philophobia [style]

tucker fucker

"umm... hello?" i heard a boy say. i coughed up bloody flowers. i froze in place.

the petals rested in my clamped hand.
the stall door opened.
the blood was on my chin.
the boy showed himself.

"kyle broflovski?"

--

"craig tucker?"

"uh, dude. shouldn't you be at lunch with your own gang?"

"i should be asking you the same."

craig sighed and flipped me off. "the fuck are you eating lunch in the bathroom? the one furthest away from the lunchroom too."

i took a sip of the milk i had for lunch. "i think stan's mad at me. i don't feel like seeing him." i lied.

"that's stupid." he said. "what? you got a better idea?" i questioned.

craig leaned on the side of the bathroom stall, staring at me, examining me. "yeah. just go to him head on and ask what the fuck you did."

"but what if i didn't do anything?" i asked. "i don't know. i'm not the best advice giver."

my palms were sweating, the bloody petals still in my hand. i never wiped the blood off my chin. he noticed that, i could tell, but he didn't say anything. i finally shoved the petals into my pocket and wiped off the blood. i took a bite of the chicken sandwich and fries they were serving today.

"oh, craig, why are you here?" i asked, referring to the question he asked me earlier.

he glared at me. "i'm not telling you." craig refused and flipped me off once again. "dude, just tell me." he walked over and sat next to me on the counter. "okay, just don't tell anyone. please don't tell tweek. i came here to think."

i nodded.

"i-i cheated on tweek with clyde."