When I was a child, he'd been my very best friend. Whenever I had to do something I hated doing, he was there for me with a smile and a helping hand. He defended me when I was weak and in turn I would defend him. There were nights we'd stay over at each others' houses and joke around and play all night, or until we eventually just crashed. I always had so much fun with him and at that young naïve age, I was convinced we would always be together, that we would always be best friends.

But all that changed when we were ten-years-old.

For some reason that no one could seem to explain, he became a cynical asshole and started hanging around only jocks, mostly Clyde's group, people he had never liked before. When that I happened, I felt so alone.

Okay, so I had two other friends, one I became closer to as the years past and the more I accepted I may never have the same relationship with my lost best friend that I had had, but it wasn't the same. I wanted–I want my best friend back. I want my Stan back.

I turned my vacant gaze from Cartman, who was telling Kenny about some new video game, to where Stan was sitting with Clyde, Token, Craig, and Tweek - the jock table, (with the exception of Tweek, who was only still there because he was still best friends with Craig) - talking with them about something apparently funny seeing as they all laughed. My eyes narrowed at their laughter.

I hated Clyde, Token, and Craig for taking my best friend away from me. Hearing them laughing with the raven-haired boy they stole from me four years ago made my stomach turn, and their laughter sounded bitter in my ears, it echoed like some cruel joke.

I ground my teeth together and then turned away to rest my head in my folded arms on the table. They made me absolutely sick.

They took my Stan, they took my best friend, and now all I can do is watch him from a distance as he goes about acting like I never existed.

Maybe I should what my mother told me when I first cried to her about Stan's abandonment and just move on. It's been four years after all, why should I be dwelling on something that happened so long ago. Hell, there were even days I believed I was a stalker, or perhaps something worse.

A monster.

Why would I think myself a monster? Because only a monster would think to–

"Kyle!" I glanced up as Kenny's silky voice rang through my ears. My green eyes met his sky blue orbs, and I could see the concern there.

I sat up and popped my neck. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay? You've been zoned out all day."

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." Before either he or Cartman could say anything else on the matter, I grabbed my black backpack from the tiled floor next to my seat at the lunch table and stood. "I'm gonna go to the library for a bit. I have a test next hour I can't afford to fail." I left before they could protest and without eating a single thing, as usual. It was never a big loss not eating during lunch hour anyway seeing as the high school's food sucked - even as a freshman I knew to avoid eating it at all costs.

In the library, I sat down near the back in front of the windows showing the front of the single-story high school. I pulled my Psych textbook out of my backpack and opened it, but I only pretended to work.

Yes, I'm a freshman in a Psychology class. Surprising, no?

Well, it's not surprising for everyone around me. I did what was expected of me: I got the highest grades, I was the top of my class, I was taking Honors courses, and I was taking upperclassman courses. And when I graduated, I'd be attending Purdue University, or maybe Yale. Everyone thought I was a studious bookworm who had nothing better to do than just sit around and study, which was a bunch of bullshit. I cheated on every test I took for my Honors courses and for most of my upperclassman courses as well.

I hated school, all it was, was the illusion of people becoming friends and then leaving them just as suddenly. The coursework you were required to do was merely a formality to keep your parents from wringing your neck because you weren't smart enough to be a student. And if you weren't smart enough to be a student and didn't go to school, Johnny-law would come to your parents and force you to go to school anyway. The education system is nothing more than a continuous cycle of lies, betrayal, and formalities. That's why I've always hated school.

But…does that mean I hate life?

My grip tightened on my pen as I looked outside, hearing something against the window pane. It was beginning to storm.

Life was nothing but constantly lies and hatred, betrayal and formalities. No one told the truth, no one was kind, there were no real Saints. Everyone, everyone you "loved" or "cared about" was lying to you and you were lying to them. Always.

I heard someone drop their backpack across the table from me and looked over at them to tell them I wanted to be alone so I could study, but froze. Those raven locks that always caught the sunlight so well, those dark blue eyes that always looked so cruel and kind at once, and that slightly tanned skin that pulled other features together. And in his brown jacket and blue jeans, he looked like what the girls would call a "God," or an "Adonis." Stan's looks intrigued me and even captivated me, but if it was anything I felt for him, I thought it was probably lust.

