The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 17: The Play's the Thing – Climax and Resolution
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessKyle rang the doorbell and gripped his acoustic guitar anxiously. He hoped to Abraham this would work. He had an early morning tutoring session to make up for the fact he was busy with the play this evening, and he figured this would be his last ditch attempt to get their libidos off his back.
"Hel… Oh." Ruby sounded deeply disappointed.
"Hi!" Kyle said with fake enthusiasm. "It's algebra day today! I had a great idea for getting you guys to remember quadratic equations." He patted his guitar.
Ruby stared at him with a mixture of horror and disgust. "Sure. Come in."
The other girls were sitting around the table. Their expressions soured as they took in Kyle's corduroy jacket with the leather patches in the elbows, his starched white shirt, his sandals and his guitar.
"What's with the guitar?" Andie, the blonde girl who looked about twenty, asked.
"I had a neat idea! I thought I'd help you guys to learn about quadratic equations with a little song!"
He caught Karen's eye for a moment; she was giggling so hard he had to look away, else he'd explode into laughter as well. The crucial element to being this much of a dickless wonder was to take it more seriously than the Pope took mass. He made a great show of tuning his guitar, took a deep breath and started to play.
"Quadratic equations won't cause you to rage and vent,
If you use coefficients!
Just plug them in and you will see,
Quadratic equations are as easy as can be!
But to ensure you have the right result,
Check your solution using the discriminant!"
Kyle glanced at the girls' horrified expressions, and it was this that prompted his next words, words he knew would make it physically impossible for them to have any remotely sexual feelings towards him ever again.
"Come on, girls; join in!"
"Umm, that's cool, Kyle," Tina, the dark-haired girl, said darkly. "How about we just do the lesson plan, huh?"
An hour of solid work later, where Kyle was convinced they had got through more material than they had in the past month, he poured himself a well-deserved cup of coffee while the girls huddled together and chatted in the garden, looking over every so often at him with vague disgust.
He sighed happily.
Karen nudged him in the leg with her knee, holding her own cup. "Forget what they say about Ike; you're definitely the genius."
"Thanks. You think it worked?"
"Like a charm. I don't think I've seen anyone so sexually repellent before," she said in a congratulatory tone.
"Awesome," Kyle replied, just as part of him wondered if maybe he shouldn't have gone the whole hog. He needed all the help he could get when it came to girls his own age who weren't dazzled by a few extra years and a mini flip-chart.
It was around then that Karen moved her hair and Kyle saw an ugly swollen bruise on the side of her face.
"Whoa, Karen. What happened?" he asked, gently running his thumb under the swelling. She pulled away instantly and arranged her hair so it fell over the mark.
"N… Nothing," she stammered. "It's nothing."
"It's not noth—"
"Okay, okay." She sighed heavily. "Some guys came looking for my parents last night. I told them they weren't in and… well, I guess that was the wrong answer."
Kyle immediately felt his blood start to boil. "The fuck, Karen? Did you call the police? What about Kenny? Hell, you could have called me, I'd have sorted it out."
Karen started to laugh. "That's sweet, Kyle, but you really couldn't."
"Well, okay, but I could have got my ass kicked in your place."
"I'm okay, Kyle. I'll sort it out," Karen said quietly. "But thanks for caring," she added, kissing him on the cheek before skipping out to the garden to join her friends. Kyle was left somewhat worried about her.
Just as he set his cup down on the kitchen top, he heard Mrs. Tucker's voice.
"Tom?"
Kyle turned around. "No, Mrs Tucker. Just me."
Mrs Tucker surveyed him with a strange look in her eyes. "Why hello, Kyle," she drawled. "You… Do you usually…" She gestured with her hand at his attire.
Kyle laughed. "Funnily enough, I think I'm going to keep it up," he replied, turning back to pick up his cup. "Do you want me to wash this or should I just—"
His voice rapidly left him as he turned back around and saw Mrs Tucker had unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor, exposing her shiny red lingerie. To Kyle's horrified amazement, she tugged on a little string under each bra cup and her nipples were suddenly on display like starlets on a stage during the curtain call. He didn't know where to look, so decided on the floor. The floor was definitely a good place to stare right now; he'd never noticed how the linoleum had little grey flecks in it before.
"I think you should keep it up for a long time, sugar," she said, stepping forward and pinning him to the kitchen counter. Not knowing what else to do, Kyle hastily grabbed his guitar and interposed it between him and Mrs Tucker's breasts.
"Umm, I could sing you a song about quadratic equations?" he offered uncertainly.
With a bouquet of flowers in his hand and hope in his heart, Stan knocked on Wendy's door. He nervously checked his breath just as the door creaked open, revealing Wendy looking breath-taking in a pretty blue dress.
"Hi, Stan," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "Come on in."
She turned on her heel, swishing her perfect ass a little as she looked over her shoulder and took his hand.
"Why don't you come upstairs, Stan?" she offered. Stan gulped away a dry throat.
"S… Sure," he said, practically tripping up the stairs in his eagerness to follow Wendy.
They arrived at her parents' bedroom; the white sheets and chrome headboard were both familiar and new to Stan. Not that he had much time to consider this, for Wendy beckoned him over with one finger and he leant in for a kiss.
"Oh, Stan," she sighed as he pulled away. Just as Stan was about to reach to undo a button on her dress, he was distracted by an almighty crash.
Wendy ducked behind the bed with a squeal and Stan shielded them both from the glass which shattered across the room. He looked up and saw Kyle swing into the room on a giant rope. He landed on his feet and put his leather-gloved hands on his hips, drawing Stan's attention to his leather thong.
"Kyle! What the hell are you doing?" Stan demanded. "And what's with the ridiculous moustache?"
Kyle smiled and his teeth seemed to gleam in the dim light. "What do you think, Stan? I'm here to fuck!" He flicked his unruly curls back and winked at Wendy, who had stood up from her hiding place and stared at him with dilated pupils.
"Oh, Kyle!" she purred, before she rushed up to him and ran her hand over his skinny chest.
"Wendy!" Stan remonstrated, and she looked up at him a little indignantly.
"Stan, I can't help it! He's just so sexy," she sighed. Kyle shrugged and smacked her ass – the sound seemed to reverberate around the room as a gasp of shocked desire escaped from Wendy's lips.
"That's right, baby. Come to Daddy," Kyle growled, giving her left nipple a tweak through her dress. Wendy's eyes rolled a little in desire, and her dress mysteriously fell to the floor, revealing her beautiful figure, naked save for stocking and suspenders.
"Kyle!" she gasped in outraged excitement, her hand flying to her chest as though to calm her wildly beating heart while Kyle caressed her ass cheeks with a single gloved hand.
"Don't worry. I'm here, baby," he murmured, tilting her back and kissing her hungrily. Stan couldn't look away, as horrified as he was, and had to witness Wendy sliding eagerly to her knees and going to town on Kyle's dick.
"Wendy!" Stan cried out.
"Mmm," she moaned. "It's so big, and it tastes just like cinnamon!"
Kyle effortlessly lifted her up and flung her onto the bed. "I've got better uses for you, darling," he crooned as he exposed his eye-wateringly humongous cock. "Spread your legs for me, baby." He quirked his eyebrow and the action seemed to stoke Wendy's libido further.
To Stan's horror, Wendy eagerly obeyed and cried out in ecstasy when Kyle plunged inside her, slinging her legs over his shoulders to get deeper access.
"Oh, Kyle! Yes, yes, yes!" Wendy gasped, gripping at the bed sheets and arching her back.
"Oh yeah. You like that, don't you, baby?" Kyle grunted, thrusting deeply and slowly with apparently no effort at all.
"Ooh, I love it," she moaned back. "Ride me, Kyle! Ride me like a rodeo bull! Ride me like a pony!"
"Then giddy up, filly," Kyle panted, giving Wendy a loving pat in the side of her ass as he thrust in and out of her like he had a power tool attached to his crotch.
Stan couldn't even find his voice as Wendy's excitement – and volume – grew.
"Yes! Oh, God! I'm going to die, but fuck they'll struggle to wipe the smile off my face for the coffin!" Wendy screamed.
"Who's my little fuck bunny?" Kyle cooed as he caressed her breasts.
"Ooh… Ooh… I'm your little fuck bunny!" Wendy groaned. "I'm your filthy little fuck bunny!"
"Wendy!" Stan begged. "You were meant to be my little fuck bun—"
"Oh, Kyle! More, more, more!" Wendy cried out.
