You Can't Always Get What You Want {Kyman} || (SLOW UPDATES)

Soy un Perdedor

I awoke the next morning at around 5:30. My head was throbbing, and nobody was awake. The drapes closed made it hard to see anyways, even though I knew it was still dark out.
I basically fell out of the bed, trying not to wake Cartman, cause I knew I had to deal with his bullshit later.
My first instinct was to cry. But I couldn't. Not yet. It'd make my head feel shittier. My first instinct was to find Advil or Motrin–anything with ibuprofen in it. I wasn't exactly sure if it's enough to cure a hangover, but Mom would give it to me when I had headaches, so I guess it'd work the same.
I stumbled into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. Only acetaminophen and bismuth subsalicylate (Tylenol and Pepto Bismol to put it in non-scientific terms) ruled the cabinet. God fucking dammit. I wasn't about to drug myself with medicines that wouldn't help me. I'd kill for a Motrin right now.
So all I did was open the door as quietly as possible and sit outside in the front door. And that's when I started to cry.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I wasn't actually attracted to Cartman, so why in the hell would I do that? Maybe the thing about drunk people getting gay was true?
I wanted to slunk down, but I was already sitting down as much as I possibly could. I wanted to bang my head against something really damn hard. I looked at my nails. One got chipped.
Fuck. I gotta repaint them again.
I threw that thought aside and replaced it on how stupid I am.
After about five minutes of crying, I hear a door creak open. I looked directly ahead of me to see it was not Randy and Sharon's door, but instead, the door next to our room.
A girl with a t-shirt and a electric pink Mohawk–well, it wasn't really a Mohawk entirely, she still had hair on the sides but thinner and less compared to what was on the front of her head–walked out. I looked down, trying not to have her pay attention to me, since my eyes were red and I looked like a stoner.
"Oh, shit!" She whisper yelled. "I didn't realize anyone would be awake at this time. Hey, are you alright?"
The girl noticed my face, blotched red, covered with tears strolling down.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."
She glanced over. "No you're not. Come with me."
"I really shou–"
"No, come on. I was gonna go get something from the vending machine. Come with me."
I stood up and glanced at the door, my first instinct being to lock it, but then remembered it was locked from the inside. And it was at that moment, I forgot I had left my card in my jeans from yesterday.
"Fuck!" I yelled, and she glanced at me. "I'm sorry. I realized I left my key to open the door in my jeans."
"Yeah, you also left your jeans inside too." I jerked my head down, to see I only came out in my boxers. Did I really go this far?
"Oh, jeez, sorry if I seem like a perv or something–"
"No, it's okay. I almost walked it here wearing nothing but a t shirt and panties, but then I thought, hey, maybe someone could've been out here." She was wearing really short sleeping shorts.
"Oh, my name is Pink, by the way."
"That's a cool name. My name is Kyle."
"Kyle is a very awesome name. Pink isn't biological, by the way. It's just my nickname. Nice to meet you."
"You too."
We made it to the vending machine, and Pink pulled out three dollars and inserted two of them into the machine. Seconds later, two Honey Buns popped out of the machine. She took them out, and placed one in my hand. "For you, since I know you'll be stuck outside for a good three hours."
"Oh, jeez, Pink. I can't accept this. It's ok, I rarely eat breakfast."
"No, take it, please. I'm trying to keep a healthy diet so I don't look fat enough for the upcoming dance I'm going to."
"If you say so," I said, tearing open the cellophane with my teeth. "And you're real skinny, I think." She dismissed what I said with a slight smile.
I was eyeing her hair. God, it looked so soft.
"This is gonna sound really weird but, can I touch your hair?" I asked her.
"Of course! It's very rare I'm asked that. Kids think I'm weird." I spread out my fingers and rummaged them through her hair. It was soft. Like, four showers a day soft.
"You have some of the softest hair I ever felt. Mine feels like I haven't washed it in like, a decade."
Pink giggled. "No offense, but it looks a tad weird."
I was used to that. "I understand. I've been trying to grow it out, but my mom always cuts it because she wants me to look clean. I wish I could look like my friend Stan. He has long hair, but decent enough to make it look boyish. Maybe you can meet Stan one day! He sleeps in the other room."
"You're here with your friends?"
"Yeah, but thinking about it I regret it all."
"Why? What happened?"
Was I about to tell a complete stranger about my business? She seemed cool enough to talk to, so why not give it a shot. The worst she could do was tell her friends, and she wouldn't even be able to spell my last name if I were to tell her.
I sighed. "Alright. So we came here on Sunday, and we've been here ever since for a trip on vacation. Stan's parents are basically letting us do whatever the hell we want. We almost went to a strip club, for Christ's sake."
"Was it Fabulous TNT?"
"How'd you know?"
"Please! As if I wouldn't know. One of my best friends is one of the girls there. It's the main reason why I came here. But continue on, I'll continue in a sec."
