Chapter 2: So Crazy
My heart is beating in my ears. I look over my champagne glass cautiously at the fat-ass, and notice he's still watching me with his narrowed hazel eyes.
This is fucking unreal.
He asks the first question, testing the waters of the new complexity of our mutual hatred. "So Kahl, are you an attention whore or just gay?"
Ignoring the obvious jibe, I wonder, should I lie? If he finds out I'm that desperate for money, he could use it against me. I can already hear the ringing of 'cheap Jew family with a Jewish American princess for a son.'
"I'm not here because I had a choice, Cartman," I admit quietly. Mr. Yamamoto is looking from behind the bar. I smile in an attempt to look like nothing's wrong. If desperate, I could get Cartman kicked out if I say he's harassing me. The bouncers would be thrilled.
But on my first official day? Looks bad.
"Why are you here?" I ask him. Booze or bitches are the expected response. He turned back toward the stage, his face relaxing in the violet light. He dangled one harm over the back of his chair lazily.
"What else is there to do in this stupid little town?" He sighed slightly, his words tinged with the same realization I came to.
I tentatively handled the long stem of the glass and chewed on my lip. A silence fell once again. I absentmindedly note Cadillac's set ended and she joined an older man at the bar; the DJ announced Ferrari was next as Black Widow began.
"So what do you want?" I repeat.
Cartman faced me, a feigned look of confusion on his brow. "You mean with the knowledge of your... extracurricular activities?" An evil smile, "I'll figure something out. I don't want to be rash with my dealings or I could make a mistake and let you off easy. Although I will admit, this is going to be fun."
The crushing sense of defeat intertwined with gloom hits me in the chest. Cartman fails to notice and downs the last of his champagne. He waves the waitress, a girl named Mary, over and gets two more glasses of champagne. My head begins to swim as I finish the first glass and I vaguely wonder how many calories are in champagne before realizing he ordered me another one.
Mary tnks the the two fresh ones on our table. I know Cartman has a fake ID, he bragged about it enough last year when he and Kenny bought them off some community college jerks. I didn't know he was in the habit of using it though.
"You look very pretty, Starr," his deep voice saccharine with a slight slur. "How much for a dance?"
Yep. That's the Cartman I know.
I roll my eyes and reply curtly, "One, never, two, I don't do that, and three, still never."
He smiles and tilts his head forward, smugly shaking it, "Silly Starr, all dancers give dances. Usually for twenty dollars, more if I want a private room and a bottle of champagne. Didn't you read your contract?"
I pause. He was right about both, I just didn't expect him to know. "How do you know that? Still never."
He stretches his arms behind him and puffs out his chest. "I've been to enough clubs. I have a lot of time since I don't sleep and this place is more interesting than my bedroom walls when I need to jerk off."
More blunt honesty I didn't ask for. I laugh and reply before I can stop myself, "Because no one would willingly fuck you."
I begin to take another sip of my champagne when he grabs my wrist, hard. I see the rage and face it with my own indifference. Why does he get so angry? It should just slide off his back, after how many years we've been at this.
"Yes, Starr, I have a healthy sexual appetite, Starr," he draws out the r's my pseudo name. "Unlike some people that wear women's clothes. Or others that are into exhibitionism. Or worse, both. Those people are just downright… sick."
I wrench my arm away from his grasp and unceremoniously drown myself in the rest of the champagne. I practically slam the glass down and meet his gaze again. He looks so damn pleased with himself.
Champagne swimming in my head, I begin to reply before I can stop myself, "And why do I care what you think? I'm not into wearing women's clothes or showing myself off nakedly. I'm here to do what I need to do, that's it. And if you're not going to tell anyone else just so you can torture me, go ahead! And if you are going to tell everyone, can you at least let me know first so I can be as gone as I want?! You're such a pathetic asshole for even coming to a place like this. Don't you have actual people you can talk to that you're not paying? Oh wait, no, everyone hates you because you're a conniving racist dickhead."
Liquid courage is right. I'm slightly out of breath as I watch the words ineffectually go in one of his ears and out the other. A minute later and still no reply, he seems to be watching me. My brief tangent done, the apathy returns.
Why did I even bother?
I push myself off the table, the chair scraping against the rug, and state. "I don't care. Just do what you will."
I stand and it feels as if both my feet are made of jelly. In one swift movement, as I put my left foot down, I lose my balance and my chin meets with the carpeted floor. I cringe with the painful realization it was the same spot he hit a week before, the bruise still green on my skin. Today fucking sucks. I'm afraid to glance back at Cartman, getting the feeling he's about to laugh his ass off. Instead, I watch his black tennis shoes from my comfy floor position as he stands and walks over to me.
I lie motionless on the black carpet as he puts one of his hands out toward me, a smirk on his face. "That's what you get for being a little bitch." I look between his rough palm and his smirk as my brain slowly processes the fact he wants me to grab hold of it.