He sat down in the seat he set his backpack next to and just stared at me for a moment before saying, "I saw you staring at me in the cafeteria."

I shrugged. "What makes you think I was looking at you?"

His eyebrows knit together briefly before he let out a deep sigh. "You stare at me everyday Kyle," (He remembered my name? I figured he'd forgotten it so he could remember all the names of his new "friends."), "so I know it was me. Plus, I know you follow me home some days. To be honest," he folded his hands together on the table in front of himself, "it's creepy."

Now I knit my eyebrows together. Creepy? Me?

"I want you to stop." His eyes were now flaming with what I thought was fury. "At first I thought you just wanted to be friends again but was too afraid to approach me, but it's been two years now. What the hell do you want? Tell me and stop stalking me, or I'll call the police."

An empty threat. Stan wouldn't call the police, he never told the truth. I can remember when we had promised to be super best friends forever, but look at us now. We haven't talked once in four years, and only are now because Stan is "creeped out" by me. Tch. How typical of someone like him. But still, I had to give him some excuse. Without one he wouldn't leave me alone…and I needed to be alone more than anything else right now with all these thoughts of what I want to do running through my head.

"You're right," I said slowly, cautiously choosing my words as I spoke, "I want to be friends again. It's been four years since we talked, so of course I'm going to have some trouble approaching you about it. Do you think we could…hang out?"

After a moment of silence, Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if thinking. Another moment past before he said, "Fine. I'll go over to your house after football practice lets out." He stood and grabbed his backpack as the bell to release the current hour sounded off. "Even if today ends badly, stop stalking me." With as his goodbye, he turned and left.

I practically slammed my textbook closed and dropped it into my backpack at his exit. The bastard thinks that he can just talk to me like that? Well, maybe I'm not the monster; maybe I'm just the one who's going to have a rational reaction. If it would help him stop sounding like those other jock assholes he hung around, then I was doing the right thing. My reaction is completely logically in that sense, and even helpful. Stan will be mine again and he'll be acting like himself, like a normal person.

I'm being helpful.

I'm reacting rationally.

A rare smile crosses my face and out of the corner of my eye, I see the librarian cringe away in what was probably fear. When I pushed open the glass doors of the library I saw why she reacted the way she did: my forest green eyes were shimmering like a feral animal's and my smile looked like it belonged on the face of psychopath.

I emerged from the dark basement of my home when I heard the doorbell ring. No one else was home; mom and dad were at work and Ike was at a friend's house. Perfect.

I opened the door to see a very wary looking Stan standing on the porch, like he knew something was about to happen. I invited him in politely like I was supposed to and then pointed to the basement door. "Me and Ike keep some games down in the basement."

He nodded and walked for the basement door. He asked me how Kenny and Cartman were, saying that he'd been thinking about old times ever since our meeting in the library earlier in the day. I said they were fine, and I made general small talk as expected. So much work, this will be so much easier in just a moment.

Without even turning the basement light on, I shut the door behind me. The dark enclosed both me and Stan like a thick blanket that neither of us could escape. Well, maybe not Stan anyway.

"Hey Kyle," he said in a shaking voice, "could you turn the light on? It's hard to see down here."

"Okay." I found the handrail with one hand and then his shoulder with the other. Before he could say a word, I shoved him down the steps. When I heard a thud at the bottom of the stairs, I flipped on the light and stalked down the wooden steps towards my hurt (former) best friend. "Oops." I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and drug him towards where I had a collar and leash from a dog that had died years ago nailed to the wall.

The collar slipped around his neck and tightened to a snug fit. Oh, how he looked so beautiful and submissive with that bright red collar fitting snug around his throat! And he looked that much better when all of his clothes left his body, leaving only the bruises and scars from football to cloak his skin from my gaze.

And suddenly, I was pitching a tent.

No one had ever invoked feelings of lust inside of me, and I wouldn't have guessed that the one to actually make me feel it would my (former) best friend. I suppose it was time I lost my virginity though…and having such a submissive, beautiful man to help me with that just made the prospect an even better one.

Before he could wake from his unconscious state, I bound Stan's wrists behind his back and made sure the leash was strong. Everything was in order, soon Stan would be mine. His friendship and his body. I would restore his mindset to where it should be and even have his body to use for my sexual needs.

Wonderful.

