Buried (a Creek fic)

11. Advice

It had been a couple hours since Craig had come home from Tweek Bros, but he still couldn't quite shake the odd feeling that had consumed him after Tweek had offered (well, more like insisted) to help him. The feeling felt like a pesky raincloud that was constantly hovering over him, occasionally showering him with confused thoughts or phrases that had escaped Tweek's mouth hours before, such as, "This is your time to change, Craig. I want to help you."

Craig had sat silently at the dinner table with his parents, absentmindedly poking around the food that laid on a plate in front of him. He was given a couple routinely questions from his mother ("How was school today? How are Clyde and Token?") and a few demands from his father ("How come you didn't answer your phone when I asked where you were? Where even were you?"), but after Craig provided them with some half-assed replies, a thick silence settled at the table and that was that.

Craig could tell his parents were avoiding talking to each other and he assumed they had gotten into another argument while he was away. They were likely still upset with each other about whatever it was they were arguing about, but he would rather have their continuous looming silence over petty passive-aggressive remarks, which they usually spewed at each other under their breaths.

So now he sat at the desk in his bedroom, trying to drown out his thoughts by doing homework, but that wasn't making things any better. He had tried watching TV to keep his mind off things, but old reruns of Terrance and Phillip weren't entertaining enough for him. Going on social media wasn't helpful either, considering he didn't really care about what everyone from his school and what the rest of the world were up to.

A groan of frustration left Craig's mouth, as he squinted in confusion at the calculus assignment in front of him. He knew he probably should pay more attention in class, but come on, who could understand math? It was just a messy jumble of random letters and numbers, anyway. It's not like he needed calculus in the "real world."

"Fuck this," he spat and in one swift motion, he swiped the paper off his desk and watched it flutter to the floor beneath him. He crossed his arms over his desk and laid his head face-down on top of them, his dull pencil still in his grasp.

"I'm going to fix that," Tweek's words echoed in his mind.

Not again. Why wouldn't his brain just shut up for once? God, he wanted to bang his head against his desk until he stopped remembering Tweek's words.

Fix. What a strange word to use. He had never understood why people wanted to "fix" each other, or why they even phrased it like that. People don't break, right? So what was there to fix? Tweek had used the word as if Craig was a broken or defective object, which he clearly wasn't, or he used it like there was something wrong with him. There wasn't though... Was there?

Fuck, he needed a cigarette - or better yet, he could get drunk off of his dad's booze. It's not like his dad would notice, considering he didn't drink or check the liquor cabinet that often. Though Craig would probably overdo it again, just like Sunday night. And waking up in the morning with a hangover was never ideal, especially on a school night, but whatever kept the thoughts at bay was worth a try.

The sound of his phone loudly vibrating against his wooden desk snapped him out of his thoughts and his head shot up. He located his phone, which sat crookedly in the corner of his desk and he snatched it up.

Unknown: hey

With a raised eyebrow, Craig typed back.

Craig: Who is this?

A reply came almost immediately.

Unknown: oh right, forgot u don't have my number saved. it's Tweek. u gave ur number to me earlier, remember?