A/N: I don't own anything other than the plot.
I actually got off of my lazy butt and edited the story again..It might not be on hiatus anymore! (yahoo)
1-Buffet in Heaven
My hand trembles as I dial his number into my cell phone.
Why do I even try? I can't call him! He'll have more of an advantage over me than he already does. He's nothing more than an egotistical brute that wants nothing more than my pain.
And I love him for it.
Shivering, I drop my phone into my wool jacket pocket. To hell with that. I'm not calling him. I can't give him that satisfaction. I can't let him win.
As I walk down the road, I notice there is no one to be seen. It's as if I was alone, and South Park was my own little world, where I'm left alone to think about my sworn enemy. Whom I happen to love.
I break down in front of the rhinoplasty office and start to sob. I just can't take it anymore! Being in love with that fat bastard is a curse. He was put on earth to make it my own personal hell. Just thinking about him makes my heart race. I want to feel the softness of his brown hair, his deep brown eyes piercing mine's. I just want him. I just want him to be mine.
"What the fuck, Jew? Are you...crying?"
Speak of the devil.
Speak of the fucking devil.
I look up and see him in all his glory. He's wearing dark blue jeans that complement his slightly chunky figure. He also put on his signature oversized red jacket. I notice he has his favourite yellow puffball hat on. It's slightly shifted off his head and I see some of his bronze hair sticking out. I feel the urge to run my fingers through it and look away.
After a couple awkward minutes have passed I remember he had asked me a question. Okay Kyle, I think to myself. He wants you to make a fool of yourself. Don't give him the pride he so desperately wants.
"N-n-no." I say, shakily wiping snot of my face with my sleeve.
No? Seriously Kyle? So fucking witty.
My brunet haired enemy just smirks at my jittery response.
"Are you sure Kahl?" He says. I just don't get it. When he used to say my name like that I only felt annoyance. Now there's something that wasn't there before. Butterflies.
"'Cause there are tears running down your face and everything." He continues, obviously pleased with himself for making me so nervous.
That dumbass.
If only he knew.
"Kahl?" He lowers his self to my level so he can see my face. His eyes are too much. I can't take it. "Kahl, you look a little sick." His voice gets a little higher, and if I'm not mistaken an actual look of concern is spread across his face.
"Kahl? Kahl! Can you hear me?" He's yelling at me now. The intensity of his glare was too much; my eyelids are closing and my heartbeat is finally slowing down.
I'm awakened by the smell of bacon.
It's an unusual smell since at my home we only eat kosher foods. This can mean only two things.
One, I'm just in time for breakfast at a stranger's house. Two, I've died and there's a buffet in heaven.
I quickly open my eyes and take in my surroundings.
The walls are painted a dark purple. There is a blue 'Cow Days' banner pinned on the wall. On the opposite side there is a red banner with 'CARTMAN' printed on it. There is also a poster of Mel Gibson hanging over the bed.
I cannot believe it. The fatass carried me to his house.
Why would he help me?
It is totally unlike Cartman to help anyone, never mind a "snotty nose Jew rat" like me. Not to mention that his house is a good seven blocks away from the rhinoplasty office where I fainted.
So why would he do it?
I turn my attention back to the delicious smell coming from the kitchen and push myself of off the plush bed and start to head down the stairs.
Well, maybe he can answer that one himself.