Drunk Hearts

It's Destroying You

One week later

"You," Kenny backed Stan into the corner, trapping him from leaving, "I am getting real sick of this shit."

"Dude what the fuck are you talking about?" Stan said, hitting the wall behind him. All he wanted was to take a piss, but now Kenny has a finger on his chest.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he spat, "I can take third-wheeling just fine. But this? Do you know how awkward it is living with two people who won't talk to each other?"

Stan chuckled, "we are talking to each other."

Kenny took his finger off Stan's chest, moving his hand to his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sighed, then looked Stan in the eyes, "no, you're not."

Stan sat quiet for a moment. Kenny wasn't wrong, not completely. Him and Kyle had been avoiding each other ever since that night, not exchanging anything more than pleasantries. It was really taking a toll on Stan, and without football, he had been falling deeper into his addictions.

"And don't think I don't notice what you're doing, either," Kenny spoke.

Stan tried to act oblivious, "huh?"

"The whole house can hear you throwing up every night Stan! We can smell the alcohol on your clothes! Which, by the way, don't even fit you anymore! I knew you had problems, Stan, but I didn't think it was this bad."

Stan darted his eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact. He didn't know what to say. As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, the front door flung open.

"Hey Ken," Kyle said, carrying bags inside, "can you help me bring in the groceries?"

Kenny immediately backed off Stan, giving him a glare. "We are not done talking about this," he whispered harshly, before meeting Kyle down the stairs.

Stan didn't really move, he just stood in place in the corner, taking in what Kenny had just said. He just wanted to piss, that's all. Instead he was interrogated and left feeling like shit. Kenny always had a soft spot for Stan, he looked at him like a brother, but he also hated when he felt like the friend group was drifting or fighting. Kenny never had a stable family, and looked towards his friends as a replacement almost. This whole situation was affecting Kenny just as much as it was affecting Kyle and Stan, and Stan never really thought about that.

Stan finally made his way to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Kenny was right, his clothes were hanging loosely on his body.

"What was that about?" Kyle asked Kenny as they brought in the last of the bags.

"What was what?" Kenny replied, trying to see how much Kyle had saw.

"It looked like you had Stan pinned against the wall," Kyle chuckled.

Kenny sighed in relief, "oh, I was just playing around."

Kyle nodded. He decided not to ask any further. Either he was telling the truth, or whatever it was he didn't want to talk about it.

"You should talk to him," Kenny added.

Kyle turned to face Kenny, a bit of a confused look on his face, as if asking why.

"Y'all aren't acting like one big happy family right now and it's getting on my nerves," Kenny continued, laughing a bit to lighten the mood.

"I've been busy with assignments," Kyle said, putting the groceries away.

"Just talk to him."

___

Stan was sitting on his floor, back up against his bed. He didn't really have the energy to get up right now. After his talk with Kenny, he went back to the bottle. It was late now, and the almost-empty bottle of whiskey laid weakly in Stan's hand. He was drifting in and out of sleep, until he heard a soft knock on the door that startled him.

"I-it's open," Stan slurred, tossing the bottle under the bed.

The door opened slowly, revealing Kyle on the other side.

"Oh, hi Ky," Stan said trying his best not to slur his words.

The use of his nickname caught Kyle of guard for a moment. He continued stepping in, and the aroma of liquor hit his nose. Great.

"Are you drunk?" Kyle asked, moving with caution.

Stan giggled, "n-nooo..."

After what seemed like an eternity, Kyle finally made it to Stan's side, lowering himself onto the floor next to him. He didn't even know for sure what he came in to talk about, he just knew Kenny seemed pretty adamant about it. He could see Stan watching him out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his head forward.

"I can smell it," Kyle sighed.

"Maybe a little bit."

Kyle whipped his head to look at Stan, irked, "you can't keep getting drunk every night. It's not good for you, and the one time I want to have a serious conversation with you, you can't fucking think straight!"

Stan still wasn't grasping the irritation in Kyle's demeanor, "drunk brain is better than overthinking brain, I get to forget about my emotions!"

"Jesus fucking Christ Stan!"

"Do you know how embarrassing it is to have feelings for your best friend?" Stan blurted. He may have jumped the gun a little, skipping to a different conversation. He had been bottling this up for quite a while, and the moment he started talking about his emotions while under the influence, he lost his filter.

"Yeah, Stan, I do."

Pin-drop silence. Stan sat on the floor with his mouth slightly agape, while Kyle had turned away again to not risk looking at Stan. 

"I hate seeing you like this," Kyle lowered his voice, changing the subject, "but I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself."

"Then don't help me, keep avoiding me," Stan chuckled, "I'm a lost cause."

Kyle put his hands to his eyes, rubbing them, "I'm not avoiding you, Stan."

"Don't lie, we've been avoiding each other since the party."

"If anything you've been avoiding me, Stan!"

"We've been avoiding each other, Kyle. I confessed my feelings for you on accident. I was drunk. I didn't want to talk about it again, and I know you didn't either. Talking is a two-way street, and you didn't put any effort in either," Stan ranted.

"So you do remember!" Kyle shot back around, looking at a tired Stan.

"Yes I fucking remember, how could I not?"

"You were wasted!"

"So were you!"

Kyle turned towards the door, sighing. He put his forehead on the door and his hand on the knob. "I can't do this right now," he huffed, walking out, leaving Stan alone.

"I can't fucking do anything right," Stan muttered to himself. He reached into his drawer, taking out the first bottle of pills he could find, "they'd be so much happier without me in the picture."

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Words: 1092