The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Epilogue: Intervention
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by Friggingodess
-Friggingodess-
Waking up after a death was always disorientating. Even now, Kenny still found it hard to adjust; everything was too cold, too bright, too… too real. His head swam and his body fought to keep up with where it should be. Then he remembered; the pressure all around his head, the crunch of bone, the weird sense of relief at the release and the agony one can only truly appreciate if they too have had their head crushed into mulch by a roof beam.
Feeling the familiar lurching sensation in his stomach, Kenny grabbed the bucket he kept under his bed for such occasions and hurled his guts into it. When he ran out of anything to hurl up – which was rather quickly, given he always came back on an empty stomach – he dry-heaved until his throat burned.
Casting the bucket to one side, he flopped back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The same damp patches, the same cracks across the plaster. It was oddly comforting. As Kenny glanced along his bed, he could see the sheets tented around his crotch. It always seemed like an absolute fucking mockery that every time he came back, he was hard; life forcing its way through death, a desperate plea from his very cells to spread his seed in case next time, he didn't come back.
Kenny sighed and mechanically gripped his dick in his slightly numb right hand. The only place he was going to spread his seed right now was over his fucking bed sheets. This routine – the confusion, the vomiting, the jerking off – had become second nature; a curious mix of comfort and mind numbing tedium. He even saw the same images flash through his mind every time; Maria's arched back, Maria's moans of ecstasy. Maria writhing in his lap, or gripping the headboard as she bucked underneath him. Maria on all fours thrusting against him, panting and sweating and groaning his name like he was God – no, like he was the Devil. Ken, Ken, Ken.
He moaned right back. Maria, Maria, Maria. He didn't fucking care who heard him, who walked in on him and slammed the door in horror or told him to keep it down. He'd had his head crushed to a pulp and spent what felt like a week but was probably closer to seven hours listening to Muammar fucking Gaddafi drone on about calendars and some fucking green book Kenny didn't give a shit about. He fucking deserved to yank himself to climax as loudly and obnoxiously as he wanted.
God, she was beautiful. She was beautiful in life, she was beautiful in death. Her smile, her laugh, her thoughtful expression – where she bit her lip and frowned with her head tilted a little to the left – her melancholy, her anger, her come face… everything about her was beautiful. Every time he did this, every time he remembered Maria while steamrollering along to his inevitable orgasm, he felt a little ache just under his ribs. Like he felt empty, or something.
"Guess."
"No."
"Come on, I'm curious."
"Nope." Maria smiled winsomely; it tugged at Kenny's very guts.
"I know how old you are," he reasoned as he sat on the edge of their hotel room bed.
"And I don't want to know how old you are," she retorted with a cheeky smile, turning her back to him. Her pert ass was tantalisingly close.
"Scared you're corrupting me? Maria, I'd considerate it an honour and a privilege to be corrupted by you." He reached out and spanked her firmly on that exquisite ass. "And who says I'm not already corrupted, anyway?"
She whirled around and glared at him with mock indignation. "Kenneth McCormick, you are young and callow and you have no idea what you're letting yourself in for!"
"Maria…" Fuck, he didn't even know her surname.
"Barnes," she replied.
"Maria Barnes." He savoured this new piece of information about her as he reclined against the headboard and spread his legs. "Maria Barnes, I may be young, but I am widely read in the erotic genre and eager to learn and you have no idea what you're letting yourself in for!"
As he started to unbutton his shirt, Maria's expression suddenly changed. Her exuberance seemed to dribble away into sadness.
"Okay, I'm cocky," Kenny confessed, trying to salvage the situation. "I also take direction well. Seriously, you show me what you like and I'll make it happen. Scout's Honour!" He even did the three fingered salute.
To his horror, he saw a tear trickle down Maria's face. He sat up instantly.
"Maria?"
"You know why I don't want to know your age, but do you know why I want you to know mine?"
Kenny frowned. "I figured you didn't want to know if you were about to tap some prime jailbait hotness," he joked, "but I don't know why you want me to know. I don't care about your age."
"I care," she said quietly. "I care that you know what you're letting yourself in for. I care that you are making an informed choice here, because you're not the one facing death every day. You're going to have to live with this decision, and for a very long time, I hope."
