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: Hey, guys! Once again, thanks to those left their feedback on past chapters! Much appreciated and very encouraging. Helps keep me motivated. For reference in this chapter, the word "Nihilistic" is defined as "rejecting all religious and moral principles in the belief that life is meaningless".

***Also, I'm utilizing the three components of love to develop Pete's narrative and relation to Stan, Michael and Mike. A REALLY brief, condensed summary of this is:

There was a theory created by a psychologist (Robert Sternberg), called "The Triangular Theory of Love". The main three components to love are IntimacyPassion and Commitment.

When you combine two together, you get additional types of love. But, for the sake of just narrowing this down to a simple concept, I'm sticking with the main three components for now.

Intimacy: is the closeness and trust you feel to someone. (Do you feel safe? Do you feel loved? Can you be vulnerable?) Love with just intimacy is "Liking". (Mike)

Passion is the sexual and/or physical attraction between two people. (Are you drawn to this person because of a bodily urge or connection? Does sex dominate your interest or attachment to this person?) Love with just Passion is "Infatuated love". (Stan)

Commitment: is the decision to stay with someone, regardless of circumstance. (Are you planning your future with this person? Are you determined to keep them?) Love with just Commitment is "Empty love". (Michael)

WOOOO, that was a long author's note. Sorry! Just wanted to get the information out there. If there are two things that I'm very passionate about, its writing and psychology. (I'm a psychology major in college and creative writer at home. So, yeah. Please just bare with me, here. Lol)

ANYWAYS! Happy reading! Hope to hear your thoughts, thanks for dropping by 😊


I could feel the noose around my neck. The course threads digging in to my skin, crushing my airway. A stool was knocked over under my dangling feet, lying there taunting me.

I garbled for air, going blue in the face. Soon, it would be over. But, why was I so nauseous? Every gasp felt like I was gagging.

I wasn't supposed to be nauseous. I was supposed to be dead.


I didn't know what time it was when I woke up in a cold sweat gasping for air. I could only assume it was hours past Midnight because it was dark and quiet. The residual ruckus outside that accompanied Halloween was gone.

There was a sliver of light coming from an open door in the corner of the room, which I figured out was a bathroom. Mike had to have left the light on incase I woke up and needed it. Which I did. I was actually nauseous and made a run for it while I still had time to get there before my stomach could flip without warning.

Kneeling before the porcelain bowl, I tried willing away the purge my body attempted to do. My dream came back to me and suddenly my chest lurched, spilling the contents of my stomach. It was just fluids and remnants of my muffin from earlier.

Why did the fruit punch I drank have to be red? Gross. It looked like I spat up my insides.

It took a few heaves for it all to come out, but I kept retching. My stomach hurt like I'd been punched from the involuntary reflex. My gagging was either really loud, or Mike was a light sleeper, because he was awake. He heard me retching.

"...Pete?" He rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Everything come out alright?"

"I drank too much." I panted, regretting the questionable cocktail I'd self-medicated with. "It's all out."

Yeah, drink whatever your classmates mixed together. Nice going, Pete. Real smart. I flushed and went to the sink, rinsing out my mouth.

"There are new toothbrushes under the sink." Mike told me through the door. "Take whichever one you want."

Mike cracked the door open, peering in when he heard me brushing. He took in my clammy complexion through the mirror. My reflection was miserable and sweaty.

I looked ill. Sickeningly pale with scared, tired green eyes. That was me? Why did I look like that? What was happening to me?

"You don't look so good."

"Funny." I spat out the toothpaste. "I thought I was adorable."

"I could get you something clean to wear if you want to shower."

Mike was taller than I was, but be wasn't much wider. His clothes could fit me in a pinch.

"You're not going to give me a Team Edward shirt, are you?"

"If you're Team Jacob you can go home." He joked softly in a faraway voice, still taking in how awful I looked. "Take a shower, you'll feel better."

Turning on his bedside lamp to get just enough light to see, Mike went rummaging through his drawers. A pair of black and gray checkered pajama bottoms were laid out on the bed, waiting for me when I got out of the shower. The shirt to go with them was black with the white outline of a skull on the front.

