I woke up to the sun shining in through the very large window. Blinking awake, it took me a moment to realize where I was. Still can't get over how nice this place it. What on earth did Cartman do get so rich? Really, I don't think I want to know. It has to be all kinds of illegal and immoral. I'd be afraid of being liable in any crimes or labelled an accomplice or something.

I walked downstairs slowly, hearing noise in the kitchen. I guess Cartman is at it again. It's weird to see him like this, so happy, so peaceful. It seems being alone really works for him.

I walked into the kitchen without him noticing. He was flipping pancakes, playing music, humming to himself. I sat down on a stool, watching him, very confused. I've never seen Cartman hum without it being smug.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said in a chipper tone, without turning. The addition of 'sunshine' must have been facetious. I hope. "Banana or chocolate chip pancakes?"

"Why not both?" I replied with a laugh.

Cartman grinned a bit. "A wise answer if I've ever heard one."

We ate mostly in silence, though not out of discomfort or awkwardness. The pancakes were just so damn good, I couldn't really concentrate on anything else.

As Cartman washed the dishes, he glanced over at me a few times, seemingly trying to figure out what to say. "So are you going back to Wendy tonight?"

I looked at my hands, the floor, the ceiling, the tiles. Anything but Cartman, basically. "I guess I should."

"I mean, I'm not kicking you out or anything," he said quickly. "I was just wondering. She's probably worried about where you've run off too."

I snorted. "Let her worry. Besides, I'm sure Ken has told her by now where I am."

"No doubt she doesn't have the courage to come find you here."

"One of the perks of staying here, I guess."

"Ah, yes. The joy of living in the evil mansion right outside of town. I only get very desperate visitors such as yourself. It's why I can be such a great host. It doesn't happen very often."

"Just the way you want it, right?"

"Of course," he said with a small smile. He hesitated and glanced over at me. "You don't have to leave though. You're welcome to stay here for a while. Until reality comes calling again."

I smiled. "Thanks. It's a nice change of pace."

The rest of the day was spent lounging around, reading or napping, with breaks to cook and talk about things that don't matter. If this is what Cartman's life is, then I'm jealous. I could get used to this house, this food, this solitude. But it's not real. It feels like a dream, like an escape. I can forget about Wendy here, about Kenny. About Kyle. I have to face my life sooner or later. Maybe I'll just pick later.

I'm not ready to go back. I'm not ready to face the inevitable with Wendy, not ready to talk to Kenny, not ready to accept that my best friend is dead. It's all so fucked up.