"You want more, baby?" Kyle replied in challenge.
"Oh, God! Yes! I need more, don't ever stop!"
Kyle chuckled softly. "Relax, Wendy. I won't stop until you pass out from sheer orgasmic pleasure. Then, when you're revived, I'll keep going all over again… Hey, look Stan – no hands!"
Stan woke up with a scream, tangled up in his own bed sheets. When he remembered what had caused him to creep back into his bedroom late last night, suddenly his horrible dream didn't seem so awful. At least that was just some dumb fucking dream – the reality was that he had Wendy practically naked in his arms last night, and she cried out for Kyle.
He showered and dressed in a bit of a daze, unable to shake Wendy's confession – or her tears – from his mind. How fucking confusing? He was mad at her, yet her distress still hurt like a knife to his balls.
As he sat down for breakfast, the worst thought entered his head – were Wendy and Kyle seeing each other behind his back? He dismissed it almost instantly, because neither Kyle nor Wendy would do such a thing… or so he'd assumed.
"Umm, Stan? What are you doing here?" his dad asked, spatula in hand and with an expression of puzzlement o his face. "I thought you went to Wendy's last night?"
Stan felt his face colour up. ""Wh… what? No! I just went over to, umm, study!" Stan protested.
His dad turned to the stove and slipped over a pancake. "What, with a pack of ‘Trojan Her Pleasure More-Gasm'—"
"God damn it!"
Stan soon found a plate laden with pancakes in front of him. His dad sat next to him and squirted maple syrup on his own pancakes.
"So, what happened? Her folks find out?" he asked.
"Dad!"
"Sorry. It just seemed…" His dad sighed heavily and patted him on the shoulder. "Son, you don't leave your girl alone the first night you… You've got to stay with her, make her feel loved and secure. That way she might let you try anal next time—"
"Dad! Nothing happened, okay!" Stan yelled, slamming his fist against the kitchen table. His dad simply ignored him and carried on eating his pancakes.
Stan sighed, the sound of his dad's chomping too much for him to bear. "I think Wendy likes someone else," he said eventually, and heard his dad's fork clatter into the plate as a result.
"What makes you say that?"
"We were… We were, you know, about to… and she said Kyle's name, not mine." Stan felt his cheeks burn and his heart sink all at once.
His dad stared at his plate for a while, clearly pretending to cough. Stan glared at him as he watched his dad's shaking shoulders.
"Dad! It's not funny!"
"Sorry, Son." His dad wiped his eyes on a nearby dishcloth. "There's no way Wendy likes Kyle over you, okay?"
"Why not?" Stan asked hopefully.
"Because… Well, son, because it's Kyle. He's fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down." His dad chuckled again. "I figured you hung out with him because he made you look good."
Stan sighed. "Dad, girls think Kyle's hot."
As his dad continued to laugh so hard he was in danger of collapsing into his breakfast, Stan noticed Shelley stomp down the stairs.
"Stop making so much noise! Some of us are on break!" she complained.
"Shelley, do you think Kyle's hot?" Stan asked dully, only to see Shelley predictably appear a little flustered.
"Why – has he said anything to you?" she asked.
The only grim pleasure he got from the whole thing was that he had shut his dad up.
"I'm going to school," Stan muttered, leaving his breakfast barely touched as he left the house.
Kyle knocked on Stan's door, feeling a little confused and – if he was perfectly honest- a little violated. He would have showered and changed back home, but his mother had given him such an interrogation about his tutoring session that he'd figured it was safer to duck and run.
He was surprised when Stan's father opened the door – usually Stan was in a hurry to avoid Kyle having to experience much contact with his parents.
"Umm, hi. Is Stan ready?" Kyle said, just before it suddenly dawned on him that Stan probably didn't come home last night; he'd been working overtime to block any thoughts of Stan and Wendy together, along with practising his ‘Wow, congratulations!' response in the mirror until he no longer resembled a Doberman chewing a wasp.
"Or, he might have stayed at Token's last night to do his science report," Kyle added hastily. "I forgot he mentioned that—"
"It's okay, Kyle – I know he was at Wendy's," Mr. Marsh replied. "He was here, actually. You just missed him."
"Oh." It seemed strange to Kyle that Stan wouldn't have hung around to wait for him; he must have assumed he wouldn't have bothered calling, given he knew what he was up to last night.
Kyle soon became acutely aware that Mr. Marsh was staring at him rather oddly.
"Umm… Are you alright, Kyle?" Mr. Marsh asked eventually, gesturing awkwardly in Kyle's general direction. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the Marsh's hallway mirror and saw his ripped shirt, hair sticking out at all angles and the lipstick smudges on his face and neck.
"Fine, Mr Marsh," Kyle insisted. "I merely executed my final plan to destroy Ruby Tucker and her cronies' libidos for good."
"Okay." Stan's dad appeared a little confused. "Their libidos?"
"I simply made myself a dickless geography teacher to make myself as sexually unappealing to fourteen year old girls as possible."
Stan's father eyed him cautiously. "Umm… did it work?"
Kyle looked at him, and managed what he hoped was a relaxed smile.
"I won the battle, but I believe I lost the war," he said in a calm tone that didn't match how he felt inside. "Now, if you'll excuse me, seeing as Stan isn't about, I'm going to sneak into the school gym to take a long, hot shower before my lessons start."
As Kyle left the Marsh's house, he realised why his mother had asked so many questions as he tried to leave for school.
Cartman piled up his tray in the canteen and met the canteen lady's querulous stare with a, "What? I've got a busy day, bitch," before paying his bill.
He found Kyle alone at a table, apparently contemplating his veggie burger and fries with deep interest – Cartman knew Kyle always avoided meat in the school canteen after the whole ‘Beef burgers containing twenty percent pork' fiasco towards the end of eighth grade. He'd gone fucking crazy, and it had been hilarious. Their canteen lady at junior high school had been genuinely scared, although that might have been because she knew who Kyle's bitch of a mom was.
"Sup, Jew," Cartman said casually as he sat next to Kyle.
"Oh. Hey, Cartman," Kyle replied, still gazing at the fat fry impaled on his fork as though it contained the secrets of the universe. Cartman found him endlessly fascinating when he was like this; quiet, calm and constantly turning things over in his mind. Still, there was an element of melancholy surrounding him that made Cartman feel a little cold and sick inside – he'd accepted now that when Kyle was unhappy, it made Cartman feel unhappy too.
"What did that fry do to piss you off?" Cartman asked. "Just fucking eat it and put it out of its misery."
Kyle turned to face him, all sharp angles and soft eyes. "I think Stan's—" he glanced at Cartman's tray in disgust – "Dude, what the fuck?"
"What? It's the night of the play, I need my fuel!"
"You only need that much fuel if you're personally powering the fucking lights," Kyle quipped.
"Whatever, Jew. I need my strength. Anyway, where's Stan?" Cartman asked, not wanting to miss the confession Kyle had on his lips earlier.
"I think he's avoiding me," Kyle replied, and Cartman felt his heart skip a beat.
"What makes you think that?" he asked as casually as he could.
"The fact that he's been avoiding me all day," Kyle replied, inclining his head towards a table where Stan was talking with Craig, Token and Clyde. Cartman was slightly surprised, because Stan only seemed to tolerate Clyde because he was screwing the hippie bitch's friend and he had once openly stated he thought Craig was a dick. He couldn't help but wonder; had Stan been pissed off that Cartman whisked Kyle away for a romantic evening of pancakes and serial killers last night?
"What's crawled up his ass and died?" Cartman asked instead.
"I don't know," Kyle answered, looking genuinely confused and dropping his fork onto his plate. Cartman wanted to kiss a smile back on his sharply beautiful face. He wouldn't play dickish games like Stan, not with Kyle.
"Forget him," Cartman urged, clapping a hand on Kyle's sharp, bony shoulder. "We've got an important play tonight, and you need to chill." Taking the opportunity, Cartman put both his hands at the base of Kyle's neck and slowly kneaded at the knots along his spine.
"Yes, sir," Kyle sighed, pushing his tray further along and folding his arms on the table. When he leant his head against his arms and seemingly submitted wholly to Cartman's touch, Cartman had to concentrate hard on not coming right there in his pants. Jesus fucking Christ, he would be happy worshipping Kyle and his beautiful body until the end of fucking time.
Suddenly, Kenny sat next to them with his food stamp tray. Cartman bristled, expecting Kyle to sit up and their moment to be over.
