The chapter you are currently reading is chapter three. It contains alcohol use, sexual themes, and super gay boys with problems. Viewer discretion is advised to anyone and everyone in fact don't even read it at all.

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Kyle's POV

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Even though I like to think I'm the only one in this mountain town with any morals, I can be a pretty bad person sometimes.

But almost all those times I've tried to get better. I tried not to be such a heartless bastard those times. After all, I never want to end up like Eric Cartman. That would be worse than dying.

However, the situation I'm in now is something that could destroy someone. Yet, I don't want to stop it. It's selfish and awful, but I can't stop.

This all started about a month ago, when I was hanging out with my Super Best Friend, Stan Marsh. We were dicking around at his house, and the rest of his family was away in Denver because his dad was sure that he would find a genie's lamp there.

Stan's been my best friend since we were toddlers. He's really the coolest guy I know, even if he was kind of a pussy. The problem with spending so much time with one person was that you get attached. Like, badly. This is where I am.

I always wanted to know what it felt like to kiss him. It didn't matter if the kiss was messy and tongue-filled like we were in a porno, or if it was sweet like the ones he gave to his girlfriend. Yeah, you heard that right, girlfriend. Even though Wendy and Stan were the most dramatic and over complicated couple I've ever seen, it was obvious they loved each other. And as much as I wanted to hate Wendy, I couldn't. She was sweet, and she was intelligent enough to have debates with me about politics rather than the same celebrity bullshit other girls had. She was really cool, and it was obvious she cared about Stan.

So am I a bad person for wanting to steal her boyfriend for myself? Is it bad that I have the urge to smack her hand away when it locks into Stan's? Was I just the kind of person I've always preached against?

Well, the incident that happened just proved it. I, Kyle Broflovski, fucked up.

Stan and me were just lying around in his room, watching Terrence and Phillip. Even as middle-aged men, these guys were still hilarious and so original.

"Dude, dude, you know what we should do?" Stan sat up from his bed, giving me a grin that could only mean trouble.

"Even though I know that I, and probably the rest of the town, will suffer because of it...what?"

"It's not some big scheme to rule over Stark's Pond with an army of frogs like last week, I swear. My dad just has a bunch of beer in the fridge and I was thinking we could have some."

I was surprised, to say the least. Sure, it wasn't a plan that would kill everybody, but it was still strange. Randy Marsh's alcoholism was something I always figured Stan hated. I guess we really do turn into our parents. I pray to God I don't turn into my Jewfin of a father.

"Uh. I guess I'll have one?" I said reluctantly, not really eager to have this teenage experience right now.

Stan nodded, then ran down to get the beer. Was I really about to drink with my best friend? It was common for most teenagers, but we weren't really like most teenagers. Most teenagers didn't steal the Declaration of Independence with the president and Nicolas Cage.

He soon came back, with a six-pack of beer. What the fuck. "Is that really what you think 'some' is?"

Stan shrugged. "What my dad says it is." He handed me three cans, cracking open one for himself. The drinking began.

Well, mostly. I had a few sips before deciding it was disgusting and focusing more on the lame animated movie that was on TV. I didn't notice until five seconds too late that Stan drank all three of his cans. That night, I found out Stan was just as loud as his father when he was drunk.

"Dude. Dude, you know who's a fuckin' bitch sometimes?" He asked, not waiting a second for me to guess. "Wendy. She's always complainin' 'bout how I can't commit. Like, what th' fuck do you want from me? We've been together since forever."

"Uh huh," I mumbled, not really interested in Stan's drunken complaints, even if it was about his girlfriend. That is, until I felt his hot breath against my fucking neck.

"You're so much better than her. So much easier, y'know? Don' have to impress you..." He muttered against my neck, and then I felt his tongue and I thought I was going to die. This was it. This was my last day on earth and it was all because of Stan Marsh's tongue.

"Dude..." I protested weakly, though I do nothing to make him stop. While Stan was basically treating my neck like an ice cream cone, I was having an internal battle with myself.

This is wrong.

Is it though?

He's not himself.

He's only a little drunk.

He has a girlfriend.

He can't stand her though.

He's your best friend.

I love him, though.

But he doesn't love you. Not like that.

That's okay.

Is it though?

I ignored that last little comment and decided to just turn off my brain completely. I carefully changed my position, so that my Super Best Friend was on top of me. I just closed my eyes and let him kiss me.

Stop...

Let him touch me.

Stop!

Let him fuck me.

STOP!

The next thing I knew, Stan was asleep next to me. Our clothes were scattered throughout his bedroom, in the strangest and most inconvenient locations. I felt like shit. Both physically and mentally.

I got up and grabbed my clothes, basically throwing them on carelessly. My shirt was on backwards, and the fly on my jeans was unzipped. But I couldn't seem to find a single fuck to give about it. When I checked my phone, I found out it was two in the morning. After a quick glance at my dozing best friend, I left.

I didn't want to think about it, I really didn't. But it was hard. How do you have sex with your friend and not think about it? If I knew the answer, I would've abused it by now.

My first instinct was to call Kenny and tell him about it. Kenny was my closest friend next to Stan. He knew how much I loved him. But Kenny was too busy wrapped up in his own drama. He was in some weird love triangle with Butters and Cartman. I didn't know the details, but I wasn't going to pour my problems onto him when he had problems of his own.

So I went to my own bed and cried for an hour, before falling asleep.

It's been a month and nothing had gotten better.

Stan wouldn't talk to me about what had happened. He ignored the subject completely and would always look so angry when I tried to bring it up. He would snap at me and just shout the most ridiculous, nonsensical things. He insisted that it never happened.

And yet, when we were alone, he would start drinking more of his dad's beer. When he was drunk enough, he would do the same shit to me that he did the first time. But I always let him do it. Because even though it didn't mean anything, it was the closest I'd ever get to the love I desired.

It was killing me. Slowly and painfully. Having to live with the fact that this guy I called a friend was a cheater and a liar. Having to face his girlfriend every day and pretend that nothing was wrong. I was dying. And it was his fault.

So, I figured I had to talk sometime. And I decided when.

Token's party. Everyone was going, all but one. Wendy Testaburger. She was going to New York City with her parents for the weekend and couldn't attend. That meant Stan wouldn't have somebody to hide behind when I confronted him.

The best case scenario was that we talked it out and forgot about it.

The worst? I lose my Super Best Friend.

But maybe I deserved that.

Because even I'm a bad person.

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Nothing actually happened in this chapter whoops. But I thought a bit of backstory was necessary idk. Also, this just in, I am terrible at writing angst.

Kenny's next. And this next one is a doozy, so stay tuned.