South Park © Matt & Trey.
Eric's POV
Kyle got so wasted tonight. It's hilarious. I wish I could whip out a video camera and record the whole night. I never took him for the type to go to bars. Back in the day, he was all about staying safe at home. He's such a prude about most things… Or at least, he used to be. He's full of surprises. If I wasn't trying to keep up the nice guy act, I probably would have laughed in his face, but the last thing I need right now is for him to start spreading shit about me. I'm the mayor, after all. Then again, I suppose it wouldn't matter what he says. The idiots in this fucking town love me. However, I'd still like to keep my record squeaky clean just in case.
After Kyle shuts his eyes, I cop a feel. I can't help it. So sue me. It's not like he'll even remember in in the morning. He never remembers shit when he drinks. I've discovered that when we were younger.
I'm surprised more people haven't taken advantage of him. With that drunken flush and lack of coordination, he makes it so damn easy. In our teenaged years I've done so many vile things to him – worse than anything I've ever done to Butters. Unfortunately, there is no photographic evidence. They're just damn sweet memories…
Though, I've never fucked him. I want him to be awake the first time I do it. I want to see the emotion in his eyes, whatever it may be. I want to hear him moaning even when he doesn't want to and I want to know it's all because of me. I'm so damn sick, aren't I? Thinking about it gets me antsy. I haven't had a good lay in quite a while.
Soon enough, Kyle's breathing evens and I can tell he's finally passed out. I've been waiting to have the damn Jew in my hands for so fucking long and now I've got him. This time, I'm going to make it so he can't get away. I flip him over so he's lying on his back and I just stare at his face – the content look he's now wearing. Earlier, I couldn't help but think there was something attractive about the expressions on his face, no matter how ugly they may have been. They were all directed towards me and maybe that says something. If I can't have his love, I'll happily take his hatred.
I lift his shirt up, revealing his pale, flat stomach. I run my hand over it. He's soft… God, I haven't touched him in so damn long. Soon enough I'll have him exactly where I want him. This time, I'm going to break him. I'll break him and he won't even want to leave… I'm going to make a mess out of him.
A second later, I hear the front door open. That fucker Stan must be back. With a sigh, I pull Kyle's shirt back down and leave the room.
"Cartman?" Stan asks when he spots me. "What are you doing here?"
"Kahl got drunk," I tell him. "I just dragged him back here."
"Oh," Stan says, placing his keys on a nearby ledge. "That was nice of you."
"He puked a lot and now he's passed out in his room."
"All right," he nods, frowning slightly. "Hey, thanks for taking care of him."
"Sure," I say before leaving.
What a fucking night. I'm so damn glad I decided to go to the bar and visit the poor-boy after all. If I went straight home, I would have missed out on quite the opportunity. I guess fate was on my side tonight.
In the morning, I give Kyle a call and remind him of our appointment. He informs me that he needs to pick up his car first, and that he'll drive over afterward.
It's late in the evening when he finally does arrive, and he looks half dead. He's definitely still hung-over. "You know," I start, "you're lucky I'm the one hiring you. If this was any other person, it'd be a pretty bad first impression. You're looking quite sour and lethargic."
"I spent the better part of the morning looking through the classified section of the newspaper," he says bitterly. "There are literally no job offers in this crap-town. This really is my only option. I don't have to be happy about it."
I smirk. "What did you spend the other part of the morning doing?"
"I spent it hunched over the toilet," he admits tartly.
"Rough," I sympathize, sitting up from my desk. "Kahl, why did you drop out of university?"
"I didn't like it," he shrugs.
"Elaborate."
He lets out a sigh, glancing away. "I used to think that I needed to validate my existence… You know how I was. I had somewhat of an existential crisis after an overindulgence of philosophy textbooks. Anyway, I had thought that the only thing that validated my existence was the fact that I am smart, so I decided that I would put my mind to use."
"What happened?" I ask.
"I figured out that I didn't need to validate my existence," he says simply. "No one does, and to think the opposite was stupid."
"Just like that?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Just like that. It was a bit of an epiphany."
"Hm," I say. "Interesting…" I move towards my filing cabinet.
"What's in there?" he asks.
I smile, holding up a piece of paper. "You sign this, and I won't be able to fire you without reason."
