It was sunny that day. A little chilly, however, with the sun hiding behind a moderate amount of clouds. For the Coloradians, used to the sudden temperature drop, jackets were the typical clothes trend of the nearing winter season, it being mid-November and all.
Today, though, was different. Today, he was going to end it all, make a difference, change the one-track life he was living, the same sort of life he'd been living for almost two years now. He was sick and tired and through with the way things were and he planned on change. That change came today.
He brought a gun to school—recipe for disaster.
Gripped tightly at his side, securely placed on safety inside his deep jacket pocket, he walked into school with as much confidence as he could muster. He was ready today. He wasn't going to back down. Not after all the crap he's gone through the last year and a half.
You must be wondering why he'd bother going through all of this trouble, why he bothered bringing such a dangerously, deadly weapon to school. You're probably going towards the obvious choice: bullies; but that's not it at all.
It's for love.
To explain, go back to freshman year. (To add, he was, at the time, a junior in High School). Freshman year was when he met him: Kyle Broflovski. He thought it was love at first sight. He met him through their friend and never could get enough of him since. They always, he remembered, walked from second period Spanish portable together until they split ways to their next classes. It was a daily routine that he grew to enjoy very much.
He was intrigued. Kyle was simple, yet intricate, smart, yet clumsy, gorgeous, yet average. He was perfect, in his chocolate brown eyes. And what was he, he would ask himself? Large, ugly at best, with large, chubby hands. What would he ever be to him? But, oh, he would try.
He asked him out that year.
He rejected him and that cracked his heart more than anything metaphorical chisel ever could. Kyle had a boy already; taken, smitten with his own—with a boy he claimed he was in love with and would do anything for, a boy he was obsessed with. But, you see, he couldn't accept that. Honestly, he had never met this boy and knew hardly anything about him, but Kyle was special and whoever this boy was, was simply not deserving of him.
Day after day, he tried and tried to convince Kyle that this boy wasn't good enough for him and that he was his true soul mate, that he would do anything for him, cherish him like he deserved to be cherished, love him like he deserved to be loved.
But he refused and slowly, but surely, he began to hate him. He caught the signs, for sure, but he kept pushing. He was desperate. When he realized that nothing would get him away from him, he began openly insulting him. "He's nothing! He'll hurt you! He hates you!" What he failed to realize was that if there was one thing you never did was insult the ones he loved. He gave him three chances and, easily, he broke them all.
Kyle hated him.
The thing with Kyle that he quickly learned was that when he hated someone, he changed. He not only strongly disliked him—he outright hated him. No more sweet conversations between second period to third period, no more adorable smile thrown in his direction, no more shining green eyes gleaming at his. Nothing. Just an empty, cold, mist that blew right through him and chilled his every bone. And it scared him. It scared him because he knew he had messed up.
Sophomore year, they stopped associating altogether.
They had a class together, but no matter how he tried, he outwardly ignored his presence. He would occasionally message him or try to corner him in the hallway, but Kyle paid him no mind. In fact, if anything, his attempts only made him hate him more. He began to hate him to a point that he figured out it would only pain him more if he showed no emotions towards him whatsoever. He looked past him when glancing in his direction, continued talking to whoever he was conversating with whenever he offered words at him, and brushed by him as if his physical form was nothing.
In his eyes, he didn't exist.
Kyle had figured out what was worse than hating him: feeling nothing towards him at all. Hating him meant exerting energy to actually think about him, which seemed to give him hope to keep trying, so he changed tactics altogether. So he began to think nothing of him. He was nonexistent and he never popped back into his thoughts.
It killed him inside.
That's where he was at with the gun, Junior year of High school, the beginning of the second semester, a whole year and a half of feeling like nothing because of him. He was done. He was ready to end it.
The lunches were split into A lunch and B lunch. He had A lunch and no classes with him, Kyle being an AP and honors student, while he had B lunch. He skipped to B lunch that day. Kyle's back was turned to him as he sat next to the full table of students, chatting away with a smile on his face—the same smile that he refused to direct towards him for so long. Well, not any more.
He needed more space. His adrenaline was running through every vein in his body, causing his mind to pull blanks. Nobody had any idea of what was about to go down, just him. Without anymore hesitation, he strolled up behind him and grabbed him by the hood of his jacket.
"What the hell?" he half-laughed, expecting it to be someone more appealing to him. Upon seeing him, his smile quickly vanished into a scowl. He shut his mouth before turning around. Without waiting for anymore time of being ignored, he roughly grabbed him by the arm and literately half-dragged him out into the open center of the school. Most of the kids that usually sat around there were sitting in the library today for the insulation. The kids he was sitting with all turned their attention towards the two now in the open courtyard. He shoved him forward and he stumbled onto his butt, glaring fiercely up at him.
