Over the next few weeks, Cartman would occasionally grab Kyle and shove up his sleeve to make sure that he was being obeyed. As they scabbed over they must have itched like crazy, because Kyle couldn't seem to refrain from clawing at them. Cartman swore at him when he saw the scratch marks under dried blood and the next day at school, he brought Kyle a generic brand Neosporin. He couldn't understand why the most intelligent boy in class, maybe even the whole school, didn't see how foolish it was to run around with open wounds.
All of the nursing that Cartman did, he did in relative private. He would wait until the others were distracted or not around to check. This was a matter that Kyle didn't need spread around. Cartman knew damn well about embarrassing gossip since his mother was the definitive crack-whore. He had endured more than his share for that. Kyle's parents' divorce had been the talk for a while, but no one spared it a thought anymore, except for Kyle himself who was withering under its repercussions.
Cartman had watched the way Kyle shrank into himself. He figured that Kyle couldn't afford it since he was already a goddamn midget. Making fun of the change, even to himself, didn't make the lump in his throat go away. He couldn't help Kyle and why should he bother? Had anyone offered him any sympathy for being raised by a hermaphroditic prostitute? Why couldn't Kyle just suck it up like he had? Cartman just took the pain deep inside where no one could see it. But Kyle was Kyle and he just had to show the world his feelings. The cuts were just a way for that stupid ginger to say "I learned something today" in a physical way. It was all part of how weak he was.
Even though no one had offered Cartman any support over the years, there was something inside of him that wanted to help Kyle. He could recognize what it was, but that was yet another thing that needed to stay buried. He'd kept his heart under lock and key since third grade, when that awful, soul-wrenching need had hit him for the first time. God, as if his life wasn't bad enough without developing an obsession with a Jewish, red-headed goody-two-shoes. When Cartman had started picking on Kyle more than that asshole Kenny or Stan and Kyle had reciprocated with as much vehemence as he dished out, it had enflamed his fondness. The more that Kyle said that he hated him, the greater Cartman's feelings grew.
It wasn't a normal reaction, but Cartman wasn't a normal teenager and hadn't been a normal kid. He'd identified his feelings well enough in grade school to shut up about them. Now that he was in high school, they were secreted so well inside him, that there were times when Cartman mistook the intensity for hate. In those times, he could say to Kyle that he hated him with an honesty pure enough to pass even the cleverest lie detectors. Of course, lie detectors don't work on sociopaths, a classification that Cartman felt he couldn't really deny, having never felt guilt or remorse.
The dreams that he had of Kyle were a frequent reminder of his true feelings. Cartman cursed the lack of control over his sub-conscious. It was the one time that he couldn't lie to himself. When he was awake it was okay to fantasize dirty things about Kyle because that was about control. It was about him exerting dominance over Kyle's body. Kyle would be naked, his body thin and weak underneath Cartman. He made mewling, begging sounds, earnest to have Cartman inside of him. Cartman was only too happy to give him what he needed, over and over until Kyle would weep tears of sore pleasure. Sometimes he would lick the tears off Kyle's face before releasing his desire into Kyle's tight depths. These fantasies would make Cartman's forehead get dewy and he had a terrible time restraining himself from submitting to self-fulfillment. Cartman refused to be just another teenage boy constantly wanking off to nudie magazines. He took control over his hormones, but those illicit daydreams made for some close calls.
But the dreams that came while he was asleep, those were of a different variety and they scared him. Some were filled with what he thought of when people used the cheesy phrase "making love," but the scarier ones had no sort of sex to them at all. There was still touching, kissing mostly. What was scary was the words that Kyle would say, those three words that everyone says to someone eventually. When his imaginary Kyle would say "I love you," everything in Cartman's world seemed right. Instantly he felt surrounded by a calm that he didn't have anywhere else. Kyle wouldn't care that Cartman couldn't say the words back, because he knew regardless.
Then there were the nightmares involving Kyle. There was a recurring one in which he held Kyle close in the entrance to the school's cafeteria; his lips were pressed tightly against the smaller boy. Everyone could see them, see their love, and see Cartman's total dependence on Kyle. He felt humiliated. Another was Kyle finding out and freaking out. The pure hatred in Kyle's eyes hurt him. He told everyone in school and they all knew what a freak Cartman was.
Cartman had taken to stealing his mother's Xanax before bed to prevent these images. The Xanax put him out and if he had any dreams, he didn't remember them. This was the only way that he even tried to discourage the dreams of Kyle. Cartman still spent every available moment with him. When they were together he verbally jabbed at Kyle until he managed to poke out a reaction. A day that went by without a pissed-off Kyle was a wasted one.
His reaction to Kyle's arm at the arcade had surprised him as much as it had Kyle. One second he'd been miffed about Kyle's stupid big mouth ruining his game and the next it felt like someone had slammed a battering ram into his heart. He'd run over to Kyle like a worried mother or something and he was still embarrassed about that, but he hadn't thought before acting. He'd seen the marks enough times on his mother and seeing them on the only other person that he gave a shit about, other than himself, overwhelmed him. How the fuck could Kyle do that? Wasn't he supposed to be smart? Then why was he doing the same self-destructive shit that his mom was doing? What would come next? Would he try drugs like Leanne was addicted to? He'd wanted to shake Kyle until he woke up from this fucking fog he'd been in since the divorce.
Instead, Cartman had taken control, not unlike his fantasies, really. He'd told Kyle that the cutting was to stop immediately, a command he fully intended to back up with force if he had to. Kyle had agreed to stop, but still Cartman felt the need to check. Every other day or so, Cartman lifted the sleeves of his small friend and inspected. It wasn't like Cartman to be so compassionate, but no one knew how much it hurt him to see Kyle in that state, not even Cartman.
Kyle didn't seem to be able to take care of himself, like letting some of the cuts become infected. Cartman would never have had that problem, but he'd never do the whole self-mutilation thing anyway. Cartman recognized that the cuts might be cries for help, but from the look of some of the scars, Kyle had been doing it for a while. Kyle hadn't been crying out loud enough then, if getting help really was his goal. Cartman didn't know if that was his reason or not, but since Kyle wasn't taking care to let them heal, he suspected that Kyle's motivation might have more to do with just giving up and letting life do what it wanted to him than asking for a solution. Well, Cartman wasn't a quitter and he wasn't going to let Kyle be. So, he checked Kyle's arms and tried not to let the touch thrill his bezoar of love.
Author's Note: It is so much easier to write from Cartman's point of view for me. Next chapter will have more dialogue and stuff. I just kind of wanted to establish where both the main characters' mindsets are at when we start off. Oh, and a bezoar is like a human drain clog, pretty creepy actually.