"Why the fuck are you letting Cartman molest you, Kyle?" he asked, but Kyle merely chuckled.
"I know, Kenny, but he's actually pretty fucking good at this." He turned his head a little and looked at Cartman with a deliciously languid expression on his face – Cartman was terrified he'd started blushing.
"You should do this professionally," Kyle commented.
"Yeah, some of those old ladies would pay you loads if you went a little lower with your fat fingers," Kenny said with a snigger.
"Shut the fuck up, you poor piece of trash!" Cartman spat. Professional his ass – nobody got to experience this except for Kyle.
"What's up, Kenny? You look exhausted," Kyle said, and when Cartman glanced across at the white trash asshole, he could see his point. Kenny had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and was clearly in need of a good sleep. Thank fuck Kenny had been doing set design and wasn't really needed tonight – Cartman didn't want anyone screwing things up this evening.
Suddenly, Kyle sat up and Cartman had no choice but to cease caressing his warm skin.
"Kenny," he said in a worried tone, "did Karen mention she'd been—"
"Yeah. Don't worry, I know," Kenny said darkly. "I'm on it."
"Okay. She said she could handle it, but dude, she was so freaked out…"
"Kyle, if there's anything up with Karen, I always want to know," Kenny replied. The two of them exchanged this fucking annoying little nod, like they were members of some exclusive big brothers' club.
Cartman glanced around the room, and to his amazement, noticed a very upset Wendy huddled together with Bebe at a table. Not that he could blame her – if he wanted comforting, Bebe's huge bouncing titties would be a good place to start.
Suddenly, the cogs started to turn and he finally figured it out – Stan was getting all pissy because he was losing his hold over Kyle! He must be taking it out on Wendy too, which is why the hippie slut was so miserable. As far as Cartman was concerned, this meant Stan must be starting to realise he can't have both of them – his worry was that he'd think he could have Kyle.
As Cartman watched Kyle jam his fingers through his unruly curls while leaning his head on his hand, he knew there was no way he was going to let Stan win this one.
Kyle figured that maybe he should be feeling more anxious, given tonight he was going to be on stage in front of three hundred and forty-nine people – if the ticket sales were anything to go by. As he opened the door to his home, he found he was more concerned with Stan avoiding him as though he was contagious. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to piss him off – he'd been helpful and encouraging when Stan crushed his heart to rubble with his news about his and Wendy's virginity-losing project, as that was the last time they'd really spoken.
Not that he had much time to deliberate over Stan's mood, as he found his mother in the kitchen, crying her eyes out.
"Mom? Is everything okay?" he asked stupidly, hovering awkwardly by the door. Yeah, everything was fine – that's why she was sobbing into the granite work surface.
As he approached her, he saw a letter in her hand – the knuckles oddly bruised and swollen – with the Harvard crest emblazoned across it. His heart sinking, he took it from her.
"I'm sorry, Bubbeleh. I couldn't stand waiting any longer—"
Normally he'd be furious that his mother had gone through his personal correspondence, but this time he could sympathise a little. "It's okay, Ma. I said I didn't think I'd get in," Kyle replied at around the point he read the ‘…would be delighted to offer you a place on our engineering course…' part of the watermarked letter.
Oh. Well, fuck. Why the hell was she crying?
"I'm so proud of you, Kyle," his mother said, hugging him. "Just wait until I tell your aunt Sarah; my boy's off to Harvard. That'll show her for all the years she's smugly gone on about the cultural limitations of small town living—"
"Hold up, Ma. I don't know if I'm going to accept!" Kyle spluttered; the news was so unexpected, he hadn't even considered how he'd react.
His mother stared at him as though he'd just been caught with a dead body and a shovel. "Kyle! It's an incredible opportunity! How can you even consider not accept—"
"I just… I just need to think about it, okay!" he retorted, rushing upstairs to his room, letter in hand.
Like he needed anything else to think about right now.
Stan hung around backstage as Red refitted his costume, his eyes surreptitiously watching Wendy smooth down her dorky period dress, and Kyle pace frantically in the corner of the room. He was trying to be rational, really he was, but every moment he managed to convince himself that Wendy had just babbled anxious nonsense in the heat of the moment last night and she had eyes only for him, he saw her glance at Kyle with concern in her eyes.
Eventually, Stan saw her walk over to Kyle and touch his arm. She said something to Kyle, who then showed her a letter of some description that made her smile and reach to hug him – she stopped herself suddenly. This made Stan even more suspicious – why stop if there was nothing to hide?
"Quit wriggling!" Red hissed. "Unless you want me to stab you with my fucking needle?"
"Sorry," Stan said dully.
"Is everything okay?" Red asked, and the concern in her voice shocked Stan – mainly because Red never showed any concern to anyone.
"Yeah, fine," he replied. "Thanks," he added as an afterthought, only Red steadfastly refused to look up at him to acknowledge it.
Soon he was sent away looking like the perfect Victorian dandy, which made him feel even more of a loser.
"Right, gather around, everyone!" Cartman roared, clapping his hands and urging the cast into a small horseshoe formation of Victorian pussification. God, they all looked ridiculous – Kyle looked like he belonged in a Goth band.
"This is our one chance to impress. I've worked my ass off for this moment, so if any of you dickholes fuck this up, I will personally kill you." Cartman's expression could have frozen Hell, until he suddenly turned on the charm. "Okay, places everyone! Good luck!" he added gleefully. Stan didn't doubt he'd at least attempt to carry out his threat.
Stan hadn't paid that much attention to the dress rehearsal – he knew his lines and he hadn't had anything thrown at him, so he'd assumed he was doing okay – but now he was watching the performances with a critical eye. His scenes with Kyle in Dracula's castle had a definite edge to them; Kyle really was good and Stan couldn't help but be swept along with it. He did his best to relish his erotic moments with Red, Heidi and Millie in the hope that it would piss Wendy off, but she barely seemed to notice.
The first warning siren went off in Stan's mind as he watched Wendy watching Kyle and Bebe from backstage during their highly charged scene where Dracula turns Lucy. They had just performed Jonathan and Mina's hastily arranged wedding and as Mina had said ‘I do,' and the lights on them had gone out to camouflage their exit, Dracula had seduced Lucy. God damn, Bebe could scream sexily. Even the adults in the audience were looking a little uncomfortable at her, or were they shifting in their seats at the way Kyle somehow pulled this dark fucking act where he seemed to be almost getting off on her pain? Good lord, how had he never noticed this before? How the fuck were they even getting away with showing this? Sure, it wasn't in your face, but you could hardly ignore it!
He'd glanced at Wendy to try and maybe break the ice a little and share his astonishment, only to see that she was cringing at the sight. Stan would have assumed her clenched fists and locked jaw were maybe directed at Kyle for being so brutally sexual with her friend. Now he was beginning to wonder if it was aimed at Bebe for being on the receiving end.
The second warning bell rang hard in Stan's head; he was amazed he didn't get a migraine. He had to confess during all the rehearsals of Dracula turning Mina, he'd always been dicking about with Clyde, Token and Kevin – who played Holmwood, Seward and Morris, respectively – while Craig would check his stunt crossbow and complain about trying to ‘get in the zone'. Craig took it way too fucking seriously – he'd even attempted to grow a beard because he felt Van Helsing would have one.
The upshot of all this was that he'd never watched the way Kyle appeared through the dry ice as though he'd transformed from the very mist that flooded under the bedroom door on set. He'd never watched the way he approached Wendy's pretend sleeping form, how he stroked her hair lovingly from her face before she stirred, started to scream in fright, but fell silent at a wave of his hand. He hadn't noticed the way Wendy gazed into Kyle's eyes, the way she unbuttoned her nightdress and exposed her neck to him, the way he stalked around her as though it was only a matter of time before… holy fuck, the way he ran his hand tenderly along her throat to her chest before his lips searched for her pulse point. The way she cried out in ecstasy as he pulled her close and nipped at her pulse point – what the fuck, that was her little hot spot, how did he even know?
He glanced out at the audience, and even they seemed a little uncomfortable – although it was difficult to tell with Mrs. Tucker due to the dark glasses she was wearing; which was kind of weird, given it was indoors.
Stan felt a sharp shove between his shoulder blades.
"That's our cue!" Craig hissed in his ear, and Stan was forced to go out on stage and confront Kyle while his girlfriend hungrily sucked his finger in a way that basically looked like porn to him. Craig had to hold him back at one point while doing his speech about Dracula's evil intent and Mina's inevitable demise. Craig and Kyle were something to watch – they both seemed to inhabit their characters, and you could cut the tension with a knife as Kyle challenged Van Helsing to stop him.
