Distilled, yet not aware.

[14] Guilt

Kyle Broflovski POV

I held stan who was sobbing in my arms. What did I do? How did I not know he wasn't okay? He kept choking out that he was sorry. He dug his face in my shirt and wailed. The sound was muffled, but echoed in my head. His tears stuck to the fabric of my coat. He wrapped his arms around my neck as I held his waist. We just sat there, weapons long forgotten.

He was pretty when he cried, which I feel was a horrible thing to say but it was the truth. He had good muscle mass. He was ultimately stronger than me but I knew more about physical attack then he. So seeing someone I find to be strong, be so vulnerable is strange. Not distilled. It gave him more depth. More to love about him.

The dim lighting of the room gave a yellow hue to his figure. He craned his face in the crook of my neck, his tears felt wet on my skin. I shifted at the sensation because it's rare.

I whispered to him that he had support, and that I loved him, and that we will always be the status of friends. For some reason he just cried harder. I thought I was going by textbook. Isn't that what you are supposed to do? I panicked tears pricked my eyes too. Years of obvious depression came to mind. I always kinda knew. But I practically ignored it. I am ignorant, but now I am all too aware.

I can think of thousands of horrific things I have done. I hurt the entire country of Canada, and it's citizens somehow, I ignore that too.

I hurt Cartman before he was even a bad person. I made fun of him when he was just a weird class clown instead of a racist. He's getting better and getting medication, and some therapy, but I can't help but think I had something to do with his original downfall.

I used to make fun of kenny for being poor, and then acted self righteous. Ah yes, self righteousness, my worst trait. I can be quick to anger, quick to blame everyone but myself, but when it's someone else's fault i put the blame on myself. Or I see myself as them. I am self defensive, quick to aggression, and i push those I love away from me.

I love Stan, he's one of the best people I know. I don't know if it was his fault or mine he's in this state, or neither, or both, or someone else. I don't know how to process these things. I'm a victim to my own mind.

No.

How can one be a victim to themselves? Or their own actions? I am quick to victimize others when it feels "right." but what is justification? A feeling? an action? something set in stone that we all just realize?

I stroked the wailing boys hair. I slid to the floor with him and angled him to look at me.

He had tired, yet panicked eyes. They were red, and glossy. Snot was along his nose. He wiped it on his sleeve. Gross.

I feel bad for thinking it's gross. Am I a bad person? A tear streamed down my face too as I looked him in the eyes. They were pale, and blue, with grey tint. The matched his face beautifully. He had tear stains, and his eyeliner was ruined. He was breathing heavily and the color began to come back to his face. He looked now more alert and panicked. I smiled at him gently because I didn't know what to do.

Is he.. blushing? Oh God, How do I react? How am I supposed to feel, how do I feel? If he likes me I feel panicked, but if he doesn't I feel slight disappointment and.. relief? What's wrong with me? Why the fuck would I be disappointed?

I gazed into his eyes, maybe, just maybe..

No.

I felt the physical urge to kiss him, or eat his hair. Don't know what the hair ones about but kissing him? I'm not supposed to feel that way.

I feel guilty as past me for making the path I have made for future me to travel. Me now. I feel guilty for what I have done to myself, to Stan, to Kenny, to Cartman, to Ike. To most.

I quickly scooped him in my arms and held on tight, rocking him back and forth, driving my nails into my hands so I wouldn't focus on the rapid thoughts.

"I love you, Stan," I whispered it while opening my eyes to view his head, his hat had fallen off.

Saying that felt so right, perfect. Yet so wrong.

I studied his hair, It was washed, but not properly. As if he barely got all the soap out due to him not caring enough. Was it my fault he was like this? Our fault? his? nobody's fault? what defines us? Our actions? Our thoughts? attitudes? addictions? family? religion? Our souls? believe it's our souls. But what are souls.

I love him. I hate him, I hate me. I love him.

His breathing got softer, more gentler. He was half awake. Nobody's good enough for me, not even me. Everyone's better than me. That's how my brain works, but I am everyone. I mask to be everyone. I don't get rid of my morals but what are my morals past don't do whats not justified. But when I don't know what justification is am I just a black mirror? A reflection with a horrible tint? I love Stan, but I am not him. I feel we are same parts of a whole, but we are not the same. We can't interact with the whole we create, We are singular. I love being around him.

I saw figures dancing to my thoughts. Disfigured and rapid. Colored with colors that don't truly exist. Like i'm seeing the layers and folds of the first afterlife. I can see everything I am supposed to. Before I drift into sleep. Oh fuck, i'm not supposed to-

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1050 words!

This was really hard to write :( Im sorry for the EXTREMELY late update. I hope to update sooner though!