Cartman 101: Chapter 7
There aren't a lot of people in the world who can sleep while writhing in agony from a poorly refrigerated sushi plate. Kyle Broflovski was not one of them.
As he twisted and turned, trying to hold in his stomach with both hands, Kyle had time to contemplate his luck. What were the odds that on the same night he had a bizarre pseudo-sexual masochistic nightmare with his sworn enemy he'd also have terrible gastro-intestinal pain?
…rather good, actually. The one was probably caused by the other. Kyle did not deal well with conflict.
Outside his bedroom window, from a comfortable place in the bushes, Cartman sipped hot cocoa from a thermos and paged through the latest Guns&Ammo while his night vision goggles rested on his lap. In an hour or two he would go home, for now he was enjoying his alone time outside his enemy's house. He loved the dawn before a hunt. And it would be a glorious hunt…
Kyle ducked and dodged around the court, tripping over his own feet, missing baskets. The whistle blew and he was told to go shower, and he numbly did. His body was like a puppet, obeying his orders but unfeeling. Every fumble inspired a wave of chuckles from his teammates, drawing inquiries if he was on his "lady-time" and if he needed something sanitary. No, all he needed was for everyone to shut the hell up! He couldn't think with all the stares, the looks that were like pinpricks in his body. Even the huddle at the end was embarrassing, a few pointed remarks from the coach in his direction, the sidelong stares, he couldn't help turning beet red.
He ducked into the hall afterwards and narrowly avoided Dee and her friends, silently whispering an apology and promising to make it up to her later. In spite of all this, he knew his feelings for her hadn't changed. Dee was still a sweet, caring girl who looked past his athletic and clerical abilities and saw who he really was…an awkward Jew who tried always to do the right thing. But she liked that about him, and that's what made this whole thing hurt so much. She didn't know about his past, probably couldn't understand the private mental battle between him and Cartman, but if she found out, she would try to help as much as possible. She was, by nature, a loving person. It tore him apart to avoid her like this, when all he wanted to do was lay his head on her breasts and tell her everything that was wrong, let her sooth away the hurt and make it better again. She would…if her asked her… but no. Cartman.
Even the name sent his blood boiling and his stomach in knots. Dee…he couldn't even imagine what Cartman would do to her. Best to keep her safe, away from all this until the end. He knew she'd be hurt, of course she would be, but so far that wasn't the worst thing that could end up happening. If…when he came out of all this, he'd tell her everything. They could decide what they wanted to do afterwards. Right now…sorry, Dee. So, so sorry.
Someone bumped into his shoulder and he recognized the snicker before he even saw the face. Cartman had been popping up all morning, not really following Kyle just…letting himself be seen. I'm here, he seemed to be saying, don't think you can run away. He wouldn't even try. He knew that whatever happened, to whoever, it was a long time in coming. And there was no more putting it off. Cartman had him there. He had been avoiding it, sort of, all this time. But no more. He would stand up and confront Cartman, and whatever would happen would happen. If he could just find someplace quiet to think, dammit!
There was nowhere he went on campus that was safe from Cartman. Even the old auto shed where the shop majors went to huff glue; when he swung the wreck of a door open, there was Cartman. He was at the Home EC buildings, on the quad, jogging the track field and wheezing painfully, dipping his toes in the lap pool, and smirking next to him at the urinal. Finally, though, he found peace where no one, not even the literature majors went. The basement of the library, where they stored their ancient card catalog. There, squeezed in between boxes of Mad magazine and water-damaged microfiches, he found the calm that he needed.
Now, he must think. Of how he could end this safely, if not peacefully. He was willing to compromise if it meant that no one got hurt. Or rather, if Cartman didn't hurt anyone. He must think, must clear his head for the battle upcoming…
Cartman paced around the parking lot liked a caged panther. Kyle was gone, and some part of him couldn't help feeling it was for good. His reinflated ego assured him that there was no way, Kyle had too big of a sense of (snerk) honor and wouldn't dare. Still…there was always a possibility that he would pull a Serbian-Jew double bluff- no, stop it, get out of my head!