"Well, I found out Stan smokes. So yesterday, me, Kenny and Cartman-we call him by his last name-decided to try it for the first time. Then, we got back here, and Stan's parents didn't get back to their room yet, so Stan stole beer from their room, and we all drank it. From what I knew, Stan and Kenny finished about three cans each and passed out. I had a couple sips of mine and–excuse my French–fucked up myself. Cartman didn't have any, and I'm the one sharing the bed with him. So, I got really gay when the drink really hit me, and I puked on him. He went to shower, and when he got back, I was jut about to sleep, and I kissed him before I did. That's why you saw me crying earlier."
"But what's the big deal?"
"Because he'll make fun of me for the rest of my life!"
"Kyle, listen. No he won't. Has he not seen his dad drunk before?"
"He doesn't have a dad." She paused.
"What does he watch on TV?! He's never seen distant family? His mom never throws or goes to parties with him? I'm sure he's seen someone drunk before."
"I dunno. Maybe he didn't expect it." I took another bite out of the Honey Bun, as the sweetness mixed with the saltiness of my tears strolling down my face again.
"Oh, Kyle–"
"No, it's okay. I gotta try to not be a pussy."
"It's not being a pussy. It's okay for boys to cry." Pink took her nail and swiped away the strolling tear down my cheek. "I've only just met you and seen you cry twice. There's been guys I've known since I was little and I don't think I ever seen them shed one tear."
"Cause I'm a pussy."
"God dammit Kyle! You're not! You're showing me that you have feelings and you care for things, and I appreciate that, dammit!"
"Alright! I get it!" I yelled. Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry for screaming. I only just met you and I'm already acting like a dick."
"No, no, it's a lot of pressure..."
"You're very forgiving, Pink. How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"You're only fifteen? I thought you were like, eighteen, with you and the tattoo–"
"What? Do I look eighteen? Cool, I can break into male strip clubs."
I chuckled, and wiped the stray tear away. "So, what else have you done besides get a tattoo?"
"I've smoked and I've done drugs before. But I never will again."
"Why?"
"You're asking why drugs are bad. Think about that for a second."
Memories from elementary school flooded in when she said 'drugs are bad,' and I couldn't help but think of Mr. Mackey.
"Yeah, sorry. Dumb on my part. What did you try?"
"Weed. It wasn't anything great. Maybe I just don't get affected by drugs? I'm not sure."
"Only thing I ever did was smoke and drink."
"Did you like smoking?"
"I dunno. I had a mixed opinion on it. I probably wouldn't get hooked."
Before I finished my sentence, Pink pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "So, do you want one or no?"
I grinned. "Sure, but this better not get me hooked. And we gotta go outside. There's no smoking in here."
"Who gives a damn? It's almost 6:00. Literally, nobody is awake."
"Fine. You got a lighter?"
This time, I lit it myself. Both times I had Stan light it for me, so now I learned how to properly do it. I really didn't wanna fuck up my lungs badly, so I promised myself this would be my last one for a long time.
"So, Pink, where ya from?" I said, lighting up.
"New York- America's shithole."
I chuckled. "What brings you to Colorado then?"
"Everything's pretty cool here. Nice scenery and all that crap. Breath of air that isn't polluted by smog, rap music, and Timbs."
I paused. "What in the hell are Timbs?"
"Nothing, nothing. You should be glad enough you never had to suffer through what seeing what they are-" she stopped and shuddered and continued on with "I don't even want to think about them right now."
"That bad, huh?" I huffed. "Guess I'm lucky to never see one, or a pair."
She clicked her tongue. "You have NO idea."
For the next half hour we talked about unnecessary things. I talked about Colorado and she told us about how things are real crappy in New York and she wished she lived in the suburbs or somewhere upstate. I was the opposite. After living in a small town for so long, you get sick of the same thing every day.
Same people.
Same buildings.
Same bullshit.
Pink checked her phone. "Well, I think it's about time for me to get back. My mom will be waiting for me and go berserk on why I wasn't in the room. You got a phone number?"
I gave her my digits, as she thanked me and walked down the hall, as I grinned and crushed the butt of the cancer stick with my foot, stood up, walked back to my room and started to sit there and realize that life was pretty okay at the moment.
-
Talking eases tensions.
Know any scientists? Ask 'em if they can do a study if talking with a stranger can help you with issues, even if it's six in the morning and you're wearing boxers talking to a girl with a Mohawk, with hot-pink colored hair.
I didn't bring my phone with me, so I was kinda forced just to sit there and think, but my thoughts about tub of lard inside were all in the back.
Think happy.
Happy = Family.
Shit! I had just realized I hadn't texted my mom since Monday. That's awhile. She's probably freaking out at this moment, calling authorities to come to the resort and take me home because Sharon and Randy were harassing me or some crazy excuse to get her boobah back home.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to go home or not, quite honestly, with everything going on now. But I don't want to bring up anything else about the incident. I'd rather just fall asleep in front of this door on the shag carpet, just for a few minutes...