Kenny had to try hard to stifle a smile, given he knew how serious she was being. When it came to death, between the two of them, she was a rank amateur.
"Maria, I want this. I want you. It's not even up for discussion—"
"You don't know what you're getting, okay!" Her voice came at close to snappish as Maria's ever could. To Kenny amazement, she started to peel off her clothes, but there was nothing sexual in it. The act was rushed, defiant. Somehow, he knew he could fuck her brains out against the wall of this hotel room and she would never be as intimate with him as she was being now.
"Maria, you don't have to—"
"I do!" she said in a choked voice. "I need you to know, okay?"
She turned her back to him, tearing off her jeans and her vest top with wild abandon and tossing them across the room. Kenny felt a prickle of jealously; he wanted to be the one wrenching her stupid body-covering clothes away from her. She slid out of her panties and he wished she'd let him be the one to peel them off her perfect ass. He didn't really understand what her problem was, until she unclasped her bra and threw it at him. It was all padding. There was literally nowhere for even a nipple to go.
Kenny suddenly felt deeply stupid.
"Just… If you're going to freak out, I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself," she replied, before her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. She then turned around and showed him her truly naked body.
He couldn't deny that it was the first thing he noticed. A painful looking scar ran from each armpit across her chest, but apart from that it looked quite clean. He'd wondered if it would look like burn tissue or something.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Not really," she replied. "I don't even need to drain them anymore."
Kenny gazed at her. He had a million questions, and all of them seemed like things he should never ask; why didn't she have reconstructive surgery? Had she always been a 34D as her bra suggested, or had she picked that size afterwards? Did she wear that same bra under her bathing suit and if so, was it waterproof or did it just absorb like a sponge?
Then he gazed at her differently, and took in her shy expression, her beautiful skin, her shapely ass and the tattoo of an airstrip she'd had done around her Brazilian. Suddenly, those questions seemed dumb and insignificant. She had just laid herself bare to him, but wasn't asking for his approval; this was who she was, take it or leave it.
He'd never wanted a woman more than he'd wanted her in that moment.
She wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "It's cool, Ken. I get it if this… you know, it wasn't what you were expecting."
"I guess it wasn't," Kenny admitted. "But whatever. You're hot."
She looked at him, clearly puzzled. "Look, Ken. You really don't have to lie to me; you're young – I'm not an idiot – and I know this would put you off. I'm just not going to lie to you, okay?"
Kenny wasn't sure how else to prove his point, so he unzipped his fly and exposed his erect penis.
"Me and the trouser snake think you're hot, okay? My dick never lies," he assured her.
Maria shook her head and giggled. "You are unbelievable." It sounded like it might be a compliment.
"I'll just put that away for the moment," Kenny added sheepishly, zipping himself back up. "Seriously, I'm just as eager. I'm kind of more eager, actually. Nobody's ever been this honest with me before." It stung a little when he realised how true those words were.
Before he knew it, Maria had jumped onto the bed and straddled his lap. "You sure about this, Ken?"
He kissed her in response, infected by her child-like giddiness. When she yielded to his touch, he felt like he was winning a marathon. When her breath hitched as he sucked gently at her neck, he was close to a personal best.
"One thing," he asked.
"What?"
"The scars. Should I avoid them? Or can I touch them." He felt himself blush. "I don't want to miss a millimetre of you."
She cupped his face and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Just be gentle, and it'll be fine."
When he felt her unzip his flies, he was sure all of his Christmases had come at once.
"Hang on, don't we need a condom?" he asked quickly, when she was positioned tantalisingly close.
"Umm, Ken; I can't exactly get pregnant right now, and with all due respect, you can't do shit to me," she replied, before suddenly slapping her palm to her forehead. "Sorry, I'm being an idiot. I'm clean, but I totally understand if you want to—"
The shuddering gasp of longing that poured from her lips as he grabbed her hips and thrust her onto him nearly undid him completely.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he groaned, only for Maria to start giggling.
"Oh, please don't!" he begged. "I'm one punchline away from coming!"