I'm wobbly as I push myself off the ground and take hold of his hand, which is much larger than my own. He yanks me upward and I stumble headfirst into his chest, my small body enveloped in his. The sharp smell of liquor fills my nostrils with undertones of fresh, clean skin.
"You've gotten smaller, Kahl," he remarks quietly. My face heats up and I push myself away from him, my palms resting momentarily on the soft cotton of his broad chest. "I think even if you tried to dance on me, your ass would be too boney that it would hurt."
This time I do run, and by run I mean walk as quickly as I can without getting fired, into the dressing room, where I grab the couch cushions and scream until I'm heaving, drowned out by the loud trap music.
/\/\/\
Last night is a blur. The only think I know is that Cartman knows, and I'm fucked. I hold my head at my desk, staring down at the lined paper, willing the bullet points on existentialism to appear.
"Who actually read the book?" I ask my group mates. Annoyance. Frustration.
Token and Stan pretend to not see each other as Cartman taps away at his smartphone, not hiding it at all. Kenny sits behind him in Wendy's group, playing against Cartman on some phone game.
Today is okay. It's been eighteen hours since I put anything in my body. It's fine, it's clean. I have control of this. I can do this. No failing.
I can't make Cartman work today. I don't trust he will keep it a secret. I will let him have a vacation day so as not to perturb the matter.
"Dude, let's just get this done," Stan says, narrowing his eyes and trying to read a passage in the middle of the book. "Who's Raskolnikov?"
I roll my eyes, "The main character. Kills the old pawn broker and her sister."
"Oh," Stan says. He glances over his shoulder and looks at Wendy in another group. She giggles and waves at him, I try to tune it out. How long had it been since Stan and I hung out? A few months probably. He never tried to initiate anything after my home situation got pretty bad- mostly because about the same time, he and Wendy got back together. He wasn't abandoning me.
"I really don't want to fucking do this," Kenny says from the next group over.
"Well, we have to," I say, glancing over at Kenny in annoyance. He sighs and pushes some strands of blonde hair behind his ears.
Cartman sighs loudly. "Well if the Jew says we have to do it, then by all means guys, we have to. After all, he is the ruler of all things-
"Not in the mood," I snap, trying to bury the shit before it hits the fan. " You actually read the book this time, right? You can contribute to our group."
Stan says, "Dude, cut it out, both of you. I just want to get this done."
"So you can get back to your girlfriend?" I snap without meaning to. Stan looks surprised, then smiles.
"Yes, actually," he obviously didn't hear the bitterness in my voice. Conjoined at the hip.
"Kahl?" Cartman says innocently. "Don't worry."
"You're calming him down? That's a first," Stan comments.
Cartman bats his eyelashes and locks his hands together. "Don't worry Kahl... I'm not gonna tell your secret."
I crane my neck toward him and stare, attempting to light him on fire with the pure loathing.
"What secret?" Kenny turns around in his seat, looking between Cartman and I.
Cartman smiles to himself. "Nope, not gonna tell." He shakes his head.
He can't tell. No way. Everything gets around. Stan looks at him, "I doubt you know anything."
"But I do, Little Stan, and believe me, it's a doozy."
I plead, "Cartman please, you can't."
Kenny's face flowers into genuine surprise, "He does know something? What is it?"
"He doesn't know anything."
"Oh, but I do Kahl, but I promised I wouldn't tell."
"What does he know Kyle?"
"Come on! How does he know something? What is it? Secret girlfriend?"
Ringing. I can't hear them. Cartman's face goes from gleeful to annoyance as he peers curiously at me. He sighs, then he grabs my arm and pulls me upward as he stands up.
"What are you doing, asshole?" Stan asks.
Cartman points at me, "He's obviously really sick. Can't you tell? Getting to the nurse before he pukes all over me, I like my clothes."
As we leave the room, Kenny calls after us, "But does he know something or is he just fucking with us? I bet you he's fucking with us." I follow the larger teen's footsteps until he turns and we're in the men's restroom. I'm should probably pay attention...
He yanks me behind him and looks for feet under the stalls before turning toward me.
"Kahl, I'm not gonna tell anyone. I was fucking with you. You responded poorly."
"Because I should trust that?" I ask curtly. He rolls his eyes.
"No but it's either that or you drive yourself crazy with the 'will he? Won't he?' crap." He used a mockingly high pitched tone when imitating me.
"I'd rather that then trust you, someone who has brought countless horrible things into my life, this being the latest."
He grabs me by both my arms and shoves me against the wall. Pain radiates from my back- I wince but he doesn't let up. He lowers his face into mine and loudly reiterates, "I. AM. NOT. GOING. TO. TELL. ANYONE. I like my victims helpless and leaning on me, I like watching the struggle, telling everyone would be counter intuitive."
"Didn't think you knew what that meant, Cartman," I don't care. I push his hands off me and he lets go. I didn't like being at that close a proximity with him. "You're sadistic."
"And you're crazy, kike," he replies shortly before pushing open the entrance. "Also, I don't starve my victims. It's barbaric for my tastes. You might want to consider your stance on it."
Fuck you, Cartman.
