Whatever Happens |Kyman • Stenny • Creek|

Chapter 61: PTSD

"Started off as a one night stand; lingered to a fling; the sirens and the sergeants; didn't seem to mean a thing."

~Kyle's POV~

The Halloween party was going to end pretty soon. Raisins had to close up so they could clean everything up before reopening tomorrow morning. I can so say that this was one of the best Halloween parties I've ever been to. Everyone was able to make it and we had the time of our lives.

Before the party ended and everyone went their separate ways, I decided to spend the last half an hour with the goth kids outside. They knew they were allowed to smoke inside, but they preferred to be outside "away from the other conformists".

When I was almost finished with my cigarette, Stan, Kenny, and Cartman came outside. They watched as I inhaled the remainder of my cigarette. Stan was just standing there while Cartman and Kenny shot me surprised looks. I looked back at them and shrugged. "What? Never seen anyone smoke a cigarette before?" I asked them.

Cartman came up close to me and attempted to take the cigarette from me. "I've never seen you smoke a cigarette before." He told me. I backed away from him so he wouldn't try to snatch my cigarette from me. Ever since the goth kids got me to smoke, I've become pretty addicted to it. I don't really care, though. I feel like I can quit anytime, so why not live life to the fullest?

"Hey dudes, I think my friends want to get going. I'll see you in school Monday." I told the goth kids. They dropped their cigarettes on the ground and stomped on them to put them out. "Alright, see you then." Michael said. As I walked away with everyone, Henrietta, Firkle, and Pete waved at me.

Before walking toward Cartman's house with them, I finished my cigarette and flicked it across the street. Cartman shot me a mean look and shook his head. "Really can't believe you started smoking cigarettes." He muttered under his breath. Stan didn't seem surprised since he's seen me smoke before.

"Try it one day, Cartman. You'll see why it feels so good." I said back, putting my hood on over my head. Even with the human kite costume on, I still felt really cold. I had to throw my jacket on over my costume.

"Kyle, you don't need to look cool by smoking, you know. You're already cool to us." Kenny assured me. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "I'm not smoking to look cool. I'm smoking because it helps relieve stress." I corrected.

Cartman bursted out laughing and gave me another mean look. "Stress from what!? We already beat the living shit out of Sam for you and got him to skip town. What else could you possibly be stressed out about?" He asked me. Him asking me that sent stings of pain toward my heart. He clearly doesn't realize what kind of trauma I'm suffering from the relationship I had with Sam.

Ignoring me, they got into a new conversation about what we're doing for the rest of the night. They said something about another spin the bottle session, but I don't know if I'm up for it now. I just want to go home and go to bed now.

Once we made it to Cartman's house, I walked past it and headed toward my place. While Stan and Kenny went inside, Cartman started running toward me. "Kyle, what the fuck?" He yelled, still walking pretty fast behind me. I shed a tear as I quickened my pace toward my house. "Hang our with us! The fuck is your problem?"

I spun around and revealed my red face. The mean look on his face slowly faded when he noticed the redness and the tears coming out of my eyes. "What you said back there was very insensitive of you, fatass!" I yelled. Cartman looked outraged right after I called him "fatass". He came up really close to me and held me by my shoulders.

"Stop calling me fat, you fucking kike!" He growled quietly. The way he was reacting right now brought up old memories of when Sam used to grab me by the shirt and slam me against the wall. The trauma was so bad all of the muscles in my body went numb. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak; I couldn't even feel my own heartbeat anymore. It felt like the entire world just stopped turning.

Cartman slowly let go of my shoulders and watched as my eyes gazed off into the distance. I was in a trance, racing through memories of the things that Sam did to me within the last year. Hitting me, verbally abusing me, raping me, slamming me into walls, breaking my arm and shoulder, ruining my reputation at school, you get it.

"K-Kyle, I'm so sorry..." he said, trailing off as he watched more tears roll down my cheeks. I turned around and walked away while squeezing the shit out of my chest. He promised he wouldn't do this to me. He promised he wouldn't grab me the way Sam did, or talk to me the way Sam did. My fucking heart is breaking again!

Then again, it's probably my fault. I overreacted to his question on the way over here. Instead of being a bitch about it, I should've just explained to him why I was under so much stress. This whole confrontation would've been avoided if I was smarter.

Cartman tried following me to my house, but I found myself running further down the street. I didn't stop running until I was at my front door. "Kyle, come back!" Cartman called from up the street. He was only fifty feet away from me.

Instead of going back to him, I bursted through my front door and locked it behind me. My parents and Ike weren't home tonight, so I had the whole place to myself.

I slowly walked upstairs to my room while still feeling my heart break into smaller pieces. I should be used to Cartman being a dick to me. It's just that he's been so sweet to me for a while now and I got used to the new him.

Maybe he's drunk or something. He's been drinking a lot at Raisins tonight. Yeah, maybe that's it. I hope thats it.

When I got upstairs, I went straight to the bathroom and began digging around for a razor. As I used one hand to dig through the medicine cabinet, I used my other hand to take off my costume and change into my pajamas.

Once I changed into a tank and pajama pants, I reached for the razor that was underneath an unopened box of bandaids. I put it under there a few days ago just in case I had a relapse. Well, here I am now.

I stuck the razor against my arm near where I slit during my suicide attempt. The stitches in the deep gashes were still pretty gross-looking. I have to wrap bandages around it every night before bed so I don't accidentally fuck them up in my sleep.

The cut I was about to make won't be as deep as the cuts that are stitched up.

I sliced into my skin for the first time in a while, which brought about instant relief. "Oh, fuck." I moaned as a smile split my face. This felt even better than sex right now. The blood seeping right through the new slit began dripping down the sides of my forearm, making the whole scene that much more dramatic.

Sweet, sweet relief.

"Every second, every minutes; every hour, every day; it never ends."

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