South Park fanfiction.
For this to work, I would need Cartman's help. Or just an accomplice of any kind, but I had ruled out Stan because I knew he would never agree to participate, despite our "no matter what it takes" vow. And I didn't really blame him.
Damien had tactfully (and by tactfully, I mean evilly) suggested rape.
Damn it, why does rape have to be such a perfect idea? It's not that I want to actually rape anybody, because I don't, but Damien played to my natural attraction to women so well that I could have sworn he was twisting my thoughts.
The only big issue had come on trying to decide an actual way for me to die, since just raping someone would only kill me if God Himself struck me down with lightning. Cartman suggested that I would have my way with the girl for a few minutes, and then he would "valiantly come to the girl's rescue" and kill me in a fight. Trust him to come up with a plan that gets me horribly killed and makes himself look good all in one shot. We may be on speaking terms again, but he's still Cartman.
We discussed targets next. I told them I would just prefer to pick someone at random, hopefully a stranger. The less I knew about the person, the better. Then Damien the bastard had suggested Red. And Cartman smiled. That combination made me really worried.
It made so much damn sense. Damien would find some way to figure out where Red was going to be at a specific time. At that time, I would intercept Red in some dark alley somewhere. Meanwhile, Cartman would be walking with Craig by that same spot a few minutes later. Craig would see me, and then proceed to beat me up until I dropped dead (now Cartman wouldn't even have to get his hands dirty). It truly was perfect; the only problem was that Craig might see through the deception and take revenge on Cartman, too. And then I'd have three people to get out of Hell instead of two.
And so now it's the big night. I'm in the alley behind Tom's Rhinoplasty, waiting for Red to arrive. She was getting her hair done at the salon at the moment, and would walk past the alley to get to her house (thankfully, she wasn't lazy enough to drive). She also would be wearing a blue raincoat to keep out the drizzle. I really didn't know how Damien was able to find all this out in advance, and I really didn't want to know. At this point, Damien was creeping me out, and I'm an amateur voyeur (don't judge. I know you readers are judging me right now, so stop).
I'm wearing a black hoodie tonight instead of my usual orange parka, because I don't want to stand out. In fact, I'm hoping that Red won't recognize me, at least not at first. I really wish she didn't have to be dragged into this; she's scared enough of me as it is. I keep telling myself I'll try not to make it too traumatizing for her…and then I keep remembering that if it's not traumatizing enough, I won't get sent to Hell for it. Fuck. My hope was that the rape would be so closely tied to my upcoming death that she would forget that too.
Text from Damien: She just left the salon. I pull out my phone and send fatass the signal that he and Craig can leave the drug store now, which would put them about seven or eight minutes behind Red. I don't know how Cartman dragged Craig to the drug store; the fatass was a menace, but he sure was good at manipulating people.
I lean out of the alley, looking for Red; she would be here any second. Several girls walk by (some of them extremely pretty), but—there! There's the blue raincoat! Target acquired.
With a sick feeling in my stomach, I jump out of the alley and grab her from behind. She tries to scream, but I quickly put my hand over her mouth. As I pull her back into the alley, I reach my other hand up to her breasts. Yeah, I know it sounds bad, but I am trying to get to Hell, remember? And if I have to do this horrible thing, I might as well try to enjoy it, at least for the sake of the illusion.
She tries to kick me, but her aim is bad enough that I can dodge. She's still struggling fiercely, and her black hair is flying in all directions as she tried to break free. I start to undo the buttons on her shirt and—
…wait a minute…Red doesn't have black hair. I almost let go of…whoever it is that I have…in shock, but I stop myself. Quickly, I glance back out into the street, and I see another girl, about the same height, in a raincoat that looks just like this girl's. She shakes some rain off her head, and I glimpse a lock of red hair as she walks out of sight.
No way. I had grabbed the wrong girl? Who just happened to be wearing the same raincoat? Had Damien and Cartman set me up? No, they wouldn't actually do that at a time like this, but…if they had, I was really going to let Cartman have it when I caught up with him.
But then who did I have here? I had to check. Still holding my hand over her mouth, I lean over her shoulder to see her face. She turns and looks me straight in the eye.
Oh, fuck my life. Not only is she my friend's girlfriend, but she actually is a pretty good fighter. I had seen her beat the absolute shit out of Cartman in elementary school (not that that's hard to do, but girls aren't usually well known for their fighting skills) She's not a girl to mess with.
