A/N: Today is the 15 year anniversary of when I joined this site, and to celebrate I've got a new story! (Also, shit I'm getting old.) Around that same time I first joined, way back in 2003 when there were barely any Kyle/Cartman stories even out there, I got my first initial plot bunny for this story. I never did anything with it then, but the idea stayed in my head. Over the years, other ideas for this story would pop up, and eventually I decided to finally do something with it. This story as a whole is still a work in progress, but I'm excited to bring you the first chapter!
Chapter 1
"I know you're in here somewhere, asswipe!"
Hangers go flying as I hurl every item in my sight across the room. I don't have time for this shit. Where the fuck is it?!
Stepping out of the depths of my now empty closet, I move back to the dresser that I already went through ten minutes ago. I frenziedly sift through its contents to see if I missed anything.
This is fucking hopeless.
"Mom!"
Silence.
"Meeeeem! Get the fuck in here already!"
"Coming, hon!"
Stuffing clumps of t-shirts back into the drawers, I turn around from my dresser as my mom pokes her head in the doorway. She glances wearily at the pile of junk in the middle of the room, but she knows better than to say anything about it.
"Where's my green t-shirt? I was gonna wear it today." I have to wear it; it makes me look super buff. It's my favorite fucking t-shirt, and it's the only thing that'll help me feel comfortable enough to get through this day.
"Sorry, poopsykins! I haven't had a chance to do laundry yet."
"What the fuck, Mom? I gave it to you two days ago and specifically told you that I needed it TODAY!" I scream at her. "Now I'm gonna have to start high school looking like a fucking chode! Is that what you want? A CHODE FOR A SON?"
"No, sweetie, I'd never want that. I'm sorry about the laundry. Is there another shirt you could wear instead?"
"I doubt it."
I end up choosing a brown shirt that fits tightly against my stomach and rides up when I raise my arms. Goddammit, the green shirt wouldn't have pulled that bullshit. I'll just wear my jacket all day.
"Sup broship, long time no see," I say to Kyle as I make my way toward the bus stop, settling into my usual spot before the other guys get here.
"Hey Cartman. How was Nebraska?" he asks, looming a good half a foot over me without a care in the world. I have to crane my neck up to talk to him, and I despise it with every fiber in my being.
Stupid asshole with his stupid growth spurts. I'll show him when I'm six foot seven...whenever that happens. Which'll be very soon, I'm sure. Any day now.
"As usual it sucked ass, but at least I didn't have to hang around a bunch of Jews all summer. Speaking of which, how was concentration camp?"
"Goddammit fatass, it was a Jewish summer camp!"
"You know what my favorite Jewish camp was? Auschwitz."
"Ugh, you've unbelievable. Can't we even get halfway through the day without you belittling my people?"
I can see the anger brewing inside of him, and it thrills me. Pushing his buttons is my favorite pastime, and it's been a while since I've been able to do it. "Wish I could do that, but you just make it way too easy for me, Kahl," I answer with a grin.
A rather unattractive cafeteria lady brings out a fresh, piping-hot tray of pepperoni pizza, my mouth watering at the sight. God, I'm so fucking hungry.
Thank Christ they're serving my favorite lunch today, pizza and fries. The schools do this every year—butter the students up initially with the good shit, then in a matter of days they'll be back to serving government-grade meat and brown, limp vegetables. Fucking disgusting, but at least the desserts are usually okay.
Once I'm at the front of the line, the cafeteria lady holds up my tray, instead dumping some sort of retarded cousin of Salisbury steak on it. She slops on some mashed potatoes, with what I'm guessing is gravy on top, but it definitely looks more like donkey semen. Not that I'd know what that looks like or anything.
"Here," the cafeteria lady grunts as she forces this abomination into my hands.
"Um yeah, no. I'll have the pizza."
"No pizza for you," she replies, refusing to take the tray back.
"Hey!" I scowl at her, ready to throw this tray in her fucking ugly face. "I know you've got pizza there. You just brought it out. Why the fuck are you trying to give me this garbage?" My food is less attractive than vomit. Fuck, I'd eat a full plate of mee krob over this, any day.
"Because you're an asshole."
"Fuck you! You don't know me. I'm not an asshole."
"Yes, you are. Everybody knows it."
"Yeah, well, you're a hairnet-wearing twat," I grumble as I snatch two pudding cups and exit the lunch line. Way to ruin the best time of the school day, bitch. Just wait till I get her fired, make her unemployable anywhere else, get her husband to hang himself…that'll show her not to mess with me.
