Eric opened his bloodshot eyes again four hours later, laying on the floor of the old abandoned house. Its not really abandoned, just... Eric doesn't commonly stay there. He lied there, staring at the ceiling. The paint was chipping off slightly and the old light flickered a dull yellow. He sighed and stood. He couldn't ignore this forever, he thought, grabbing the phone. He instantly speed-dialed number six.
"Huh-Hello?" Butters soft voice answered. All of that innocence in one person, Eric thought, it was sickening. Eric wasn't innocent.
No, quite the contrary. He murdered an innocent person. He couldn't simply forgive himself. He never would, not as long as Kyle was around. Kyle wouldn't let him forget and Eric knew it. He respected it. If his brother was killed, the boy he hated with every fiber of his being, he would go out for revenge. He hated Scott, but if anyone was to end Scott's life it would be Eric.
"Butters. Get your ass over here." Eric said, noticing immediately how pathetic his voice sounded. He must look like shit, he thought. The murder flashed back in his head and he staggered back. Butters was there, had walked by. He didn't see it, Eric reminded himself, he'd just seen Ike's corpse. Eric breathed in deeply, grasping his bearings. Stanley, Craig, and him had all been there that night. Butters hadn't seen anything... Craig and Stan had helped him with the job. Ike wasn't meant to see, Eric sighed raggedly.
"I'm on my way E-Eric..." Butters whispered, hanging up the phone and leaving Eric alone in his thoughts. That night, it flashed back to him. He hadn't remembered pulling the trigger on that gun. Must've blacked out, he thought sadly. Why Ike? Eric let a stray tear fall. Why the hell of all people... why did Ike have to be in the bank when he robbed it? They couldn't leave witnesses. Ike shouldn't have been in there. He was just buying a soda. Eric inhaled sharply, recalling Kyle's sharp tone the night before. Hate. The word kept repeating itself in Eric's head. He hated Kyle, Kyle hated him. That was the way it has always been. It is the way it would continue to be... Eric sighed. One time. One time he let the Jew get to him. Love. The word tore through his conscious while Eric squeezed his eyes shut. No, he thought, I didn't love Kyle. I was confused. He tried convincing himself of that. A sharp sound broke him away from his thoughts. It was the doorbell.
Eric shakily stood, staggering slightly, opening the door.
"Hey. Wuh-Well what's wrong?" Butters asked worriedly. Butters wouldn't understand the pain Eric was going through. Eric sat hesitantly on the couch. The pain. It was overcoming. It was hard to drag himself through. He was homosexual, yes. Kyle was very attractive also. Eric refused to let himself think he loved the boy he'd worked so hard into a pit of hatred. Kyle wouldn't trust him. He would never trust the hazel eyed boy. Never. Those chances were over. Butters stared at Eric in awe and wonder.
"I-" Eric stopped, inhaling deeply. He didn't know how Butters would take the information. He'd start at the beginning, he thought. Keep it simple.
"On July Fourth last year I was involved in a bank robbery. It was simple, I needed money for the rent. Stan, Craig, and I had went to the town bank. W-We shot out a window and demanded cash. We used our old Bane masks." Eric stopped a minute, surveying Butters expression. He looked positively broken. His eyes were a bare blue as his skin paled slightly. He motioned for Eric to go on. Eric closed his eyes, sighing.
"That night we vowed none of the hostages would live. Ike was present in the bank, talking to a worker about an interview for a summer internship. I don't know why, I mean, he was only ten. S-Somehow... they say I blacked out and shot him." Eric breathed in shakily. Butters sat stiffly, hands intertwined. He stared at Eric, embracing him. Eric sobbed into Butters' soft cotton shirt. He was devastated. How could he have let himself kill Ike of all people. The one person that was closer to Kyle than anyone.
He had shot him, Eric thought, Eric Theodore Cartman had ended the life of a ten year old boy. Even though he didn't quite remember it Ike was dead. He was rotting somewhere in the ground because of Eric. Eric got up and walked to the kitchen, raking his hands through his brown hair. He grabbed the only thing left in the small kitchen. It was a small bottle of liquor. The good kind. The illegal kind, he thought. He slowly sipped it. The drink burned its way down Eric's throat. He sighed blissfully. He loved this. The days he could drink his cares away. He knew Butters was still seated in the living room. He didn't care. He never cared about anything. Everything Eric had ever cared for had somehow abandoned him in the span of sixteen years, Kyle included. Eric walked back into the living room.
The room his mother overdosed in. The room that he had his first kiss in. The room he first met Kyle. It flashed back to him. Liane was being introduced to the town when they first moved there. Kyle just stood by his strong-willed mother, clinging to her shirt. Eric Cartman was four years old when Liane and him had moved to South Park. To the town that changed everything.
"Eric... are you alright?" Butters asked softly, holding onto Eric's arm. Eric sighed and whimpered softly. He wiped his eyes and hugged Butters close. Butters squeezed back and smiled. Eric sighed and began talking again. His voice was full of rasp.
"I-I'm gay Butters." He explained softly, taking another swig. He loved the drink. It was the thing that kept him here, kept him alive. Suicide, he thought, I could escape. No, Eric thought, I couldn't do that. He needs to fix things with Kyle. It's the only thing keeping him here. He wanted Kyle to see him for him. He wanted Kyle to love him. He'd possibly never admit that. Never could. It'd changed Kyle, when Ike died. It obviously had. How couldn't it? It was his brother after all.
It was hard for him to be in the same room as anyone he'd grown up with anymore. It was all memories. Memories he'd suppressed for the time he'd ran. He clutched his head. It was too hard. Butters was speaking but he blocked the blonde out. Like always. Just blocking it out. He whimpered slightly. Life had been full of running. Running from his responsibilities, from love, from rejection, from family, from friends. It seemed the only thing he'd actually kept was Kenny and Karen. The only people he could trust. The ones that weren't in the heist. Kenny helped, yes, but didn't participate. He sighed and let Butters hold him. He wouldn't cry. He'd done enough of that.
He'd had enough of Butters. He narrowed his eyes at the boy. He was only trying to be nice. Eric honestly didn't care at all. He was fed up with people. Wanted to be alone.
"Get out of here Butters." He whispered. The blonde nodded and walked out. He wouldn't argue with Eric. He'd never actually protested against Eric. Never. Eric picked the phone up, sighing, calling Kyle. He heard the dial tone. He wouldn't pick up, would he? He did. Eric's heart lodged in his throat. He couldn't fucking believe it.
"What the hell do you want?" Kyle whispered, voice thick. Damn it. He'd caused this. He'd caused the tears that were undoubtedly rolling down Kyle's cheeks. He sighed. He just wanted to make sure Kyle was okay. He just wanted that much.
"I'm fucking sorry, are you okay?" He asked, voice broken and full of emotion that dared to escape. He couldn't let it out. None of the emotion. He hadn't shown any emotion but sadness and regret in years. Since he and Kyle were okay... before Ike died. He still had no recollection of killing the darker haired boy. But he knew he did and it killed him inside everytime he thought about it. He held back a cry.
"No I'm not fucking okay. My brother died by your hands." He hissed. Eric sighed, tears in the sound as he began to think. How could he fix things. Easy. He couldn't. He couldn't ever fix that night. He'd fucking shot the gun, right?
"I'm sorry... I'm so fucking sorry." He whispered, hanging the phone up and beginning to drink. He had to drown these emotions somehow. He had to suppress the urges to go to the redhead. He just sat there, guilt tearing away every shred of life left in the male. He hated what he'd become. A monster. A psychopathic monster, he thought, letting himself become submissive to the drink in his hand.