Stan held Wendy as she acted dazed, confused and eventually horrified, occasionally touching her bleeding neck. Despite the thick theatrical make-up they were all wearing, Stan was certain he could see a blush on Wendy's cheeks – a quick glance down and he noticed her throat and chest were all red and blotchy.
Towards the end of the play – where Van Helsing, Jonathan and all Lucy's suitors are led by Mina's connection with Dracula to the Count's castle – Stan knew he was stage fighting with Kyle a little too roughly, but he couldn't help it. In a way, it was probably for the best that Cartman and Kyle had changed the ending. If Stan had the chance to slit Kyle's throat with that stage curved knife, he might have gone too far.
Still, when Wendy struck the final blow to Kyle's chest and he slowly died in her arms, Stan was convinced he felt a little bit of vomit rise up his throat.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Wendy croaked, cradling Kyle in her arms. "I had to save you."
Kyle reached up and cupped her face with a trembling hand. "I only wish,,, I could have done the same for you, dear Wilhelmina," he whispered, before theatrically slumping to his death. Stan watched as Wendy appeared confused for a moment, then suddenly sad, still clutching Kyle's hand. That was the theme Cartman and Kyle had conjured up for their retelling of Dracula – for all of the Count's menace and rage, he genuinely loved the women he turned, especially Mina. The idea was that he thought the life of a Victorian woman was a life wasted, and Mina's sadness was a reflection of this realisation – that her life with Jonathan would be one of sexual repression and unfulfilled ambition. At the time they had first read the play, Stan hadn't given a shit. Now, he felt it was something of an insult to Jonathan.
As Stan put his arms around Wendy and said the line, "It's alright, Mina. It's finally over," he started to wonder whether Wendy was feeling much the same way about their relationship.
Once the play was over and they'd taken their final curtain call – where Stan had let go for her hand the second they were out of view of the audience- Wendy rushed to the changing rooms and found the most secluded area she could before she started to cry. This was all such a mess.
She was as miserable as sin over what had happened with Stan – and the fact he couldn't bear to even speak to her outside of their lines – yet she couldn't get over how weirdly hot Kyle looked in his full costume. For God's sake, she was supposed to be fixing her relationship, not getting distracted by the way Kyle's hair could only be slicked back into waves, or how his overly pale made-up face had such exaggerated cheekbones and lips stained red, and how fetching she found his dark velvet housecoat and billowing white shirt.
She'd had another knee-trembling orgasm the moment her character was turned, a combination of the intense way Kyle ground her body against his, the brush of his soft lips on her bare skin, the sweet pain of his bite… she had to snap out of it. She'd even forgotten to keep quiet this time, and had let slip a breathy gasp of ecstasy that her microphone hadn't failed to pick up and reverberate around the entire room. Given Cartman had come up to her after the scene and whispered, "Damn, Wendy!" appreciatively, at least it hadn't ruined her performance.
Wendy briskly undressed and washed off her make-up while listening to the chatter of her excited classmates as they rushed in and out, congratulating each other and talking about the audience reaction – from what Wendy had overheard, it had been received as controversial, but in a good way. She put on the purple body-con dress that Bebe had practically demanded she wore tonight. Bebe had organised their wrap party – if it hadn't been for that, Wendy would have just snuck off home. Listening out for silence as she pulled on her thick black pantyhose and purple high heels, she eventually emerged into the main changing area when it appeared to be empty. Catching sight of her tear-streaked mess of a face, she attempted to put on a bit of make-up to try and cover the damage.
Just as she had made herself look vaguely presentable, she was the reflection of Kyle in the mirror, bare-chested and hastily towel-drying his hair. In her shock, she dropped her compact. Kyle rushed over, towel now around his shoulders.
"Sorry, Wendy. Didn't mean to scare you," he said, ducking down and retrieving her compact.
"Thanks. You didn't, I was just startled," Wendy insisted. She glanced up and saw his damp curls. "You didn't like the slicked-back look?"
Kyle shuddered. "My head looks like a sex toy – I was gifted with my ridiculous hair for a reason." With those words, Kyle took a pot of some kind of serum from his pocket and worked some of it into his curls. Despite herself, Wendy couldn't help but smile, especially when she saw a patch of white make-up on his neck.
"You missed a bit," she said, taking a tissue out of her bag and wiping it away.
"Uh, thanks," Kyle replied bashfully, and that in itself gave Wendy tingles. She backed up against the benches, only for Kyle to follow and reach past her. She leant to the side and realised he'd grabbed his shirt from a nearby hook. He slipped it on and started to button it up; Wendy could see where it soaked up tiny damp patches on his skin.
He fingered his bow tie with a serious expression on his face. "I don't suppose you know how to tie these things, do you?" he asked, tucking the black fabric under his open collar and letting it hang around his neck.
Unable to stop herself being an idiot, Wendy reached forward and held the two ends of his bow tie in her hands. He leant one arm on the row of coat pegs just next to her, and Wendy felt entirely too close to him.
"I don't have a clue, sorry," she breathed, feeling herself colour up as he looked at her intently.
"You look nice, by the way," he said casually. "That dress, it's… nice." Something in the way he said such a polite, off-hand compliment made it feel so much more intense.
"Thanks. You don't looks bad yourself, actually," she stammered out. Damn it, there was just something about formalwear that made everything about nine times sexier to Wendy. She was so close to just throwing caution to the wind and kissing Kyle –
"Thought I might find you two here." Stan had entered the changing area, already in his formal wear, with an elasticated bow tie. Though his voice was light, his expression was darker than Wendy had ever known. "What's going on?"
"Oh. Hey, dude," Kyle said airily. "Wendy was just helping me with my bow tie."
"She can't tie those things," Stan replied coolly.
"Yeah, we'd just got to that," Kyle said. Wendy noticed he looked rather confused – at least now she knew Stan couldn't have told him about last night.
"Right, I've had enough of this," Stan said suddenly. "How long has this been going on?"
"Has what been going on?" Kyle asked, and Wendy felt her heart plummet.
"Stan, seriously, there's nothing going on. Just… Just leave Kyle out of this," she insisted.
"Why the hell are you defending him? He's not your Goddamned boyfriend!" Stan shot back.
"What the fuck are you two going on about?" Kyle was beginning to sound really pissed off.
"Kyle," Wendy begged, but Stan cut her off with a, "You two. Either you've got something going on behind my back, or… For fuck's sake, did you even notice what you were like on stage?" Stan yelled.
"Dude, we were acting. It was a play," Kyle pointed out through gritted teeth.
"Shut the fuck up about acting! Wendy's clearly got the biggest hard-on for you, and you're just revelling in it!"
Kyle stared hard at Stan when he said this.
"What? I… what? Oh, forget it – I literally have nothing to say to that," he spat out. Wendy noticed his hands began to tremble a little before he bunched them into fists.
"Stan, stop it," Wendy begged. "It's… God, Stan, this is really embarrassing—"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Wendy. You've spent all evening acting like you want to blow my best friend! You called out his name when we were about to fuck last night! I've spent the past twenty-three hours going out of my mind trying to figure out if you still love me, but as long as you're not embarrassed…"
Wendy felt tears well up in her eyes, her cheeks burned red with humiliation.
"Dude, this isn't helping," Kyle urged, and Wendy nearly sobbed when he placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Whatever's gone on between you two, this isn't the best way to resolve—"
"Kiss," Stan demanded suddenly, folding his arms.
"What?" Wendy exclaimed around the same time she heard Kyle voice a similar reaction.
"You heard me; kiss. If there's nothing going on, it'll be no big fucking deal, right?"
"Stan, have you gone insane?" Kyle appeared living, but even he failed to match Stan's rage when he shouted back, "Just fucking kiss!"
Wendy stared helplessly at Stan, unable to believe he'd do this. Kyle sighed heavily, aggression seemingly leaking out of every pore.
"Fine," he said angrily, and Wendy felt him grab her roughly and tilt her backwards, forcing his lips against hers in what was clearly meant to be an exaggerated, hate-fuelled kiss with no desire behind it, but Wendy's heart was beating like a jack-hammer. Every rough graze of his lips against hers had fire coursing through her veins and made the very pit of her stomach flip over like she was on the scariest roller-coaster. She couldn't deny it anymore. God, she wanted him to fuck her. No lie, if he wanted to rip off her clothes and take her right there, she'd not only let him – she'd help.