I spot the guys at a small table in the center of the cafeteria. Stan, Kenny, and Butters are sitting on one side, so I sit beside the Jew, plopping my tray on the table as I slide in.
"This day is such a fucking joke," I declare, eyeing Kyle's tray of pizza and fries with envy. Of course he'd get a normal lunch, such bullshit. When he's not looking, I'm totally stealing a fry or seven…
"You got that right!" Butters agrees. "Me and Stan had our last class together, and all we did was go through the syllabus. It was six pages long!"
"It was pretty fucking terrible. I thought I was gonna die of boredom," Stan says.
"Trust me, that's no fun when it actually happens," Kenny says.
"Dude, just sleep through the bullshit classes," I say. "That's what I do. Nothing more refreshing than a mid-day power nap."
"Second that," Kenny adds, his messy hair suggesting he woke up from a nap only a few minutes prior.
"You guys shouldn't make a habit of sleeping in class. Today might be an easy day, but it won't last," Kyle scolds like the goody-goody nag he can be. I roll my eyes. Fucking typical.
"Hey Kahl, do you need a private moment?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"You know, to get it out."
"Get what out?"
"The stick out of your ass. It must be incredibly uncomfortable stuck all the way up there."
"Oh, fuck you."
"Don't forget to get the sand out of your vagina while you're at it," I finish with a chuckle.
"I don't have sand in my vagina, asshole," he seethes, trying unsuccessfully to keep his cool. Hah, this is so much fun.
"Really Kahl? 'Cause you're getting all worked up like someone who has sand in their vagina would. Still pissed off about having to go to concentration camp this summer?"
"That's it!" With an angry yell, he shoves me out of my chair, my back slamming hard against the linoleum. We roll around on the cafeteria floor and fight for dominance, knocking into other tables and chairs and people in the process. I don't give a fuck—all I care about right now is showing this fucker that I'm the one in control.
"Fuck him up, Eric!" Butters shouts.
"Ow!" I yelp as Kyle kicks me hard in the shins with his fucking clown feet. While I'm distracted, he rolls on top of me and pins me to the floor, his body pressed firmly against mine. I try to punch him in the face, but he grabs both of my wrists, blocking me from being able to move.
A hushed silence comes over the room, save for the sound of our ragged, angry breaths. I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point during the fight Kyle's trademark orange jacket came off, revealing only a thin, white wife beater underneath. His eyebrows furrow as the green eyes beneath stare at me intensely, his head seemingly inching closer and closer with every moment.
"You've got something on your face," he whispers.
"What?"
Suddenly, there's no space between us as Kyle lunges forward, capturing my mouth with his own. I grunt in disapproval, but he holds me firmly in place, his grip surprisingly strong. I'm now at his mercy, and holy shit, the rush of it is a million times more intense than anything I've experienced before. It feels like I'm being struck by lightning, electricity shooting through my body in all directions.
I surrender to the feeling, eagerly wrestling my tongue against his, my pulse (and other things) rising with every second, craving more and more like a goddamn heroin addict. I tear my right arm from his grasp, grabbing the back of his head and yanking his hair roughly. He moans loudly against my mouth in response, the vibration tickling my lips.
What was I doing before this? What day is it again? Oh yeah, I'm at school. People are around watching us, but I don't give a solitary fuck. This is too awesome to stop.
The bell goes off in the background. Is it already the end of lunch? I feel like I just got here. And why does the bell sound like the alarm on my phone? I think this isn't real.
I open my eyes, the world bleary and unfocused. With a grunt I turn over in my bed and press the snooze button on my phone, drowsiness quickly taking back over. Not ready to wake up yet…
I end up pressing snooze a few too many times, and eventually, my mom opens the door, filling my room with unwelcome light. "Hey hon, you should really be getting up now. You don't want to be late."
"For what?" I ask with both eyes closed, groggy beyond belief, still used to my daily routine of waking up at noon.
"For school, silly."
My eyes snap open at that. Oh yeah, goddammit. For a few blissful seconds I forgot. But it's not like I care anyway.
"Whatever, I'm getting up." I finally move to sit upright in my bed, stretching my arms over my head and yawning loudly. Fuck, I forgot how much I hate mornings. I feel like dog shit right now.
"You ready for today?"
"Eh, I don't really give a rat's ass. This day can go fuck itself."
Of course, my comment doesn't stop her from running over and wrapping her arms around me tightly. "Mommy's so proud of you, Eric. You're really growing up," she says after a moment, her eyes glassy.
