I'm just insanely angry and pessimistic around this time of year. Also, I haven't wrote non-consensual sex in a while. Rejoice and enjoy. (Why yes, I am spending New Years on the internet, why the fuck wouldn't I?)
Around the holidays, Craig tended to get angry. Not that he wasn't already angry, but the mad consumer rush just tended to set him a little bit farther on edge. Before Halloween even passed, the Christmas season rolled around and stores were jammed full of festive merchandise. Sales, sales, sales. Sales on things no one needed, things no one would everneed. But if it had that red slash mark through the original price, then people would line up in the department stores at five in the morning to 'save' those six extra dollars.
It drove him insane. Craig was not a consumer, and he never had been. Material possessions were transient. They didn't last, and they didn't mean anything to him. Nothing generally mattered to him, but owning things meant even less. There was no point. How would a DVD benefit him, or a new pair of socks? He had plenty of socks, he didn't need anymore. None of it was meaningful if it could be bought in a store.
And really, it wasn't as if any of it meant anything. His parents didn't pay attention to him most of the year, so buying presents as if it were a sign of appreciation and love was just laughable. They weren't gifts for the sake of the gesture itself, they were gifts to keep up appearances. Everyone had to give a gift on Christmas. If you didn't, you seemed cheap and cruel. And even if they were, no one else could know. The neighbors would gossip.
Fake, it was just all so fake. Fake love, fake caring, fake togetherness. The love wasn't there, it was all just pretend. A day to pretend they were a happy family. And instead of yelling like they usually did, they grit their teeth and said 'thank you, just what I wanted. I love it'. But Craig didn't. In fact, Craig was the most caring and grateful of all, because he refused gifts he didn't want, told them to take it back, save their money. Nothing was wasted on him. And so, he generally received nothing. The season of giving- until someone called it out for what it was. Consumerism.
It was all the same, every year. It was a cycle, and the American economy was based around the correct assumption that people would buy, buy, buy until they went broke on Christmas day. Just to pretend they actually cared. And this year was no different. Eventually the days ticked down until December 25th rolled around. The Christmas tree had been up and lights had been hung on their roof just like every year. For no reason other than that was how it had always been. And they had always gotten gifts, too.
Even though he received a significantly smaller pile than he had before, Craig had plenty to rip open. His younger sister was more enthusiastic, and dived in, tearing apart the wrapping paper as quick as she could. She had more fun opening the gifts than playing with the gifts themselves. But it was okay, because either she was too young to realize the holidays for what they were, or she generally liked her Walmart gifts that had no thought put into them whatsoever. Craig loved his sister, though, one of the only people he could truly say that about. He didn't tend to pass his pessimism to her often, and opened his gifts without protest.
Like he had predicted, socks, clothes, and a basketball. He didn't play basketball, it was just something to wrap and be called a gift so the giver looked generous. But he smiled. For his sister. This year, he smiled. He would pretend, because looking at her when he fought with his parents hurt. Ruby didn't deserve it. She would find out what a joke the holiday was on her own one year. But not now, and Craig said:
He didn't mean it, though, he never would. It was nothing he wanted or needed. There were children in the world who had nothing, let alone a DVD of the latest Blockbuster hit. So what did it matter to him if he owned it, when he already had so much? He wasn't being ungrateful, he'd just reached a point where anything more had no value, especially when the present wasn't even wanted.
There was a buildup all year for the holidays. Christmas specials played on TV, Santa decorations were placed in the front windows of stores, and festive music blared on the radio and throughout the mall. He had watched Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph as a child, and believed in Santa. It was a winter wonderland, and it was all so magical. Or at least, it was supposed to be. But he was always let down, because Christmas was just another day on the calendar. He wasn't nine anymore; there was nothing special about it.
He hated it. He hated it so, so much. The fakeness, the pretending, the shallow consumer need to spend. But he could never say it, because it was social suicide. He had to play the game, the game of Christmas. But the hatred built and built, and finally spilled over. He was done, he'd had enough. Craig wanted what his sister had: a nice Christmas, a gift he enjoyed, in the company of friends. And he knew who he would get it from.
There was only one person who hated Christmas as much as he did, or at least, close to how much he did. Craig doubted anyone was as bitter as he was, but there was always a close second in Kyle Broflovski. He and Kyle shared a few similarities, but nothing close enough to actually be considered friends. Kyle was too hot tempered for him, too loud and passionate. Craig didn't do passion, even for hatred. But as a Jew, Kyle did hate Christmas.
Or maybe not because he was Jewish, but it definitely helped him in seeing how artificial it all was. In any case, Kyle disliked Christmas. Maybe not hated it, but definitely disliked it, Craig could tell. Even though he smiled for Stan and gave him presents, Craig could tell. He could definitely tell because he knew what the signs were. Gritted teeth, a small tolerance, quickly changing the subject, and tension. Kyle showed all of the above when Christmas was mentioned and when the time of year came around. Craig knew that he hated being wished a merry Christmas when he was Jewish. It was just a way to rub it in his face that their town was overwhelmingly Christian, and to show him what fun he was missing out on.
It wasn't just on Christmas day, though, it was the whole holiday period. It was a pure two to three months of Christmas cheer, starting the week before Halloween. The whole time he suffered through shallow people buying meaningless gifts for people they didn't even care about, and he knew Kyle did, too. He watched him to make sure. Just to make sure. Since he was the only Jew (or person of any other faith or lack thereof) in South Park, the school didn't bother keeping separation of church and state. And while Kyle was all for political correctness, the only thing he hated more was when his mother got involved; Kyle never complained about it to his mother.
And so Craig studied him, studied his reactions to the Christmas decorations, the holiday songs that their choir sang, and the small nativity scene displayed in the front lobby. Oh, he watched his blood boil. He watched him make fists out of his hands and force himself to relax when Stan and Kenny came around. Craig watched as Kyle pretended to be happy, just like his family did. Just like everyone did on Christmas.
