Work Text:
…
A few years ago, maybe when I was 13, Stan and Kyle told me my parents were lacing my coffee. I didn’t think about it much then and kept drinking it. I didn’t really care, my life was the same, it’s been the same for years. One day, my parents told me they went bankrupt over the shop and had to stop producing and getting coffee. I shrugged it off and nodded. I was good for a couple of months, still drinking coffee.
Since we had no more money, they couldn’t afford methamphetamines to put inside my coffee anymore. Or theirs. So they became negligent and just cooped up in their room all day while I was throwing up, having fevers, and could barely get out of bed. I didn’t know why, I didn’t know I was suffering from withdrawal. I was only around 17.
Craig and the rest of the guys helped me, Craig’s mom occasionally came over to tend to me until I got fully better. Recovery was a nice path, I liked it. I enjoyed getting therapy for my anxiety, I found out I had PTSD too, but that was okay. I had schizophrenic tendencies that were caused from years of unknowingly taking methamphetamines, plus the years I did know but couldn’t care enough to stop.
When I turned 18 we all graduated, I saw everybody leave, like Kyle and Stan, they went to university together and got a dorm in Los Angeles. Stan was under a football scholarship in UCLA and Kyle was on a full ride scholarship for just being smart in UCLA too. Wendy went to pursue being a lawyer in Massachusetts.
Craig and I moved to New Jersey for a while, we’d come back for the holidays. I was taking my medicine, Craig was also helping me with my therapy. During Christmas time, everybody would come back to South Park to visit family or to just reminisce, and when I saw my parents they envied how well I was doing. They envied I was able to get out of meth and they weren’t.
I was 20 by then, and my parents had given me coffee, they gave me two big jugs of grounds and I smiled and happily accepted it. Craig didn’t know, but I was totally naive to not think drugs were in there again. As far as I knew, they were better too.
We went back and I was drinking coffee again, I was going back to being jittery, my face always had sores and blisters from me picking at them, I overused my medication too. Craig noticed and tried taking away my coffee, he would hide it but I would always find it, again and again.
Unknowingly, I was chasing new highs everyday, I wanted to feel like I was in the sky. I would drink gallons of the coffee, my parents would occasionally send me some. During a high, I was walking down the streets. I suddenly heard voices around me and I looked around, my eyes wide and my pupils huge. I kept hearing voices and I couldn’t see where they were coming from, I saw eyes looking at me everywhere.
Soon, I started screaming and covering my head as I crouched down and cried, screamed, begged for everything to stop. People walking around saw me and called the police and I was arrested for public drug use and for ‘being in possession of meth’. In my blood test, they found high amounts of meth and my meds being in my body.
Craig was able to visit me when I was in custody and the look in his eyes was the last thing I’ve ever wanted to see.
—
“I don’t have enough for your bail.”
“That’s okay. I deserve to be here.”
“I could’ve stopped you from relapsing, I could’ve thrown every package out. I could’ve sent you somewhere.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Tweek I—“
“It’s okay, Craig. It’s my fault. I abused my medicine and would hide everything from you. You don’t deserve to see me like this again.”
“…”
“My time’s up. You don’t have to come to my trial.”
—
News spread quickly that I got arrested for being on drugs in public and a lot of people surprisingly testified for me that I was unknowingly being drugged by my parents, but unfortunately, law is law. Even with Wendy being my lawyer, we couldn’t win. I was sentenced with possession of drugs, and I was ordered to be locked up indefinitely, but not in prison. I was ordered to be locked up in a psychiatric ward for rehabilitation.
It was better than prison, I guess. I was only able to have phone calls once a month and the entire time I was going back to being regulated on my meds, I was ordered to file a restraining order from my parents who were arrested back in Colorado and I am no longer able to have caffeine consumption. During one of my phone calls, I had Craig make a promise to me. I hope he keeps it while I’m trying my best to become normal.. again . It’s been around 7 months since I’ve been here.
—
“I don’t know when I’ll get out.”
“That’s fine. I’ll still wait for you. No need to freak out.”
“Please don’t forget me. Promise you won’t!”
“I’d never do that, I promise.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah.”
“Time’s up, Tweek. Back to your room.”
Cut off.
—
“You're off the phone, babe?” Another voice came from behind Craig.
“Yeah. It was just my job.”
“Oh oka— SHIT! FUCK! Okay!”
“I’ll finish the dishes, honey. Don’t worry.”
I needed comfort, Tweek wasn’t there. He was in town. Can you blame me? My drug addict boyfriend— or my recovering boyfriend isn’t here. I don’t know when he’ll come back, but this will have to do. We met as kids and we disconnected after he left South Park. He found me on Facebook and took up the offer I left standing years ago from when I told him we could hang out any time. He texted me after finding out on the news about Tweek.
We reconnected and it’s been like this since. No one knows, they don’t have to. As far as he knows, me and Tweek are over.
“Thomas.”
“Huh? CRAP—! Yeah?”
“…”
“Nothing. Love you.”
“Oh. Love you too.”