"Well, we can't have that," she teased, and thus began a night of education Kenny would never forget. He knew if he reached old age – if he even could wither and die – that he would never, ever forget the wondrous things Maria taught him that night, and for many nights to come. He certainly wouldn't forget how he sobbed unashamedly into her shoulder how much he loved her when his world unravelled and exploded in her expert care. He'd never forget how she kissed him and assured him she loved him, too.
He'd never forget her, and he didn't want to.
Figuring he'd probably spent enough time lying in his own sweat and jizz, Kenny got up to take a shower, passing Karen's room as he did. Suddenly remembering how Craig was sniffing around her like a fucking dog last night, he pushed open the door. She was asleep, and alone. Relieved, Kenny carried on to the bathroom.
The water was luke-warm as it ran over his head and body, which made a nice change from cold and a little brown. When he'd been searching for apartments the past six months, he'd put that at the top of his list – hot running water that didn't occasionally turn to sludge. He thought about the letter tucked away in his bottom drawer, the one from that solicitor on behalf of the Barnes'. He didn't know why he kept it, really – it just contained a lot of bullshit about how grateful they were that he'd been with their daughter at the end, how her letters had spoken fondly of him… what the fuck ever. He would have given his front fucking teeth to have those letters instead; just something of her that had her handwriting, her scent, her thoughts. He hadn't sniffed at the cheque with more noughts on the end than he could ever have imagined holding in his life – turned out Maria had been working for a company that had amazing employee insurance before her illness took a hold – but it wasn't going to bring her back. He'd considered contacting her parents and asking for one of those letters, but it seemed pretty heartless to try and take all they had left of her now.
That day was still seared into his brain as the absolute worst experience of his whole life, and countless deaths. Getting crushed to a pulp by roof beams had nothing on the moment he woke up – sore in all the best ways – leant over to kiss his sleeping beauty awake, only to find he was holding a cold, empty husk. Even now, he still had nightmares about it.
The weird thing was what he chose to do after that moment. For some reason, he couldn't get the idea out of his head that she wouldn't want to be found like that – naked in the way she'd reserved only for him – so he spent an hour before he even considered phoning the police dressing her in her nicest clothes and doing her make-up, ensuring her padded bra fitted just so. As he waited for the cops, he just held her and cried, futilely hoping she might come back because he'd done such a good job.
That had been a fucked up year. Looking back, Kenny realised that everything had boiled down to the fact that he missed Maria terribly, but at the time, he started to question everything. The whole not-staying-dead thing had just been something he'd learnt to accept and not mess about with, but now he started to wonder if he could find Maria. Not to stay with her forever, but just to see if she was okay. Of course, if she was okay he could spend time with her, and if he could spend his death with her, all he'd have to do when he woke up was kill himself again and he could be with her a little longer… He figured Hell would be a good place to start – for one, it was a fuck ton easier to get there, and for two, most people ended up there. Even the glorious beings like Maria. Kenny figured she'd find Heaven deathly dull, anyway.
The first time he'd ever shot himself in the face was the scariest, and he'd only been ten. Five years on, and it had been a cake walk. Baths with toasters, hanging from the rafters of the gym store, drinking sulphuric acid from the chemistry lab – that had taken ages, he'd never tried that one again – whatever got him dead and wandering the afterlife the quickest, he went for. Sometimes he tried to have a few martyr's deaths, in an attempt to gain access to Heaven and make some enquires, but it never worked. He figured God must have known what he was up to, so even if Mysterion lay in a pool of his own blood after saving some woman from being gang raped in Denver, it didn't mean a thing.
Until the one time he threw himself under a train one morning and found himself facing God and Satan in what he could only describe as a charming granny's house.
"Kenny," God has said with a weary sigh. "We need to talk."
"About what?" Kenny asked defensively – for some reason he felt he'd done something wrong. He knew, deep down, he had.
"Satan tells me you've been spending a lot of time in Hell," God said, pouring a pot of tea into three cups.
"It's been a rough few months," Kenny replied nonchalantly.
Satan sighed heavily. "We know what you're doing, hon. It won't work."
"Huh?"
"Take a seat, Kenny," God said, gesturing towards the chintziest sofa this side of ‘The Waltons'. Kenny gingerly sat down and felt himself sink into the cushions like they were marshmallows. Damn, god had some good couches.
"Tea, Kenny?" God asked, passing him a cup before Kenny could even reply.