And that was what got to him. Maybe he had gotten too hopeful in finding shared hatred with someone, but Craig had been so angry when he realized that Kyle was just as fake as the holiday they both hated. Because Kyle was like everyone else who celebrated the horrible holiday: angry on the inside but happy on the outside. Fake. A lie. It was all just pretend. Kyle would never say anything and the traditions would just continue. He would never speak out. Never, not ever, because Kyle had people that he loved, unlike Craig, and wanted them to love him back, thinking he accepted their holiday. And it made him angry.
So, so angry. He hated him. He hated everyone. Everything. He hated the holiday and the people who celebrated it. And not just those people, but everyone. Because everyone was the same. No matter what, people were liars. Fake. They pretended to be happy and to be caring, when it was all just an act. Craig was tired of it. So incredibly tired. He'd thought he'd found something in Kyle, some sort of common interest, something that would make him feel less alone during the holiday rush. Because even Tweek liked Christmas, and his sister was too young to know; the only two people he cared about. He was alone.
Craig didn't want to be alone on Christmas. Not because it was a special day, but because it represented so much more. He wanted to share the feeling of being ostracized mentally, with someone else. He wanted a gift he could treasure, and someone to be with. He'd wanted Kyle, but he got his hopes up too far. Kyle wasn't right, because Kyle was just the same as they were. But it was too late. He couldn't take it anymore, the anger and hatred and pessimism when he opened his gifts that meant nothing, absolutely nothing to him. Nothing ever mattered to him, and he wanted something that did. So badly, he wanted to not be alone.
His plan had been formulated before he had even left his house.
It was snowing, just as it did every day, when he told his parents he was leaving for a while. Nothing special, but his mother had got emotional that it was a white Christmas. The gifts had been opened and they'd had a family dinner the night before with their good china, so there was no reason for them to stay with each other after that and pretend to be a happy family. He'd grabbed a couple of things from the toolkit in the garage and left with no other goodbyes other than a glance to his mother. It was fine with him. At least everything was back to normal.
Everything was white when he left, and it hurt his eyes after having been used to the dull florescent lightbulbs in his house. Snow was everywhere, covering the mountaintops in the distance and the windshield of his car. He hadn't bothered to bring gloves, and shivered as he started wiping his windows clear. There was a thin layer of ice that had stuck, though, and scraping away at it with his fingernails didn't do much. Driving with low visibility when the roads weren't cleared yet would be stupid. But it was alright, it wouldn't take him that much longer to walk anyway.
Being outside helped calm down Craig's anger. Manmade holidays seemed so meaningless in comparison to the natural world. Maybe he had overreacted, maybe he was just easily annoyed. But passing by houses with plastic inflatable snowmen and reindeer reminded him of why he was out in the first place. It felt strange not to be angry, anyway. He wouldn't think about it. The pine trees did look nice with snow on them, though.
Half an hour of walking in frigid temperatures made the tips of Craig's ears feel like they were going to fall off. His nose wouldn't stop running even though he'd rubbed at it about a thousand times. Eventually he'd just given up and stuck his hands in his pockets, fingering the things he'd brought with him, until he reached the house he was looking for. It was empty, though. For the person he was looking for, at least. He inspected around the premises, scowling at how empty the usual spots were. There were a couple places where he still had left to check, though, and began trudging away from the house and the subdivision all together.
Craig had been right, the evergreens were beautiful. It was easier to appreciate them while in the woods, and not when just a couple few were planted along the side of someone's house. It was still freezing, though, and it put him in even more of a horrible mood. Maybe he should have asked for a thicker coat, but he wouldn't have gotten it anyway. Such inadequacy; he actually needed it, of course he wouldn't get it.
The leaves and snow under his feet crunched as he walked. There was such a thick layer of snow that Craig was surprised that the leaves would even be disturbed. But the sound made a rhythm, and urged him to walk faster. It was starting to snow fairly heavily, and he didn't really want to be caught in the middle of it. Getting up to a brisk walk, he slowed down when he saw the edge of the trees and the clearing that they faded out into. Craig's footfalls became almost silent as he neared the clearing and saw what he had been looking for.
Stark's Pond was a popular hang out for most of his peers, but he knew it was especially special to Stan and Kyle. Since he had not been at his house and his car was still in his driveway(meaning he couldn't be at Stan's), Craig had been right in assuming where he would be. He'd started coming here much more often lately. Craig had seen him sitting on the same bench when he and Tweek had been out walking.
Kyle was so conspicuous. In a world of snow and a gray sky, his red hair stuck out so vividly. Maybe if they were younger he wouldn't have been so easy to spot, but he had stopped wearing his green ushanka long ago, and his red curls were like a flashing neon spotlight in such a monotone colored environment. He was reading, just like always. It seemed to be an escape mechanism, a way to escape to a different world, to calm down and relax. Maybe Craig would try it. He'd never been much of a reader.
From a distance Craig could see his chest rise and fall, and the thin layer of snowflakes that had collected on the top of his head. It felt strange to observe someone who had no knowledge of his close proximity, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Craig liked to be an observer, this was just fine. But he wasn't there to observe, and quietly he stepped out into the open.
Every footstep was careful, every ounce of his energy was spent on concentrating on making himself as quiet as possible. He didn't weigh much and was fairly petite (Craig refused to call himself short. He was only shorter in comparison to others), so it was easier than if he was, say, Cartman, but still it was difficult to remain silent. He felt almost like Tweek, nervous and oh god the pressure, and he knew any noise he made would make him lose it.
But he didn't lose it because he didn't make a noise. Not a single noise as he crept up silently behind his prey. Because that was right. Prey. He was the hunter, and such a good one, because Kyle had no idea that he was behind him. Right behind him, so close that he could see the freckles on the back of his neck. Pale skin and red hair. He could reach out and just touch him. So he did.
The moment his skin made contact with him, Kyle recoiled backwards and screamed. His book flew out of his hands and he toppled backwards over the bench, and into Craig's chest. Craig grunted and wrapped his arms around him, trying to hold him down as he struggled. Kyle was screaming and making a racket, twisting around as they landed backwards against the snow covered ground. He had no idea what was going on. But Craig did, Craig knew very well, and he moved faster since he was not panicked.
