Our True Colors || South Park Bunny Fanfic

Puppet Strings

TW: mentions of S*lf  h*rm

Bruising on the skin eventually goes away, fading without a trace. It's as if it never happened. But it did happen. Multiple times. Butters has been at the mercy of his Fathers hands far too often. Hell, even just once should never happen. He can't even count how many times he had fallen victim to his Fathers outbursts. And yet, as he stared at himself in the mirror, it was as if his memories were a lie now that his skin had healed. Not a smudge of blue, purple, or even yellow was there to stain his skin anymore.

He should have been happy that no traces of physical pain was left to stain him. Or maybe relieved at the least. But he didn't. He didn't feel any of that. He should though. So why isn't he? No more bruising should be a sign that he was free, right?

The mirror he had been staring at started to fog up, reminding him of the shower that was calling for him. He removed his hoodie, catching eye of his arms afterwards.

Oh...that was why.

The scars he hides under his sleeves will always serve as a reminder that while his Father may not be able to hurt him physically, he has still severely poisoned his mind. He will still hear the yelling late at night. He will still cower under the thought of his parents eyes on him, judging his every move. He will still speak to himself with the same hatred his Father spoke to him with.

He was away from them. But their puppet strings were still clinging to him.

Some days were better than others. On the good days, he never noticed the strings. He was able to step away from the performance that was his parents preferred way of life. He didn't feel ashamed for letting Bebe do his nails or putting on something pink and frilly. On those days, he was just a boy having fun.

On the bad days however, sometimes it got so bad he felt like the strings were strangling him. He would be dragged across the day barely able to breath let alone think for himself. "Don't wear that!" His Fathers voice would echo in his head. "Why are you like this?!", "You don't like boys! You aren't a fag!" "You're upsetting your mother!"

Today was one of those days.

They still have me under his control. He thought to himself as he stepped into the shower. He looked down at his arms. "I will never..." His breathing hitched as his eyes flooded with tears "...I will never escape them". He couldn't help but to break down into sobs. He covered his mouth trying to silence his cries. The walls in this bathroom liked to echo so much as a pin drop throughout the rest of the second floor.

It wasn't fair. He was just starting to feel small buds of hope starting to grow. He was just starting to think that, maybe, things would be okay. But then his mother had to show up in front of that restaurant. That was the first time in months she had spoken to him, or even look him in the eye. Under any other circumstances, he may have been happy about it. Instead, though, she waisted her breath begging him to come back so that he could be "fixed". That single encounter completely pulled out the ground from beneath his feet, taking away those small buds of hope with it. Just seeing her face was enough to bring back all those unwanted memories, all those unwanted feelings of never being good enough. Never being worthy of love. Never feeling at peace with himself.

It was scary to think that someone could hold so much power over you without saying a word. His Mother said a lot of things to him that day. But she never needed to when he was living with her. One look into that lost stare of hers and he was kept bound to wanting nothing more than an ounce of her approval. A single smile. One look of pure love again. He was willing to do anything to get the mother he knew back. She wasn't here to look at him now. She didn't need to though. Her stare had been burned into the back of his mind. As for his Father, well, his bloody hands did most of the talking for him. And sometimes Butters could still feel how hard he'd hit the floor. He could still feel how he'd get the bruises, the bloody noses, the busted lips, all of it. Sometimes he's wake up from his nightmares feeling himself being hit again.