I roll my eyes, shrugging myself out of her grasp. What's there to be proud of? "It's not a big deal, Mom. It's just high school. Same shit, different building."
After my mom finally leaves me to get ready, I walk over to my desk chair, grabbing the green shirt I draped over it last night. I just did that so I could get ready in a hurry, not that I wanted to plan out what I'm wearing or anything. It's my favorite shirt, but that's like, whatever. I'm seriously about what I said to my mom. I really don't give a fuck about today. I'm just annoyed that I have to start getting up early again. Alarms suck ass.
And they always seem to cut off my dreams. I feel like I was having an interesting one before I first woke up, but I was so out of it I can't remember what it was about at all. Whatever, it was probably lame anyway.
I close my front door and walk outside to meet the guys at the bus stop. An uncomfortable, twisting feeling settles in my stomach, probably because I ate my breakfast too fast. It's not like it's nerves or anything—that'd be hella stupid.I know high school's gonna be the same old bullshit. What's there to be nervous about?
Stan, Kyle, and Kenny are already standing there as I approach the bus stop. Kyle is at the end of the row, untamed ginger curls jutting out the sides of his too-small green hat that he refuses to give up wearing. Christ, he's such a hopeless dork. I walk up and stand beside him, annoyed that he is once again the taller one, this time only by an inch.
Kyle towered a miserable six inches over me for most of middle school, a horrible experience that I never want to relive. I still don't get how he was able to shoot up in height so quickly, but I'm guessing it involves some sort of Jew magic. He did always want to be on the basketball team, so it makes perfect sense.
I finally started catching up to him earlier this year, and by spring, I was actually taller than him. Naturally, I was rubbing it in his face non-stop, and it was the greatest thing in the world. Of course, the asshole had to grow another a couple of inches over the summer, because he always feels the need to one up me. Fucking asshole. At least I can grow facial hair.
I feel the contempt bubbling up inside, but I ignore it. "Sup dudes."
"Hey Cartman. Don't tell me you're still pissed off," Kyle says, somehow able to immediately pick up on my agitation. I don't know how he does that shit, but I can't stand it.
"What?"
"You totally lost your shit the other day. Don't even deny it."
"It's true, dude," Stan says.
Oh God, they have to bring that up? I was just in a bad mood that day. Anyone would be if they had just gotten back from two excruciating weeks in Nebraska like I had. Plus, Kyle was being a distracting dickhole the whole time with his stupid fucking height and other bullshit, and he majorly fucked up my game. It was annoying because I'm usually super awesome at basketball.
"You guys are full of shit."
"You deflated the ball," Kyle says.
"Whatever, you're just saying that because you were cheating, as always."
"Cheating by being better than you?"
"Oh, fuck you."
"You owe me a new ball, Cartman."
"Pssht, never gonna happen. Are you really too cheap to get one yourself?"
"It's not about being cheap, Cartman—it's the principle of the thing."
"You are super fucking cheap though."
Kyle rolls his eyes because he knows I'm right. "I'm not cheap, I'm frugal. There's a difference."
"It's okay, Kahl. You can't help it, it's in your blood," I say, smug grin plastered on my face.
"At least I can play a game of basketball without throwing a total bitch fit."
It's just another one of our inane arguments, but as usual I can feel my heart rate rising, heat prickling my face, my fingers twitching as they automatically curl into fists at my side. God, he's such a fucking asshole. He knows how to push my buttons like no one else.
"You want your ass kicked first thing in the morning, Jew?"
"Ha, I'd like to see you try, fatass."
Stan sighs, moving over to stand between us as a barrier. "Come on, guys. It's too early for this shit."
"Oh, thank fuck," Kenny says as the school bus turns onto our street.
"Glad to see you've matured so much over the summer," Kyle says, a snide expression on his face as the bus pulls up to the curb.
"Now Kahl, did you really expect anything different from me?"
"No, not really," he replies with a sigh.
I walk down the aisle in search of a seat when a familiar voice greets me. "Hey Eric! Good to see you again!" Butters says as I plop down beside him.
"Hey douchebag."
I'd never tell Butters this, but for the past couple of months while he was visiting his aunt in Los Angeles, I actually kind of missed the little shit stain. But that's mainly because of how bored I was.
I'm seriously, this was one of the lamest summers I've ever had. First, I found out my favorite lackey wasn't going to be here the entire time. Next, Kyle announced that he was gay. Okay, not literally, but he did say he was spending the summer being a camp counselor, and how gay is that?