"What the fuck!" Kyle continued to scream, and tried looking behind him to see his attacker. But Craig couldn't let him see him, it would ruin everything. Kyle couldn't know.
Adrenaline kicked in and he wrestled him underneath himself, shoving his face into the snow as he struggled to stay on top of him. Kyle was taller than he was, even though not by a lot, but his thrashing limbs and continuous kicking was making it incredibly difficult to hold him down. Time felt like it began to move in slow motion, even though everything had happened so fast. It was a flurry of movement, and Craig knew he had to act fast. Kyle was too hysterical.
"Who are you, what the fuck! What the fuck are you- GET OFF OF ME! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! HOLY SHIT, HELP!" Help. That one word struck him hard. He was doing this, he was going to do this. Craig was determined. He would not mess up.
He had to lie almost completely on top of him to trap his legs down and hold his face against the snow, making it difficult to reach into his coat to take out the things he'd brought with him. His hand grabbed the bottle of liquid first, and he pulled the cap off with his teeth. It sloshed down his shirt and onto Kyle's coat because of his intense struggles, but he managed to keep a hold on it while he grabbed his washcloth out as well.
Scooting up on Kyle's back, Craig had to sit on his shoulders to keep him down, needing both hands for the task ahead. He should have had it ready. Stupid, so stupid. The weight of the situation made him clumsy, and he spilled too much of his concoction of bleach and acetone onto the rag. But he had no other choice. Hopefully it just wouldn't kill him. Throwing the bottle to the side, he leaned down and grabbed the hair on the back of Kyle's head, lifting him up. Kyle screamed, and he could feel his almost tangible fear.
"Calm- down." It was meant to be reassuring, but the struggle to keep him down made it seem forced and harsh. "Just relax."
He slapped his hand with the rag on it over the Jew's mouth. Kyle's screams were muffled then, and he kicked harder. But almost immediately Craig could feel him tiring, becoming slower. Either it had worked, or it had been too much of a dose of chloroform and he was dying. Craig didn't know if he cared either way.
"Shh." The softness in his voice surprised even him, but he felt a need to say it when he felt Kyle becoming limp. "It's alright. It's okay. Relax."
Was that a whimper he heard, or the wind? Craig hoped for the first. It made him feel powerful, in control, and oddly sexual in nature. He loved it. This was what Christmas was supposed to be like. The beating of his heart, the excitement as he anticipated what he would receive. That was Christmas, as Kyle collapsed against the snow.
Craig breathed heavily, still sitting on top of him. Over, it was over, he'd done it, and the proof was underneath him. His breaths materialized in the air, and he noticed the snow that began to gather on Kyle's coat. It was snowing, it was getting dark. He had to leave. It wasn't over.
Tentatively, Craig moved off of him, as if he would suddenly jump up and run away. But he knew that wasn't the case. Still, though, he kept one hand carefully on his back just to be safe as he dug inside his coat pocket for the roll of duck tape he'd brought with him. His fingers felt numb, so he pulled the start of the tape away from the roll with his teeth, and began winding it around Kyle's wrists which he had positioned behind his back, and then moving to his knees and ankles.
When he was done, he sat back and admired his handiwork. Kyle still breathed, so the level of chloroform hadn't been deadly. His state of living reminded him to roll him onto his back so that his cheek wasn't still resting on the snow. He looked so cold when he was turned face up, and Craig leaned over him, his hand on his shoulder. Red hair, such red hair. Like a Christmas ornament. And if that was the case, then the duck tape must have been the ribbons. Slowly, Craig smiled.
The first thing he truly understood was that his head hurt. Badly. Like a throbbing sensation, it didn't feel like a physical wound. It was inside his head, and it made him feel sick.
He didn't understand what was going on, or what had happened. The world was incredibly small to Kyle. The only thing on his mind was 'where am I'. His senses seemed to fail him, and he could not move. Opening his eyes had been his first strenuous task, mentally, but not physically. Because he couldn't see, and didn't understand why not. He didn't understand the reality around him.
Had he died?
Kyle awoke, or at least, he thought he had. But his senses told him that, for all he knew, he was still sleeping. The world was dark and he felt lethargic, his head so numb but throbbing at the same time. He didn't know if he couldn't move because he was so out of it, or if it was because he was physically restrained. But why? Kyle felt as though he was observing what was happening to him from a distance. Just watching, and not feeling.
There was no fear, just confusion. He was too tired and his head was too hazy for him to be scared, but something felt fundamentally wrong. The world that he saw and felt was black, a lack of everything. No sight or feeling, apart from the horrible pain in his head. Was he awake, or was he just in a state between consciousness and sleep? Kyle shook his head and felt his hair move against the side of his face. That one act alone made him feel so tired.
He was awake, then? He didn't understand what was happening, or if anything was happening at all. Maybe he had died. Died? If so, why did he feel so detached from the thought? Was that what death was, a lack of feeling or emotion, just pure sentience?
But that wasn't right, he couldn't be dead. Because he had moved his head, and he felt himself breathe. Yes, he was definitely breathing. Kyle could feel oxygen enter through his lips and fill his lungs, pausing before exhaling the carbon dioxide from his system. He repeated the cycle for a while, thinking nothing other than how strange it felt to just breathe and do nothing else.
Maybe he should get up. Maybe he should shake off his sleepiness and walk downstairs to eat breakfast with his family. Because that was it, right? He was just tired, he had just woken up. Kyle had never been a morning person, of course he would feel strange in the morning. He always did, this was nothing new or special, he was just still half asleep.
Kyle moaned, and moved to rub his eyes and get the blackness out of them. He made the effort, strained his muscles to move, but nothing happened. Like a dog that forgot its trick, his arm did not move. And neither did his legs when he tried kicking the blankets off of them. But the blankets were wrapped around his legs, trapping him. He didn't remember them feeling so tight and taught, even if he had just gotten trapped while moving around in his sleep. The feeling was against his arms, too. Restricting, binding. It felt like rope.
