Meet Some Friends Of Mine (South Park X Reader)

Call Upon Me

My body stirs vaguely and soft, as I feel my dreams begin to slip away from me. My eyes crack open while I stretch in the moonlight. Stiff as a board, I attempt to move my neck and shoulders while they squeal back at me, tight and unforgiving, like the wheels of a rusty machine. I groan into the air as I rub the sleep from my eyes. I feel hazy, like I've been asleep for years and the world comes back to me slowly.

For the first time in weeks, I wake up calm. Maybe one day I'll understand what it's like to wake up not in so much physical pain. I roll over grunting softly and reach for my phone, when I realize it's not there.

Dammit.

Wendy smashed my phone to pieces in the mist of our battle.

I'm disappointed, I'd hope for someone to talk to. Seeing as it's the middle of the night, I doubt anyone would answer anyway. I sigh and stare to the ceiling.

I decide to get up, freshen up in the bathroom, maybe put some actual comfortable clothes on instead of the clothes I've been sleeping in from earlier in the day.

I look at myself in the mirror, and it's not pretty. I look awful. Pale and sick like, a dark bruise on the side of my cheek, and blood under my fingernails. I wonder if I looked like this all day. My makeup is smudged and running down my cheeks, while my lip is cut down the middle of the bottom half.
I don't like the expression I see in the mirror, numb and crimson red under the eyes. I slowly take my clothes off winching in pain as my upper body aches. As soon as my top is gone, I breathe in sharp through my teeth. My ribs are covered in a light shade of brown, with the underside of my chest a deep purple and blue. Presumably, where Wendy had crushed my lungs with her knees.
I turn around slowly to realize my shoulder blades are also bruised and I put together the tightness in my shoulders is directly related.

Jesus Christ.

The images flood into my brain, hit after hit— pound after pound as it flashes around my frontal lobe. I hold my head in my hands, groaning.

I splash cold water in my face and flinch at the contact. Cleaning up just a little.

That's not the only thing I'm remembering. In fact, I feel something in the back of my mind racing and pushing to the front, and like a tsunami the waves crash over me. Forcing me to squeal as I cover my face.

I kissed Stan.

No, he kissed me— But I didn't push him away.
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck

"Okay, It's not like that", I try to tell myself. "He— had a job to do. We both did".

It's not working particularly well as I rack my brain trying to think about anything else.

I look at my flushed appearance in the mirror one last time, rolling my eyes— upset with myself.

"Get a fucking hold of yourself". I talk into the mirror. Suddenly realizing I'm not alone in the house anymore, and I should definitely not be screaming at myself in the middle of the night.

I don't know what to do.
Is he thinking about it?
Do we have to talk about it?
Did they guys see it?

All thoughts I have as I cover myself in a towel and walk to my room.
Forgot my damn clothes.

I drop my towel as soon as the door shuts and I quickly lock it. The cold air nips at my bare skin as I stand in my room, only in my underwear. It's refreshing as I sigh and slide open my closet door.

"New girl."

I scream as loud as my lungs will allow me, as I spin my entire body around to the voice suddenly in my bedroom. I quickly cover my chest with my hands in attempt to hide myself from the shadow.