Stan Marsh

You had known Stan since he was a child; you were 17 at the time. You found it endearing that he kept looking at you the day you bumped into each other, since you were babysitting one of his school friends and they had gotten together to play. Eight years have passed since you last saw him. You were such a good babysitter that the boy's (Kyle's) mother held you in high regard and invited you to her son's 18th birthday party. Eight years have passed now; you are 25. Since you had nothing to do that weekend, you went, just so as not to be rude. You were talking to Kyle's mother about how much they had grown when you noticed someone in the distance staring at you. You turned discreetly and it was this black-haired boy, Kyle's friend, Stan. He kept staring at you, you felt uncomfortable, but his gaze remained fixed on you, a predatory look, but to you he was just a child, or a boy who'd had too much to drink. You dismissed it. After Kyle's mother left you alone, you considered leaving; you were bored. You went inside and sat on the sofa, checking your phone. "I'm not a kid anymore..." You heard someone whispering slowly and lazily in your ear beside you as you were about to leave; it was the boy again. "Want me to prove it?" His breath reeked of alcohol, his hand invaded your face, turning it gently toward his, just inches away.