He wanted to touch it, asses the situation. Kyle had always been analytical, there was no reason to start worrying until he could prove he was in danger. So far he had no proof that it was rope, that- he had been forcibly tied up against his will. And why would there be proof? It was just his imagination getting ahead of him, there would be no reason for him to be targeted by anyone. Except Cartman. Oh, Cartman. It was probably Cartman, it was probably some stupid thing Cartman had done, because the more he began to squirm, the more he could feel that, indeed, he was restrained by rope.
After he came to the conclusion that Cartman had probably tied him up and dumped him somewhere as part of a bigger plan, he remembered that he had been attacked. He didn't remember much, since his head hurt and the haziness of his mind made his memory fuzzy, but he definitely remembered being wrestled down into the snow. Realization woke him up. He wasn't tired anymore, he was mad. Fuck Cartman, he hated him so much. He wasn't friends with him, he hated him, hanging out with him was just due to habit. But not after this, no, not anymore. He wouldn't look at him again, he wouldn't speak to him again. Kyle wouldn't give him the satisfaction of spending emotional energy on hating him anymore, he was just done. Done. The last straw.
What was his plan, though? Because although Kyle realized he had been attacked and restrained, he didn't know why. He wasn't particularly scared, he'd never been scared of Cartman. He was scared for others in the way of Cartman's path, but not himself. Cartman would never truly hurt him, it was too easy. He just taunted and got very close. This was one of those 'very close' times, because Kyle could handle racial slurs (he had grown used to them, making them lose any weight they'd had in the first place), but he could not stand being helpless. He had always been used to putting up a fight and winning, being bound was definitely new. Though, Cartman had gotten considerably stronger, even if he was still fat, and Kyle wondered that with or without ropes, he would still win against him in a fight.
Caught up in his rage and thinking of ways to get him back, Kyle was taken off guard when he heard a door click shut. He hadn't heard it open, but immediately sat up from where he had been laying against the floor. Kyle was wary, it was bound to be Cartman; anyone else would have immediately rushed to his aid. Instead, there was silence, and he frowned. He knew Cartman was watching him, waiting.
"Way to go, fatass," he said, voice caustic and full of venom, "I bet you think you're real proud, huh? Yeah, it sure is hard to attack someone and tie them up when you knock them unconscious!"
He waited for a reply, and the frown on his face grew when it didn't come. What was he doing? Was he waiting for him to say something? Cartman was usually quick to reply with some sort of bigoted insult or another, which made the silence so offsetting. Kyle didn't feel good, and not just because of the dizziness. He wished he could see, because he was in fact blindfolded.
"What do you want." He made sure to keep his voice even, but still showed that he was angry. "I have things to do. Make this quick."
A couple of seconds passed, so much more daunting than any words could ever be. "I'm afraid I can't."
The anger and irritation on his face was replaced by surprise, and Kyle straightened up. That definitely wasn't Cartman's voice, it lacked the lazy dictation. There would be no reason for him to alter his voice, either; this was a different person. This was not Cartman, and suddenly, Kyle was scared. There was no way he could size up the danger the person possessed physically, since he could not see them. …But why would anyone else other than Cartman attack him?
"Who are you." No fear would be shown in his voice. He didn't trust this person, and for good reason.
"I can't tell you."
Why couldn't he recognize his voice. Were his senses that dependant on sight that he couldn't depend on hearing alone?
"…Alright. Why not. Why am I here? What are you doing? Did- were you the one who attacked me? You attacked me, right? Dude…" This was too much to process, Kyle was too confused. And worried. Definitely, definitely worried. He could be in serious danger.
There was a scraping sound to his right, the sound of a chair moving against the floor. He must have sat down (the voice was definitely male). There was another pause. "Obviously the reason you're here is because I assaulted you."
He growled. "You know what I mean, don't be a smartass with me. Why did you fucking attack me!"
An intake of breath, harsh, the sound of inhaling through clenched teeth. They must have had a gap in their teeth, they must have had fucked up teeth. "You're so angry." Their voice was quiet, but meant to be heard. "I mean- you have no idea who I am, and you're bitching at me. I know you're not stupid, you're the smartest kid in class, but for all you know I could kill you right here on the spot. And you're insulting me. I like that about you."
Had he… just been complimented? In the face of death, he had been praised? Kyle's distrust rose, along with his curiosity. He knew this person. Well, very well. They were in the same class, the same class that they had had since the third grade. …But who was this, who would do this to him? And why couldn't he place the voice?
"You didn't answer my question." His danger alert levels dropped when they'd mentioned that they were peers. He'd known most of his classmates for the majority of his life, none of them were dangerous. They wouldn't hurt him, but what they wanted, he still didn't know.
"Really, though, you're so angry. Does it hurt, being angry all the time? Can you feel it in your chest? Right here?"
There was a sudden pressure against his chest, and Kyle recognized it to be their foot pressing against his ribcage, right above where his heart was. Their shoe hurt, and he instantly recoiled. "Stop pretending like you can't hear me!"
"You know all about that though, right, Kyle? Pretending?" There was a strange lift in their voice.
"Don't you pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about, when you do it every day. I watch you pretend, I can see it. And don't say you don't because it's the holidays and I know how angry it makes you. But you don't show that, do you? You pretend you're happy. Why do you do that, Kyle?"
He was taken off guard by the irrelevant question. He had just been bound and kidnapped, and now his attacker was asking him about Christmas? It made no sense, none of it made sense. "Because I have friends, dude. I don't want to make them upset on their holiday."
"But what does it matter? You don't celebrate it, you just have a different opinion. Don't you think they'd understand that, or do you think they like your fakeness more?"
Kyle opened his mouth but then closed it almost instantly. He didn't understand. "I'm not fake, stop making assumptions about me that aren't even true!"
The person laughed and he heard another scrape against the floor. "I thought you weren't, I thought you were better than everyone else, I thought you were like me. But you're not, and the fact that you can't realize how fake you are just shows everything. Everyone is fake. We don't need any more fake people on this planet." Their voice dropped in pitch, low, and dangerous.