"Umm, thanks," he said quietly, as God surveyed him warmly.
"I'm sorry, Kenny; you just won't be able to find her," God said, while taking a spoonful of sugar and popping it in the nearest teacup.
Satan nodded sadly. "It's the afterlife, Kenny. Everyone who's ever died comes here. There's billions upon billions of people spread out amongst infinite space. The chances of finding one girl?"
"As good as winning the lottery?" Kenny mumbled, though still hopeful. People still won that thing, after all.
"As good as winning the lottery thirty times in a row, and being hit by lightning exactly when the last number is picked and Fidel Castro has ejaculated into the gas tank of a Mini Cooper at the exact same moment," God clarified after a sip of tea.
"Oh." Kenny felt his heart plummet towards his shoes.
"Don't feel so down," Satan said, resting a friendly hand on his shoulder. "She's moved on. She's happy."
"So you know? You've seen her?" Kenny asked eagerly, only for Satan to suddenly stare at the paisley patterned carpet.
"I would have seen her at some point… and she's probably happy."
Kenny drained his cup in two mouthfuls. "So what? I can find her when I die – I mean properly die, because I'll have forever… Wait, will I ever properly die? What happens when I get old? How does this whole thing work, anyway?"
God stood up suddenly. "Oh, wow… I think I left the oven on. Yeah. I'd better see to that," he mumbled before disappearing entirely from view.
"Hey! No fucking fair!" Kenny shouted. "Answer me!"
"Kenny, Kenny, Kenny! Stop!" To Kenny's amazement, Satan actually looked terrified.
"What? Why?"
Satan's shoulders slumped as he reached over to the hostess trolley and helped himself to a Custard Cream – Kenny hadn't even noticed they were there. He wondered if they had Bourbons. He didn't even know what Bourbons were, but they sounded good.
"The thing is, Kenny," Satan said between mouthfuls, "God is omnipotent, omnipresent, infallible."
"I know," Kenny replied. "So why doesn't God answer—"
Satan clapped his hand over Kenny's mouth.
"So," he said, hand still covering Kenny's mouth and ignoring the bites he was placing to force him to let go, "there can't be a single thing God doesn't know. If someone was to ask a question that God didn't know the answer to – not that there is such a question – everything God is, and everything God made, would crumble into nothing, because everything God is would be a lie. Do you understand, Kenny?" Satan asked, his eyes wide with apparent panic.
"I… I…" Slowly, miserably, Kenny understood. He understood he'd probably never know about Maria, or himself.
Kenny dried off and liberally patted himself with cologne – Lynx wasn't going to get the chicks creaming – before wandering naked to his bedroom and getting dressed. As he passed Karen's room yet again, he reminded himself that he needed to find an apartment fast – there was no way she could stay here much longer. Karen was a delicate flower, and he'd be damned if he was going to let her be poisoned by this toxic fucking house.
When he went outside, he found Craig pacing around his front yard.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Tucker?" Kenny snarled, spying the flowers and the mix CD Craig had tried to hide behind his back.
"I just wanted to—"
"Stay the hell away from her; I'm not fucking kidding," Kenny said in as threatening a tone as he could muster. He'd rip Craig's dick off with his teeth if he had to.
Karen's bedroom window opened and Kenny watched her lean out.
"What's going on?" she called out.
"Hey, Karen," Craig called up and Karen – horrifyingly – blushed and smiled.
"Nothing; he's just leaving," Kenny said firmly, pushing Craig away from the door.
"Chill the fuck out, Kenny," Craig pleaded. "You know me—"
"Exactly!"
"Hey! Since when have I ever screwed a girl over? Since when have I even dated a girl?" Kenny noticed Craig's whole face colour up as he said this. "I think Karen's really nice, I don't even know if she'd give me a second look!"
Something in Craig's earnest expression made Kenny soften a little. That and the fact he could feel each individual item from Karen's rock-pool collection hit in in the back; damn she had good aim.
He held open the door. "Fine, but if you get her pregnant, I'm disembowelling you."
"I just wanted to ask her to the movies," Craig mumbled awkwardly before dashing inside.
"I mean it!" Kenny shouted behind him. "I'll make Uwe Boll look like he directs My Little fucking Pony films!"
