I feel myself shaking as I await Clyde's response. My stained jeans stick to the back of my legs uncomfortably, making me squirm. The mysterious substance I fell back into is warm against my legs. I keep my eyes on Clyde, still waiting.

"I'm sorry." Clyde finally says, his voice small and emotionless. A small portion heart aches for him, but the rest is taken over by an overwhelming sense of fear.

I keep my eyes on Clyde. Unlike me, Clyde is stood calmly. His hands are by his sides, his stance casual. He seems relaxed.

"S-sorry?" I can't stop the stutter from latching onto my words. "What do y-you mean sorry?"

Clyde shuffles in his spot, "I'm sorry that I'm dragging you into this, but I have to."

I feel my self shake even more. My heart pounds against my rip cage as I continue to stare at Clyde, eyes wide. My eyes travel to Bebe, the not breathing, unmoving, unblinking Bebe. My breath hitches, as I point at her unconscious form. My arm shakes, and from any else's point of view, it wouldn't be clear where I was pointing.

"Is she d-d-dead Clyde?" My voice breaks at the end of the question, and my eyes sting.

It's as if any progress I've made, progress on calming myself, on changing as a person slowly crumbles. My stutters, my shakes, my tendency to cry, it all comes down on me. I'm a mess.

Millions of thoughts run through my mind as I wait for Clyde's answer. Why would he call me here? Did he call me to kill me too?! Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt him?! Does he wish to hurt me?!

What if he wants to frame me? To place all of the blame upon my shoulders?! What if.. what if..

Oh god!

I find it difficult to breathe as I process what this whole situation is. This whole thing, it's just... too much pressure!

Clyde finally speaks, knocking me out of my thoughts.

"Yes, she's, "Clyde takes a deep breath. "Dead."

I grimace at his tone of voice. As he uttered the words, he almost sounded, satisfied. As if hurting Bebe, killing her, brought him some sort of sick thrill.

"I k-killed her." I feel my heart stop.

He killed Bebe. Clyde Donavon. The sweet, small and fragile Crybaby killed Bebe Stevens.

The warm, sticky substance coating my jeans and shirt, I now can identify it. It's her blood, Bebe's blood.

I've covered in another person's blood. Someone's spilt blood, out of a wound inflicted by another. I feel myself gasping for breath. I stumble, desperately trying to control my breathing as I knock into Clyde's living room wall.

I grip and tug at my hair, hoping it will somehow calm me. The small snippets of pain are awfully familiar to me as I slid down the wall. I get to the floor, still gasping, and bring my legs to my chest.

I try to calm myself, thinking of anything, anyone. I try to leave. I try to retire to my happy place, what my old therapist used to tell me. I close my eyes tightly, trying to run to my place. I don't get there. The sick reality of the whole situation is too much.

I desperately suck in oxygen, my lungs feel as if they're burning. I hear Clyde's footsteps, then he gently places his hand on my shoulder. It's an attempt of comfort, but it doesn't work. I flinch away from Clyde, and he instantly removes his hand.

"I want Craig." I mumble, rocking back and forth and gripping onto my legs. My nails dig into me, but I don't care. "I need him. I-I.." I trail off, truly frightened.

I feel tears stream from the corners of my eyes, rolling down my cheeks and dropping from my chin. Clyde's gaze cuts into me, and I feel myself shake more.

"C-Clyde, -ngh- please..." I say between shaky breaths, "p-please, get Craig."

Clyde is silent as I shake and cry, then he sighs. I look up at him, and see he's watching me with careful and calm eyes.

"I'm sorry Tweek, but I can't." Clyde crouches down to my level, or gazes locking. "I don't trust Craig, I trust you."

I now grip onto my hair. Some sort of twisted relief flows through me. I manage to get my breathing under control. Clyde is a friend, yet he's also a murder. My gaze flickers to Bebe's lifeless body, and I gulp.

Clyde must've had a reason, and a really good one at that. He wouldn't hurt someone unless they had hurt him first, right?

I lower my hands, feeling another sense of relief rush through me. Clyde trusts me, and that means he won't hurt me. I look up to see Clyde now standing, with an outstretched hand. I sniff, drying my eyes then taking Clyde's hand.

"What d-do you need my help with?" Although I know it's defiantly not a good idea to help Clyde, I'll do it anyway.

I don't want to see Clyde in jail, or worse.

"I need help cleaning up." I feel a chill run down my spine at how casually Clyde spoke. He said it as if Bebe was a broken vase, I take a deep breath.

"Okay, -ngh- what do y-you need me to d-do?"

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This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I wanted to get an update out. That just means the next chapter will be quite lentghy, so look forward to that I guess.

Happy late new year?

CYA LATER NERDZ