BY : RandomJaz
Category: +S through Z > South Park
Dragon prints: 7362
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of it's characters, nor do I profit from this fanfiction.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Double update, today! Chapters 4 and 5! I hope to hear your thoughts. But, if not, thank you for reading 😊

The poem quoted in this chapter is "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe.

And, the song referenced in this chapter is "Bodies" by Drowning Pool.


Having so little options, I showed up at the Village Inn Diner. Mike's followers were leaving, all piling in to cars. Minions galore, but where was the leader?

"Everyone's going to the Halloween dance." Mike was the last to come out, pulling out his car keys.

"Why am I not surprised?" I droned in my gravelly voice.

"I imagine it takes a lot to surprise you."

Pointing to the passenger side door, he urged me to get in. If I weren't so helplessly bored, I would have told him not to flatter himself. He was going to the dance. I got in so I could wait for Stan.

"If you're meeting up with your friends, can you just drop me off closer to the football field?" I requested as he pulled out of the Village Inn lot. "I'm not going to some poser dance."

"Don't want to see your boyfriend?"

My abruptly rigid silence ate up the car in one unforgiving bite. Mike nonchalantly checked his bangs in the rearview mirror, brushing a stray piece back in place.

"Hm?" He pried, unapologetically.

"I don't understand you." I muttered, looking out the window. "Why are you doing this?"

"Your secret's safe with me...though, it's more Stan's secret, isn't it? Tragic."

I didn't like where this was going.

"Pull over and let me out. I'll walk."

Refusing to cooperate, Mike kept driving.

"It was kind of cute watching him feed you pancakes."

"Mike." I warned.

"I knew about you two before I saw that, by the way."

Digging my nails in to my palm, I held back from exploding. What did this goody-goody, Banana Republic reject know about me? Nothing.

"No, you fucking didn't."

"I see the way you look at him." Mike assured me with confidence. "You've liked Stan since grade school. Wait, no. You liked 'Raven'. Isn't that right?"

"I like Stan."

"Because your little black bird fluttered away. He wasn't really one of you, at all. You never got over it."

The Band-Aid holding the old wound closed, it split at the seams. There was a dull ache in my chest now.

"Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken. Leave my loneliness unbroken. Quit the bust above my door." Mike quoted smoothly.

"Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door. Quoth the Raven: 'Nevermore'." I finished for him, bitterly.

Stan...I wanted him to be Raven. Raven understood pain...he understood me.

Michael understood pain. But, he craved vengeance with a rage. It could easily consume him when pushed far enough.

He would be angry forever if it meant he could hold the rotten, festering truths to those who hurt him. Pin them with their sins, faults, and short comings. I craved peace. He didn't truly understand me. He just understood me more than everyone else.

The high school came in to view. For once, the inhumane kennel was preferable. Mike parked towards the back of the lot closer to the football field how I asked. Gravel crunched under the wheels of his car as it came it to a full halt.

"Is there a reason you lured and trapped me in your car to have this conversation?" I asked before making an attempt to leave.

"Would you have had it, otherwise?" He asked me back, rhetorically.

"Not a chance."

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I reached for the door handle.

"Then we have an understanding." Mike concluded with certainty.

"That's what you think." I rejected. "We have NEVER had an understanding. Don't pretend we ever did."

The door locks clicked. I couldn't open mine. He used the fucking child-lock on me.

"It's just us, here." Mike comforted me, gently. "You don't have to be this seething void all the time. It's okay to be angry sometimes-"

Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I grit my front teeth.

"You don't know me." Was the first thing that came out of my mouth. "Not the way you think you do."

"You're right. I don't." Mike agreed. "I'd like to."

"Get in line."


Mike's dad was a social worker and counselor, always trying to fix what was broken in others. It gave Mike the wrong idea about life. You couldn't save everybody. There was only so much you could do for those who asked for help, let alone those who didn't want it.

It never mattered how unapproachable I was, Mike always gravitated towards me. When he got too close, I pushed him away. He was a boomerang. He always came back.

Someone spiked the punch. Whatever it was spiked it was harder than your average cocktail. With very little in my stomach, the alcohol made quick work on me. Seated with my back to the gymnasium wall, I watched Mike find his way through the crowd of moving bodies.

Let the bodies hit the floor.
Let the bodies hit the floor.
Let the bodies hit the floor.
Let the bodies hit the floor.

He walked with long strides in his knee-high leather heeled-boots, long hair cascading down in a vibrant black-green ombre. Overhead strobe lights flickered off his shiny leather jacket, shimmering the silver sequent and studs with neon bursts of red, purple, and green.

I didn't want to be at the dance. I was supposed to be waiting outside...I hated to admit I was lonely. There wasn't anything that could be done about it. Not in that setting.