"Whatever, dude. Uwe Boll sucks dick," Craig shouted back.
Kenny sighed heavily. He supposed it was probably time to get his asshole friends out of jail.
By the time Sergeant Yates gave him the keys to the cells – there were advantages to being a vigilante who the police actually liked – Kenny was impressed to find Stan, Kyle and Cartman weren't dead. They were remarkably placid, in fact.
"Dude, I'm sorry I called you a cunt," Stan whispered.
"It's okay," Kyle replied at normal level, only for Stan to wince.
"Dude, keep it down! Anyway, you're really just an asshole."
"I know."
"Why are you being so fucking passive?" Stan sounded pissed off now.
"It's because he's fucking won," Cartman said angrily, though Kenny could detect the pain in his voice. "He's won and he knows it."
"For God's sake, Cartman, nobody's won! This is just a huge fucking mess and I'll be glad to leave it behind."
There was a deathly silence.
"What?"
"Just… You know, college."
"Nobody's applied for college yet," Stan said, sitting up. "Unless…"
Cartman smirked. "He's not going to an Ivy, Stan. He's not that fucking good—"
"I am, as it turns out," Kyle said quietly.
Kenny actually felt rather pleased for him. He wanted to rush up to the bars and congratulate him, but the mood inside the cell was incongruous with that.
"You're leaving? Well, that's a relief," Cartman said, but he was fooling no-one with that exaggerated tone.
"Dude! Since when?"
Kyle sighed; Kenny saw him hang his head. "I had an interview a few weeks ago. I got accepted."
"But… but you're not going?" Stan said in a shocked voice. "We were supposed to go to college together—"
"Stan, he just Jewed you out over Wendy, what the fuck do you care?"
"What the fuck do you care, Cartman?" Stan spat back.
"I don't give a crap."
"Whatever." Stan snorted with laughter. "All this time you've been going on about me getting my ass pounded by Kyle – you were just transferring your own fucking fapping fantasy—"
"Shut the fuck up, Stan!" Cartman roared in Stan's ear, and Stan moaned in agony.
"Yeah, that'll teach you, you fucking soak."
"Dude, nobody says soak anymore," Stan groaned, lying face down on the concrete floor.
Kenny figured it was about time to make his presence known.
"Hey, guys," he said casually, dangling the key between his fingers. "Cooled down enough yet?"
Kyle glared up at him through the bars.
"This was your doing? Goddamn it, Kenny, let us out!" he raged. Kenny used to be upset by the fact nobody remembered him dying, but now he found it fascinating – Kyle's impotent rage at him was in stark contrast to the way he held his hand as he died. When it came to getting killed, Kenny liked to have Kyle around. He was good at handling it. Stan couldn't deal; Kenny understood why, for who wants to see a friend die? He didn't know if Kyle's comforting way meant he cared more or less. Perhaps he was detached from it all? It wouldn't surprise him.
"In a minute," Kenny teased. "Where did you get in, Kyle? Which school?"
"Harvard," he answered eventually.
"Congratulations, man. You deserve it," Kenny said, and the look of relief on Kyle's face made him feel as though he'd returned the favour for all those times Kyle had stayed with him until the end.
"Were you going to tell me?" Stan asked quietly.
"Dude, of course. I just… I didn't know if I was going to accept," Kyle admitted.
Cartman laughed heartily at this. "You didn't know… Yeah, right. Like anyone would be enough of an idiot to turn that down!"
Even Kenny was surprised by how hurt Stan looked. "Jesus, Kyle. You were going to sneak off to college, you tried to sneak off with my girl – I thought you were my friend!"
"Stan! I wasn't doing any sneaking!" Kyle spat back. "I wasn't trying to steal Wendy, and I was going to tell you about Harvard as soon as I'd made a decision – but you weren't exactly in the mood for talking last night…"
"Quit acting like you're so high and mighty, Kyle," Cartman snarled. "You've been messing about with all our feelings; hope it was fun, you dumb fucking Jew."
"Yeah," Stan agreed.
"I didn't mess about with anyone," Kyle hissed. "You invented a whole scenario in your head just to convince yourself I was gay! And Stan, he thought we were fucking each other."
