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Today was Kenny's lucky fucking day. He finally got himself a 24 count pack of benadryl after months of waiting for cash to find its way to him. While he knew it wouldn't last him longer than two days (if that), he was ready for the high he loved so much. To any normal person, the words benadryl, high, and love should not be within the same sentence, to Kenny, it was his bread and butter. Call him a masochist but he loved the high that benadryl gave him, he loved how sore his body felt in the morning after a particularly high dosage. It made him feel dead without actually dying and alive without actually living. It was a space in between, much like himself. The entire week counting towards the weekend was the hardest. He wanted to take them as soon as possible, his fingers itched to tear open the small box, rip the foil off of the plastic packaging, and shove an indeterminate amount of little pink pills into his mouth. Despite that frighteningly strong urge, he waited as patiently as he was humanly able. Monday was unbearable, the week ahead loomed before him like the final boss in his favorite video game. He tapped his fingers on his desk, bounced his leg at lightening speed, and sighed every so often. He wished he could make time faster, at least that'd be better than immortality. At lunch, he drifted off into space, fantasizing about how it would feel to finally take it again and ignored his friends as they argued about something stupid. When he got home, he instantly went to bed if only to pass the time more quickly. Tuesday was better, it had its temptations though. That morning he looked at the pristine package laying in his underwear drawer and almost opened it. Keyword being almost. During class, he drew little pills dancing on the margins of his paper. He could wait, he could be patient. After school, he almost let himself get dragged into a plan that would most likely end up killing him but he made a flimsy excuse to get out of it. Normally, he'd come back after a day, but he didn't want to take any chances not when he waited so long for this opportunity to pop up. Wednesday was easier, he'd come up with a little mantra ('it's almost over, just wait a little longer') and repeated it over and over until he was fine. He looked up the side affects of benadryl on the schools shitty old computers extensively. He knew how much he should ingest after months of not taking it, but due to his self-destructive tendencies, he planned on a higher number. Thursday was the easiest, he felt like he was on cloud nine. He popped the pills out of their packaging and put them into an old pill bottle he kept for these occasions. Hearing them rattle around was nostalgic for Kenny, bringing him back to when he first developed an actual addiction to it. His stomach bubbled with excitement. Friday was like Monday but ten times worse. He decided that morning that he'd just take a few that night and take the rest on Saturday, a day was enough to build tolerance, right? The entire day, he was short and irritable, he even snapped at Stan and Kyle over nothing. The bottle that sat atop his old, almost broken dresser mocked him. Still, he waited until his parents were passed out from booze. He waited until Karen was fast asleep, he didn't want her to actually see him like that. Finally, the time came. His hands shook with excitement as he opened the bottle, he was bouncing on his heels. Kenny shook out four pills at first, stared at his palm, and shook out eleven more out for good measure. He shoved the pills into his mouth, swallowed, and waited. The final wait was probably the worst part of it all, benadryl often took at least thirty minutes to an hour before kicking in. Doubts littered his mind, reminding him how dangerous this was, how much he romanticized the pink pills, and how awful he felt during the actual high. The sick part of him shoved those doubts down, doubly reminding himself how much he secretly loved how awful it was. He took a deep breath and drummed his fingers against one another. The high crept slowly throughout his body. He felt it in his legs first, imagining icy, pink lead inching its way through his veins. It got immensely hard to breathe, it was like Cartman had sat on his chest. He steeled himself, knowing what would be next. His eyes drooped with exhaustion, it was three in the morning now but he stayed awake. He needed to feel it before he let himself sleep. His mouth was dry, his spit formed a paste that he swore could glue his mouth shut for an hour or two."Water," he croaked to himself, "I need some fucking water." Trying to walk was a mistake, but he did it anyway. He reveled in the lack of control he had over his body. more than once, his head swung dangerously close to the sharp edges of furniture, just barely missing by sheer luck. He could not stop himself from tugging his hair upwards, feeling that maybe it kept him standing. He ran his hands over his face four times before he was able to open the cupboard for a cup. Something small and black ran out once he did open it, probably a cockroach or a phantom spider. Either way, he grabbed his cup and filled it with slightly brown tap water. Never before has tap water tasted so good to him, he didn't know how anyone hated it. He downed it within seconds and sluggishly walked back to his room. His heart was beating so fast he thought it was a humming bird.Once his door was shut and he was in bed, he noticed a figure squatting by the door. He stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out who (or what) it as. "Kyle?" he called out, that was definitely his green hat. He got no answer. "Dude, what're you doing here," he slurred, his words blending into one another. Still