"Couldn't find my old Team Edward shirt." Mike strolled by me to the bathroom, with pajamas for himself tucked under one arm. "Lucky you, hm?"

I didn't humor his joke. Mike went to take his own shower while I used his room to change. My clothes were folded up and left on the floor, I'd bag them up in the morning before I left. I was wearing freaking Hot Topic pajamas but at least they were clean and dry.

Crawling back in to Mike's bed, I rubbed my palms over my face. My smothering intoxication dwindled to a bearable buzz, likely helped by the fact I heaved up most of the booze in my stomach. Me and alcohol weren't a good mix.

Closing my eyes, I couldn't fall asleep. I was hoping to, wanting the night to pass. I heard Mike leave the bathroom and climb up the basement stairs. Whatever he'd gone to do, it didn't take long.

"I got bottles of water." he announced.

Sitting up to take it from him, I was met with a surprising sight.

"...what?" Mike questioned when I stared at him.

"I can see your face."

"My face?"

Without layers of make up on, Mike looked different. His makeup skills were impressive, if you were in to that sort of thing. He knew what he was doing with all the work he put in to his look. But, there was something refreshing about seeing his bare face.

No fake fangs. No powder to whiten his naturally light skin. No contour to sharpen the high cheekbones and thin nose he was born with. No eyeshadow or eyeliner...No red contacts.

His eyes were hazel.

"You aren't wearing the whole Macy's cosmetic department on your face."

"If we're pointing out the obvious: You're aren't wearing smudged eyeliner." His eyes flicked up to the roots of my hair. "And, you need a dye job."

The mattress shifted as Mike took his place next to me. I took a drink and laid down on my stomach.

Flicking off the light, darkness recloaked the room. I couldn't sleep, I wanted to. I tried to relax and lie still, but I kept adjusting and changing positions. I was facing Mike, not realizing it until I felt his fingers in my hair.

"What are you doing?" With more of my wits to me now, I inched away from his touch.

"It helped you sleep, earlier."
"I was drunk earlier, remember?"

I missed his touch. No one ever touched me like that. I didn't want him to know that.

"You need to be drunk to let me touch you?"

"The hell kind of question is that?"

"One I'd like an answer to."

Calmly, Mike scooted in closer and made another attempt to stroke my hair. I didn't do anything to stop him.

"That answers that." He decided upon successfully making contact. "Feeling better?"

"Depends on what your definition of 'better' is."

I had to play it cold, but I just wanted to lean in to Mike's hand. I was falling victim to that warm feeling worming its way back inside my chest. If Michael could see me now, I don't think he'd believe what he was seeing.

"What were you dreaming about?" Mike asked.


Where did that come from? Had he been awake before I ran to go throw up?"

"You looked terrified, earlier." He was inferring to my sickly reflection. "Like you'd seen death."

Oh, the irony. Death? I hadn't been that lucky. Close, but no deal.

"I have nightmares, a lot."

"Poor baby bat." Mike stroked the side of my head.

Why the fuck was I blushing?

"It's nothing."

"Who told you that?"

"Mike, I'm really going to need you to quit that."

"You want me to stop caring?"


"If that's what you call it, yes."

"Why should I?"

Because, I'll get used to it.

"There's no point."

"So nihilistic." Mike's fingers trailed down to stroke by my ear. "Is it hard pretending that's you, all the time?"

"Who the hell said anything about pretending?"

There was that airy chortle of his. Amused, but tender.

"Okay, Pete."

"I'm serious."


He didn't believe me. He was right not to.

"Michael taught you to be this guarded...sneaking around with Stan can't help."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Then don't."

Mike's lips were on mine, now. I let him kiss me. I was so starved of affection, hungry for anything that could penetrate the armor that I built around myself-without damaging what was protected inside.

It was vulnerability. That was my pain.

The problem with pain is, the only way to remotely have a fighting chance healing it, is to be vulnerable. Then the problem with vulnerability is, it can open you up wider to more damage. Worse pain.

