I lost fifteen pounds in the space of three weeks.
I was scared of the idea of him hating me, scared I'd never see him again, and even more terrified that he would come back, and not because he'd forgiven me. My moods became unpredictable, my social life crumbled. I lay awake well into the night, too afraid to close my eyes, positive he was going to sneak in and kill me despite the policewoman's reassurances.
I wanted him back and I wanted to be free. I wanted him to hold me and love me and tell me how much he cared, but I also never ever wanted to see him again. I felt safe, and I felt terrified. I was sad and excited, lonely but never alone. In the hospital, I bonded with some of the people in my ward as I healed physically, but my mind kept replaying everything that had happened between us. The good, the bad, and the gray area in between.
I had been acting my life for three years; I knew how to make myself appear normal. And yet I couldn't find it in myself to even bother making them think I was okay. They knew, they'd seen the bruises and they'd heard my testimony.
Sunlight streams in from the curtained windows, black spots in my vision as I stare at the blank ceiling. (There are two brown stains, four red stains, and three separate places where paint is peeling off.)
"Hey, Mark." He turns his head to me from his bed. "I'm leaving."
"Okay," he answers. "I knew you would, even though you're being released tomorrow." I want to ask him about that, but I need to get out. Removing the many wires, I attach them to his body.
His grey eyes flash and he flicks a piece of black hair from his face.
"It's my way of paying you back. Sorry you got stuck with someone who looked so much like-" I cough. "Right. Good luck."
I pull bits of clothing from the suitcase Butters brought me.
A note falls out of the jacket pocket as I slip it on.
1860 Mallard Street, Golden, CO.
See you there.
A light smile tugs at the corners of my lips as my heart races.
Quietly, I slip out of our room and into the hallway. My back is slouched as I follow a family. Eventually, they make it to the door and I am home free.
They slide open, the sun beats down.
World-smells invade my nostrils as I inhale.
I'll change my name; they'll never find me. No longer am I 'that boy that got raped and was almost killed by his boyfriend'. I am no longer Stan Marsh, I am no longer a rape victim.
I am no longer his.
The world hasn't stopped spinning, but my life will never be the same.
For once, I could be truly happy.
My wounds are healed, my spirit is mending. I can do this, I can take this step into my future.
No, I won't take a step;
AN: Goodbye, guys. This has been an awesome run. (No pun intended.)
I'm going to put my effort into a WendyxStanxCraigxWendy, a Kenny/Craig and a new original piece. (Original? You're not KFC, Nixi! You're a South Park writer!)
Wow, this has been so much fun. I'm gonna miss you guys. :'D Be sure to check out Annuit Cœptis, as it is also 'horror' and rated M. (It's actually Cryle, contrary to the pairing listed.)
I might start a new just Cran/Staig fic. Depends on if you guys liked this, or would rather something fluffier.
Just another fun fact: this chapter was written before anything else. It was the ending of a Buttman fic, which I discontinued for some reason.
The Show Goes On by Lupe Fiasco.
-sniff- Bye, y'all!