Suddenly, he pulled her upright and ended their kiss.
"There. Happy, Stan? Or maybe I should just finger her. Would that help you out more?" Kyle demanded angrily.
Overcome by everything she'd been feeling for the past few months, Wendy slapped Kyle with all her might – even she was shocked as the sound rang throughout the changing rooms.
Kyle rubbed his face a little – and it was definitely red where she had struck him- before grabbing his DJ.
"Well, I think that's all the evidence you need, Stan," he said hotly. "Now, why don't you both do whatever you need to and leave me the fuck out of your relationship!" he roared, before storming off and slamming the door unnecessarily behind him.
"Kyle, wait!" Wendy begged, but to no avail.
"Wendy, sit down," Stan said wearily. "We need to talk."
Stan watched as Wendy sat dejectedly next to him, her face stained with tear tracks and mascara, her skin flushed. She looked a fucking mess. She was still utterly beautiful.
"I get it, Wendy. You're hot for him," Stan replied as evenly as he could. He wanted to kill her; he actually wanted to throttle her slender neck and not let go until she said she wanted him, but it wasn't going to help.
"Stan, I—"
"Wendy, just be quiet and let me talk," Stan snapped. "I just watched you tangle your fingers up in Kyle's belt loops. I know what's running through your mind when you do that. I saw how flustered you were after that whole Dracula turning you scene… I know, Wendy, and so do you."
She started to cry again, and it irritated Stan how much it got under his skin.
"I'm sorry, Stan," she sobbed. "I just…"
"Have you two…"
"No! I promise you, Stan, nothing is going on between us!" Wendy insisted, and Stan believed her utterly. It didn't make the pain in his heart lessen any.
"How long?" he asked. "How long have you felt this way?"
Wendy sniffled. "I don't know. It just sort of… crept up on me."
Stan dragged his hands through his hair. He felt as though all of his emotions were draining out of him, leaving him numb and empty. He literally felt as though his life was ending and he was powerless to save himself.
"It's just a crush, right?" he asked hopefully. "Just some silly crush? I mean, I had a crush on Eva Mendes for a while; I got over it. You'll get over this, too."
Wendy shook her head, then wrapped her arms protectively around herself. Suddenly, Stan had become the enemy, the thing she needed to shield herself from and not the person who could protect her. "I… I don't think that'll fix things, Stan."
"Have you even tried?" Stan asked angrily. They'd been together for years! They'd come through all sorts of hard and stupid issues, this couldn't be it.
"Yes, Stan. I've tried," Wendy snapped. "I've been trying for ages. I do love you, Stan, but if I have these sorts of feelings for other people, then I guess I'm just not in love—"
"Don't," Stan ground out through gritted teeth. "Don't even finish that sentence."
They sat in a very uncomfortable silence for a while, until Stan braced himself and asked, "Does he feel the same way? Is Kyle crushing on you?"
"I don't know," Wendy replied. "Does it even matter? It's a dumb crush, there will be other dumb crushes. That's the problem."
"It matters because it's ending our relationship," Stan spat. "Maybe you don't give as fuck, but I do."
"I give a fuck!" Wendy spat back. "I give a whole load of fucks! We've been together for years, I don't want to just throw it away!"
"Then don't," Stan begged. "We can get through this, right?" All he needed was for Wendy to agree. They could get through it…
"We can't, Stan," Wendy said sadly. "What happens the next time I get a silly crush on someone? What happens when we go off to college and meet a whole new set of people; a whole new set of potential crushes? It's not fair on you, Stan. It's time we just let it go."
He saw a tear trickle down Wendy's face as she said this, and it just made him feel angrier.
"Not fair on me? Oh, how fucking magnanimous of you, Wendy!"
Wendy stood up on trembling legs. "You. Me. Whatever makes it easier, Stan. I do love you. You're a great guy; handsome, kind, funny and clever. I really hope you meet a great girl who—"
"Stop it, Wendy! Fucking stop it—"
"Who's crazy about you and makes you happy and is way less frigid—"
"Wendy, seriously, shut up. Just shut the fuck—"
"Goodbye, Stan," she said with a wavering voice, before fleeing the changing rooms – he could hear her crying as she went.
Just like that, the bottom and sides fell away from Stan's world, leaving the unsupported top to crash over his head. He stayed sitting on the bench and curled his knees up to his chest.
He must have sat like that for ages, as when he heard the door crash open, it was pitch black outside. Craig stood in front of him looking tired and confused.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked.
"Wendy dumped me," Stan mumbled.
"Wow. That sucks." The bench shook as Craig threw himself at it and somehow ended up in a seated position. He uncovered a bottle of single malt whiskey and dangled it in front of Stan.
"Fancy a drink?" he asked.
Stan didn't reply. Instead he silently grabbed the bottle and swigged deeply from it.
"Hey, give it back!" Craig demanded.
"Fuck off," Stan replied, taking another gulp.
Kyle dragged his feet through the snow as he allowed the swing to lazily slosh between potential and kinetic energy, taking him with it. He should probably have grabbed his coat, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Fucking women. Fucking friends. Fucking everything.
He knew Stan and Wendy must be talking, but he didn't know what he hoped would result. Did he want them to work things out and stay together, or fall apart amid bitter recriminations? He figured it didn't matter; he'd be fucked either way. It took the piss that he was being cast as the villain in their relationship when all he'd try to do is stay the fuck out of everything. The moment he realised he was developing feelings for Wendy, he left the hell alone – well, as best he could when they had been cast as sexual predator and willing prey, fighting both for and against the innocent man stuck in the middle. He might as well have just dragged her into the back seat of his car and screwed her for all the good it had done.
"Sup, Jew?" Cartman was standing in front of him, hands stuffed in his pockets and his expression irritatingly knowing. The last thing he wanted right now was to have to converse with him, so he merely pointed up at the sky.
"Funny, asshole. Want a push?"
"Fuck. Off."
Kyle heard a clink of chains; Cartman had taken the swing next to him. They sat together in silence for a short while; if you could count Cartman's overdramatic huffing as silence.
"What's your problem? The play went brilliantly; I did the rounds, and everyone was raving about it." He looked at Kyle curiously. "Especially you."
Kyle said nothing; instead he kicked at the snow beneath his feet and sent it up into tiny flurries around his ankles.
"Are you not listening? They fucking loved you; Shelley was crying over Dracula like a little bitch. Said she really felt your longing and desperation to claim someone you never could." Cartman sounded bitter.
Kyle felt as though his veins were flooding with hot, bitter bile. He stood up and grabbed Cartman's swing chains, facing him dead on. "Great. Send her some flowers, or something. I don't give a fuck!" he snarled. He was a child again, and the world was telling him, ‘No. You can't have what you want; you can't be who you want.' Given that the childhood voice to these hinted ideas had always been Cartman, Kyle was left with an unfair desire to pummel him into dust.
Instead, Kyle sat back down on the swing and looked away from Cartman. He heard the swing creak in relief as Cartman got to his feet.
"Kyle, this is ridiculous," he said quietly. "You've got to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Stop this… this pining!"
Kyle felt his blood run cold. "What?"
"You, pining for someone you can't have. It's stupid; you're… you're…" He sighed deeply. "Kyle, there are other people out there, okay?"
"Cartman, I'm warning you – stay out of this!" Kyle hissed. This whole mess between him, Stan and Wendy was horrific enough without him sticking in his wooden spoon and stirring everything up for his own amusement.
Cartman sighed, and paced in front of him. Kyle looked away again and stared up at the dark, endless sky; taking deep, calming breaths in an attempt not to break down and cry.
"Kyle; I can't. I can't just stand here and…" He stopped suddenly; Kyle's peripheral vision was still once again.
"Look, I get it. You've had your heart fucked about with by some asshole who doesn't know what they want. That's not your fault. Just… Just open your Goddamn eyes for a moment and look around. There are other people who know you; know everything about you. Who know what you need. If you'd quit mooning after Stan for just one second and look at what's right in front of you—"
Kyle suddenly felt as though he'd been watching the Food Network but it had turned into the DIY Network without warning. "Cartman, what the fuck are you—"
He stopped quickly, because Cartman was standing barely an inch away from him and his wet lips were lunging towards him. There wasn't a decent escape route; Cartman's hand had slid across his on the swing chain and his other was either cupping his face tenderly or gripping it so he couldn't move – with Cartman it was remarkably difficult to tell. Kyle could feel Cartman's boozy breath fan over his mouth.