Paradox, or cruel irony? You decide. I couldn't.

I wanted to put my walls down. Mike was giving me a chance to do it. He drew me in like a moth to a flame because of that. My body acted on its own accord, tuning out the voice in the back of my head screaming at me not to let anyone else too close.

Mike kissed at the seam of my lips, coaxing me to part them. I opened my mouth, meeting his tongue with mine. Oh God, it was pierced. How hadn't I noticed that before?

We went back and forth, kissing in the tranquil darkness of his room. The silken sheets under us were smooth and soothing, cool to the touch. Similar to his hands. I gasped a little when he slid one under my shirt to rake it up my side.

"Your hands are cold."

"Cold hands, warm heart." He assured me. "Shh."

I was light-headed in a good way as Mike pulled me closer by the small of my back. Our chests were pressed together and I couldn't resist the urge to curl my leg around his waist. Mike slid his hand up my outer thigh, kissing at my neck approvingly.

We were fully dressed, but his body on mine felt so intimate. We couldn't see one another, the lost sense heightening our others. Mike's breath lightly tickled my neck before he suckled the patch of skin under my ear.

He was making me achingly hard. This arousal...there was something different about it. I wasn't restless with need for relief. I only wanted him there with me.

I could have laid there in sensual torture for hours, if he wanted, having his hands and lips all over me without ever touching between my legs. Which is exactly what happened.

I let the world outside melt away. Briefly, my armor did, too. I could always put it back on, later. Tonight, I needed that safe feeling. However long I could have it.


Morning fell upon South Park in a wave of hangovers and stomach aches. Alcohol or candy- Pick your poison, get your punishment.

"Fuck..." I groaned to myself after a few seconds of being awake.

The malaise in my body hit me full force. My head hurt. I was dehydrated and I felt weak from throwing up what little food I had in my system. Coffee was a diuretic, I already struggled to stay hydrated. Then, I went and added alcohol to that.

The small windows up towards the ceiling of the basement let in small streams of sunlight, reminding me where I was. I never finished my water from the night before and reached for it with a lethargic limb.

I made it to the bottom of the bottle in seconds. I couldn't get the fluid in me fast enough. Lying back down to let reality set in on me, the only comfort I had was that it was Saturday.

I didn't have school and the shift I was covering didn't start until five. What time was it now? Where was Mike?

The bathroom door was open, no one in there. Going in, I brushed my teeth and washed my face in an effort to pull myself together. That didn't do much, so I trudged back to bed with my hangover.

Atop the basement stairs, the door opened. I unconsciously held my breath when I heard it. How did I get myself in this situation?

"Pete?" He called down. "You awake?"


Coming down the steps, Mike found my lethargic lump of a body buried in his red silken sheets. Mechanic buzzing led him to glance towards the floor at my heap of clothes.

"That's your phone." he told me.

I held a hand out, wordlessly, with my face buried in the pillow. Fishing for it in my pockets, Mike found it and brought it over. It was my boss.

"Hello?" I grunted, bringing my phone to my ear, still lying on my stomach.

I listened to my boss spout on about some coworker who was looking to take more hours where she could. It was a decent woman. Some middle-aged single mom trying to provide for her kid. The few times I did work with her, she never gave me any grief.

"She's willing to work a double today and cover your shift today, if you'll let her." My boss told me. "You want the day off?"

"She can have my shift today, yeah. That's fine. Bye."

The woman needed the money more than I did. I didn't want to go in, anyways. She saved me the trouble of calling out.

My phone read 1:26 PM when I set it down. No notifications. Real fucking nice, Stan.

"No work?" Mike pried.

"Not anymore. Thank God." I answered. "Shit, I'm hungover."

"I'll be right back."

Mike came back with Ibuprofen, more water and something for me to snack on if my stomach could handle it.

"Your stomach is most likely empty from throwing up last night. But, I didn't want to bring you anything too heavy." Mike handed me the water and pill, leaving a bowl of pretzels on the bedside table. "Those should go down, easy."

