As you lie there in your dirty bed, scratching your itchy arm, you think of Kyle, the one boy who has recently slept in your bed without complaint. All he did was lay there, curls askew, and you knew you wanted him to stay there forever. And you also knew that you just wanted him. Wanted him to be yours. Someone you could hold onto in the dark, and someone who would protect you from the literal bedbugs and the vermin in your bedroom. And most of all, he would be content and sweet in being with you. He wouldn't care if you were poor, or rich, or alive, even. But Kyle isn't there. He's with him.

It is dark, and the only thing you can see are the dull lights from outside. You only can see them because you don't have curtains covering them up. Then in a childish way to console yourself, you imagine that the stars are turning into him. Kyle. And you pretend that he's not in Eric's bedroom right now, arching his back, and crying out softly, or on the verge of ecstasy, but maybe, just maybe, he's thinking about you too.

Then you think about Stan. How Stan is also madly in love with that redhead. How he made his crush way more obvious than you did, and how he still got turned down. Kyle was in love. In love with that fat racist manipulative sociopath you call a best friend, and even though its common knowledge that Eric practically brainwashed him to love him, you still have no choice but to stifle your tears and pain. Just have to let it go, because if Eric knew why you were always pissed at him, the real reason, then he'd use it against you. Plus, he'd never let you see Kyle anymore, and you couldn't handle that. So you lock it up. Not even Stan knows that you love him too.

You noticed, one day, that you had pity feelings for Stan, and these feelings made you attracted to him. The first time you two fucked, you were both pretending that the other was a skinny, short redheaded boy. Even though Stan was unaware of your feelings for Kyle, you both seemed to know what the other was thinking when it happened. And it happened over and over and over. Sometimes you were on your knees, moaning into the pillows, and sometimes he was tied up with your belt as you forced yourself into his body. And once, you heard the slip up in the name he was moaning, all the while treating your body like a blowup doll. He thrust, drooled, mumbled a simple "Kyle" and that was that. It was in best interest never to mention it.

Stan left your thoughts, and Eric replaced him. He was taunting you, even when not real and in your mind. Beckoning you to his freaking circus with his wide mouth twisted into a grin. That mouth kissed Kyle. Kissed him everywhere. Then you remember the time you saw them making out in the courtyard of the school, groping each other like they would die if they didn't get to kiss. Eric had his hand in Kyle's curls, pulling them gently, then letting them bounce back into place. Kyle's hands cupped and the nape of Eric's neck, and played with the baby hairs that lingered there. And when they pulled apart to look at each other, you saw it, the thing you dreaded the most. They were staring with love in their eyes. Both of them. Kyle wasn't scared or being manipulated, he was just in love with the person he was observing, and that person was in love with him too. There was no brainwashing; it was all legit. Probably more than you could ever imagine. So in a Stan-esque move, you leant over a trashcan, and wretched until you felt the one, small meal that you had had that day disappear.

And it breaks, it breaks, it breaks, it breaks. Who are you to want to destroy something born of evil, but seemingly pure? Leaving the memory, you think about all the moments together, ones that fly through your mind, ache and mutilate your heart. He belongs to someone else. The stars outside held no more solace as they went blurry.