but I'm abandoning this story for good, but I felt you guys deserved some closure. I started writing Acquainted Limbo because of my own psychiatric issues, which now I'm getting proper treatment for; I used this as a way to vent all the anger I felt, which was terribly unhealthy, but I thank you all for following the story until this point. I plan on turning this into an actual novel someday, and I hope I'll meet you again then. However, I might come back and finish this when I feel I have proper knowledge and vocabulary to continue with this plot, which I am very fond of. That is not likely to happen, but you never know, right? If you want anything further to be cleared up, you are free to PM me, leave a review or send me a message on tumblr (shoujahitsumetsu).
Thank you so, so, so much for reading. You've helped me a lot through the toughest times I've had.
This chapter is an epilogue; it's about what happened to Butters before he meets Kenny in the woods. I just finished it and am not proof-reading, so forgive any mistakes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Kenny, Butters, Linda or Mudvayne's song, Nothing to Gein.
Mommy, Do You Still Live Inside Of Me?
Butters, do this! Butters, do that!
Butters, what did you do! You're such a bad child!
"I-I'm sorry, Mom..."
He rearranges his room, trying hard to remember how Mom likes it; blue shirts to one side of the drawer, a-and the red ones—or was it shirts on top of the tees? Oh, boy; maybe she won't notice. It's okay. He organizes his desk the way Mom finds proper; homework goes here, next to his action figures... perhaps the lamp should be a little more to the right? Oh, hamburgers. But then, she might not even care. It's okay, right? Yeah. So he does his bed, just like Mom thinks a good kid would. The sheets are white, the pillow is neatly placed against the headboard, and the blanket, then the quilt—
Her silhouette is patiently waiting, a tired, loud sigh acknowledging her presence. Disappointed eyes travel through the bedroom; it hasn't changed in years, she reminds herself. Butters had stubbornly asked her several times to repaint it, saying he would do it himself—at what cost? Having the room completely destroyed? She had tenderly explained him that now that your dad isn't here anymore, we don't have the money to hire someone to do the job, nor pay off any disaster you can cause with a brush and paint in hands. Do you understand?, and he just nodded, head down.
"Why can't you do anything right," she mourns as a hand wipes the stress off her forehead, ornamented with aging lines and fatigue. "Only a mother could love you, Butters."
Only a mother could love you, Butters — she always says that, whenever the chance presents itself. He still smiles; it means she loves him in some sort of way, right?
"Thanks, mom," he says with a slight pain on the back of his head. He has felt it for some time now, but never addressed the issue. It's just a little uncomfortable, nothing to make Mom worry anyways. His cheeks hurt, too, but he doesn't mind.
Good kids don't complain for just every little thing.
Ever since Dad disappeared, she is somewhat different. He understands, though — raising a child on her own must be tough!
"Look, mom," he pleads holding his breath in antecipation. "I did my bed. Ah-I know the rest is kinda messy, but isn't my bed alright?" he asks showing proudly his work. "Look! I, I even used the sheets you like the most!"
She sighs in disapproval.
"No, Butters," she grits her teeth. "All you do is just so wrong," she chokes, but still has a smile on her face.
Only a mother could love you, Butters.
The pain gets a little stronger.
"Why can't you do anything right," she wipes her forehead again.
"Wh, why, mom," he feels his cheeks hurt as the joy is drained from his face. "I try! D-didn't you say—"
"What did I say?" she raises her tone. He flinches. "I said nothing, you little shit," she growls, approaching him with heavy footsteps. "Don't you put your filthy words on my mouth, Butters," she grabs him by his short hair, clawing on his scalp. But geez, it was an accident; Mom wouldn't do such a thing on purpose, even if she was mad. "You hear me?"
"Y-yes, mom, I'm awful sorry," he squeaks, trying to hold her fist. "B-but, please, mom, it hurts—"
"It hurts," she mocks him. "Do you know what hurts, Butters? Do you know?" she tightens her grip, pulling his hair harder. "Having a kid like you. That's what hurts. I do everything for you," she shakes him, voice failing a little. "I do all I can for you, and yet you're just an ingrateful little bastard who ruined my marriage," she laughs; Mom's laughter is strange, he notices. "I had to kill your father because of you. Do you understand it? You ruined my life," she laughs and laughs and laughs and cries.
"I-I'm sorry, mom," he smiles, though his face hurts. "I'm awful sorry, mom, I won't do it again, I swear!"
She suddenly releases him.
"It's okay, honey," she smiles and exits the room.
Gee, Mom is such a good woman. She forgives him no matter what mistake he has made. Truly, only a mother like her could love him!
A few minutes later, she is again at the frame of his door with a sweet, sweet smile.
"Butters, honey, I'll make sure you won't ever make anything wrong again," she sits down on the bed, inviting him to do the same.
"Golly, alright!" he says excitedly. Mom has found a cure for him! "Okay, mom! What should I do?"
"Just close your eyes," she commands and he promptly obeys and—
He falls to the floor, processing the pain on his left temple. He removes his hand from the local and there's blood.
"M-mom," he trembles a little. "M-mommy, what is this—"
She jumps on him, her fist right to his eye.
"I'm curing you, honey!" she exclaims so excited. "I just figured that, if you're dead, my life won't be a living hell anymore," she laughs, pinning him down to the floor, hitting him with her hands and elbows, making his skin purple and bruised. "Isn't it great, Butters!"
"Bu-but, mom," he tries to deflect from her blows, "please, mom, please, please, stop," he cries as his body burns in pain, "mommy, please!"
"Keep quiet, honey," she says, laughing hysterically. "Don't worry, everything is just fine."
He struggles, tries to take her off of him; why why why why, he asks himself. He tries so hard, so hard to be the child Mom deserves! Why is Mom doing this, why! Doesn't she love him?
"Honey, you're making it difficult," she says in a motherly tone, never ceasing her blasts of what she believes to be love.
"Mom, no," he pleads, trying to crawl away from her. "Mom, I love you, I'm sorry," he cries, but she pulls him back, hitting him right on his spine with her knuckles. "Mom, it hurts! It hurts bad! Please, mom, please, stop!"
"No, honey, I need to do this. You have to be punished."
He gets to the foot of his bed, drawing a knife from under the sheets. Dad once told him to keep it there; in case monsters attack him, and he now believes Mom is turning into a monster.
"Honey, put that away," she orders. "Mommy doesn't like it," she says disapprovingly, raising her fist again.
Before Mom can hit him again, he runs the knife right into her chest. She falls back, coughing. I'm sorry, mom, sorry, sorry, sorry, he thinks — and each apology is a time the knife goes in and out of her chest. "Mommy, I'm sorry," he says on the verge of tears again, but he smiles. "Mommy, are you proud? I'm standing up for myself," he says, pulling the knife in and out and in and out and in and out until he loses track of how many times it has been that he has stabbed Mom's chest. "Mom," he calls as the pain on the back of his head eases. "Mom, look," he says, finally smiling without his cheeks hurting. "I freed you, mom! I freed you. It's okay now, right? It's okay," he laughs, continuingly stabbing her. "I love you, mom! I love you, I know you love me, too," he keeps repeating the movement until his arms are hurting. "I know you did it so I could learn my lesson, and I've learned! I know now, I know you just wanted me to stand up for myself," he shakes his head, sticking the knife one last time in Mom's lifeless body. "I was so foolish. Thanks, mom," he says, letting himself catch his breath.
Mom is such a good woman.
She indeed loves him!
Now he has to go away. Just like Dad had told him to, if he ever faced a monster. He has to go far, far away.