Authors note: This is the first story in the Brother's Keeper arc.
Once Kyle accepted that you don't have to like a person to love them, his turmoil over Eric Cartman settled like a soda left out overnight. As far back as grade school he had had such terrible, conflicting feelings about the sociopathic asshole. He hated him, loathed him, but was drawn in any way to who Cartman was. There was some messed up part of him that kept returning to Cartman's side every fucking day.
Kyle speculated about his masochistic streak as they entered high school and his emotions developed into a crush. Well, something like a crush. Since their friendship was already atypical, referring to what Kyle felt as a crush was doing it injustice. He wanted to beat the shit out of Cartman until he was no longer able to make that damn smug smirk of his. When Cartman would launch into his racist or sexist tirades, he wanted to wrap his hands around that chubby neck until all words ceased forever.
Then there was the other side of Cartman, the side that made him cover his lap with a textbook or lay awake in the dead of night feeling feverish. Honestly, they were the same side. Somewhere along the way frustration had become sexual frustration and Kyle was feeling lost in the transformation.
He could tell himself that it was only adolescence working its vengeful black magic, but he knew better, knew it was Cartman. The charisma and intelligence most people longed to have mixed with the dangerous moral apathy and self-obsession creating a potent combination, Kyle's Kryptonite.
At sixteen, Kyle became a cutter. His self-revulsion over the lust for his enemy played a part, but it was impossible to discount the powerlessness of Kyle's entire life role. He was controlled by his fat domineering mother in a single-parent household, taunted regularly by upper classmen for his height, and incapable of getting his driver's license after a series of epileptic seizures. The only time he cried was when he bled and he needed the release as much as he needed the power over his body. It was like masturbating. Afterwards he had the ridged healing skin to run his fingers over to comfort himself.
In a town of perpetual snow, hiding the marks was not a challenge. His mother didn't notice, but she spared little time for Kyle or Ike now that their dad had moved out. As a lawyer, Gerald had made the divorce go smoothly and maintained as much parental right as he wanted. Unfortunately for his two sons, he hadn't wanted much since he was so preoccupied with his mid-life crisis. They spent every second or third weekend with him and since he acted so put out by it, they tried to just stay out of the way. Kyle would save up big school projects for these weekends if he could to keep his brain busy with things other than his own breaking heart.
It was Cartman who first noticed the cuts. He more than noticed them; he knew what they meant and cared.
They were at the mall. It was just the two of them since Stan had football practice and Kenny was dead for a while. The arcade in the mall was ridiculously overpriced, but they still played there on occasion. Kyle chose his games carefully not wanting to stimulate his newfound epilepsy, though it wasn't as easy to set off as most people thought. It actually didn't hinder Kyle too much since his favorite arcade game had always been the basketball hoops. Not only did he rock at them, but they gave tickets.
Cartman was holding a plastic gun and shooting angry aliens with intense concentration. Kyle liked moments when he was so distracted by something; it gave him time to really look at Cartman. He'd think just how basic Cartman's looks were. He was a pudgy brown-haired brown-eyed boy with a weak chin and perpetually chapped lips. His rosy cheeks were spotted with acne. If Kyle had only just met Cartman, he'd have used the word "average" or "plain."
"The air hockey table is free," Kyle said nonchalantly. He'd examined his crush for long enough.
"Shutup asshole!" snapped Cartman. Kyle glanced at the game. Just as he suspected, Cartman's character was totally screwed and it'd be game over in under thirty seconds. The aliens left slash marks and blood behind when they got a hit and the screen was coated. Cartman let out a yell as his character was lost under and alien dog-pile. He growled at the "game over" on the screen. Then, Cartman turned and glared at Kyle. "You just had to talk to me didn't you?"
Kyle waved a hand dismissively. "You were already fucked R-tard." He ignored Cartman's petulant protests. "Air hockey?"
"Yeah, whatever," Cartman agreed, still huffy from his game loss.
The two headed over to the air hockey table. Since it had been his idea, Kyle paid. While he put the money in, Cartman went back to the alien game and grabbed the soda bottle he'd left there in his tantrum. He took a swig of it before snatching up the air hockey paddle. "Prepare to die ginger dildo."
"Bring it fatass," replied Kyle rolling up his sleeves and grabbing a paddle. When he looked up at Cartman's eyes and where they were staring, he felt the mistake he'd made deep in his stomach. He quickly rolled the sleeves down, feeling the blood in his face move. He wasn't sure if his cheeks were turning red or white, but he could tell the color was changing.