"What?"
"You were worried I'd fire you, were you not? As long as you follow all of my orders, you're safe."
"All of your orders?" he frowns.
"Yes," I nod.
"Fine… and what's the next catch?" he asks, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
"You won't be able to quit, either."
Frowning, he murmurs, "Of course it would be something like that."
I just give him my best business-like smile and hand the paper to him to sign. He begins to read it. If Kyle signs his name at the bottom of the page, he's mine. And the funny thing is, he doesn't have any idea what he's getting himself into. He's probably assuming I'll boss him around a bit, but I have so, so, so much more in mind.
"All right," I hear him say as he stands up and approaches my desk. "Can I take this home and think about it a little?"
"I suppose so," I say, trying not to sound irritated. He probably wants to take his sweet time checking it out. Probably to make sure there's nothing "weird" on it. Hell, I make no mistakes. I hired someone to write that contract up for me. Even a genius like Kyle won't be able to find a mistake in it.
"Why do you want me to do this, anyway?" he asks.
"You're perfect for the job," I tell him. And It's true. He is smart and organized and thorough and all that shit.
"How so?"
"You have good time management skills, you have good communication skills, and you're good with technology. Though you only did four years of business school, I'm sure you have sufficient knowledge on how to write reports and do research."
"Of course," he insists.
"Excellent," I say. "You'll also be doing the secretarial work, like answering phone calls. Assuming you take the job, your office is downstairs."
"Okay," he murmurs.
"On Wednesday I have a meeting with the city council," I say. "I'll need you to come, so you should have the paper signed before then."
"Okay," he repeats.
"Is that all you're going to say?" I ask.
"It's just…" he shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm sorry. This isn't professional of me."
"Don't worry about that," I force out, politely. "I'd prefer it if you didn't look at this as overly formal. We were once friends, after all."
"If you say so…"
"I say so," I tell him before shooing him out of my office. I'm surprised Kyle is being so cooperative. He really is a different person when he's sober. I almost miss the fire. Well, it'll be back soon enough. Now that I've got him on a hook, I'll be reeling him in. Things are about to get very interesting. I know it won't end well, but until then, I'm going to enjoy it.
On Tuesday, he shows up at my office again, looking incredibly rigid. "Here," he says, handing me the paper.
I give it a once-over, spotting his written signature at the bottom. "Great," I say, moving towards the filing cabinet and locking the paper safely away. He's frowning and looking incredibly defensive as he crosses his arms. "What is it?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says simply.
"All right," I wave him off. "You can go check out your desk and get settled. I'll come fetch you in a couple hours. We'll do lunch, my treat, and then discuss the finer details."
He nods once before exiting the room and I can't force away the smile that creeps on my lips.
Later in the evening, I get Kyle and we go to Café Monet. Kyle orders a salad and picks at it for five minutes before finally taking a bite. I watch with interest and he doesn't seem to notice me staring. "I haven't been here in a long time," he says offhandedly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he repeats me. I watch as he eats, taking those annoyingly small bites as if he's self-conscious or something. I want to roll my eyes, but I refrain. "I still think it's strange that you're being so civil," he comments.
"Why is it so difficult for you to believe that I've just grown up?" I ask.
"Because you were such an asshole," he says tersely.
I chuckle. "Harsh words, Kahl. You need to realize that you're no bowl of ice cream either."
"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, scowling.
"It means you aren't as sweet at everyone thinks you are. You're highly unpleasant to be around. A few nights ago I had assumed it was solely because you were drunk, but I can see now that it doesn't matter whether or not you're sober or have been drinking. You're a selfish little brat."
"Cartman, you –" he angrily begins, but I cut him off.
"Ah, ah," I interrupt. "You might want to try being nice to the man who writes your paychecks," I warn lightly, leaning forward and giving him a less than genuine smile. He lets out a frustrated sigh, not saying another word. I guess patience really does pay off… However, I knew it would.
Whether a brothel or a church's confession box, it doesn't matter. Whether you're fucking or fucking up, it still doesn't matter. People aren't good for selfless reasons. People are only nice when they want something. I'm no different. That's why I am where I am. That's why I'm the fucking mayor of this shitty town. I'm going to get what I want.