Kyle stared wildly as he felt saliva-slicked, chapped lips push roughly against his. Cartman's thumb rubbed against his jaw; his tongue poked out and tried to force its way into Kyle's mouth. He kept his lips firmly pressed together, and after a few moments of jabbing and thrusting – as though he was trying to unlock a hotel door with a broken key card – Cartman gave up and pulled away, staring at Kyle as though he were an end of level boss he'd tried to defeat with some fool-proof solution and was amazed when he'd lost a life.
"Kyle?" Cartman broke the heavy silence with a somewhat accusatory tone.
"What was that?" Kyle figured he should start with the obvious questions.
"What do you think it was, Kyle?"
"You going fucking insane?" he offered. To his utter bewilderment, Cartman actually looked hurt.
"Fine, Kyle. I'm not Stan. Stan's confused. Stan messes you about and expects you to keep hanging on while he flashes his bitch beard about. I'm here, and I'm yours." He pushed his fat fingers through Kyle's mess of coppery curls; he swiftly grabbed his wrist and pulled him away – wincing when Cartman's fingers got caught in a knot and nearly yanked a clump of hair clean out of his scalp.
"Cartman; I'm not gay. Neither's Stan, while we're at it."
Cartman shook his head. "You don't have to lie to me, Kyle; I know. I've seen the two of you. I know what's going on."
"Cartman, what are you talking about? You do know when the guys at school call me his boyfriend that they're taking the piss, right?" Kyle was beginning to think Cartman had actually dreamt the two of them dating and had somehow got it confused with reality.
"I'm taking about you kissing him last year. I'm taking about him using your study break with your little harem to pound your ass until you came last month!" Cartman sounded indignant.
"Shit. Cartman, we weren't…" Kyle sighed heavily. "We weren't having sex; we were faking it to try and turn my tutees off me."
Cartman eyed him incredulously. "You tried to stop a bunch of girls from being attracted to you by faking a sex show with another hot boy? Seriously?"
Kyle glanced at the ground beneath his feet. "We know now the extent of our folly." He met Cartman's intense stare again. "And the kissing thing? I was messed up after the Rebecca and the Bebe thing and… I was just… I was kind of hoping I was, you know? And I wasn't. I'm not gay, Cartman."
"That's cool," he replied, a weird little smirk plastered across his face as he rested his hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Neither am I."
"I think you'll find you are."
"No, Kyle. I like girls, and I like you. I want girls, and I want you."
Cartman was edging dangerously close; Kyle effectively jumped off the swing when he tried to squeeze his thigh.
"Come on, Kyle. Think about it; you and me – it makes sense."
"No it doesn't!" Kyle started backing away.
"Face it, Kyle; it does. The passion, the fire; that spark has been between us ever since we were kids—"
"Cartman, that's not passion. That's hatred. We have hated each other since we were five and for some reason, we still hang out."
"Exactly. Why? Why do I hang out with you even though you're a filthy stinking Jew rat? It's because of this." He gestured between them at some invisible thread. "Because of you." He smiled and shook his head. "Can you honestly tell me you've never thought about me when you've jacked off?"
Kyle was starting to wonder if this was an elaborate prank on Cartman's part. "Yes, Cartman. I can honestly say I have never thought about you when I've jacked off."
He felt Cartman's hand circle his waist. "Then maybe you should try; because I never come as hard as I do when I think about you on your knees—"
"Cartman!" Kyle yelled, prising Cartman's wandering hands from his hips. "I'm cool with you liking guys, but please stop. Just stop talking!"
Cartman looked to the floor, then glanced coyly up through his lashes. "I don't want anybody else, when I think about you I touch—"
"Or singing," Kyle added firmly, trying – and failing – to unlatch Cartman's fingers from his. As he tried to move away, he backed into a tree. Cartman trapped him against it with alarming speed for someone clearly a little affected by the spiked punchbowl. Silently, he rested his forehead against Kyle's, and ran his fingers down Kyle's chest.
"You really aren't feeling anything when I do this?" he murmured into Kyle's ear, nipping at his earlobe. Kyle practically jumped out of his skin.
"Only mild revulsion. Oh, and ow!" He smacked Cartman hard in the gut. He gasped for breath and dropped to his knees. Kyle was torn between helping him up and running away, but Cartman pulled himself to his knees before he had made a decision.
"Kyle, come on." Cartman grabbed his right hand in both of his. "No one else could make you feel like I do, I do, I do. No one else gets that deep inside you, as I do—"
"Cartman, quoting Alice Cooper lyrics at me isn't going to change my sexual orientation," Kyle said firmly, pulling his hand from Cartman's grip and walking away. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to see Cartman still on his knees in the snow; he looked utterly heartbroken. Kyle felt terrible, but he knew Cartman too well; if he went back to him now, he'd think there was a chance. He was like a child, or a pet – you had to give him clear boundaries, and you could never bend them.
"I'm… I'm sorry, dude," he said, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away.
The night air was starting to feel biting on Wendy's skin, but she didn't move from her position perched on top of the hood of her car. She had avoided the whole wrap party – having managed to let Bebe down as well as screw around with Stan and Kyle. All in all, she was having a pretty shitty day. She was merely relieved to have got an acceptance letter from Yale – something which she should have been ecstatic about – because after everything that had gone on, the idea that she'd be leaving South Park next year was the only thing keeping her going.
Despite the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she felt whenever she thought about Stan and the way she left him, she was still in turmoil over Kyle. That made her feel guilty enough, but she couldn't shake that image of him as he stormed off out of the changing rooms. Did he hate her? Of course he hated her; she'd messed everything up and potentially driven a wedge between him and Stan. Then her thoughts strayed to his angry clinch, his hands gripping her tightly, his soft lips and bruising hard kisses… she vaguely recalled the sensation of something poking against her thigh and Kyle's heavy breathing when he pulled away. Did he…? It didn't matter if he did.
Suddenly, she felt someone sit next to her and put a light jacket around her shoulders.
"You're going to fucking freeze out here," Kyle said softly, gently rubbing his hands up and down her arms as though to warm her up. Wendy could do nothing but burst into tears at this undeserved kindness.
"I'm so sorry, Kyle," she sobbed, and Kyle didn't let go of her.
"It's okay, Wendy. Don't be sorry. Don't be sorry," he soothed until she calmed down.
"Me and Stan, we broke up," she said eventually, realising that Kyle was the first person she'd told.
"I'm sorry," Kyle said quietly. "How's Stan taking it?"
Wendy managed a pained laugh at this. "How do you think?"
Kyle nodded, but said nothing.
"Sorry you got dragged into it," she added, and Kyle shrugged his shoulders.
"That's how it goes, right?" There was something in his faraway look that made Wendy suspect he thought it was inevitable.
"What happened?" Kyle asked, before shaking his head. "No, forget it. It's none of my business."
"I told Stan I didn't love him anymore," Wendy confessed. "I told him that I was crushing on other guys, so I obviously couldn't be in love enough for us to keep going." She sighed. "I lied to him, basically."
Kyle started at that. "Lied?"
"Yeah." Wendy took a deep breath. "See, what really happened is that ever since we were twelve, I've been going out with Stan and I've had to put up with his best friend, who I always thought was an arrogant asshole; he drove me crazy! Then, as I got to know him, it turned out he was a pretty okay guy. That was cool, except that recently, I started thinking he was more than an okay guy. I started thinking about him a lot, actually."
Kyle didn't look at her. "Did he still drive you crazy?"
"He drives me wild," Wendy admitted, her cheeks flushing as she spoke.
"In a good way?"
"The best. I could hardly tell Stan that I'd fallen in love with his best friend, could I?"
"I guess not."
"Not that it matters; he'd never go out with me because it would hurt Stan. He's quite moral like that," Wendy explained. "It's one of the things I like the most about him, actually."
Kyle blushed, and Wendy found yet another thing she quite liked about him. "Well, Stan's been his best friend since pre-school. So why split up if you knew that?"
"Because I can't keep dating Stan knowing he's not the one I love the most. It's not right," Wendy replied.
Kyle nodded in understanding. "No, it isn't. I think that's…. that's quite the moral choice. I'm sure Stan will appreciate that one day."
Wendy shrugged. "I'd understand if he doesn't. As for his best friend… he must hate me for messing about with Stan like this."
Kyle sighed heavily. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you," he said. "He'd understand."
"You think?"
For the first time in the whole conversation, Kyle looked right at her, and she could see how upset he really was. "We are talking about me, right?"