He knew what a big deal it was, but was absolutely shocked when Cartman charged around the side of the hockey table towards him. A rough hand grabbed his upper arm. Cartman looked seriously pissed off as he jerked Kyle's sleeve upwards. Kyle felt afraid. He was afraid of the consequences of his actions being revealed and also of the anger resonating off Cartman. He was a big guy that towered over Kyle's measly 5'3".
"What the fuck is this Kyle?" demanded Cartman. His eyes were forcing contact with Kyle's, only Kyle didn't want to meet his gaze. This unnatural self-violence that had pleased him and given him some sense of pride now shamed him. He stared down at the ugly multi-colored floor. Cartman shook the arm in his grasp. "I said, 'What the fuck is this?'"
Kyle was intimidated, but he didn't have an answer. Wasn't it obvious what they were? Roughly, Cartman grabbed his other arm and rolled up that sleeve. "Jesus Christ," he said examining the depth and severity of the wounds. Some were months old, others still fresh and vulnerable to re-opening.
When Cartman ran a thumb over the particularly deep one on his left wrist, Kyle shivered and bit down on his lip. He closed his eyes feeling a bit of a sting. Oh man, he couldn't cry here at an arcade, especially not in front of Cartman.
He tugged his arm out of Cartman's grasp. Pushing down any tear-related emotions, he looked Cartman straight in the eye and asked, "What do they look like?" with as much chill as he could.
Even with the evilest glare that Kyle could muster, Cartman didn't look away. Maybe he'd seen that look too many times before and built up an immunity, thought it was more likely that Cartman just wasn't the type to be cowed by anyone.
It was Kyle who looked away first, fixing his sleeves and glancing about to see if the incident had been witnessed. No one cared. They were too immersed in various noise for the senses: blinking lights, beeping games, and vibrating controllers or steering wheels.
In a secret place buried down deep Kyle had hoped his mother or father would notice. He'd been hoping that they'd love him enough to see what he'd been doing to himself, to see what they had been doing to him. Instead, it was Cartman, a guy who totally hated that had taken enough interest to see. That hurt, but everything seemed to these days.
"How long?" asked Cartman. His voice then reminded Kyle of his "the Dawg" phase.
Kyle shrugged. He knew that answer wouldn't be enough. Still, Cartman was quiet for a bit. "Since your dad moved?
Holy fucking shit, though Kyle. There was just no way that Cartman would know that. It was too unbelievable that Cartman could pay enough attention to someone else's life to piece that together. As soon as he felt himself nod, Kyle started to tremble a bit from the emotional flood.
His hand was snatched up. Cartman led him through the arcade to the back where the retro games were kept. They formed a U with the opening facing the manager's office. It created an isolated area since the old games weren't very popular. Though Cartman was technically holding his hand, it felt way more like a yank and didn't feel sentimental even to Kyle's infatuated brain.
When they were alone, Cartman faced Kyle towards him. Kyle was still looking down and was surprised for the thousandth time in five minutes when Cartman's pudgy hand took hold of his chin and jerked it up.
Kyle looked up into Cartman's blazing chocolate-colored eyes. He felt a stirring in his heart and stomach and pants. For a split second he had thought that Cartman might kiss him, but he knew seconds later that Cartman was just wanting Kyle to pay attention to his next words.
"Listen Kyle… yes, it sucks that it's just you with your goddamn bitch mom, but this…" he removed the hand from Kyle's chin and instead grabbed Kyle's left wrist. "This stops…now, forever."
A choked noise came out of Kyle. He didn't know why his enemy cared, but someone fucking did and that was enough. Cartman didn't want him to hurt himself. When a tear rolled down from his eye, Kyle used his free hand to wipe it away. "This ends. Do you understand?"
With a sniffle, Kyle nodded. Then, when Cartman didn't look convinced, he said, "I understand."
"Good," said Cartman. He released his physical hold on Kyle. The emotional hold, however, tightened.
It was there among the beeping machines with saline cheeks that Kyle finally accepted his feelings. He didn't like Cartman, but for some inexplicable reason, he loved him. The confusion of the last five or so years died away and the puzzle of his affections solved itself. He didn't have to like Cartman to love him and that was all right.