Two days after school let out, Kyle went out of state to a Jewish summer camp because he loves being a stereotype (as much as he tries to deny it), and was gone the majority of the summer.
It was like a domino effect. Barely anyone was even in town, and if they were, they were busy. Stan got back together with Wendy last spring, so naturally he was up her twat all summer. Kenny, I'm sure, was up many twats and also working 14-hour shifts at City Wok for slave wages. Everyone else was on vacation somewhere or constantly busy. Kenny was the only one I hung out with on my birthday since no one else could be bothered to show up. Fucking dicks.
Not saying I missed Kyle or anything (because I definitely didn't), but clearly he's the glue that's holding our fractured group together. Without him around, constantly nagging everyone to do shit together, everyone ends up just fucking off and doing their own thing. Like who gives a shit that we've been friends our whole lives? It just works better when Kyle's here…even though he's a total douche nozzle and he annoys the shit out of me most of the time.
Of course, the worst part of the summer was when my mom forced me into going to Nebraska for two miserable weeks, and by the time I got back, school was already about to start again. It was super fucking Lame. With a capital fucking L because it was just that bad.
"How was your summer?"
"Fucking awesome. Best summer ever. How was California?"
"It was great! I swear LA is getting grosser every day, though. I saw some guy peeing on the walk of fame. In the middle of the day! His wiener was out and everything!"
"That's great, Butters. I know how much you like to ogle guys' wieners."
"I didn't mean to look at it. He just whipped it out!"
"Yeah, sure," I say, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.
"Well, I'm just glad to be back home now. LA is great, but it can be too much after a while." Butters twiddles his thumbs, eventually shoving them in his pockets as he stares out the window. "So…do you think it's gonna be different?"
"Huh?"
"High school. Isn't this the point where everything is supposed to change?"
"Butters, you're being fucking stupid. How different can it really be? We're sitting here riding the same bus as always, with the same asshole classmates as always, in the same shitty mountain town as always. And Butters, you are just as lame as you've always been. Nothing has changed, dipshit, and nothing will change."
"Well, all right then."
Some people act like high school is supposed to be some huge, life-changing experience, but seriously, those people are retards.
I'm seriously, this has GOT to be the most boring first day of school ever. My classes so far are shitty and pointless (like Geometry—how is that even useful?) I was right about nothing really being different, save for the new school building and a few upperclassmen. It feels more like a long, weird episode of déjà vu. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it's like I've already done this whole day before.
"Hey Eric!" Butters greets me brightly as I walk over to the table where everybody else is sitting.
"Hey fag," I reply and turn to the others—Stan, Kyle, and Kenny—as I slide into my seat, "other fags." An odd feeling of relief washes over me as I take a bite of my pizza. For some reason, I was worried they weren't serving it today, even though they always have pizza on the first day of school. Craig probably said something about it in gym class. He's such an asshole.
"We were just talking about boobs!"
"Butters, keep it down!" Stan scolds him, elbowing him in the ribcage. He glances over to a table a couple of rows down to make sure his bitch of a girlfriend (I'm seriously, Wendy Testaburger is the biggest bitch in school) didn't hear anything. What a pussy. I don't know why he gives a fuck; she's just going to break up with him in a couple of months anyway. It's what always happens.
"Ow! Well we were," Butters says more quietly, rubbing his side.
"Sweet, one of my favorite topics," I automatically reply. We've had this conversation every other week since middle school—who's got the best tits, best ass, who's the hottest, whether it be celebrities, the chicks at our school or even the teachers—and it's getting fucking old. The guys are always so hyped up to talk about this shit. Titties are all the same to me. I really don't give a fuck, but no one needs to know that. They might take it the wrong way, even though it actually means nothing at all.
Honestly though, I wouldn't touch any of the girls in our class with a ten-foot pole. They may act like it's the other way around, but seriously, I'm way too good for any of those bitches. They're high-maintenance, they can't be trusted, and none of them are even remotely funny, which is really the worst offense.
My eyes scan the room and fall on one unfunny girl in particular. Heidi Turner flips a piece of mousy brown hair off her shoulder, talking animatedly to the rest of her group, most likely gossiping like the two-faced bitch she is. I don't even like to speak her name out loud because she's dead to me. She made me think there was something real between us once, but it was all a lie. But that's what girls do best: pull you in, put their spell on you and then anal rape your soul until it's a deep cavern of nothingness. It's not worth it to me.
"All I can say is the late bloomers were definitely worth waiting for," Kenny says, his eyes trailing over some of the girls a few tables over. "I mean, shit, Millie Larsen must've gone up two cup sizes over the summer."