"Fuck you." He spat it out, unconcerned about the position he was in. "Fuck you, everyone isn't fake and I'm not either, you're just too goddamn full of yourself to realize it."
"Why do you have to do this?" He said. "Why did you have to be like this? I thought you were special. I thought you were different…"
"I don't know what you're-"
There wasn't the sound of the chair scraping against the floor, or any indication that his captor had moved, to brace him for the physical contact that came. Suddenly there was a hand in his hair, yanking him up. Kyle yelped and tried to reach up and pull him away, but the ropes were there for a reason, and he was pulled to his feet. His ankles were restrained as well, and he stood awkwardly, trying to balance. Tears were in his eyes from the pain, and he screamed in protest.
"Shut up." The voice was so low. Why couldn't he place it, why couldn't he figure out who it was!
Nothing else was said, and he ignored the request. The hand in his hair tightened and he grit his teeth when the person started pulling him in an unknown direction. He tried to hop to keep up, but the force was too strong and he stumbled. The pain in his scalp increased tenfold and he screamed, thrashing, trying to get away.
"SHIT! SHIT GET OFF OF ME! OH- FUCK STOP THAT HURTS! STOP IT GET OFF!"
But he was paid no heed, and the person continued dragging him by his hair, pausing to grab at his collar, yanking him forward. The ground felt cold and rough against his legs as he was dragged, and all of his walls that had gone down allowing him to relax went straight back up; this person was dangerous. This- person, his classmate. He couldn't imagine who it could be, he never could have imagined any of his peers had it in them to do this to him. He'd thought they were friends.
The person stopped walking suddenly, and Kyle took the opportunity to squirm hard. But even if he got out of their grip, where would he go? He couldn't run, being tied up. The sound of a door opening initiated the return of his hair being pulled, and he was yanked harshly into the room, and thrown onto the floor. He twisted, trying to get his feet under him so that he was in a less vulnerable position, but the hand was in his hair a second later. His head was pulled up and he hissed, gritting his teeth. Kyle felt warm breath on his face. They were close.
"I hate you," they said, "I hate you so much. You're just the same as them, I was so stupid for thinking you were different. You're a maggot just like everyone else, you're worthless, you're nothing, it wouldn't even matter if you were gone, since everybody is the same."
"What are you-"
But Kyle didn't get to finish, because he was suddenly yanked forward and his chest collided with something smooth and hard, like a small wall. He was pulled forward and positioned so that he was leaning half way over it. Kyle moved to look back out of instinct, but the hand in his hair suddenly pushed his head forward. And suddenly, he was submerged in water.
The shock of the cold water against his face made him instinctively pull back, but the hand was unrelenting and held him under. He tried to scream, and bubbles poured from his mouth. Kyle thrashed, feeling water splash out of the tub, but was still held under. From his hysteria, he had accidentally swallowed some water, and began to choke. He hadn't known what was going to happen, and hadn't taken a breath beforehand. The oxygen in his lungs was quickly depleting. He was going to be drowned.
Terror filled his chest while oxygen left him. There were a million thoughts racing through his head, but none of them settled for long enough to be counted as an actual thought, all he knew was that he was going to die. He felt suddenly cold, and not just because of the frigid water sloshing against him. His body felt cold, along with his mind. He didn't know what was happening, he was going to die. Die, he was going to die. Water would fill his lungs, drown him, and kill him. Kyle kicked his feet harshly against the ground. He could do nothing else.
Death death death. Was this what Kenny experienced? He'd told him that he died multiple times, but Kyle didn't believe him, he'd never remembered seeing him be killed before his eyes. He felt suddenly guilty for not believing him, then. Death wasn't a joke. It was lonely and scary. And he was going to die, too.
Kyle's world became even colder when the hand in his hair pulled him back, and he was exposed to air, making the water on his face dry. He immediately gulped in hair, breathing heavily and loudly as he sputtered. The oxygen filled his lungs and it hurt so bad. Kyle coughed, spitting up water. Every breath he took was a godsend; he'd never realized how beautiful air actually was.
His hair was suddenly released, and Kyle collapsed against the floor. He continued to wheeze and choke, and pulled his legs closer to his chest. Everything hurt, everything was cold, and he was terrified. He'd thought he was going to die. He had prepared himself for death. Living didn't feel real. Like it was fake. Fake.
The hand that had left him returned and with a partner. The person grabbed the tops of his arms and he flinched as he was rolled onto his back. His hands hurt from being tied behind him and crushed between his body and the cold tile floor. Sputtering one last time, his breaths finally calmed as he became reaccustomed to breathing. His chest still rose and fell heavily, but he was not worried about drowning any longer. What he was worried about, was what came next.
Touch was introduced to his face and he flinched. The hand felt cold, everything felt cold. It was touching him, palm cupping his cheek and sliding down to hold him behind his head. He didn't understand. He didn't understand any of it. He didn't understand why he had been attacked and bound, why he had been blindfolded and almost drowned, or why anyone he knew would do this to him. Kyle had always thought he was well liked.
"Do you get it? The world would go on without you. You're just one person. If you died, your friends would be sad, but they would move on. No one would remember you, you're not special. You wouldn't be in any textbooks or stories. You're nothing, you're no one. You're not special, you're just the same as everyone else."
It hurt. It was meant to hurt, and it did. Kyle didn't feel ready to speak, and even if he could, he didn't know what to say. He didn't understand why.
There was a moment of silence, and the hands moved to lift him up, reclining him back against the edge of the tub. "…That felt good." Their voice was quiet, soft, and didn't sound obviously threatening. Kyle's heart beat fast. "I like that. It's like- I have power, you know? You're nothing, I'm so much better than you, and it proves it. I could kill you right now, I can do whatever I want with you. You're scared of me, you don't know what's going to happen, you don't know what I'm going to do."
A sudden pressure to his chest, and Kyle realized he had been punched. He yelped. The impact hurt his already abused lungs. He wheezed, the air being knocked out of him. He heard himself hiccup.
