Hey, here I go again. It's too late, I have to be in school in three and a half hours and haven't slept yet. Yay. Aren't I an idiot. Oh well, at least the chapter's finished. Enjoy :)
Chapter Seven: An Artist's Deal
I frowned, as I stepped into the house.
It looked tidier than I'd have imagined, then again I didn't know much about Cartman and his mum anymore. I just didn't care.
His large legs carried him upstairs, a malicious smirk on his face, visible even through the back of his head. I frowned, as it made me think of history class. Whyever.
From all I remember, the living room hadn't changed much, so I followed Cartman upstairs.
"So, are you taking me to your secret laboratory?" I asked him, the silence getting on my nerves.
"If you like to call your room a secret laboratory," Cartman responded, not bothering to turn around, "then yes, I am, Kyle."
My frown grew slightly at that answer, but Cartman was just like always. No big differences seemingly, so I was used to it.
He indeed led me to his room and motioned for me to sit down on a chair, next to a desk, which was full of what I identified to be half-done assignments and discarded worksheets, "Now, Kyle... Tell me what you think."
I blankly stared at the boy, who looked down at me mightily while he asked. "Excuse me?" I queried in return, not prepared for such a question.
"What do you think, Kyle? What do you think we'll do now?" rephrasing his odd request, he carefully sat down on his exceptionally tidy bed, which looked rather lonesome in an all in all messy room.
"Don't give me this shit, Cartman! You know fully well, that I have no idea about what you planned, I just want to see you destroy the pictures you've taken from me," I retorted to his, in my interpretation, very Cartman-ish effort to squeeze every tiny drop of irritation out of me.
"...and Red," Cartman added, smirking slightly and cocking his head to the side. Not much. But enough fucking much to make me furrow my brows and go nuts.
"DUDE!" I started, standing straight up, to which Cartman showed no reaction at first. He remained there, in his, admittedly rather cozy appearing, spot, and awaited my outburst. I shook, composing myself, and went on, "Either you tell me right now, what I am here for or I will... just... leave!"
Cartman snickered, staring at my outstretched index finger, "Well, by God, Kyle, or – if you prefer – by Jehovah, then leave."
I had opened my mouth already, to respond to his religious remark, but quickly closed it again, after the period had concluded his sentence, "Wait, what?"
"Leave, if you must. It's your choice, Kyle. So choose."
I thought about what he said, "You'd spread the pictures if I left."
"Maybe."
"Ugh..." I wanted to leave. But thinking about everything, I understood that nothing had changed, despite all the spoken words and our fight overall. It was like always, really. Me and Cartman, like we had always been. Always. Odd, really.
"So... alright. What did you want me here for, Cartman?" I forgot about our conversation's beginning and made a fresh start – more of a rotten one, really.
"Very well, then. For you to make me destroy the pictures of you and Red..." Cartman paused, pulling a face of disgust, but losing it again, rather quickly, "...coupling, you have to do one thing. One small, insignificant thing that won't harm you one tiny bit. It might be a little strange for you, but you'll get over it."
I sighed, "Which is?"
"Be my photo model."
…
…
…
I held my breath for an unknown period of time, to come to the conclusion that I need oxygen to think. Cartman stared at me. Awaiting... not seeming eager, though, just... awaiting. Interested, as if it wouldn't affect him. He'd have his fun either way.
I had to cough. Once and twice. Thrice and... the thing that comes after that. I wanted to avoid replying to his request. Cartman could've helped me by mentioning what kind of modeling he wanted me for, if I was supposed to be wearing something in the pictures he wanted – if not, it wouldn't change a thing, really –, but of course he didn't. Obviously.
"Ye- Su- Well, I, uhm... Okay... if it's-" I stuttered until Cartman cut me off, now being able to speak all of a sudden.
"Don't worry, Kyle. 'No harm', I said, remember? I trust, you realize, that I know what harms you."
I must admit, hearing this out of Cartman's mouth slightly worried me, but if letting him take a few pictures of me was all I had to do to get out of this... my worries were soon silenced by "Let's get this over with!"-thoughts and I complied eventually, "Alright, Cartman. But no tricks."
Cartman clapped three times and snickered at my remark, "Kyle, coming from you, this sounds immensely naïve, but don't worry. 'No tricks'. Also, I will be the only one to look at these pictures, so don't worry about that either."
Following this, I had to think of the inevitable question, 'Why?'
'Why the fuck would he do something like this? Is he...? Does he...? Will he...? Why?'
I suddenly heard the door to Cartman's room open and turned around, just to see Butters, wearing plain black clothes just like me, rushing in with a camera in his shaky hands.
"He-Here, Eric," he stuttered, eyeing me suspiciously... or did he? Suspicion might have been in there, but there also was something else. Something you don't see every day, something unusual, something almost... no. He didn't look at me long enough for me to able to say such things about how he looked at me. Why did I even care?
Cartman's eyes rested on me the entire time, he didn't look at Butters for one second, and neither did he respond to his words. He just clutched the camera and waited until Butters left the room again.
I had seen many odd things, and I had expected many odd things to happen when I had come there, but... that definitely exceeded all of those by far.