…and so on and so forth. Several of his former friends saw him, some even waved hi, but he neither noticed nor cared. Kyle was everything. If he had Kyle, nothing could bother him again. Even on his worst days, he could remember that the Jew was his, and then nothing else would matter. Not his ageing whore of a mother, not the leers and pitying glances that stung into his skin, not his failing sense of self-worth. He would have the utmost control over another human being, and that thought made his stomach tingle pleasantly.
But suppose Kyle goes to the Dean, sang a little voice in his head. Suppose he tells his friends and they gang up again, suppose he just kills you with his bare hands, suppose, suppose, suppose…
He ate three lunches that day, but it still didn't settle his stomach. Noon came and went without even a whisper from the Jew. He decided at last minute to attend one of his classes, hoping the monotony would ease his mind. Three quiches later, he still couldn't concentrate and was getting dirty looks from the teacher for burning his food. Finally, he mopped the sweat from his forehead with a sleeve and raveled up his apron, tossing it into the bin and earning one last glare from the teacher.
He toyed with his fourth lunch, glumly coming to the conclusion that he was just eating to have something to do. He gave the picked-over calzone to the homeless man in front of the bus stop, who winked at him in a most disconcerting manner. He stumbled around the quad where it all began, his hands opening and closing uselessly, seeing nothing. He saw Kyle's little squeeze and toyed with the idea of walking over and telling her everything, everything, just to see the look on her face.
Three o'clock came and went. Three-thirty. Four. The sun dipped low in the sky.
The quad gradually emptied of students, waving bye and calling out admonitions to call soon, writhing and weaving their own ways home. Some to cars, some to the buses, to bikes. They all seemed to know one another and for one brief moment it was like a vice on his heart. Friends. They were all friends. They didn't impose contracts on each other, they didn't have to. Things came so easily to them, problems forgiven at the drop of a hat. There was no question of control, no private power-plays, simply the warmth of companionship, something he had never and could never know. Fire pricked the corner of his eyes. Remember this, his mind whispered. Remember this, and what it means.
But eventually everyone was gone and he was alone. The feeling subsided and he was back, his armor firmly in place. And here echoed the footsteps of someone in no particular hurry, someone on their way to something they didn't care about being late to. He knew, even before they turned the corner, who the feet belonged to. Kyle hove into view, looking very calm and unruffled, something about that infuriated him to the point of madness. He considered, for a few moments, the prospect of heaving himself up and charging across the small space between them and dashing his head against the cement. For a few moments. Kyle came to a stop before him and plopped down on the bench opposite, casually sliding the straps of his backpack off either shoulder. Each movement was done with exaggerated care, and icy calm seemed to emanate from him. Cartman felt like he was going to burst into flames, molten heat pouring from his mouth and eyes, rage consuming everything. Then Kyle straightened up and looked him in the eye. Oh…
Something, everything clicked into place. He was aware of his own labored breathing, of every minute detail.
They had entered the dance, but this was a new dance. Only one of them would walk away from this alive.
"Hi, Eric." Kyle said softly. He struggled with his own tongue for a moment before responding.
"Hello…Jew." Kyle shook his head ever-so-slightly and smiled, silently seeming to say so we're being like that, are we?
"I guess you're wondering where I've been all day…"
"Not really." Yes, dammit! "I could care less about what you do in your spare time." I thought you left me…
"Well, I was thinking, Cartman. And… I had kind of hoped…you were doing the same."
He snorted. "You wish." Think of me, Kyle, only of me…
"And I came to realize something. This…battle that we've been fighting. It's been hurting the both of us. Both of us scratch and claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch. We've been fighting this war between us for years now and… we never get anywhere. Aren't you sick of that?"
"No." no, please. "I can keep fighting you as long as you want, Jew, but I assure you, I will win eventually." Please, never stop fighting with me Kyle, I don't know what else to do with you!
"Well, that's just the thing. I don't think this war is winnable. I think both of us fight for lack of something else to do. I think we're both just…putting of the inevitable."