He heard a hitch in the person's breath, and hands were back on him, touching him. "Like that. I could just do something crazy like that, and you wouldn't even have any warning. I have complete power over you. I- I am sooo happy. This is the kind of present I want, I want this every year. Thank you, Kyle, you've given me the best Christmas gift ever. You can't buy this, this isn't fake, this is real."
"Wh-" He stuttered, unable to move his tongue correctly to speak. "What are you doing."
Hands on him, touching him. Cold. His chest was exposed to the air when they pulled the zipper of his jacket down.
"Unwrapping my gift." A mumble. They were concentrated.
"I don't-" He wished he could see, he wished he could look down. He wished he could move and defend himself. "Stop. What are you doing?" He knew what he was doing. He didn't understand.
"You know," they said, "I don't just hate Christmas. This isn't about Christmas, I hate everything. I just- I hate it all. Everyone. I hate them, I hate you. You're just like them. And I just want to hurt them, I want to hurt you so bad. I'm tired of living with them, I want you to suffer. I want you to know how much I hate you."
His beating heart and his quickening breath, Kyle felt helpless. Honest to god helpless. He noticed how shaky he was, then, how dizzy and weak he felt.
"Wait," Kyle managed to blurt out, "stop. Stop it. I don't- I think my glucose is low." His voice was weak, and he felt sick, not just because of the roaming hands on his body. This was all wrong.
"So what." The person didn't seem very impressed, and tugged at his coat sleeve, pulling it successfully off of him. Kyle shivered but noticed he was sweating slightly. When had he last eaten?
"I- I have-… I have diabetes." He hated saying that, even in normal situations. But here, it made him even weaker, even more vulnerable. He felt sick. He didn't want to die, he didn't want to be hurt. He was so scared. Kyle's body was shaking from more than one reason.
They didn't speak, but their hands continued, fumbling with the tank top he wore underneath his coat, and getting fed up and just ripping it apart. "I'll feed you later." His captor started to get excited when his bare skin met the air, and he could feel them lean forward, touching his chest. Kyle's face lit up. Sick, he felt so sick.
Hands continued to touch him, rubbing down his sides and back, ghosting over his chest and nipples. He could feel their breath on his skin, and the ghosting of their lips. Why couldn't he place their voice?
He was pushed down, then, forced to slide against the edge of the tub so that he was mostly laying on the floor. Kyle squirmed and attempted to sit up, but was shoved back down, the back of his head cracking against the edge. His head had stopped throbbing a while ago, but now the sensation came back worse than before. He moaned and struggled against his binds. There was a weight on his chest as he felt his captor sit on top of him. The weight against his ribcage and abused lungs made every breath feel like fire.
"I don't really want you to pass out, though, so maybe this will help…" He heard the sound of a zipper, and a feeling of coldness sunk through Kyle's gut. Oh no. Oh no, no no. This would not happen to him. "Come on, open your mouth. You know it's going to happen, you don't have a choice. Just play along."
He didn't want to play, though. This wasn't playing, this was serious. This wasn't funny, this wasn't a joke, and not even Cartman would do this to him. Kyle felt a sob form in the inside of his throat. Why was this happening to him? What could he have ever done to deserve this? The only person he had ever truly treated badly was Pip, and he had died long ago. Kyle shifted, starting to hyperventilate.
"Hurry up." Their voice was so harsh, a growl. He didn't want to, though. He didn't want to open his mouth and willingly go along with the horrible act that was being demanded of him, but- he wanted to be let go, he wanted it to be over, and cooperating would be the quickest way for it to be over. Kyle opened his mouth.
The moment that his lips parted, the person moved forward and brushed the head of their penis against his cheek and the corner of his mouth. It felt wet from precum, and he was humiliated. Was he going to be raped? He, Kyle, a boy? He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to think about any of it when they thrust into his mouth. The motion took him off guard and made him gag, subconsciously pulling away, but the hand was back in his hair to keep him from rebelling.
It tasted not unlike regular skin. Soft, and a bit salty, and not entirely disgusting if it had been in a different situation. He'd imagined it would have been much more nasty than the taste actually was. But the sheer weight of the situation was enough to make him sick. It was disgusting, it was humiliating and terrifying. Kyle moved his tongue against it, trying to breathe better. He didn't think biting would help his situation, Kyle was smart.
"Shit." He could almost fell their excitement as they drew their hips back only to slam them back against his face. Nauseating, demeaning. Kyle gagged and continued to try and pull away but was trapped. His face was so read. He could feel the person tremble and grip him harder. It felt good for them, at his expense. Fear rose in his throat, along with bile as they drew back and pushed in again. A rhythm. This was the first time he'd ever had a sexual experience with another person, let alone another male, and he knew that from then onward it would never be the same.
They panted above him, erection growing in his mouth as he coughed and squirmed, squeezing his eyes shut even though he was blindfolded. He couldn't take the degradation but it wasn't as though he had a choice. There was no choice, he was completely helpless. His restraints were too tight and his head was too hazy. And even if he escaped, as he had thought before, he wouldn't get far due to his dropping blood sugar level.
A hand resumed its place in his hair to yank his head backward. There was the sound of a pop when they drew their cock out of his mouth. Kyle sputtered and dry heaved, feeling sick. His breath hitched and he could feel tears coming, worsening his predicament. He would not cry, he would not reduce himself to that…
"I'm going to- oh, fuck, I'm-" He could feel them hunch over him, and could almost see their hand grip the bathtub so hard that their knuckles turned white. There was a slick sound and Kyle recognized it as masturbating. He turned his head to the side, but was forced to face forward again as a few hot droplets of semen hit his face. Kyle felt like vomiting as his captor's orgasm increased, the cum spurting onto him in long strands. It didn't take long, and he could feel them relax as the wave of pleasure washed over them.
Heavy breaths filled the air, although Kyle wasn't sure if they were his, or theirs'. He wanted to die. Just to escape the terror in his throat and the horrible humiliation, he wanted his head to be back underwater. He recoiled when fingers stroked down his face. He felt pressure at his lips.
"You said you needed sugar," their voice was still slightly breathy, "eat it."