"Yes, Kyle. Yes, we are," Wendy replied. Jesus, he was the smartest guy she knew, but emotionally? He needed some work. Despite the whole horrible situation, she had to struggle to suppress a smile. The she became swiftly aware of Kyle's pinkie brushing against hers on the hood of her car.
"Then I understand. I know you never wanted to hurt Stan; you had feelings, you tried to bury them, and it just all became a confusing fucking mess."
Wendy nodded. "Congratulations on Harvard, by the way. I didn't get the chance to say before." She managed a smile. "I got into Yale."
"I knew you would," Kyle said confidently. "Are you accepting?"
"Of course!" Wendy replied, suddenly realising that for Kyle, he had clearly never been so certain. "You?"
"Three hours ago, I didn't know. Now? Yes. Unequivocally." He smirked. "At least my mom will be happy."
"I hope you're going because you want to, not because it seems like a good escape," Wendy commented, and was surprised when she felt Kyle bristle.
"It's a little of column A, a little of column B," he confessed. "I guess today has just shown me the downside of being in a place where everyone knows everyone; everything is magnified. I think maybe it's time for a complete change."
They sat in silence for a while; Wendy felt her knees bump against Kyle's as she looked out over the night sky. There was something in Kyle's words that she thought might always haunt her; the idea that even Kyle, the guy who always seemed to have an almost aggressive power of making the world fit around him, felt the need to escape South Park. If he couldn't make it here, who could?
"Kyle?" she asked suddenly, unable to put it off any longer.
"Hmm?"
"Do you feel the same way?"
"About what?"
"About me. Do you love me?" she asked in probably the quickest time she'd every asked a question in her like. She felt both stupid for querying and eager to know the truth.
She jumped as she felt Kyle's hand squeeze hers. "Does it matter?" he asked sadly.
A sudden wave of fury flooded Wendy. "Yes, it matters, you asshole!" she exclaimed. "I poured my heart out to you! I've confessed my darkest secrets to you, and I know I handled this whole thing really badly, but the last thing I need is for you to punish me just for asking—"
Kyle's soft lips against hers silenced her as he cupped her face in his hands, and rained delicate kisses on her tingling lips. Her mind started to haze as his fingers slid into her hair and his lips pressed longer and harder against hers. All too soon, he stopped.
"Wendy," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "Does that answer your question?"
"I want to hear the words," she begged, as she flung her arms around his neck.
"I love you," he said quietly, "and I'm sorry I can never make this happen for us."
Wendy gulped away a sob; she knew that however he felt about her, that part would never change. She understood they couldn't even be friends anymore, not really. The longing between them would be too much, and Stan would be devastated enough that they had so many lessons together, time where he wouldn't be able to see how they interacted. It was all over. She hadn't just lost her boyfriend, she wasn't going to just lose her crush – she was going to lose two friends as well.
"Tell me what you would do if you could," she asked, her voice wavering.
"What's the point?" Kyle asked softly, his hands resting on her shoulders as though he really was her lover.
"If you tell me, you have to stay here to do it, and I'm not ready for you to walk out of my life just yet," she tried to say strongly and clearly, but it turned into a whimpering mess.
Kyle wrapped his arms around her as he rested her head on his shoulders. "Okay. I guess I'd ask you out on a date. There's a new exhibition in the Nature and Science museum in Denver. They've got loads of stuff from Pompeii, and I figured that'd be kind of interesting… I wouldn't just be a geek, though. I'd take you on a picnic by Lake Mary; I make a mean vegetable wrap, I promise you."
Wendy was torn between amusement and sadness; Kyle was quite funny when he was being self-deprecating, but that actually sounded like a pretty perfect date to her and it served to remind her just how good things could maybe have been between them.
Kyle sighed, clearly deep in thought. "I guess I'd always offer to drive, but if you wanted to, that'd be cool. I imagine we'd make out in my car a whole bunch, but we'd get caught by my mom and she'd force you to come over for family meals every so often; seriously, I think she'd start planning our wedding. She's only ever known me to have one girlfriend, I think she'd be desperate to make sure you didn't get away."
"Would you?" Wendy teased.
"We'd make love for the first time after prom," Kyle continued, smoothly bypassing her question altogether. "It wouldn't be planned, but we'd be safe. Everyone would be really drunk during the post-prom party and we'd just go off for a walk together. We'd just be talking and getting a little sad that we'd be heading off to different colleges, then one of us would remember that our parents were away for the night, so we'd head off back to that house…"
"And head to our parents' bed?" Wendy finished, but Kyle shook his head.
"We wouldn't make it that far. We'd start undressing each other the moment we closed the door and I'd just kind of lay you on the nearest table – I said it wasn't planned."
"Do I see stars?" Wendy joked.
"No; it's actually a bit crappy – I come too quick and you get cramps… I make it up to you with an hour of cunnilingus, though, so don't be too disappointed," Kyle deadpanned, and despite the utter heartache Wendy was feeling, she couldn't help but laugh.
"We'd have a long distance relationship in college," Kyle continued. "It'd be a bit rocky; we'd both be kind of paranoid the other would meet someone better. We'd get through that, though, and once we had private dorms, we'd take it in turns visiting each other on a Friday evening, go to bed and we'd pretty much stay there until Sunday night."
"Even in the summer?"
"We might take it outdoors when we're feeling brave, but there'd be a lot of sex," Kyle replied nonchalantly. "Then it'd go sour. I'd get a PhD offer in England, you'd get a lucrative job with Greenpeace working in South America. You'd accuse me of putting my career before our relationship; I'd accuse you of being a hypocrite and challenge you to move to England with me. You'd call me out on my bullshit, because couldn't I do my PhD in Brazil? Then we'd have angry sex, and we'd keep going through the same destructive cycle for a month. I'd be confiding in my lab partner – a nice girl who's also going to England, so we've got something in common. You follow us and think we're having an affair, so you fuck some ridiculously hot young athletic star that becomes obsessed with you. Eventually, it all comes out because the athletic star tries to fight me for your heart, we both cry a lot and the whole thing implodes in a heady mess of emotions and bitter recriminations," Kyle finished.
Wendy stared at him. "You have to be the single most pessimistic man I've ever met. You can't even have an optimistic fantasy!"
Kyle shrugged. "Look on the bright side; you're well out of it. I was an asshole. I know I might seem like the injured party, but one night I yelled that I thought about my lab partner when we were screwing."
Wendy thumped him hard on the arm. "Just shut up, Kyle."
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I just… fuck, I don't want to even entertain what could be, okay?"
Wendy said nothing, and instead kissed him hard on the lips. When he kissed her back, it felt like the end of the world; if she just clung tightly enough, if she kissed him hard enough, maybe they'd survive. Even as his hand slid briefly up her leg before resting at her waist, she knew it couldn't last. However much they both craved this, it would never be.
Eventually, they pulled away; Wendy felt cold and desperately lonely when deprived of Kyle's touch.
"Goodbye, Wendy," Kyle said quietly, before pressing one last kiss to her lips.
"Goodbye, Kyle," she replied, letting him walk away and holding her breath when their fingers slipped out of each other's grasp. She knew from then on, they'd have to be strangers to each other. Her tears flowed even harder – getting your heart broken once in a night was painful, but twice? For a brief moment, she wondered how the hell she could survive it, until she realised that she'd just have to.
Kyle walked away crying like an absolute fucking pussy. He briefly thought about his fifteen year old self who thought the world was over when Rebecca dumped him. If he could, he'd go back in time and punch him in the face, because that was fucking nothing compared to how he felt after walking away from Wendy. He even stopped and ducked behind the bike sheds until he could compose himself. Fuck the wrap party, he was going home. He couldn't take much more.
Alas, Bebe was running towards him and he wondered briefly if she was planning to strong-arm him into the fray.
"Kyle! Thank God," she panted. "You need to do something about Stan!" She stared at him as she got closer. "Are you okay?"
Kyle realised he must look a complete mess, but the last thing he wanted was to be scrutinised over his heartbreak.
"I'm fine," he said dismissively. "Now, Stan. What's up?"
"He's just…" Bebe shook her head. "He's just going crazy."
"It's cool, Bebe. I'll sort it," Kyle replied, grateful in a way to have something to take his mind off the emotional fucking mess that was his life over the past few hours.
Bebe smiled at him. "Thanks, Kyle. I don't suppose you've seen Wendy, have you?" She appeared a little anxious; Kyle wondered if she knew the things Wendy had told him?