"Damn, dude!" I say, making a quick glance over at Millie but not bothering to pay attention. I'm sure her tits are fine, whatever. "Solid tens on her."
"Seriously guys, she sat beside me in my first class, and I couldn't take my eyes off her," Kenny says. "I dropped my pencil at one point, and she leaned over and picked it up for me."
"Nice, how was the view?" Stan says.
"Awesome…"
"Oh, come on…" Kyle starts, rolling his eyes.
"Goddammit Kyle, you're such a wet blanket," I pipe in, saying what everyone I'm sure is thinking. "Or should I say, a dry vagina."
"Fuck off."
"What's the matter, Kahl? Titties aren't your thing?"
"I didn't say that," Kyle scoffs. "It just seems kind of messed up to be objectifying the girls like this. Aren't we more mature than that?"
"Nope."
"Of course not."
"No fucking way!"
"Well, gosh no. Sorry, Kyle."
Kyle sighs at our answers, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Dude, it's okay." I say comfortingly, patting his shoulder for support.
He immediately shrugs my hand off. "Don't start."
"It's okay to be gay, man. So you can go ahead and come on out of that closet; no one's judging. Deep down you're a beautiful unicorn, and it's time to set that unicorn free!"
"Goddammit, Cartman! You really haven't grown out of the gay jokes yet?"
"I call 'em as I see 'em, Kahl."
"Well I do too, and I say you're an idiot, not that anyone's learning anything new there. And for the million and first time, you know that I'm not gay. In case you forgot, I had a g—"
"You had a girlfriend over the summer, yeah yeah…" Old news, don't care. Didn't really care in the first place. Apparently he had some kind of summer fling with one of the other counselors at Jew camp, some chick from Florida or Rhode Island or something. Sounds lame if you ask me. "So, how are things with Anne since she dumped your ass?"
"Her name isn't Anne, fatass; you already know that."
"Wait, so you—"
"No, I wasn't dating Anne Frank."
"And you weren't—"
"And I didn't go to concentration camp, for the last fucking time! It was a Jewish summer camp! You've been making the same joke since last May. For fuck's sake, find some new material already. I'm sick of it." Then he gives me this weird look, his eyes squinted as he leans forward to study me. "You have something on your face, pigfucker."
My heart suddenly starts racing, my palms sweaty…and I have no idea why. Where have I heard him say that before? Why does this all feel so familiar?
"You've got something on your face."
"What?"
My whole body jerks forward as I cough violently, immediately revolted by the disturbing memory of my dream last night. What the fuck is wrong with my brain? Why would it do that to me?!
"Oh shit, I think he's choking!" Butters says, and Kenny jumps into action, wrapping his arms around me and performing the Heimlich maneuver.
A piece of partially digested pizza flies out of my throat and into Kyle's drink. "Aw, sick," he says, eyeing it with disgust and pushing it away from him. "Next time chew before you swallow, fatass."
I stumble out of my seat, flipping Kyle off and ignoring questions from the guys, and race out of the cafeteria as fast as I can. I don't know my way around the building yet, so I wander the halls frantically until I find the boys' restroom. No one is in there when I enter. I want to keep it that way, so I lock the door behind me.
I go to one of the sinks and glance into the mirror, instantly noticing the red speck of marinara sauce on my left cheek. I sigh as I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face.
The memory of the dream feels so real; that's the worst part. I remember the feeling of Kyle's bony fingers clutching onto me for dear life as he shoved his tongue down my esophagus. The question is: why would I dream about that? That is not something I want—not now, not ever.
Number one: I'm 100% straight. No doubt about it.
Especially number one: Kyle's a disgusting Jew. There's no telling how many Hebrew diseases he has lurking in that mouth of his. I want to choke up the rest of my lunch just thinking about it.
Suddenly, the door handle twists and loud banging follows. "What the fuck? Who locked the door?" a voice yells. They twist the handle again, trying fruitlessly to get into the locked bathroom.
You know, Kyle was the one to hold me down in the dream. From what I remember, I was resisting it the entire time. It's clearly not something I enjoyed. Plus, I didn't even remember the dream until halfway through the day, so obviously it wasn't important.
Yeah, it's just a stupid dream. Doesn't mean anything at all. Anyone else just as disturbing could've been in Kyle's place—Mr. Garrison, my mom, a swarm of hippies—the wires in my brain just got fucked up a little while I was sleeping. No big deal.
I'm sure it'll never happen again.