"What?" Stan looked shocked. "Sick, dude!"
"Guys, knock it off!" Kenny yelled, and was amazed when they all fell silent. Well, apart from Stan.
"Why does everyone have to keep shouting?" he grumbled.
"Look, Stan. I get that you're heartbroken because Wendy and you broke up," Kenny said calmly, "but you can't really blame Kyle for that. Do you really think Wendy's such an awful person that she'd run after your best friend just because? Do you really think Kyle's such an asshole that he'd try to chase her anyway? You're both seventeen; you're young. She fell out of love with you. It sucks, but it happens. If it wasn't Kyle, it would have been someone else."
He was gratified for a moment when Stan sat up and appeared thoughtful.
"Kyle," Kenny continued. "Yeah, you didn't chase Wendy, but you can't deny you were attracted to her. Could you have done more to turn her away? Maybe, but it doesn't matter. You did what a friend would do and tried to keep out of the way. Be a better friend and just try to accept that Stan's going to be hurt; he's just broken up with the girl he's been dating for almost a third of his life! Give him a break – you've given Cartman less of a hard time, for Christ's sake!"
Kyle nodded and glanced over at Stan sympathetically. "Sorry, dude. I just… you're my best friend, and I'd never want to hurt you. I don't understand why you can't believe that."
"I do," Stan replied softly. "I just… The way she looked at you, man. I'm not sure she ever looked at me that way."
To Kenny's relief, Kyle didn't protest. He just squeezed Stan's shoulder and said nothing.
"Fucking girls, man," Stan muttered and the two of them managed a pained laugh.
"Eric." Kenny shook his head. "I just… I don't even know where to fucking start. Why did you think…? How did you…? I give up."
"Oh, come on! Those two are like an old married couple!" Cartman protested.
"Whatever, something amazing has come out of this," Kenny said.
"What the fuck are you talking about? That Jew asshole's fucking ruined me like Michael Bay ruined Transformers!"
"I mean, Eric, that you have feelings. You actually cared about another human being," Kenny replied, fairly convinced that for Cartman, it was still very much in the present tense. "Some of us thought this day would never come. Revel in it, revel in your humanity!"
"Just shut the fuck up, you poor piece of crap, and open the Goddamned door!"
Kenny shrugged his shoulders. Two out of three wasn't bad.
As they emerged blinking into the midday sun, Kenny felt an odd sense of change; like the pieces in their friendship had fractured and rebuilt around the wounds. The pain was still there – Stan and Kyle were still aching over Wendy and the realisation that they had accidentally done the worst to each other, Cartman was still aching over Kyle and the fact that this time, he had lost the game that he saw his life as – but it was okay. It was grown-up and mutable, something that would bind them as closely as it was tugging them apart right now. Something that would give them space to find their own way in the world and still come back to each other.
"Dude." Stan was whispering at him groggily.
"Yeah?"
"How did you know, man? How did you know all of that stuff? I mean, we didn't know all that stuff until last night!"
Kenny shrugged. "I just pay attention," he replied sadly. He kind of had to – every time he died he missed chunks of their lives. He had to keep up somehow.
"Oh." Stan paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Have you thought about where you're going to college?"
Kenny found it amusing that Stan simply assumed that would be his next step. "Have you?"
"Well, I was going to find somewhere close to Yale, because… You know. I guess maybe I could look at places in Cambridge," he wondered aloud.
"Or, you could go to a college you want to attend?" Kenny suggested sarcastically. When Stan stared at him in wonder, he instantly felt bad – Stan had clearly never thought about it outside of where his girlfriend or his best friend were heading.
Just like Stan – and Kyle, and Cartman – Kenny had his own needs. Maybe college was an option, but what he really needed to do was get him and Karen away from their parents. Once she was settled, he could go to community college and transfer when she was old enough. He considered telling the others, explaining to them how frightened he was for Karen, and how her slipping Math grades that had prompted Kyle's tuition had been the tip of the iceberg. He thought about how they could maybe help him house hunt, and what a laugh it could be to poke fun at the absent owner's décor or photos.
As he watched them walk along the street – deep in their own thoughts, yet oddly in tune – he decided to remain silent. He too could find his own way in the world, and still find his way back home.
THE END