What can I do? Cartman and Craig will be here any minute, but I have the wrong girl, and it's too late to call the plan off now. Calm down…I should just continue with the rape, and hope that they are as quick to defend Wendy's honor as they are Red's. Cartman, at least, can improvise.
Thank God Stan wasn't in on this plan.
Wendy obviously recognizes me, and she stops struggling. She looks confused. "Kenny?" I'm ashamed to be in this position. Then she gives me the look. The look I see whenever people pass my house while Mom and Dad are having one of their loud arguments. The look I get when people look at my tattered parka and my dirty hair. It's a look of pity.
Damn it, I don't want pity. I'm trying to rape my buddy's girlfriend, and she giving me a pity look? That's just sad. I push her front up against the wall, still with one hand on her boob. The move seems to jolt Wendy out of her pity. "Kenny, what the hell are you doing?" she yells, but not too loud.
I figure that telling her what was actually going on was against the rules, because if she sympathized and wanted to help, it wouldn't be rape. So I thought fast. "You think your boyfriend is the only one who wants you?" I hiss. "I've wanted you for a long time, Wendy, but I knew you would never want to be with me." That's a lie; it's not that I don't think Wendy is attractive, but she had always been off limits under Bro Code. Of course, the Bro Code was all but in shambles by this point.
I don't think she believes me, though. I feel like she can see right through me. "Kenny…why?" she asks, softer this time. The look of pity returns.
I shove her roughly again "Say you love me," I tell her. My hand slides up into her open shirt and clutches bare skin. "You can even pretend I'm Stan, if you want. But you will say it." God, those words sound horrible, even to my own ears. I know my reputation is bad, but is this how others really see me? Like some animalistic sex maniac?
Where the hell are those two guys?
Wendy's voice starts to shake fearfully. "N-no!" Then she jabs her elbow back into my stomach. I groan in pain, and then I realize that she's actually starting to arouse me. I pull her off the wall, and, spotting a trash can, position her over it. My hand moves, on its own, towards her waist and starts to yank her jeans down. "Too bad; you had your chance, Wendy. Now I'm going to make you love me." The words are just spilling out now, and the lust I hear in them is shocking.
"Go ahead and try!" she yells, "but there's no way you can make me love you. The love between Stan and me is pure. Token couldn't stop it. Ms. Ellen couldn't stop it. There's no way you can change that."
I must admit, I admire how she could pull out a speech like that while being molested. It's actually turning me on even more; I'm trying to make sure I don't lose control. "We'll see about that," I sneer.
"Besides, Stan's going to kick your ass when he finds out," she threatens.
"Stan's not going to find out," I say, praying that I'm right about that, even though I fully deserved to get my ass kicked. Well, at this point, might as well go big. Her pants are down at her ankles, and her butt stares at me through her pink underwear (I'd never really thought of her as a "pink" girl. I guess you really do learn something new every day). But that's just the uncensored version; time to get a closer look. I grab the elastic on her panties, and—
"No, I'm not saying your mom's lasagna is shitty, but it's can't be nearly as good as my own special chili recipe. You really should try it sometime."
"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm not that stupid."
Cartman and Craig's voices come drifting up the street, making idle conversation. Wendy can hear them, too, and she starts kicking the trash can viciously to get their attention. I make no effort to stop her; after all, I am trying to get caught.
"Do you hear that, Craig?" Cartman calls out, not quite as subtly as I would have liked. "It's coming from that alley there. I certainly hope it's not—" Cartman's voice trails off as the two of them turn into the alleyway and see me. Bent over a pantsless Wendy. Not quite according to plan, eh? Your move, Cartman.
Craig frowns, but Cartman is completely red in the face, and now speechless with rage. Too late, I remember that Cartman has had a not-as-secret-as-he-would-like-to-think crush on Wendy since third grade. I guess that rules out the possibility of a prank.
Craig's not as mad as we were hoping he'd be (he does flip me off, though), but Cartman starts rushing at me like a madman. I just hope it's quick. He grabs me, and smashes my face into the wall with all his strength, breaking my jaw and several other bones from the sound of it. Wendy is screaming for him to stop, but he's not listening, although I can't tell whether it's for the sake of the plan, or if he's just that mad at me.
Then he lets me drop, and I see his thick shoe rushing to stomp down on my neck. Then there's blackness.
Hell, here I come.