"Okay then, Kyle," Cartman suddenly began, disrupting my train of thought and reminding me where I was and what was about to come, "I trust, you know that you will have to follow my orders for this to be successful."
"I do."
"Alrighty then. Lay down on the bed first of all, please," he said, undoubtedly sounding excited. He rose from his comfy position on the bed, walking over to the light switch. Under slightly dimmed light then, I sat down on the dark blue bed covers, kicked off my shoes and placed them beside the bed. Awkwardly swinging my legs on top of the comfortable piece of furniture to join my torso, I observed Cartman who had turned his back to me and was seemingly configuring his camera.
How was I supposed to position myself? No, 'positioning myself' sounds wrong.
"Relax, Kyle, I'll be right with you," Cartman suddenly said, his back still turned to me.
I frowned, "Uhm... Alright then." Cough. Awkward.
While Cartman took his time, I looked around the room a bit. It had really been a long time since I had set a foot in here. The walls were basically empty with two or three photographs – presumably his own – sporadically adorning dull white wallpaper.
"Okay," he suddenly stated, turning around to look at me. He licked his lips, sending shivers down my spine. However, before he gave the first instructions, he covered each of the room's four walls with large black curtains, that rested in the corners, "To finish the setting..." Then he turned to me. For good, this time. It began.
"Just lay down," he plainly ordered. "Just, like normal, like in bed. Consider my bed your bed."
"Uhm, alright." So, I did. I lay there in my enemy's bed, completely dressed in black, feeling rather suicidal... well, not really, but I felt that someone in this very room could turn homicidal, so it would basically be the same.
Cartman approached me, and without any restraint, leaned over me. "Sorry, Kyle, but you can't wear this hat on my pictures." So he yanked it off. My hat. Symbolically tearing down all of my safety, my security, any form of guard. Like an ancient city without city walls. Kyle without his hat.
"Hey!" I protested out of habit. I would always do when someone had removed my hat, but this time it was redundant, really.
"What? I'm the photographer, you do as I say and the pictures will be cool," he insisted, sounding somewhat juvenile.
"Just... get on with it!" And so he did.
He made me lie straight on the bed first, "Look like Stan just offered to suck your dick." I glared. Click, click, click. "Look sad..." I frowned. "Sadder." I tried to look depressed. Click, click, click.
"Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, like this, you're never gonna be a professional," Cartman stated, shaking his head in mock disapproval. He was enjoying himself.
"I don't want to be a pro-" Click. "-fe-" Click. "sio-" Click, click. "-nal!"
"That's the spirit!" Cartman encouraged, smiling, like I had rarely seen him smile before.
The entire photo session went by in the same fashion. I had to sit up, I had to lie on my stomach, head to the side, roll on the side, eyes to the ground. He made me keep my eyes open until tears appeared. Click. A seemingly thousand times.
"Take this rose. Put it on your chest. Right, good." Click.
"Put it in your mouth. And... and cross your legs. That's it." Click, click, click. Click.
"Take this knife." "Handle between your teeth." "Blade between your teeth."
And I let him photograph me. In every position, with every item. I stopped feeling awkward half-way through. Despite the apparent oddness – or fucked-uppedness – I became used to it.
"Take your shirt off," Cartman, however, suddenly commanded, recovering the awkwardness.
"Why?" I questioned, with a plain voice.
"Because I say so, or-" he began, but was stopped mid-threat.
"No, I don't, but... alright, wait, how about you destroy some of the pictures now... and then I will take my... shirt... off," I said, thinking while speaking and after that making a mental note to get myself beat up by Mike Tyson afterwards. Maybe he could set my mind straight again, even if it would cost me an ear or two.
Cartman sighed, understanding my offer. He narrowed his eyes, "Alright. You know, Kyle, I'm just gonna give them to you. Then you can jack off to them later, if you feel like it."
"Shut up, Cartman," I replied to his provocation, glaring at the subsequent snickers from the fat boy. Unperturbed, however, he made his way to his room's cupboard and pulled a folder out of one of its drawers. Putting it on the table, he searched it for them, "Alright, here we go."
The fat boy approached me with maybe twenty or more pictures, obviously of me and a certain redhead, "You can have all of them... If you don't believe me, you are invited to call your mum and your rabbi and search my house for more, you won't find any. Also, you can browse my computer and my flash drives, CDs, whatever... Neither did I ever intend to keep these for a long time, nor am I proud enough of them to actually want to keep them."
I looked at him blankly, as he put the pictures in an envelope which he laid down on his nightstand, ready for me to pick up.
I frowned, "What... Why should I believe you?"
"Plainly because these pictures aren't art. They are dirt, simply a tool to blackmail you. That's all there is to it," he ensured me, believably, maybe too believably, but believably. "Now, off with the shirt."
"Uhm... okay then..." so I did as I was told and slipped my jet-black t-shirt off. Following this, I caught a glimpse of him licking his lips subtly as I threw my shirt away to join the envelope on the nightstand.
"Okay then..." and the second round began. It was all the same actually, with the small but mighty difference of my barechestedness, which was probably the reason that he took much longer than before, leaving me more than buzzing over his intentions. Although it actually all seemed oh so obvious...
Thanks for reading yet another chapter of my story. I appreciate it. Please review. I'm off to bed now, I guess. Goodnight to you all. :)