Openly himself, Mike found Vlad and leaned back against him, moving to the music. The bass gave the air a pulse, setting their rhythm. They were so unapologetically themselves. I was painfully envious of that.

Beaten, why for? Why for?
Caaan't take much moooore.
Here we go, here we go, here we go.

One, nothing wrong with me!
Two, nothing wrong with me!
Three, nothing wrong with me!
Four, nothing wrong with me!

One, something's got to give!
Two, something's got to give!
Three, something's got to give, nooooow!

Stan's group couldn't have been any farther than maybe twenty feet away from Mike's. My boyfriend was in the center with two cheerleaders dressed as what I could only assume were strippers.

On either side of him, the tiny skirts and spaghetti strap crop tops slid and shifted along their skin. They had underwear on, everyone could see that. They didn't have bras on. Everyone could see that, too.

They curled their curvaceous bodies on Stan, pressing their breasts in to his chest and back. The blonde in front of him had a leg curled up around his waist, now practically trying to ride his thigh. The longer I stared, I could see it was Bebe. Lola was the one behind him probably grabbing his ass.

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the flooooor!

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the flooooor!

I didn't have a clue if Wendy was at that dance. If she was, I wonder if she saw him. Did she feel the same jealousy I did? That territorial agony. The betrayal. My stomach was hot with booze, adding to the burn taking over my body.

Push me, again. Agaaiin.
Thiiiis is the ennnnd.
Here we go, here we go, here we go.

Watching him play out this charade boiled my blood, but it was like a train wreck-I couldn't look away. It was supposed to be me out there. My body melded with his, pulling him so close he could feel every inch of me through his clothes.

One, nothing wrong with me!
Two, nothing wrong with me!
Three, nothing wrong with me!
Four, nothing wrong with me!

One, something's got to give!
Two, something's got to give!
Three, something's got to give, nooooow!

Accepting there was no stopping it, I let Stan "prove" to these sheep he was one of them. He had a lot to lose. If he had to dance, so be it.

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the flooooor!

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!

Warm, flush bodies were all around. We were crammed within these four walls like sardines, but I felt alone. The little space I took up couldn't have mattered to anyone.

Another look to Mike rolling his tight ass in to Vlad's crotch and I hated that I couldn't just go and claim my other half. What did that feel like?

Skin against skin. Blood and bone.
You're all by yourself, but you're not alone.
You wanted in, and now you're here.
Driven by hate, consumed by fear.

Let the bodies hit the floor.
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the flooooooooooooor!

My red solo cup was empty. I wanted more to numb me but I couldn't tear myself away from the show. If they weren't both sporting erections, I would have bet they had ice water in hell, too. Mike's hips obviously blocked my view of Vlad.

With so much black on, I couldn't tell what was going on below Mike's belt from a distance. The erratic strobe lights didn't help. He leaned his head back with hands running all over his body, tongue-kissing Vlad from over his shoulder. With muddled thoughts, I stared at the two men living my greatest desire.

One, nothing wrong with me!
Two, nothing wrong with me!
Three, nothing wrong with me!
Four, nothing wrong with me!

One, something's got to give!
Two, something's got to give!
Three, something's got to give, NOOOOW!

To say I was turned on was an understatement. It could've been their confidence; it could've simply been the fact they were both good looking dudes. The hard-on forming in my pants didn't care. I wanted to watch them go at it like that all night.

And, I wanted more to drink.

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the flooooor!

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!


Ten rolled around and the dance dispersed, friends wobbling behind whoever was too scared to drink. They claimed their rides and filed out. Stan never saw I was there.

With Bebe and Lola drunkenly clinging to each arm, he appointed himself their designated driver. Turns out they'd both carpooled with Stan along with Clyde. Stan didn't know I was there, but I felt abandoned when he left without me.

Hot tears sprouted at the corners of my green eyes. Traces of eyeliner and salt burned them. Coherent enough to get up off the floor on my own without plopping back down on my ass, I tipsily grabbed for the wall for some leverage.

I was drunker than I realized. The room spun and my knees buckled for a second. Focusing hard, I braced myself to regroup and make my way outside. How I was going to get home was a whole different problem, entirely. One thing at a time.

"Pete." A slim, manicured hand touched my back. "Let's go."

Mike coaxed me off the wall, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Leading me to the car took some finesse and patience, both of which he generously provided. He got me to lie down in the backseat to be safe.

"Looks like someone got in to the fruit punch." Putting the key in the ignition, Mike turned the engine on. "You okay back there?"

Peering back, Mike saw me adjust to lie on my back with knees bent up. He'd placed me on my side with my knees curled towards my chest, before.

