Use Me
Listening to Bebe talk about her drama was much less annoying than listening to any other girl spewing the same crap. At least that's how Wendy felt, even though she knew the opinion was based on pure bias. But isn't that how all friendships work? You care about their problems when the exact same words are the most annoying whining out of anybody else.
"When I'm with Clyde I feel so comfortable, like we can just hold each other. But with Token it's like we can actually have a conversation. It drives me crazy because Clyde is so physical, and I am too. But he doesn't talk to me like I'm a real person sometimes, y'know? Like he doesn't appreciate my intelligence. Token actually does, but he's also obviously so awkward that he can't get physical at all. I think it's that stupid man-code cause he knows Clyde has a thing for me and doesn't wanna go further with me even though we clearly have chemistry. Sometimes I think Token regrets ever having sex with me. I just don't wanna be that girl that they both end up hating because I tore them apart. That's not what I want at all, y'know?"
"Yeah," Wendy replied vacantly from where she sat on Bebe's basement floor.
Bebe watched her quizzically. She had a feeling she knew what Wendy was thinking. That this conversation was awkward, and she should have it with Heidi or Millie instead of her. Because as far as Bebe was supposed to figure, Wendy was in a dry spell, and Stan was the only guy she'd ever been with.
"You're lucky you just had Stan to worry about."
"I guess so. Sorry I can't really relate," Wendy replied, and Bebe thought she saw a spasm in her brow.
"And even more so now. You don't have to deal with guys at all."
"Yeah, it's nice," Wendy said, the sigh of exasperation sliding through for just a moment at the end before she caught it.
"...No drama on your side, huh? Must be real nice. Lucky."
Bebe frowned. I'm sorry. I know I sound like a huge bitch, but I just want you to be honest with me. I mean holy shit Wendy, how long are you gonna take me talking down to you? Aren't we friends?
"Can I ask you something, Wendy? Kinda personal?"
For the first time in the past half hour, Wendy made eye contact with her. "I guess."
"Since you and Stan broke up, have you even... I mean are you taking care of yourself, at least? You know. Are you masturbating?"
"From time to time," Wendy replied casually. Matter-of-factly even. Then second guessing, she added, "I mean, I guess not in a while. I've not really had much of a libido lately, you know?"
Bebe nodded solemnly. "I don't mean to sound like a bitch, but maybe you should. You've been so down in the dumps. It might help."
Wendy nodded, but she knew she wouldn't be getting off tonight. She hadn't gotten herself off for nearly two months now. But she couldn't explain that to Bebe. She couldn't say, gosh I would, but Bebe I'm afraid of what I'll think about.
Bebe continued. "I mean, if you don't wanna find a guy to do it for you." She leaned back on her hands and tossed her head back. The urge to interrogate still lingered in her gut. "All these guys are driving me crazy. Maybe I'll just sleep with some loser to get it out of my system. Maybe one of Stan's friends. Like Kyle or something. I bet it wouldn't be hard to get Cartman in bed."
"That's disgusting," Wendy snapped, and Bebe laughed.
"Don't worry, I'm just kidding. You sound so angry."
That night, Wendy lay in bed. Her head felt swollen from thoughts that did nothing more than frustrate her. It felt like torture to listen to Bebe ramble about her sex life with that condescending tone that believed Wendy to be some little goody-two-shoes. As far as Wendy was concerned, Bebe would shit a brick hearing what she had really been up to. But for all that experience was worth, Wendy knew better than to think it was respectable. It wasn't a cigarettes and beer sex-life, it was more like meth. And it wasn't even so much the who as the how. Not that the who wasn't quite despicable anyhow.
Wendy knew Cartman had been angry. It wasn't that out of the ordinary. He had stayed behind after school, not doing anything, just not wanting to leave. Wendy was finishing up some stuff for yearbook at the time.
"If something's bothering you, you can talk to me about it," she said, turning away from the computer to look at him.
Cartman snort-scoffed, crossing his arms at his desk. The one he usually sat in when he had this room for English.
Wendy scowled and turned back to the monitor. "Ok, at least I tried to be nice."
"That must have been hard for you," Cartman quipped.
Wendy whipped back around in her chair. "Why are you such an ass-hole? What's that all about? I just tried to be nice to you, and you don't even appreciate it. Everyone else has given up trying to be nice to you, but apparently I'm too stupid to realize what an ass-hole you are. It's really my fault. If you just wanna hang around the school and mope, that's your problem, but do it somewhere else. I'm working."
