title ; The Truth
chapter ; One Shot
characters ; Cartman, Kyle
setting ;
rating ; T for swearing and general South-Park-ness
disclaimer ; I quite obviously do not own South Park or its characters
disclaimer 2 ; I do own what is written here, so please don't steal it
author's note ; Oh, my first Kyman story! Kyle x Cartman, however you really want to write it. Its Kyle's POV, and its really scattered. Really, I imagine it as scraps of paper he wrote on in school, on the bus, in his room, at dinner, etc. So that would explain why they're so short and choppy.
I must have been a masochist.
Not just any masochist, but the biggest one of them all. Like, if all the masochists in the entire world joined together, they would cast me out like a leper. That's how much of a masochist I must have been.
It started like any other day - Science class with my friends.
Cartman isn't really my friend, but he was there. Eventually.
Things got weird.
You see, I'd been gone over the summer for several weeks at a Jew Scout thing. It was my last year, and they had this really big party. It was boring, as usual. There were macaroni pictures and soap sculptures. I sculpted Cartman getting eaten by a dog. I thought it looked pretty good, but that's not the point. Back on track...
Sitting in class, I had been writing Stan and my exam paper. Stan was flirting with Wendy, Kenny was trying to get with Bebe - again - and Cartman was strangely missing. I was enjoying the quiet, until the fat ass pushed open the door and walked in. Something was different, though. He wasn't fat. Over the summer between sixth and seventh grade, he had really slimmed down. Maybe he had a growth spurt, because he looked taller than me. The point was - he wasn't fat ass anymore. I'd have to come up with a new name.
Damn.
...
Unfortunately, my new name didn't come to be in a flash of brilliance that Fat Ass had, nor did any name present itself in the coming weeks of school. What was presenting itself was a whole new variety of weird. I'd been thinking about Cartman a lot in those weeks, including thoughts that really shouldn't exist of the guy who tormented me for all those years.
I'm a masochist, I told you.
It had all started in that stupid boy's choir that my mom made Ike and I go to. Cartman had showed up to laugh at me, but I found my eyes following him through the crowd before he even piped up. So maybe I had Cartmandar, Kind of like a fucked up Gaydar. Or maybe its from all those years of abuse, and I was just looking after myself.
Either way, my ever-observant brother noticed and informed me of my quote-unquote "come hither" look to the prior fat ass of South Park, who happened to now have a rather fine physique.
Damn.
...
Lets back up for a moment and get one thing straight; I know I'm gay.
Stan and I experimented in sixth grade, to which he promptly announced he's "so not gay, dude" and refused to talk about it further. Our friendship lagged behind for a few weeks, but we were back to normal in less than a month. Hanging over my head the whole time was the simple fact that I was gay. It wasn't hard to pretend otherwise. I'd been doing it for a few years, it was simple. Pretending I wasn't head-over-heels for Stan was another matter.
But I figured it out.
One thing I never figured out?
How the hell I could be attracted to Cartman.
Eric fucking Cartman, the biggest fat ass in South Park.
...
Now that you know the whole story, I should tell you how Cartman found out.
I'm sure it's been spread around the school by now, but I think people need to hear my story too. This isn't really a one-sided issue here. This isn't one-man pocket pool. It takes two to tango. Or in this case, to kiss.
I kissed Cartman, the fattest piece of shit in the whole fucking world.
We were at his place, his mother was out, and we were trying to work on math. I was ignoring his stereotypes that Jewish people were great with numbers. There was no use arguing with him anymore. All of his stereotypes seemed to be true. After such a long winning streak with Token, Cartman wasn't likely to fall of his high horse. So I let it go.
"Hey, Jew, get me some soda," he had ordered.
I simply stared at him, closing the math book. "Get your own soda, fat ass."
"Ey! Don't call me fat! I lost thirty fucking pounds, you dumb Jew!"