Kyle sealed his lips shut, forever stubborn even in the face of danger. They clicked their tongue and laughed slightly.
"Okay, then." Their voice was so nasally…
The hand stayed on his face, but the one in his hair released him to travel down his body, settling on his belt buckle. They didn't pause, and got right to it, unbuckling it quickly. A bit of a fumble here and there, but Kyle's stomach dropped even farther when he felt it being pulled through his belt loops and thrown aside, hitting the ground somewhere to his right.
"Stop." He hadn't spoken in a while. His throat hurt. There was a momentary pause in action. "…Don't. Please, don't." His voice was strangely calm, contrasting the turmoil in his mind. "Please don't do this, I- we know each other. Why- why are you doing this to me, what have I ever done to you? Please, please don't do this."
Maybe they stopped to ponder the question, or maybe they were taken aback by his pleading. Kyle had never pleaded, he had too much pride. Not now, though, not now. He had nothing left to lose.
"Because I want to," they said, and he could feel them leaning closer, "because I hate you. I want you to suffer for getting my hopes up. You're just like the rest of them, all of them… You don't matter, you don't matter to me. I'll get what I want, and I want you to hurt."
The removal of clothes continued and Kyle began to panic when they started undoing the button of his jeans and pulling his zipper down. He'd always thought himself calm in bad situations. "No! No, no no no no! Stop, I'm- I-I'm being serious, dude! Don't do this, I swear to god, I'll do whatever you want, I'll change, I'll do whatever you want!"
"But that would be just as fake." He could feel his pants being pulled down. "You can't change, you were born like this. I don't want you to lie any more. I just want you to hurt, Kyle. I just don't want to be alone."
"Oh- Oh god-" He didn't know what he had left. They were persistent, and he could not fight. Was it just a dream, just a bad dream? He wished it was, he would give anything to wake up. Kyle didn't understand what Craig meant by 'all the same', but damn if he wouldn't try as hard as he could to become what he wanted. "Oh Jesus, oh- oh- n-"
"Jesus?" They asked as they began undoing the ropes around his ankles. "Kyle, I thought you were a Jew. Have you lied about your religion?"
It was such a calm question, unrelated to the situation. He felt himself begin to hyperventilate again. "I- n-no. It's just like- i-it's just a word."
"I suppose that makes sense, I guess it doesn't really mean anything. It's just pretend, just like the religion it's a part of…" The rope around his legs was untied eventually, and his pants successfully pulled off. His jeans were thrown somewhere in the direction that his belt had been. His attacker fingered the waistband of his underwear. Unrelenting. Taunting. They knew exactly how this would affect him, and they didn't care, it was their motivation.
His underwear came off just as quickly as the rest of his clothes. Naked. Cold. Vulnerable. He tried closing his legs, and was shocked when he could. But that was right, he had taken off his restraints. Feeling a surge of anger and power, Kyle kicked out as hard as he could. His captor had undoubtably predicted this, and caught his ankle quickly before it was able to make contact with him. Kyle cried out in pain when they dug their fingernails into his skin, but continued to kick. He would make this as hard as possible for them.
They growled, trying to restrain him, but they had full vision and use of both their arms, and forcibly calmed him quickly. Kyle screamed, shouting death threats at them and continuing to struggle when they pried his legs apart. The fingers on his cheek left to be placed instead on the inside of his thigh. They moved upwards, and pressed against him in a horribly private place.
"We wouldn't want this to go to waste," the nasally voice taunted him, and he realized that the fingers were wet with semen, "too bad you refused to eat it."
Pressure built against his opening and Kyle grit his teeth when the two fingers started to push their way into him. Stretching and preparing him was obviously not the purpose, but humiliating him was, and it worked. They didn't leave him any room to adjust, and started a quick pace, moving their hand quickly, changing angles.
It was- the most violating thing he had ever experienced. Never in his life could he have imagined something so horrible and degrading as the fingers moved inside him. He could feel their flesh rub against his own, invading his body. It was too intimate, a mockery of what Kyle had imagined sex was supposed to be. He himself didn't know his own sexual preferences, and would never tell a soul that he was on the border of bisexuality(Oh, Stan…). He had thought of this, fleeting curiosity of what being penetrated would be like, but it was nothing like what was happening to him. This was not sex. This was a pure show of power aimed to hurt and maim. He wanted to cry. He wanted to release the pain inside of him, the agony and embarrassment. So he did. There was nothing left to lose.
"You like it when I fuck you like this? Are you a faggot, Kyle? Do you like having my fingers up your ass? I bet you're imagining that I was Stan, aren't you? I know you two are funny together…"
"N- No." He choked out, unable to bear the words that were so much worse when couple with the pain in his bottom. Tears dripped down his cheeks, soaking the blindfold on his eyes. He could feel them splat against his chest.
"Oh, that's good, then. Because I'm not Stan. I am definitely not Stan."
The fingers were removed, then, and Kyle let out a shaky sigh, knowing full well that it was far from over. His leg twitched, and his mind felt heavy from hyperventilating. Not enough air. It seemed to be a reoccurring theme.
Sounds of wet flesh filled his ears and dread replaced every cell in his body. He breathed harder, becoming light headed. This wasn't going to happen. This was too surreal. There was- no way that- this would happen to him.
"Yeah," his captor breathed out, "I'm going to like this a lot. It's like- everything is alright, you know, like I'm not the only one suffering. I'm not alone. I'm glad I could spend Christmas with you, Kyle."
He rubbed his hand against his face, and Kyle could feel his palm shaking like he was trying so hard not to strangle him. Kyle said nothing, only breathed. Air. Wonderful, wonderful air, that kept him alive and filled his lungs-
A horrible pain shot through his body as he felt the head of his captor's erection enter him. He squeezed his eyes closed and grit his teeth, holding back a scream.
Wonderful air, breathing, life-
He choked, unable to hold back the sob that escaped him. Wretched and filled with agony. It made his rapist groan and thrust all the way inside of him with absolutely no concern for his well being.
B-Beautiful air, oh, he was breathing and it was filling him u-up and he couldn't stop.