"Uh-Uh." He chided, turning around to lean in to the back seat and adjust me, again. "Lie on your side."

"What, why?" I demanded, as if it were really that big of an inconvenience.

"If you throw up, you're less likely to choke if you're on your side."

I didn't drink THAT much. And, I wasn't nauseous. Then again, the car wasn't moving yet.

"I'm fine. I won't throw up in your car." I promised, regardless. "Can I sober up a little before you bring me home?"

Dad drank enough for everyone in my house. If I came home drunk from a school dance at 18, Mom was going to have an aneurysm. She would blame my poor behavior on Dad setting a bad example.

She resented him that much. I wouldn't get in trouble. The fight would drive me insane, though. When the car began moving, I didn't think to ask where we were going. From my position lying down, I couldn't see out the windows.

"Where are we?" I asked, feeling the car pulling in somewhere.

"My house."

"Why are we here?"

Mike got out and popped the back door open, grabbing my arms and pulling me in to a seated position.

"You said you didn't want to go home drunk."

"I didn't mean you had to take me home with you."

Feeling better if he could keep an eye on me, Mike insisted I tolerate him a little longer and go inside.

"Parents?" I asked, seeing dark windows.

"Dad's at a costume party with some old college buddies. Mom's either asleep, or falling asleep with Netflix on."

"My mom does that." Was all I could think to say.

There would be no parent up and around to see Mike guiding my stumbling body inside. Mentally preparing myself to climb UP some stairs, I was blindsided when Mike pointed me down towards the basement.

"They had it finished for me in Eighth grade." He said, rightfully assuming I was apprehensive as to why he was leading me towards a fucking basement. "It's bigger than my old room."

Sitting me down on the first step, Mike kept a hand on my shoulder and carefully stepped around me. He went down the first few steps, helping me scoot down one step at a time.

"Steady...okay, next step. Careful."

I wasn't the person to come to if you wanted some type of praise or acknowledgement. But, I had to hand it to Mike. He was wearing fucking heeled-boots and multitasking like a boss. The whole time he was scared that I was going to fall down the stairs, meanwhile I thought he'd be the one to go tumbling.

The first thing I noticed about Mike's room was he had a King-Sized bed. It had Crimson red sheets that I'm positive were silk. He got me to sit on them, unlacing my heavy boots and setting them aside.

"Why's your bed so fucking big?"

"I have the room for it."

There were melted candles of varying degrees strewn around the room in decorative holders. The general color scheme of his room was red and black. Aside from his bed, the most notable detail was the giant antique-style mirror hanging on the wall. It was silver and eerie, like something from a haunted castle.

I wasn't as disheveled as I felt. My eyes were the biggest problem. My cheap eyeliner was mildly smudged. My hair was fine until I pulled my hoodie off.

Shrugging out of his leather jacket with a twist, Mike worked his arms out from the sleeves and hung it over the back of a chair. Under it, he was wearing a fitted black muscle-tee with a v-neck collar. The hem was tucked in to his skinny jeans, secured with a silver pyramid studded belt around his narrow hips.

One by one, he began pulling off rings and bracelets and setting them on his dresser. He came back to me and sat down with an antique comb. Running it through my mussed bangs, he held me by the chin to keep my head up.

The innocent, nurturing contact wasn't a familiarity of mine. I unconsciously relaxed when Mike tilted my head down and combed the back of my head. He pulled me in closer to see what he was doing.

The hairs at the nape of my neck stood on end pleasurably as the comb's ivory teeth caressed the skin there gently. It gave me an involuntary shiver. Sometime between him tilting my head down and pulling me closer, my forehead wound up rested on his shoulder.

I don't remember him doing it. I must have done it on my own. He smelled florally with a rich, sweet musk. I think it was roses? It was definitely some type of lotion or perfume.

"Baby bat~" He coo'ed at me. "Are you going to fall asleep on me?"

The alcohol in my system, and the relaxed trance I was in, didn't let me utter more than a weak affirmative sound. Mike kept combing my hair, feeling my body get heavier on him. If I gave in, I would have slipped away in to sleep in his arms.

I didn't want to give in. Fighting my heavy eyelids, I held on to consciousness. What was this feeling? Was it safety? Affection?

Fuck, I was drunk. It was Mike Mckowski.

"I should go home..." I mumbled to him.

"Is that what you want?"

"Not really."

No questions asked as to why I didn't want to go home, Mike carried on. He kept running the comb through my hair, ensuring he touched every inch of my scalp, going over it all repeatedly.

I couldn't fight sleep forever. When I accidently dozed off, Mike coaxed me awake and got me to lie down. Getting his belt and boots off, he climbed in behind me. The comb in my hair was replaced with the smooth, polished ends of his fingernails.


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