"Thirty pounds of brains, maybe," I grumbled, getting up to grab a soda.
"You can have one too. I'm feeling generous," Cartman offered in his best fuck you voice.
If I didn't have those stupid feelings for his fat ass, I would have left in a heartbeat. No, I would have never been there in the first place. Yeah. Stan had looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.
I came back with the soda, and Cartman was vegging out on the couch, watching Terrance and Phillip. No surprise there. Plopping down on the couch beside him, I shoved the cold soda into his hands. "There you go, fat ass."
"Kyle, if you're going to insult me, at least come up with new material," he responded, snapping the soda open and downing it in a few gulps.
Sure, he wasn't fat now, but he still ate like a fat ass.
But I stayed silent.
I was instead staring at the way his stomach actually flattened out, the way his arms moved, the way he breathed. You know, the creepy things that stalkers do outside your window at night, when they think you aren't looking.
Apparently he noticed, because he stopped watching television to turn his head towards me slowly, as if sudden movements would provoke me or something. For a moment we just stared at each other in awkward silence. Then he rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something.
I leaned in and kissed him.
...
I knew Cartman was a homophobic fat ass, so hindsight being twenty-twenty, I should have expected it. Sure, he had put his dick in Butters' mouth, and he had put his mouth around Butters', but the honest fact of it was that Cartman was retarded. I wasn't lucky enough for him to be retarded that day, because he beat the crap out of me and kicked me out of the house, shouting different variations of "you faggot" as he slammed the door.
I should have expected it.
More so, I should have expected, by the time I dragged myself home, that Stan would be sitting on my front porch, hat in his hands like he was getting ready to ask Mary Jane's parents to take their daughter to the prom. When he saw me, he got flustered and stammered for words. Apparently Cartman had already been out to destroy my social life.
"Cartman told me -"
I walked past him.
The phone was ringing off the hook.
I ignored it.
There were more important things to tend to, like my black eye and bruised ribs.
But that kiss was worth it.
I could have sworn he kissed me back.
...
School was hell for weeks. Apparently it wasn't cool in good old South Park to kiss another dude. My parents, thankfully, didn't find out. It was the least my new school of tormentors could do for me. My brother was another situation entirely.
I couldn't tell if he was supportive, if he had known the whole time, or if he was just being himself around me.
Aside from torturing me with his suddenly alluring body, Cartman never talked to me. He talked about me, but mostly with words like "dick licker" and "faggot puss" attached. Kids refused to be my partner in class. Even Butters didn't talk to me. I was suddenly the most unpopular kid in high school. But I guess it was my fault.
One day at lunch, I got a note from Cartman.
He wanted me to meet him at the old Mill Pond. I wrote it off as a joke, and ignored him. The next day, there were dozens of frogs in my locker.
I don't remember Mr . Garrison getting this much hate when he came out.
...
I tried making one of my "I've learned something today" speeches the other day.
Butters did it for me.
Everyone applauded.
I wanted to shoot myself.
...
Things got better after a few weeks. Kids started talking to me. Stan stayed by me most of the time, unless it was uncool to do so. Kenny died twice and both times came back, laughed at me, and passed out. The first time he died was actually because he was laughing at me, tripped, and fell into a bear pit filled with vicious brown bears of indiscernible origin and agitation.
We don't know how it got there, either.
I aced my test in math, and everyone else bombed. Cartman claimed it was because the teacher was "fucking weak" but everything is fucking weak to him. Science class ended up being boring, since the shipment of dead frogs turned out to be live guinea pigs and Craig rounded them all up, stuffing them in the boy's bathroom and standing guard against anyone who wanted to dissect them. Tweek knocked over a hot plate in home economics, causing a fire and killing Kenny for the second time.
And Cartman started talking to me again.
In fact, that's probably him throwing rocks at my window right now, demanding that I dress in my "pretty Jew clothes" and cussing to the heavens.
He's crass, but he's mine.