A/N: So, clearing some things out: I started this before Mysterion Rises, and that's why everybody actually remembers Kenny dying over and over again, etc. Besides, it makes it very interesting~ Plus, I don't have the holy patience to re-think the plot and adapt to the current South Park's story-line.

Forgive any mistakes, I don't have an English-speaking beta and am very distracted with finals right now. I'm stuck with this and, if you guys like it, let me know and I'll write the next chapters willingly. Guess that's all, enjoy it!

Attention Whore

I've always been a slut and I realized that I, at some point, also became an attention whore. Yes, Kenny McCormick loves being the spotlight.

Few years ago, the more I died, the less people paid attention. It pissed me off somehow, so I always managed new ways to be the topic, dying differently every time—the last time was from overdosing on cocaine or something, can't remember—, probably because of the lack of "paternal love" or some Freud problem with roots in my fucked up childhood, but I honestly don't give a damn since everyone is looking at me. And with time I learned how to disguise this sick need for others' eyes, but never letting them off of me.

That is, until the past weeks. The girls have been talking about unimportant shit (because everything other than me is just, you know, unnecessary), and I'm willing to know what it is, as I approach them.

"Wendy," I greet her with one of my best smiles; they usually work when I need to know something from a girl.

"What do you want?" she rolled her eyes, sighing. Well, my smiles usually work with girls, not Wendy, apparently.

"Just wondering what you're talkin' about," I try showing some sympathy, holding the smile on my face as long as I could. Bebe, Wendy and Heidi are staring like me as though I had a chicken head, with that stupid bitch faces of theirs, and I'm about to drop my Mask of Joy and flip them off when a fucking loud squeak almost makes my heart seriously find its way out of my body through my mouth.

"Aww!" they make those sounds that are similar to stuffy-nosed moans, looking to something over my shoulders.

When I turn around, my eyes widen; Tweek is leaning on the lockers, all spazzy and shaky, caged by Craig's arms, all lovey-dovey with each other in the gayest way they possibly can. Then, wisdom comes—girls love hot fag guys, don't they?

A smirk crosses my face. I know how to get their attention back.

Well, okay, frustratingly, my plan isn't work the way it was supposed to.

Craig and Tweek are still the girls' OTP or something. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many guys I'm with, I can't surpass their sweetness, which leaves me one last option.

"Craig," I call for him, patting his shoulder as soon as I reach him. "Buddy, can we talk?"

All I get is a death glare as an answer; guess I'm the only person with the ability to actually get a facial expression change in Craig's face other than Tweek (the difference is, he usually gets smiles or smirks while I piss him the fuck off).

"Is just a favor I want—no, I need to ask you," I beg, just the way I know he enjoys seeing people doing.

"No."

"What—no, wait, that's serious," I keep following him as he starts walking. At some point he was too pissed even to walk, so he stopped. "Listen, dude, I just want you and Tweek to stop cuddling so much on the hallways," I smile wide openly.

He raises a brow. "Why would we?"

"You see, it's just that... you know, you're taking all the girls' attention, and, we both know, I have this need for them..." I explain, faking humility, which we both also know, I don't have.

"Why would I?"

"For the good times we had together," I laugh, referring to all the screwing we someday did. "You know you loved how much of a sex god I am—" and, before I can even finish my sentence, a fist is thrown on my face. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"To shut you up," he mutters, leaving me there, with a swollen cheek, stopping a few steps after. "But yes, you were good."

Fucking hooker, isn't he.

I should have known. Craig fucking Tucker wouldn't just leave the subject there, not when it's me he's dealing with. I guess he's really sore about how our relationship ended; but I mean, I wasn't the only one cheating, right? He's a goddamn crazy sex-addict (not that I'm complaining, the two months we spent together in summer were like, the hottest days in my entire life, every of them).

So, now he's there, being even sweeter to Tweek.

"C-Craig, are you—ngh—alright? Yo-you're acting weird," Tweek says, touching his boyfriend's forehead, checking his temperature.