"Yeah," Kyle replied, suddenly feeling leaden. He was sharply reminded of Wendy sat on the hood of her car, with a tear-stained face and kiss-reddened lips, and he had to shake the thought away. "She's… she's in the parking lot."
"Kyle?" Bebe asked, just as he made to walk away. "What's going on?" Her voice had a slight accusatory tone to it.
Kyle headed towards the gym without so much as a second glance.
The wrap party was in full swing; the music was loud and people were dancing exuberantly – there was a level of joy in the air that made Kyle want to puke. It didn't take long to find Stan – he was swinging from a climbing rope while yelling the lyrics to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody', which was interesting, seeing as what was actually playing over the PA sounded like a Rhianna song.
"Stan?" he called up at the twirling boy in his rumpled tuxedo and glowing cheeks, whose jet black hair was in disarray.
"Kyle!" Stan called back joyfully, sliding to the floor and holding his arms aloft for a manly hug. Kyle noticed with some trepidation that he was swaying from side to side.
"Hey, dude," Kyle said kindly as he approached him.
Suddenly, Kyle's whole face felt like it had exploded, as Stan slammed his forehead against the bridge of his nose with all his might.
"You fucking cunt!" he heard Stan scream at him, as Kyle tried unsuccessfully to stop the blood streaming from his nose and down onto his shirt.
"What the—"
"You stole my girl, you dick!"
The entire room of cast and crew gasped in shock. Kyle noticed they were all watching the scene unfold.
"I did not steal your girl," Kyle spat back, his vision starting to blur slightly.
"Yes, you did!" Stan screamed. "You stole her away, with your… your stupid curly hair! And your… your shoes! And… and your kisses that make you feel like you're the only girl in the world!" Stan wobbled on his feet again as he flung his hands skywards.
Kyle noticed the crowed switch from their gasps of shock to murmurs of confusion. He tried to be calm for Stan's sake, really he did, but the simple truth was that he could never steal Wendy away, and Stan was the reason why. If he couldn't see that, then what the hell had been the point of the last eleven years of their friendship?
"You stole her away," Stan continued ranting, "because… because you can't get a girl of your own! Yeah – you fucking… Just because you can't keep a girlfriend for longer than, like, a month, you have to ruin mine! You're… bitter. You're fucking bitter, because nobody loves you—"
To Kyle's utter amazement, Cartman stepped forward and punched Stan right in the face. Kyle was torn between dark amusement; because really, right now he was having the exact opposite problem to the one Stan was claiming, anger; because Stan knew that was something that kind of ate away at him in his weaker moments and he was deliberately dredging it up to score points, and worry; because Stan was clearly tanked and Cartman wasn't the kind of person who'd give a fuck if Stan toppled over and smashed his skull in.
"Stop it, just stop it!" Kyle yelled, just as Stan toppled forward and swung an inexpert punch across Cartman's jaw, sending him staggering backwards.
"What the fuck do you care, you fat fuck?" Stan roared back. "I bet you're loving this! You've always been fucking jealous of me and Kyle…"
Kyle rushed forward and pinned Stan to the ground as best he could; he didn't even have to look at Cartman to know he was gearing up to literally murder him.
"Cool it, Stan. Fucking cool it!"
"Make me, you home-wrecking asshole!"
Before he even knew what was happening, he was tussling with a drunk, rage-fuelled Stan on the floor. He winced as Stan punched him in the gut a few times, and in the end, all he could do was grab him around the throat to stop him from attacking – he couldn't deny he wasn't enjoying throttling Stan a little bit after everything he had come out with.
Suddenly, they were both distracted by a loud crash that accompanied the gym doors flying off their hinges.
"What the fuck?" Kyle muttered to himself just as Stan slurred the same words.
"Quit fucking copying me, you dick," Stan grumbled.
A flurry of fighting had broken out as a small figure in purple was dashing around a gang of tattooed meatheads.
"Kyle!"
He looked up, and saw Karen rush towards them, looking terrified.
"Karen? What's going on?"
"They… Those guys tried to kidnap me," she panted. "They said my parents' owed them for… for crack. Mysterion… saved me!"
"Myster – oh, Jesus fucking Christ!" Stan slurred. "Kenny, take it somewhere else! Me and Kyle are trying to fight!"
"Kenny?" Karen said, her expression suffused in bewilderment.
"Karen? Are you okay?" Craig had seemingly teleported to her side and was looking at her intently.
"I'm fine, Craig," she replied quietly, hiding her face.
"That looks painful," Craig muttered as he examined her swollen eye.
"It's fine, really." Karen shrugged him off and stepped backwards away from Craig and his earnest concern.
Meanwhile, Kenny was trying to fight off three knife-wielding drug runners, and although he was speedy, Kyle was pretty sure he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
"We've got to help him, "Kyle said.
Cartman shrugged. "He's fine. Look at him," he said happily, as Kenny got a fist straight to the face.
"You fucking help him," Stan growled. "Maybe you can impress Wendy—"
"Shut the fuck up, Stan!" Kyle shouted at the same time Cartman did.
Not knowing what else to do, Kyle hastily called the police and quickly gave them the address and the situation.
"Whoa. Check it out!" Stan said in awed tones, just as Kyle had ended the call. He looked up, and sure enough, Kenny had somehow managed to tie up the three drug-runners and take away their weapons. His face was swollen and puffy from where he had been punched, and his mask had been pretty much destroyed, but apart from that, he seemed in good shape.
The entire cast and crew stared at him in awed shock as he calmly scribbled on a piece of paper.
Karen, however, looked horrified. "Kenny? Seriously?"
Kenny looked up sheepishly at Karen. "Yeah. It's me, Karen. It's always been me."
"Oh my God! I… I had a crush on you when I was eight!" she wailed.
"Wow, that's wrong," Craig commented idly. "Did I ever tell you how much I like wrong?"
Kyle would have paid more attention to Karen's disgusted expression, except that Stan had gripped at his hair and was trying to pull it out with all his might.
"Come back and fight, you fucking pussy!" he demanded.
"Get the hell off me!" Kyle shouted back, tilting his head forward and slamming Stan's hand into the pine wood floor until he eventually let go.
"Get the hell off him!" Cartman shouted, and shoved Kyle out of the way to get closer to Stan. In a desperate attempt to prevent Cartman from killing Stan, Kyle tried to interpose himself between the two of them.
"Guys! Stop fighting each other!" Kenny begged. "This isn't going to help; you need to talk—"
That was when Kyle heard the creaking.
He didn't think too much of it, until a ceiling beam came crashing down and impaled Kenny to the floor through his stomach.
"Kenny!" Ignoring the others, Kyle rushed over to him. "Jesus fucking Christ! Are you—" he didn't bother to finish. Was he okay? Stupid fucking question; he had a six foot wooden beam through his stomach.
Suddenly, Kenny convulsed and threw up all over Kyle, leaving him pretty speechless. He heard Stan laugh drunkenly in the background.
"Sorry, man," Kenny croaked.
"It's alright," Kyle soothed, squeezing his hand. "It'll be okay. We'll get an ambulance and—"
That was when the second ceiling beam crashed to the floor and crushed Kenny's skull until it popped in a mess of red mulch and pinkish-grey brains.
"Oh my God! They… they… Fuck!" Stan apparently gave up on his sentence and instead chose to vomit over the floor; Karen had to jump to the side to avoid it.
"You bastards!" Kyle shouted, because… Well, it seemed appropriate.
"You're the fucking bastards!" Stan slurred, crawling over to him and hitting him on the side of the head with a burlap sack from the gym store.
"Not now, Stan!" Kyle snarled.
"Yeah now, you fucking pussy!"
"I'm going to fucking kill you, Stan!" Cartman shouted, grabbing Stan by the legs and dragging him across the room.
At some point during the confusing brawl, Kyle became vaguely aware of police sirens. In between being clawed at by an increasingly uncoordinated Stan and stopping a raging Cartman from attacking Stan, Kyle saw police officers take away the tied-up drug runners, examine Kenny's corpse, and retrieve some kind of note from Kenny's clenched fist – which had clearly stiffened from rigor mortis.
When Sergeant Yates cuffed them and quietly said, "I think you boys need to come with me," Kyle literally had no fight left in him.
"Sir, please! They didn't do anything!" a tearful Karen begged, while Craig held her in his arms. "It was the—"
"Ma'am, I know what I'm doing," Sergeant Yates said, holding what appeared to be an envelope in his hand.