"And what's that?" please don't say it's over, please, I don't want to hurt you but I will…
"That we both…need each other a little. We compliment each other, like yin and yang. Like you're the dark half-"
"And you're the light." He said before he could stop himself. No, why'd you say that? He can't win!
Kyle nodded, not noticing Cartman's inner battle. "I don't think we can destroy one another because without the other…neither of us is really complete. To destroy me you'd have to destroy part of yourself."
"And?" he said. I wouldn't mind, wouldn't mind, if only I could keep you…
"I don't think you realize how serious this is, Cartman. I don't like you, don't like what you do, but…I don't want you to sacrifice your soul. Not even to beat me."
"I wouldn't really care." Neither would you. Admit it, you've forgotten me…
"Yes you would. You care. And I think that's what you'd rather die than admit. You care so much about so many things, but you think if you let us know that, we'll…do something."
"I don't care!" he shouted before catching himself. "You may think you can get me with your touchy-feely crap, Jew, but I know-"
"That's just the thing, Cartman." Kyle said wearily. "I'm not fighting you. We're done fighting. It's not getting us anything. All we do is go around in the same circles again and again, and I'm sick of it. One way or another, this ends tonight."
Cartman stiffened at Kyle's tone. The determination in his voice was nothing new, but there was an edge there. Don't you dare defy me Jew-rat, I'll eat you alive…
"…so what're you going to do?" His harsh derisive tone made Kyle look up. Cartman's face twisted into a feral snarl, his hands clenched tight into fists. "Hit me? Want everyone to see you hit the fat kid, Broflovski? Want everyone to cheer as you grind his fat disgusting face into the dust you fucking hypocrite? Want to make the blubber baby eat dust? Huh?" His voice was nearly pitched at a scream now. Tears of hysteria dotted the corners of his eyes but he couldn't stop himself now if he tried.
"You fucking Jew-rat backstabbing sonovabitch Jüden!" He spat, rising. The kiss, when it came, was unexpected. Cartman sat dumbly for a moment, semi-aware of the soft pressure on his lips like it was happening to someone else. Then animal instinct kicked in and he kissed back, violently. He twisted his fingers in the jew's hair and pulled him deeper in a mouth-bruising kiss. This went on for a glorious moment before Kyle ripped them apart.
"No- Cartman- no." Kyle said firmly. Cartman stared at him for a moment, face devoid of expression, then he wrenched away. Kyle grabbed him and made him face him again.
"Cartman no." He said again. He pressed their forehead together. "Not this time."
He twisted and squirmed but the Jew was strong, stronger. His face burned, his chest was tight, he had to get away-
"No, Cartman," Kyle hissed in his ear, his hot cheek pressed against Kyle's cool one. "No. you're staying. We're working this out. I can't be that for you, I can't- I can't just do that. I won't feed your misery. But I'm not leaving."
Eric's struggles ceased. He felt his heart slow, slower until it was nearly normal. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.
"Really?" he croaked. Kyle held him out at arms length and locked his gaze.
"Yes. I'm staying with you Cartman. We're not fighting any more, and I'm not hurting you like that again. We're going to work it out."
The words echoed in Cartman's head for an eternity, he tasted them, trying them, seeing if it was what he wanted. It wasn't what he expected but it wasn't entirely unwelcome either. In fact it felt-
"Don't cry." Kyle whispered soothingly. "Please don't cry."
It didn't work.
Night fell, the lamps flickering to early life on this cold day, shedding wan light on two figures hunched on a bench, one holding the other protectively. It would be okay after all, maybe…
Author's note: and so we come to the end. Hate to have so much innuendo and then leave the ending as ambiguous as this, but a little ambiguity's good for yah. I worked in a Norman Bates quote, for those who are good at spotting this sort of thing;). This will be my last chapter story for a while, I think I needs a little breaky-poo. It's hard to keep from writing each chapter as a standalone story…not a bad idea, now that I think of it. To those who have read from the beginning, sorry for going so long between chapters. Again, quite the procrastinator. I may write a bit of a sequel, if such things tickle my fancy in the future, but for now I think a rest is in order. Be seeing you…
