Winter is useful when you have secrets to hide on your body. I wrap myself in layers and layers of inconspicuous black and dark colors, long sleeve shirts that fit snug with jackets that don't. Ironically, Cartman taking away all power from me in that hour, has made me really consider the power I have over my own life. Naked, I would stare at my body, feeling more empowered than any time I didn't eat. The long straight scabs and pink raw welts decorated me with a sort of confidence.
I rub the raised brown scar on my chest and really inspect my reflection. For the first time in years, my finite mortality gave me strength. The cuts further reminded me I was alive, like battle scars. Despite how terrifying and weird the situation was. I already faced my fear, losing complete control, and came out alive, but now I had to really consider if I trusted Cartman.
In a way, he was right. He had me in his hands and didn't ruin my life. He's known my secret for almost a month now with no intention of telling anyone. Although I would rather he didn't know, he is the most powerful ally I could have asked for. If he truly enjoyed dangling me in mental torture, then he wouldn't tell anyone, and I would just have to put up with him. But then again, what is worse? Being his bitch or public humiliation?
As the sun breaks outside and I go to school with another zero hours of sleep, I repeat my new personal mantra to myself as I stare at my nakedness in the bathroom mirror:
I am gay, I am working on my shit, and I'm getting the fuck out of here.
/\/\/\
To tell Stan or not to tell Stan. That is the question. A brown crumpled bag whizzes by my head and I snap out of my daydream, staring at Pete again. How I longed to just walk up and kiss him because it felt so damn good, but in our small town, that would be a social death wish. But I at least owed Stan an explanation. Or did I?
"Henrietta actually gave me her number, which was pretty kind of her..." Butters says sheepishly.
"Really?" I ask, attempting to snap myself out of my head. I try to busy myself in my papers. The idea of someone else in our group interested in a goth is calming. At least I don't have to feel like I'm rocking the boat too too much. "You should totally go for it."
"You think so?" Butters asks timidly. His blue round eyes light up while he's playing with his sandwich. "Because I think she was just being nice—
"So Kahl," the asshole asks. I couldn't quite look at him and not see my blood smeared all over his lips, and not imagine his warm breath juxtaposed with the sharp edge of his knife pressing into my chest.
I slowly turn my head toward him. I still don't know how to deal with him and I was hoping I wouldn't have to yet. He bats his hazel eyes innocently, "Can I see your homework?"
"Why?" I ask, already knowing what he's trying. Just don't think about last night. Just don't think about how close you were. Reminder: he's a psycho.
"Well, you see I was a tad... Busy last night," hot rage erupts inside me. How dare he mention last night? I might trust him not to tell anyone now but he doesn't have to be such an asshole. He continues, "And I didn't have a chance to do mine-
"Fuck off," I mutter, glancing over at the smoke-covered goth kids. I lock eyes with Pete by chance and he smiles between drags of his cigarettes. I smile back and look down, trying to push down a blush. God this is complicated.
"So you and Pete are friends now? That's cool," Butters chimes.
"Yeah he's cool," I say honestly, hoping my intentions aren't obvious.
YOU ARE READING
Elysian Fields (A Kyman Fanfiction)
FanfictionKyle Broflovski is sixteen and going crazy. He's desperate to get out of South Park, his only home his entire life. He's confused, angry, and feels more alone than ever, so why not work at the dingy strip club at the edge of town? Wait -- is that Ca...
