I Need You . . [A Bunny Fanfic.] (kennyxbutters)

[ 5. Things Get Worse . . ]

Kenny's eyes slowly blinked open, and he took a look around him. His vision was still quite blurry.

He was lying in his bed. But he knew he hadn't died- However, he expected to wake up in the hospital if he woke up at all.

As his vision cleared, Kenny looked around and saw Butters. He was kneeling near his tiny bed, his head resting on Kenny's flat stomach. He was wearing a different shirt. Kenny felt a pang of guilt for throwing up all over Butters' sweater.

He felt terrible. Worse than any sickness he ever had before. He would've just reached for the gun and shot himself if Butters wasn't there and he had the strength even move. He just wanted the pain to end. For once, he wanted to experience death again.

He heard Butters softly sobbing. Kenny couldn't find the energy to speak; and passed out again before Butters even noticed he was awake in the first place.

***

He woke up again a few hours later, moonlight filtering through his torn curtains. Somehow, he felt even worse but more energized at the same time. It probably wasn't that late, as Karen was standing by the side of his bed, holding Kenny's hand.

"Kenny! You're awake!" Karen gasped in relief.

Kenny found the strength to actually look up at Karen, squinting his eyes through the darkness to look at her. "Hey-" Kenny managed to utter that single word before wheezing and coughing.

"Don't try to talk, Kenny." Karen sighed. "I was so worried! I heard some of the older kids talking something about some kid getting sick today.. I thought they were talking about someone else until four of your friends.." Karen seemed to try to remember their names. "Stan, Kyle, that chubby kid and Butters, I think, found me at Tricia's and told me what happened. Your friend Butters seemed to know the most. God, I was so worried! I had a feeling you should've stayed home-" Karen rambled.

Kenny tried to focus on what she was saying, but only heard a good fraction. He softly nodded. "I-it's just a cold or something, Karen."

Karen sighed. "Are you sure? I mean- I dunno why nobody rushed you to the hospital. But I wasn't there. Your friend Butters was telling me about how he didn't know what to do, and he just carried you home before anyone could question it. I guess he told Stan, Kyle, the fat kid, and of course, mom though."

Kenny absorbed the information as best as he could. He sighed once he processed what she had explained to him.

"Mom was with you earlier, Y'know.. she was crying and saying something. But I couldn't hear what she was saying. I dunno where dad is. Sorry, Kenny." Karen added quickly.

Kenny nodded weakly, resting his head back onto one of his stained pillows. He noticed that the house was quiet, which always could've been really good or bad. He guessed this was because his dad was out drinking again.

"It's kind of late, so I'm gonna go to sleep now. But I promise I'll stay home for as long as I can and come right home after school to check on you. Okay? Just- you can call for me if you need anything.."

Kenny nodded. "Thanks, Karen." He was usually more talkative around people he cared about. Like Karen and Butters. But he was feeling too terrible to barely even speak.

Karen nodded to him, let go of his hand, and began walking out of his room, gently shutting his half-broken door behind her.

Kenny sighed, letting the tears fall. Why couldn't he just die? Maybe when he woke up he'd feel better. That had to be true. He couldn't go back to sleep; whatever sickness he had kept him awake.

He thought back to the night he devoured the rat. That wasn't too long ago, and he started feeling sick immediately after. He shouldn't have done that.

He mentally cursed himself for doing that. He could've easily gotten food from someone the next day. But he couldn't forget the hunger.

He suddenly remembered his pocketknife; a glimmer of hope sparking in him.

He suddenly frowned. He had tried to kill himself with that before, slitting his neck, but that never worked. It only caused him to fall unconscious at best. Karen or his mom would probably find him bleeding out but still alive. They never had, but now that they were actually aware of Kenny being sick, one of them were likely to walk in.

But it was good for one thing. Cutting. Maybe if he cut, it would numb the sickness he felt and distract him from everything.

He reached for his pocket, fishing in and pulling the pocketknife. He pulled his sleep up above his wrists to reveal the scars littering his wrist that had lingered even after he died and woke up.

He brought out the blade, sliding it over his wrist for about three seconds before doing it again on another spot, watching as the blood oozed out. He barely felt pain. He barely felt anything at all but the sick feeling in his gut and his throbbing headache. Another thing he felt was exhausted, even though he'd been energized a few moments earlier.

When he was finally done, he wiped the bloody blade off and put it back in his pocket, pulling his sleeves over the fresh cuts.

That usually helped him forget about things and feel nothing at all, but it made it worse. He coughed at least four times a minute, and his headache seemed to get worse.

Something in him wished someone had taken him to the hospital. He could've asked them to put him out of his misery. Not that it made a difference.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would gather the strength and find his gun. Tomorrow he would end it and wake up like nothing ever happened. He just needed to rest.

The strength never came.