His thighs were gripped by the trembling hands as they pulled out of him, and used as leverage when he was thrust back into. Kyle cried harder. He cried and cried. This was not happening. This was a dream, surreal. But he felt pain, he felt it all through his body.
He had to breathe, just breathe as he was rocked into. The pain was agonizing, being stretched beyond what he had imagined would be possible. Above him, Kyle heard small words of joy and contentment.
"So good. Oh f-fuck Kyle, so good. You have- you have no idea. I hate you so much, keep crying for me. T-That's it, yes… Wonderful. Absolutely- wonderful. I am so happy."
They started to choke up, matching Kyle's own inability to breathe calmly. Only a few inches separated absolute terror and anguish from elation and pleasure. So close, they were so close but were experiencing such different feelings. But after a while they started to blend. Kyle's misery was coupled with a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach near his abdomen and he could feel himself getting hard. He'd known that it would happen, that stimulation would cause his body to react, but he was still not prepared for it. He was not ready for that level of torture.
"You like it." Oh, the voice was so happy. "You love this. You hate it so-" a hitch in their breath "much, but you can't help wanting this. How does that feel, Kyle. How does it feel to want the thing you hate so d-deeply?"
A hand left his right thigh to wrap around his dick. Kyle sobbed harshly, twisting. Wanting to die. The hand gripped him tight, causing a slight amount of pain as it began to pump him in rhythm with their thrusts. A finger travelled over where the head met his shaft, and he choked when two fingers massaged the thin ridge that ran the length of the underside of his penis. It only hurt, despite the physical pleasure.
It continued for a while, the battle between his agony and pleasure. He was continually rocked into, heavy breathing above him as he was jerked off. Kyle could feel his curls bounce slightly with each thrust's momentum. In and out, and in and out, repeating for so long that he thought he was going to die. It hurt so bad but he somehow felt so accustomed, so loose to the feeling, so used to what was happening that he could almost see his captor. He could almost see their face, grinning like a maniac, eyebrows furrowed. Little beads of sweat dripped down the side of their face, black hair peaking out just slightly beneath a blue ha-
His blindfold had slipped. The rough treatment had unwound it just enough so that he could almost clearly see the boy in front of him.
Craig. It- it was Craig. Craig who he had known since preschool, Craig who sat in the fourth row, third seat over in class. Apathetic Craig, cruel Craig, boring Craig. And somehow, it made sense. Why, he did not know. Kyle forgot to cry, forgot to sob as he looked at his face while Craig raped him. He almost forgot to breathe. Almost, just almost. But Kyle wanted to live, just to remember the person who had hurt him so deeply.
Craig pushed into him at a new angle and Kyle heard his own voice issue a moan throughout his lips. Horrible, so horrible. Terrifying and disgusting and humiliating and oh god it hurt so bad he just wanted to go home. He wanted everything to go back to normal, he wanted to sleep. But the sound alerted Craig to his existence, and he pounded into that spot over and over again. He tried desperately hard not to make a sound, succeeding for the most part, except for a few stray betrayals of pleasure.
The pace that Craig had set changed and became more erratic. A feeling of unmistakable hope filled his chest. It was almost over, the torture was almost done. His hips made contact with his own so quickly that Kyle didn't know how to react, only praying for him to finish.
"Oh god-" that sound in his voice returned, "Oh fuck, oh fuck I'm going to- oh shit." Erratic and spontaneous thrusts, and Kyle could feel him reach his climax. Everything was a flurry of feeling and emotion, clouding his head as he felt himself follow suit. A pressure and heat in his lower regions, Craig's hand pumping him, the fear and pain; too overwhelming. Too much. Too much there was too much going on. In and then out and then there. And his head was hitting the rim of the tub. So much. Too much. Overwhelming. White.
And then it was over. For Craig, first, and he felt sick as a warm liquid dripped inside of him. Violating, it marked him. But he could barely think of the implications of Craig's orgasm as he reached climax himself shortly after. It was a mix of his emotions, of that fear and pain and pleasure, all together making one overwhelming sensation that washed over him. His toes curled and there was no more breathing.
For that one second.
It didn't last long.
It never did, and instead of the orgasm people tended to describe, he was thrust back into a world of agony and terror. He hurt, he ached. The floor was cold beneath him. His throat was raw and his eyes were bloodshot from crying. It hurt to open them. …Open them. Kyle decided then and there that he would not tell, that he would never tell. Not Craig, or anybody else. No one could know that he had seen who had destroyed him. He wanted everything to be the same, to go back to normal. He just wanted it to be over. Kyle didn't want to imagine having to meet his gaze in the halls when everything that had happened could be considered the past.
But he would not allow himself to be destroyed. Craig had hurt him, Craig had taken something irreplaceable from him, he had pretended to drown him and then raped him. But Kyle would not break. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction. He hated him, in the very bottom of his heart. Kyle was strong, he would pull himself through. Once, it had been just once, and even though it was torture beyond repair, it was in the past.
"…Fuck". Kyle was suddenly reminded of Craig's presence on top of him, his weight and their touching skin. He pulled out of him, a disgusting wet sound following. Craig leaned back onto the balls of his feet, and fixed his pants, tucking himself away and buttoning back up. His heart beat quickly, worried that he would notice that his blindfold wasn't in place.
Instead, Craig reached out for him. Kyle tried not to recoil, and was surprised when his arms wrapped around him. At first Kyle mistook it for a hug, but then realized that he was fiddling with the ropes restraining his arms.
"Are-" he cleared his throat, finding it difficult to speak. He heard his voice waver. "…Are you letting me go?" Oh, he prayed so desperately for the answer he wanted. The fiddling with the ropes stopped, and he could feel them tighten as Craig pulled.
"Oh, no no no," Craig said, and he moved so that he faced him, "the holidays aren't over yet, we still have New Year to celebrate together."
Their eyes met, and Kyle felt sick.
Review if Craig is a sick bastard. Which means if you don't review, that means you think he's NOT a sick bastard, which makes YOU a sick bastard. Holy fuck. (Then again if you read this, you probably are.)