Craig shoots me a winner look when the girls come with the 'aww's.

"I'm okay, babe," he says taking Tweek's hand, pecking him on the lips lightly.

Anyone who'd see me now would obviously think I'm some kind of jealous stalking ex-boyfriend, when I'm actually plotting the murder of Craig Tucker and his family, after raping them and wondering where I could hide the corpses; maybe Stark's Pond is a good idea, no one goes there besides horny teenagers that don't have the money even to rent a room in a cheap motel (know it very well because, you know, been there). Anyway, they don't even get out of their cars, so it might really be a good idea—

"K-K-Ken," someone suddenly interrupts my nefarious thoughts; all the stuttering makes it obvious even before I turn around. "Are y-you okay?" Butters asks, doing that rubbing knuckles thing, looking at his feet. "You're, I mean, you seem, you know, uh, bothered today."

"No, Butters, I'm fine," I say, rolling my eyes. Sometimes Butters can be a real pain in the ass.

He looks at me, getting his eyes off of the floor. Those big, ocean eyes, somehow, look hurt.

"O-okay, then," he says, brightening them again with an optimistic shine. As soon as he walks few feet, he's surrounded by girls.

"Aww, did he say something mean to you, Butters?" I hear Bebe, hugging him tightly (and I kinda envy Butters, because everytime girls hug him, they bury his face on their boobs, like it's more protective. Well, girls, who would understand them?), making him blush. "Did he do something to you? Did evil Kenny hurt you?"

They don't even wait for him to answer and start throwing a rain of swears at me, like the usual "motherfucking slut" or "dickhead" or "insensitive whore"—Butters is their baby, he's too cute and no one dares to bully him now if they don't want to get beat up by those crazy fangirls. When we were little, they didn't give an ass about him, but, as we grew up, Butters is still fragile, girl-looking and small, and, other than hot gay men, girls love what I call bottom bitches men. Tweek is one of them himself, but Butters is more like the girls' pet; they spoil him, make him cookies, and do make-up when they force him to dress as Marjorine, even at school. I guess everybody's used to see Butters as Butters in one period and as Marjorine in the next. He's most likely my arch enemy when it comes to those crazy bitches' attention. And most of the times, he wins.

—That's it.

"Butters!" I call him back, going half the way, making him come to me the other half, so we are still close enough to the girls to make them listen.

"Y-yes?" he looks up at me, and I can almost see hope in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I say, grabbing his hand in mine. I can feel those girls' eyes on my back, almost shooting me to death. "I didn't mean to be an asshole, it's just..." I look at Craig and Tweek, eying Craig in a way I know he knows what I mean without even grinning (we have this thing, you know, to know what the other is thinking from just exchanging looks; maybe that's why we had that crush on each other at first, plus our hot bodies and sex skills). I turn back to Butters, giving him the most sugar-filled-ass of my looks. "You know, I'm a little heartbroken right now. But it has nothing to do with you, I shouldn't just treat you like this."

It had to be Butters to not notice how theatrical it is; he's even compassionating me.

"O-oh, hamburgers, i-it's okay, Ken," he puts his little hand on mine, smiling sweetly. He's cute, actually. "Time heals everything, o-or maybe, maybe someone else will soothe the wounds in your heart," he says positively, but almost shy, blushing and all. Holy fuck, how cheesy can he be?

It may be a little cruel to use such an innocent child like him, who's clearly into me (well, what can I say? I'm an manipulating asshole—not as much as Cartman, but still—, not dumb), to my own benefit. But it's not like this, he's really cute and lovable, I might grant him the wish to, you know, lose his virginity with someone he likes. It's every girls' wish, right?

"Yeah," I smile at him brightly, making him blush. "I hope so, dude. I hope so."

He reluctantly lets go of my hands with a stupid smile, and goes back to the girls, that don't take long to start squeaking and screaming.

Win.