Oh, did that send him chills. He intimidated him.
The other students around them watched with mild interest as a couple of his supporting friends started to rise to question the situation. They knew by the look on both of their faces that something wasn't right.
"Hey, dude, what the—" The friend that had began to speak as he neared them choked on his words.
He took out the gun and pointed it right at Kyle's head. He blinked up at him with those beautiful green eyes of his that he found himself getting lost in again. He quickly shook himself back to reality and tightened his grip. Kyle merely stared at him, studying him. A look of fear, he undoubtly caught, flashed over Kyle's face—and that inspired him to go on. The fact that he finally had the power over him was just what he had ultimately been wishing for.
Everyone froze.
Kyle's friends vaguely wondered, as they glanced nervously around, where the deans that hovered over them every day were. Where were the cops that joked closely by at? It seemed as if it was just these enemies here, defenseless, the world oblivious to their situation. Nobody knew what to do.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kyle finally, calmly, spoke. "What the hell are you doing?" he chuckled, forcing himself to do so. "Seriously, is that a squirt gun? Are you that stupid you couldn't even grab a real gun?"
"It's real," he assured him with an even voice.
Kyle narrowed his eyes and scrutinized him in a way he was uncertain whether or not he liked. But his heart lit up. He was looking at him, talking to him. For the moment, to Kyle, he existed.
Kyle sighed and stood up. His hands were shaking, but he shoved them into his pockets to play with the strings inside. He took his sweet time before speaking again.
"Anyway, so what if it is?" he asked, raising a cocky eyebrow at him. It was eerie how calm he was. The crowd watched, nonexistent to them, silenced and perplexed by the rare situation. "Not like you plan on doing anything with it anyway. You're an idiot, you know that?" he spat out harshly. "What did you possibly think you were going to do with that?"
He stared at him, finger twitching over the trigger. The gun was aimed at him. It couldn't miss at this angle. It was centered at the perfect shot. But he made a mistake—he allowed Kyle to speak.
When he got no answer, a sick smirk suddenly grew on Kyle's face. "Oh—oh, I get it." He was nervous. "You love me, right? It's what you've been saying for years. So, let me guess, you finally snapped and decided you've had enough, right?" The look on his face was enough of an answer for him. He laughed, loudly, harshly, forced from his fear that he refused to let show.
Kyle took a gutsy step towards him, but he did nothing but watch him. "You love me," he spoke loudly, as if speaking to the audience, as if trying to convince himself this situation was really happening, "and you figure that since you can't have me, no one can. How stupidly cliché." He rolled his eyes, taking a couple more steps towards him until his head was centimeters from the barrel of the gun.
There, he stopped, staring at him with his hands at his sides, smirk plastered on his face. "Do it, Cartman," he dared. "Shoot me. Kill me off. You want me all to yourself, right? You won't be able to get me to love you, but, who cares? I'll be dead and then you won't have to worry about it anymore, right? That's the right way to do it, right?" With each question, his voice threatened to crack even more.
"I…," Cartman hesitated, snapping back the safety of the gun.
Kyle smiled sweetly at him and, for a moment, Cartman got lost in the memories of Freshman year. "You love me, don't you? Then do it. Shoot me, Cartman." He shut his eyes and waited.
But nothing came. He opened his eyes and looked up at him. Cartman was shaking, badly. Nothing made sense to him any more. He growled and stumbled backwards as if something had suddenly possessed him.
"Drop the gun and back away from the girl!" There were the cops, a little late, Kyle's friends thought grimly. The two ignored them, for the most part. They were staring at each other. Evenly, nonchalantly, thoughtless.
"You didn't do it," Kyle said softly.
Cartman was crying now. He shook his head and smiled at him, taking a step forward. The cops aimed their guns, preparing for the worst. "No, I love you, Kyle, with all my heart."
Kyle kept up his smile, before dropping it at his statement and looking past him. His heart panged. There was nothing left. He spoke past him just as he had done so many times before. "You never did learn, did you? You're still an idiot. You're a wimp. You never actually had the guts to shoot me. See, I've always been the smarter one. You've threatened me before, and I was more than ready to handle it, but you've always wimped out. I would never act out first because, don't you get it?—I'm smart. I realized I never had to actually do anything." With that, he spun on his heel, Cartman's gun still pointed towards his head. "You're not going to shoot me." With that, he pushed through the crowd, off towards the office where he knew the staff would be waiting for him to be questioned and comforted.
Cartman smiled after him and lifted the gun to his own head. The cops were rushing towards him now. "I love you, Kyle." With that, the sound of the gun resonating through his skull only mirrored the sound of his breaking heart as Kyle walked away with a smile on his face.