no response. He was almost to the point of caring when it hit. He felt like he was drowning, all the side effects hit him at once. He uttered out a string of curses and looked directly into Kyle's green eyes (had they always been that green?). They were almost too green, like the purest form of the word and color itself. Kenny decided someone had melted down the color green and poured it into Kyle's irises. "Kyle, your eyes..." he trailed, his mouth clamped shut, Kyle was right there, inches from his face. He wouldn't stop staring at Kenny, but the blond stared right back. He found it hard to be afraid of anything after everything he's been put through. Red curly hair surrounded him like he was in a small raft wading down a river. He was enthralled by that brilliant fucking green. He reached out and tried to touch them, but his wrist was stopped (by his own hand or by Kyle's, he'll never know). Then, the green-eyed boy leaned in, lips touching his, and Kenny promptly lost consciousness. The next morning, his body felt like he had fallen down the side of a cliff, gotten trampled like Mufasa, and ultimately exploded. Yet there he was, in bed, groaning as he got up. He had woken up with a dry mouth and he was curled around his pillow. What he saw last night was most definitely a hallucination, normal human eyes don't look quite like that (nor did Kyle's hair move like that). The question was, how much of a hallucination was it? It was more likely that it was purely a figment of his imagination than it be anything else. Still, a small part of him hoped that maybe, for whatever strange reason, Kyle was in his room and would talk to him about it or something. Maybe this was a cry for help and someone answered it. It was a small, very unlikely hope that persisted on despite all odds. He scratched the back of his neck before he stretched out a little to ease the soreness he felt. He flopped back on to his bed, the mattress noisily protesting being moved, and he glared at the bottle. He only had nine left, he'd unintentionally (though, perhaps intentionally) fucked himself over for the weekend. He'd actually been planning on saving some for a rainy day type situation, to be smart and not blow it all within one or two days. Clearly, his impulses had other plans. If it had been six years ago, this wouldn't have bothered him. However, South Park had recently become more stringent in child labor laws (who knew they'd be a problem?) and he was stuck waiting for his 16th birthday to start applying for jobs again. Which, of course, had to be an entire year away. He was incredibly frustrated with his current place in life. He could do odd jobs, and he did, but sometimes the residents of South Park think 25 cents was an acceptable payment for his hard work in their driveways or lawns. He still did it, though. Who was he to complain? (He had, it did not work once.) He knew it wasn't because they were inherently bad, they were just stupid and it was what he had to work with. Kenny forced himself to look away from the bottle and shoved his face into his pillow. He had ruined his own weekend, inadvertently policing himself. He didn't know if he should take the rest now or save it for later, though he wasn't sure if he could wait until later. He could also throw it out, denounce it right now, and avoid it for the rest of his life. He won't do that, but he most definitely could. That night, he took six of them and saved three. It wasn't how he originally planned it, though it was close. Six pills did not give the same effect as fifteen, but it did seem to kick in earlier and it took off the edge. He's glad six could hit him at all and found it a bit more pleasant than the previous night. His limbs were useless and his heart stuttered every few seconds, he sort of loved it. He saw spiders crawling on his ceiling, he tried to count them, but after he got to twenty, he stopped and restarted. Kenny forced himself to stay awake for the entire six to eight hour high, vowing to sleep once he felt the last of it leaving his system. Whether it actually did leave his system, he didn't know, all he knew was that it felt like lethargy was seeping out of his pores. His mouth was drier than ever, but moving to get water was unfavorable. So, he just endured the lethargy and dry mouth until sheer exhausted overcame him. That was, perhaps, one of the worst parts of the drug. He never actually felt well rested after taking it, every time he woke up, he was more tired than rested. When he saw Kyle on Monday, he couldn't look him in the eyes. Kenny knew he couldn't avoid him, hell, he even burned holes through that green hat Kyle wore while sitting in class just by staring. A part of him knew it had been a hallucination, but another hoped it wasn't, stranger things have happened. He tore his gaze away and tried to focus on the paper in front of him. He could only keep away for a second before lifting his eyes to peek at his friend again. He was met with a pointed stare filled with what seemed like anger. Kenny sheepishly smiled (despite it being covered by his parka) and bowed his head back down. Maybe it'd be best if he didn't think about it at all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Was taking seventy-five milligrams of benadryl on an empty stomach before school after a sleepless night on purpose considered a form of self harm? If so, Kenny didn't get the memo. It wasn't that he necessarily wanted to (he did), it was more like he needed to. How else was he to atone for being unable to sleep on a school night? Sure, it never exactly taught him to stop doing it, but he's sure he'll learn from his self punishment someday. It wasn't any different than when he had to cut a mark into his hip after he got off to some