I picked at the pretzels after taking the pill. True to Mike's word, they were going down easy. Pretzels were basically crackers if you thought about it.

"How are you, baby bat?" Mike rubbed his hands over my back.

" there a reason you keep calling me that?"

"Have you ever seen a baby bat? They're precious."

Stan didn't even have a pet name for me. After hearing it come from Mike's mouth three times, it was secretly starting to grow on me.

"Do you call Vlad that?" I asked.

"No, I call him Vlad."

"He should be your 'baby bat' or whatever."

Undeterred, Mike kept his touch light and feathery.

"It isn't what you think." he consoled, catching what I was implying.

"I saw him practically fucking you through your clothes on the dancefloor."

"All in good fun. He's a close friend, per se."

"Yeah, I'd say so."

He and Vlad were fuck buddies, not boyfriends. Whatever. Ultimately, it didn't matter if Mike was taken or not. I was.

"It was noble of you to keep me alive last night, and all that. I'm sure your dad would be proud and shit. But, I need to go home."

"Doesn't sound like you want to go home."

"The hell does it matter what I want?"

To make a point, I pulled away and got up with the intention to find my purple boots. I got up way too fast, took one step, and my vision faded out in a flash of white. Before I could tip forward, Mike hurriedly pulled me in.

"No, no, no. Come back." Leaning me so that my back was to his chest, Mike encircled my waist with his arms. "You're going to hurt yourself. Take it easy."

"I almost passed out." Trying to process it, I leaned my head back on Mike's shoulder in defeat. "What the fuck."

"It's Saturday. If you have nowhere you have to be, stay here."


If I sat for a while and got up slowly, I could get myself home. It would suck, but it was do-able. Envisioning the walk home was exhausting.

"I'll comb your hair, again." Mike offered, holding me a little tighter. "You can relax and fall back to sleep... I'll take care of you."


I didn't hear from Stan all weekend. No text, no call. He was active on Facebook and tagged in different group photos and selfies. He could response to comments and ham it up but he couldn't send me a text?

He never even asked me if I worked Halloween, or not. I could have been dead for all he knew. If he couldn't physically come see me, I understood that. A text wasn't too much to ask for.

Come Monday, I got ready for school, glaring at the purple choker around my neck. The only other option was my studded leather one. From Michael.

I kind of hated it, now. Michael's choker felt like a collar. All it needed was a leash and he could chain me up in his room like some emaciated, neglected dog.

I wasn't his property. The broken black heart dangling from Stan's choker was truer to who I was: A product of our broken relationship. Left to fend for myself. I mulled over it downstairs in the kitchen, waiting for my coffee to brew.

My stomach jumped when I got a message. It wasn't Stan.

"Ride to school, Baby bat?"

With my thermos and backpack I was out the front door, waiting on the doorstep. Mike's car pulled up and I got in, grateful I wasn't waiting to sit on a bus that made me claustrophobic.

"Good Morning~"

"It's seven thirty in the morning, Mike." I grumbled. "Be miserable like the rest of us."


Peering at me from the side of his eye, Mike could've snorted at the glower I gave him. This fucking guy, I swear.

"Your face will stick that way." He chided.


We had twenty minutes before school officially started when we made it to the parking lot. Before classes, the options were the cafeteria or the gymnasium.

"Do you want to wait in the car? Or, are we going inside?"

"Don't you have a bunch of minions waiting for you or something?"

"Not first thing in the morning."

"It's whatever you want. I used to wait by the back of the school...I'm not exactly welcome as of late."

Without any imminent reason to get out of the car, Mike opted to stay put. He turned off the engine.

"It's a blessing in disguise."

"Easy for you to say. They were all I had."

"Would your exile have anything to do with you dating outside your kind?"

I shook my head.

"It isn't about Stan, anymore. It could've been anyone." I confessed. "It just happens to be Stan that I keep choosing over him."

"If life were truly so meaningless like you guys claim, he wouldn't have the drive to punish you." Mike looked at me meaningfully. "And, you wouldn't be so hurt that he's doing it."

"I know."


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