Then, to her surprise, he did leave. Just stood up and walked out the door. Didn't slam it or anything. She wished he had though. Or yelled back or something. This was way too civilized, and she didn't appreciate being made to feel like the barbarian between the two.
"Stupid," she whispered under her breath.
Cartman continued his silent moping the next day. She wasn't used to Cartman being so quiet. Angry or upset Cartman was usually the loudest and most obnoxious, but even around the other guys he seemed caught up in his own thoughts. Wendy didn't hear the word "Jew" leave his mouth once. It felt ridiculous to be worried, but she was nonetheless. She decided to ask Stan about it.
"I guess he has been kinda moody," Stan replied. "But that's just Cartman for ya. We should be glad he's not dragging the whole school into this. Hey Wendy, we're still cool, right?"
"Yeah, we're cool."
Maybe if Stan could look past the odd behavior, it shouldn't have bothered her. The best thing to do would be to ignore him, just the same as when he was being loud and troublesome. But then came the urge nonetheless. The urge to get a reaction and break the uncharacteristic silence.
"The school really shouldn't be allowed to serve meat that's been so severely treated. We should be serving children only hormone free meat."
No reaction.
"The hard truth is that many privately owned shelters have worse conditions than most circuses."
Nothing.
"Other schools require some form of physical education every year. Our high school promotes unhealthy behavior by only offering one year."
Silence.
"Watch where you're going, fat-ass!"
"Sorry."
That last one broke her.
"Sorry?" she asked. "Sorry! Oh you're sorry now!"
Cartman's face wrinkled in annoyed confusion. The bell was nearing close, but there were a few students left in the hallway to watch the startling outburst.
"When the fuck has Eric Cartman ever been sorry to me?!" She yelled these words like accusations of a crime.
"Jesus Christ. I try being polite to you and you freak out. The fuck is that?" Cartman yelled back, and Wendy was instantly flooded with relief. Euphoria. But she had nothing to rebut with. She recognized the irrationality of her outburst and grew embarrassed, so she scoffed and walked on to class instead.
It was just after school when Wendy caught up with Cartman outside.
"Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I don't know what came over me. I was just... concerned."
Cartman crossed his arms and shuffled his feet. "I don't need you to be concerned about me. God, it's disgusting to even say."
"Why?" Wendy snapped, but she kept her volume steady. "What's wrong about me being worried about you?" Then she understood what Cartman meant. It felt wrong for those words to come out of her mouth. The two of them were supposed to hate each other. Sure, they could carry on conversations from time to time, but nothing personal. "You seem so depressed this week."
"You're looking way too into things, Wendy," Cartman said with a smirk. Wendy hated it. It was one of those methods people used to make the concerned or apologetic party feel dumb, completely robbing them of their redemption.
"Well I'll make sure not to give a damn next time," she said.
What had really happened Cartman wouldn't dare confide in Wendy, because part of it was about her. He watched the way Stan broke it off with her and instantly ran to someone else. It was Kyle of course, though they hadn't confessed this to anyone. Cartman didn't know if Stan had cheated on Wendy while they were together or not, but he imagined he did just because imaging so justified his irritation and jealousy. Not just because it was Wendy, and Wendy deserved better (although he felt that was true, too). Cartman believed all guys should feel lucky to have just one other person who is willing to trust and put up with them. To throw that trust away in disloyalty was an unforgivable sin in Cartman's mind. Yeah, it didn't sound like something Cartman would think. That's why he could never bring himself to try to confide that in anyone.
So when he was at Kyle's with the guys after school on Monday, and Stan and Kyle were particularly clingy, Cartman had to leave, hiding his real disgust (you better have not been doing this three weeks ago, ass-hole) in fake disgust ("God, what a couple of fags!"). This probably would have blown over, but when he reached his own home, he could hear the howls and moans muffled through Mrs. Cartman's window. The howls and moans of Liane and at least two men.
"Alright," Cartman said, still standing by the side door with Wendy. "Fine. I appreciate the concern, but it's nothing important. Okay?"
"Okay," Wendy said, feeling defeated somehow, but at least he had appreciated the concern.
"You wouldn't understand anyhow," Cartman added, and it was like a kick in the gut.
"Why not?"