particularly disgusting thoughts, negative reinforcement was how it always went with him. There was also a small, sick part of him that wanted to see what would happen if he did this. So, he went to school with the intent of punishing himself for his sin. He sat through first hour, his stomach growling and aching from having only bitter coffee and pills to digest. His forehead was slick with sweat, his nerves felt like they were coiled around his entire body. His stomach clenched painfully and he grit his teeth. He ran his mantra of 'I deserve it,' through his head over and over until it calmed him. He did deserve it and he was going to take it like a man. In second hour, the benadryl kicked in as his chemistry teacher went over balancing equations. Kenny saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he couldn't make sense out of the letters and numbers in front of him. He made a mental note to ask Kyle to re-teach it to him. The teacher handed out a worksheet, Kenny swallowed and struggled to pick up his pen. His arms felt so heavy, writing was more difficult than he ever remembered it being. His usual heavy-pressed chicken scratch handwriting was reduced to faint pencil marks on the paper, so small it was almost unnoticeable. He couldn't do this. As he slowly walked to the bathroom, he berated himself for not sticking it through the class, for taking the easy way out. Telling any teacher that you're feeling queasy makes them sit stiff and blurt out, "You don't have to tell me, just go!" And he went. He felt like somewhat of a coward but that didn't stop him from going anyway. He stumbled through the bathroom door and saw Kyle washing his hands in the sink. That was odd, Kenny would've sworn that Kyle was just in chemistry with him, although it could have been some random curly haired redhead. Still, he gave Kyle a strange look. "Stop staring at me, dude, it's freaking me out," Kyle's annoyed tone rang on the insides of Kenny's head. All he could do was nod his head and shuffle to a urinal. He hovered, hoping Kyle would leave so he could sit on a toilet seat and gather his bearings. Instead, he stood there with an expectant look on his face. "What?" That was too quiet, it was almost a whisper, Kenny cleared his throat and tried again. Kyle just rolled his eyes in impatience. "Aren't you gonna tell me what the fuck happened the other night?" That didn't ring any type of bell in Kenny's head, he gave a bewildered stare. "You know, when I came to get your ass out of bed and you just sat there and mumbled something about eyes before passing out?" His words came out practiced and smooth, was he really that pissed that he rehearsed this meeting in his head eighty times over? Perhaps. "What? What were you doing in my room anyway?" Kenny's words came out slow and choppy, that little voice in his head told him this was his punishment for not just sitting through class. "Don't act like you don't know, Kenny, we've planned this for weeks." The simple fact of the matter was that Kenny truly didn't know why Kyle would be in his room at two (or was it three?) in the morning. He shrugged and gave a flimsy excuse of accidentally taking too much benadryl to clear his nose or something. Kyle scoffed at that and he just wished Kyle could let something go for once. "How do you accidentally take too much? You take one and you're done!" Kenny barely restrained his urge to groan, he didn't have the emotional capacity to skillfully dodge any questions about his drug use."Look, dude, can we just not talk about this right now? I need to get back to class." Somehow he managed to get say this without getting tired from the effort, and he walked out of the bathroom. He decided sitting through class was punishment enough.Lunch was avoiding Kyle's stare, which was an incredibly hard thing to do. He perfected his 'we're going to sit and talk about this' stare in the eighth grade, it's been his weapon of choice since. Although, Kenny couldn't be sure if what he was experiencing was real or not. Exhaustion was creeping in, and the edges of his vision were black. To him, everything was so real it was surreal, like he was in a video game. He picked at his hamburger bun, tearing off a little piece as Cartman jabbed his elbow into his side. All he could muster was a glare before he went back to dissecting his bun. Normally, he ate his plate clean even if he didn't like it, but today he could barely give the energy to speak much less eat. When the bell rang, he threw out his food and went to his next class. Unfortunately, he shared that class with Kyle. While he loved his friend, he had to admit that when Kyle wanted to talk to you (or at you) he most definitely was going to make it happen. It was a trait Kenny admired up until he was on the receiving end. Still, Kenny slumped into his seat and shoved his face into the crook of his elbow. A headache was beginning to form, the only food he ingested that day was instant coffee his mom bought from the 99cent store. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he only had two more classes and then he could go home. The bell rang and he settled in for a long hour of geography. Halfway through class, he felt a light tap on his shoulder and a folded up piece of paper landed on his desk. His face screwed up in confusion, were they still allowed to pass notes in high school? Was that still a thing? Anyone who would need to pass him a note had his number. He flipped it open to see Kyle's handwriting on the page. The entire page was filled with what Kenny could only describe as word vomit. The gist of it was that Kyle was worried about him and wanted to talk after school. Then a weird set of instructions on how to respond; either fold it up and put it in his pocket for yes or throw it away for no. Kenny didn't have it in him to get up so he folded the note up and put it in his pocket. He was slightly annoyed with how complicated Kyle could make things sometimes. After school, Kenny found himself in Kyle's bedroom awaiting for the inevitable. The tension was palpable and he was debating on telling the truth or lying. It was somewhat an internal battle between his own good and evil. One part wanted help and recovery, to be fixed, the other wanted to go to rock bottom find out if there was a limit to how much he could die. "Kenny," Kyle started, "are you okay?" Kenny shrugged and stared at his friends dresser, taking in every detail and committing it to memory. "Dude, seriously, you've been acting weird lately. You haven't even cracked one dick joke, what's going on?" Kenny was quiet, he held his breath and weighed his options. He never did like the feeling of being healthy. "I dunno, I just haven't been sleeping well lately." If Kyle truly had lasers that could shoot from his eyes, Kenny's sure he'd be long dead by now. He shifted and brought his knees to his chest, the lack of sleep was catching up to him. Kyle doesn't say anything for a minute, Kenny doesn't either. It's awkward and he wonders if he can just get up and go home. "Are you cheesing again?"Kenny raised his eyebrows, holding back a laugh. He was long past getting high off of cat piss. "I haven't touched a cat since the sixth grade, dude. The whole piss smell thing got old." Kyle nodded thoughtfully, and he gazed up at the ceiling. Kenny just wanted to go home and sleep, this felt like an unavoidable, extremely long cut scene that he's not allowed to skip. "Are you sure you're okay? I don't think you're just tired, Kenney, I've seen you tired and that's not it.""Maybe I'm just hungry and tired, you ever think of that?" he snapped. Admitting that he developed an unhealthy want for one of the easiest drugs out there wasn't in his agenda today. It was embarrassing, he wasn't addicted to anything truly awful, just over the counter drugs that made his heart skip four beats in a row. Kyle seemed taken aback by his friends tone. "Look, dude, I'm just worried about you, seeing you like this makes me scared that you're gonna die." Dying and people saying they cared about it was somewhat of a trigger to Kenny, who scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I can't die, Kyle," he spat, adding more emphasis to each word. "Don't say that, you asshole! I don't want to see you waste away like this! You look like shit, dude." "Gee, thanks, you're such a good pal." "You know what I mean!" Kenny was tired of this, he didn't want to admit he was dependent on drugs. Shame wormed its way into his heart, taking root and leaving behind a burning trail of misplaced anger. "No, Kyle, I don't know what you mean! I don't give a fuck about what you mean! Just leave me the fuck alone!" With that, he stormed out of Kyle's room and angrily walked back home, his breath forming plumes of steam in the cold winter air. He ground his teeth together and looked down at his feet while he walked. He was shaking in anger, his fists clenched tightly, and stomping with each step. Who did Kyle think he was?Was he some sort of therapist now? What, did he have all the answers to Kenny's problems? Each thought banged around his head, making him angrier. That, paired with Kyle's audacity to claim he cared if Kenny died, left him seething in rage. Then, he ran into Cartman, who immediately opened his mouth to say something that would probably push him over the edge. And that he did. "Oh, hello, Kenny, how was your little fag sesh with Kyle?" "I'm not in the mood right now, get out of my way, fatboy." "C'mon, please indulge me on your faggy date with Kyle." "I said get out of my fucking way!"There was only so much a sleep deprived, sobering up, already irritated Kenny could take. He swung his fist and it connected at Cartman's nose. Kenny's chest was heaving and his knuckles ached. At first, Cartman stared at him with utter disbelief before realizing his nose was gushing blood. Kenny brushed past him and left him there crying for his mom. He slammed the door shut behind him once he got home and rushed to his room. He slammed that door too. He leaned up against his bedroom door and pulled the hood of his parka off, burying his face into his hands. He slowly slid down to the floor and again brought his knees up to his chest. The shame that rooted into his heart bloomed within an instant and for the first time in a while, he cried. It was more than crying, he was sobbing, his shoulders shaking. He felt so stupid for saying those things to Kyle. He knew Kyle cared, he knew that he was just worried about his friend. His fingers had taken ahold of his hair, and he started tugging at it in frustration with himself. Tears and snot ran down his face with ease, and Kenny almost couldn't breathe. "Why the fuck did I do that?" he whispered to himself, his throat catching on each word. He pulled harder at his hair before banging his fist on his head. He ruined the one shot of actually fixing this shit because he was too ashamed to admit it. For hours he sat there and sobbed his heart out. He couldn't stand himself anymore, he hated how self sabotaging he was. What he hated more was the small, sick part of him that enjoyed and thrived off of this. His heart ached, he wished he could just die and stay dead. He knew the world would definitely be better off without him. He knew everyone would be happier in the long run without him there.For the rest of the night, he stayed at that spot, not daring to move. He cried on and off, bursts of tears forming at a single thought. Again, he didn't sleep that night, he felt it was the only fair punishment for himself.