Moments later, Stan groaned and opened his eyes. Suddenly he panicked and began struggling against the ropes around his wrists. I wasn't sure why. Nothing was happening to him, yet.

"Stop struggling," I said, catching his attention for the first time in what felt like forever, "you'll just make all this harder for yourself."

His eyes widened as I spoke. "Kyle, what's going on?"

I smiled again, thinking it was a sweet and comforting smile; that was quickly disproved as Stan began to back away from me towards the wall. "Don't worry," I knelt down in front of him and unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, "I'm restoring you to yourself."

He pressed himself hard against the cement wall. Fear was showing clearly in his eyes and I didn't understand why. Didn't he want to be like he was? Didn't he want be my best friend again? "What's that mean?"

"It means," I pushed my pants and boxers down a bit to show him my erect member, "you're going to be my best friend again."

Stan's eyes widened even further as I closed in on him. He crossed his legs and actually tried to go through the wall he was pressed up against. Why did he want to get away from me? Couldn't he see I was just trying to help? "Get the fuck away from me you psychotic freak!"

I stopped. Psychotic freak? Was that what I was? Instead of a monster, was I a…psychotic freak? …No, that can't be what I am. I'm a logical straight-A student who fulfills the roles he's expected to. I'm not a freak. And I'm definitely not psychotic. I shook my head and continued towards him. "You've got it wrong Stan. I'm not psychotic," I grabbed his ankles and forced his legs apart - I think that's when the tears began to flow from his eyes, "you are." I pushed my cock into him, earning pained screech. "I'm just trying to help you," I moaned as I uncontrollably began to move inside of him, "that's all."

"No," he screeched as I watched more salty tears fall down his face, "stop! Kyle, you're hurting me!"

I ignored his screaming as I continued thrusting deep into him. Hurting him? That couldn't be. How could something I felt such pleasure doing possibly be painful? Maybe he was just scared that he was going back to his old self and that he'd be leaving behind all of his connections he'd established as his new self. But he could live without them, he had before and he could now. He just needed to accept and welcome his old self back to his consciousness and then he'll be normal again. Stan will be mine once again!

"Mmm…" I licked his tears from his face. "Stan," I moaned and then buried my entire length into him just before I released my load, "you're mine." I pulled out of him but continued to lick his tears from his face. When I was content from that, I looked down to see my come leaking from his hole. With my hands still around his ankles, I could feel him shaking harder with each sob that escaped him.

I smiled and inserted my middle finger into him to see what the inside of his ass felt like. Doing that earned another short scream and sob. He was wet and sticky inside, and I was sure he enjoyed it as much as I had. Why shouldn't he have?

I took my finger out of him and then kissed him. His soft lips were trembling with each sob that escaped him and he tasted like sorrow. Why was that? Was he saving himself for someone else? Clyde, perhaps? Oh well, why does it matter now? He's mine.

I released him from the collar and undid the rope around his wrists. When I stood and smiled, I said, "Come back tomorrow and I'll continue to help you…my Stan."

Stan quickly scrambled away from me, tugged on his clothes, and ran from me as fast as he could.

The next day, men in white jackets came to take me away to my own padded room.

I glanced up as I heard the squeaking door of my room open. I smiled and tried to move my arms to give the person I wanted to see a hug, but the white jacket my overseers made me wear prevented me from moving them at all.

It didn't matter though, my smile dropped and I became bored again when I saw the brunette hair and brown eyes belonging to Cartman step into the room. I slumped back against the wall and looked at the white padded ground. When he spoke, I didn't care.

"Kyle," Cartman said slowly, "I was told you haven't had a visitor in a month. I thought…I'd come visit…" He waited a moment before continuing with the same unsure tone as a moment ago, "You know–"

"Where's Stan?" I asked suddenly. I didn't care if Cartman was visiting; I wanted to see my Stan. "Where's my Stan?"

"…Well…he doesn't want to see you…ever."

"But he's mine," I protested. I had to get the point across that Cartman was lying, that he was wrong and Stan was going to come and get me out of here. He was my best friend after all. "He'll come for me Cartman, he will." I pulled my knees up to my chest and smiled. "Stan will come."

I heard Cartman sigh before the door opened once again and then slammed. There was the clicked of locks and then all was silent again.

My best friend will come for me.

My best friend will come.

My best friend.

Mine.

Mine.