"You just wouldn't. Your life's too perfect."
"You think my life is perfect?" Wendy asked, sputtering indignantly. Unfortunately, she had nothing to back this up with, because as natural as it felt to claim that she had hardships and heartbreaks, even those she did have she knew were rather typical. She realized with some fear that her life really was too perfect, a word that for humans only means boring for telling and worthless for comfort. Playing it up, she lifted her head and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. "I'd better go on home to my perfect life then. Not much I can do to help the riff-raff."
As she walked by, Cartman laid his hand, warm and heavy, on her shoulder. Then he dropped it and laughed in his usual way. "People like you just start causes and yell and scream at other people to fix everything you don't like about the world. You hippie activists can't actually do anything. You just try to use people to do it for you."
Wendy faced him, unable to do anything but glare, feeling hurt by the sudden attack. How could he so quickly switch from somewhat confiding in her to completely disregarding and disrespecting her? Maybe she couldn't help, but awareness is important too. She didn't use people, she just gave them suggestions. And she was just trying to give Cartman suggestions if he'd let her. She wasn't trying to use anyone.
These were her thoughts, but she couldn't articulating them in a response. Instead, she turned her head down and said, "Then... you can do it, too. I mean, you should. You... use me."
The look on Cartman's face would have been amusing in other circumstances. Never in a million years would Wendy think she'd say those words. Of course, it's not like she meant them in such the self-depreciating way that one normally would. Of course not. She was just paralleling the language Cartman had already used.
"What'd you say?" Cartman asked.
As Wendy spoke, she could feel her muscles tighten. Her fists clenched against the words that cramped her body like foreign bacteria. "If I can't do anything... Then... you have to... Use me."
That was the first time Wendy let Cartman throw her down on her bed. She didn't know that strokes and kisses could feel so much like beatings. And she didn't know that beatings could feel so relieving. The initial darkness of their union eventually gave way to bliss. Cartman's craving gave way for appreciation. When Wendy eventually climbed on top of Cartman, it was only a matter of seconds before he shoved her back off.
"Like Hell I'm gonna let a woman pin me down."
Wendy giggled, knowing that he hadn't been able to last.
Whatever their relationship was after that, they kept it secret. Wendy even had a hard time reminding herself that something was supposed to be different between them now. For a week, they didn't even bring it back up to each other, and Wendy found herself a little lonely when the weekend came and she had nobody to be with. She tried not to think about the pathetic implications of loneliness being her catalyst. That weekend marked their second time, yet it already felt like old-hat. Not boring routine, but comfortable familiarity. Everything seemed nice, so Wendy was surprised when Cartman seemed to distance himself from her again. It was silly, of course, because she knew that everyone was busy. She could use the alone time herself with tests coming up. But she soon felt it had been too long, and she really didn't even know what it was the two were supposed to be to each other, so she ventured to talk to Cartman about them.
"Boy Wendy, you must really have it bad for me," Cartman laughed. "Do you really wanna keep up this charade of a relationship?"
"So you don't even care? Typical guy mentality."
They both played it off cool, but neither noticed that both of their questions had the same motive. They wanted to know if the other appreciated them. And now neither one felt that the other did. And again Wendy said, "Just use me then." So he did, but this time darkness never gave way to bliss. For either of them.
That night Wendy returned to her room, and she left the lights off as she dropped her bag in front of her door and fell limp into bed. Slowly, her back arched and her knees pulled up to her chest. She felt like throwing up. Use me. Use me. How could she say something so disgusting? Past-Wendy would be ashamed to know that she had reduced herself so much. So much that she would let a fat, selfish ass-hole treat her like a pocket pussy.
But that wasn't fair to him. She knew she was the one who asked for this.
The first glance between Cartman and Wendy at school on Monday was a clear communication. They were done with whatever it was they were doing. That's why Wendy couldn't tell Bebe. It was too shameful. Too pathetic. Now Wendy was lying in bed with a head swelled only with frustration and regret after listening to Bebe ramble about a topic that made her cringe as if against a cramp. A cramp of secret objectification. And even by herself, Cartman still lingered. His taste, his smell, his warmth. All those too typical things that she didn't want to feel so dependent on. If only she could do the act that would melt all of her stress away. If only she didn't have to worry about where her thoughts would go. Probably to some unrealistic, little girl fantasy where she imagined that that fat ass-hole actually loved her.