"Oh, you hate your job? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar."

-Drew Carey

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Friday, May 15th.

Kyle ripped the square white sheet off the desk calendar in his makeshift 'office'. May 15th. It had been exactly one month since he had come to work for his old childhood nemesis. The redhead balled up the small square of paper, tossing it across the room into a small wire wastebasket.

The office Cartman had provided wasn't really half bad. It was a small room on the ground floor of the home, complete with a desk, chair, and various other small pieces of furniture. The only downside was that, since there was only one small window, it got painfully hot and humid during the day. But Kyle didn't dare complain to his rival.

He'd probably just call me a Jewish pussy and laugh in my face, Kyle thought with a slight roll of his eyes. Cartman was always pulling dumb crap like that. Why couldn't he just grow up?

But that interview. Speaking on camera, he'd sounded different, almost… mature. It didn't mean anything, though. Probably just Cartman trying to 'subdue the masses'. In the month that Kyle had been living with him, it had seemed like Cartman was trying to make up years of lost time to torment and humiliate the redhead.

He sighed, returning to the monotonous task of filling out Cartman's extensive paperwork. Where was it all coming from, anyway? The fatass never did anything for himself, let alone menial office tasks.

The wide ceiling fan spun slowly, sending an almost tauntingly faint breeze circulating throughout the small white room. Kyle's pale forehead was shiny with sweat, causing his red curls to fall limply against the side of his face. The fact that he was wearing sweatpants didn't exactly help, either. Defeated, he stood to turn up the power of the fan.

The blades spun slightly faster, gathering speed quickly. Soon Kyle realized he had made a mistake, and ran to turn down the power of the rapidly spinning blades. But it was too late; the papers he had been sorting for Cartman were scattered all over the hardwood floor.

Shit. Now he'd never finish in time to go do something with Stan. The two had been planning to go out and celebrate Kyle's first month of Washington. Gathering up the stacks of paper, Kyle was relieved to see that most of them were still in order. He checked his new Rolex watch.

7:47, the small golden hands spelled out.

Good. That meant there was still time to finish working and get out of the house before the fatass got home and started demanding that Kyle make him dinner. Again.

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About an hour later, Kyle shoved the completed stack of papers into a pile on the kitchen counter. He straightened the collar of his crisp white shirt, grabbing a crisp red apple from a wooden bowl on the kitchen table. Pulling on the hem of his dark jeans, the redhead jogged down the stairs. Stan had said to meet him at some place called The Vault at nine.

Kyle pushed down the handle of the door, mildly surprised when it swung back into his face. Cartman walked into the house nonchalantly, smirking when he saw Kyle rubbing his nose gingerly.

"Hey, Jew. Where the hell do you think you're going?" Cartman asked, nodding at Kyle's new clothes. The brown haired man hung his black leather jacket on a hook by the door, turning to face his employee with a condescending expression.

"I'm going out with Stan. Get the hell out of my way, fatass. You're going to make me late," Kyle snapped, sliding the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his thin arm.

"I don't think so, Kahl. Did you finish all of my paperwork?" Cartman raised an eyebrow evilly.

"It's on the counter, you asshole. Now move."

Cartman grinned, stepping in front of the doorway to block Kyle from leaving.

"Just humor me, Kahl. Now, how exactly do you think you're going to get to the place? You don't have a car, and I'm sure as hell not letting you drive mine. That shit cost more than this house," the man informed, twirling a set of keys around his finger.

It was true. Kyle had thought he might call a cab, but not many drivers would come into a residential area on such short notice. He was stuck.

Cartman's eyes lit up, seeing that he was right. He grabbed the apple from Kyle's hand, taking a huge bite out of it as he slid his jacket back on. Jingling the key ring, Cartman motioned for Kyle to follow him out the door.

"You are so going to owe me for this, Kahl. Now get your Jewish ass in the car."

…………………………………………

Why do these things always happen to me? Kyle thought, crossing his arms with a foul expression. After ten minutes of working out how Kyle was going to repay him for a ride to the club (three weeks of laundry duty), the fatass had finally started the car. They had finally pulled into the parking lot at nine-fifteen, Kyle scrambling to get out the door before Cartman even parked.

The neon sign resting above the entrance to the dark-looking club read The Vault, accompanied by a huge light-up skeleton key logo. Loud music could be heard coming from inside the building. Kyle pushed open the doors, not bothering to wait for his employer to follow.

The lighting inside of the large room was dim. People in their twenties and thirties gathered around the bar and tables, drinking and laughing. The dance floor was buzzing with motion. Kyle strained to pick out a familiar mop of black hair from the large crowd. His ears ached slightly from the blaring music.

"Kyle? Hey, man, you're late!"

The voice was familiar, but not the one Kyle had been expecting. He turned to find an inconspicuously dressed Kenny, one girl under each arm.

"Oh! H-Hey, Kenny," Kyle greeted his friend in amusement. The girl under Kenny's right arm giggled.

"Hey, ladies, I'll meet you later, okay?" the blond man promised, releasing the two busty women from his grip. They waved seductively, stalking off to presumably find another man who would pay for their drinks.

"Stan and I got a table in the back. Where's Cartman?" Kenny asked, brushing off his shoulders. He was wearing a baggy black sweatshirt and jeans, things that Kyle suspected Kenny had owned in high school.

"He's parki- Wait, how did you know that Cartman was here?" Kyle demanded, crossing his thin arms over his chest.

"Oh, I dunno. How else were you gonna get here on time?" Kenny brushed off the question, grabbing Kyle's wrist and pulling him through the crowd of dancers.

Kyle shuddered when a skimpily dressed woman grabbed his shoulder drunkenly. Why did he always get dragged into going to sleazy places like this? He had never been much of a dancer, either. For some reason, clubs had just never really appealed to him.

"Hey, Kyle! Sit down!" Stan waved from a nearby table. Kenny dragged Kyle the last few feet, finally sitting down on the worn leather couch-seat roughly. Stan looked as if he'd had a few drinks. Although, Kyle noticed with suspicion, Kenny looked completely sober. The blond had out his Blackberry, busily punching in a text message to a number Kyle didn't know.

Wait a second- 555-555-5555? Did that number even exist?

"Want a drink, man?" Kenny asked Kyle, hurriedly shoving the Blackberry into his sweatshirt pocket. Kyle decided not to ask about the phone number. "It's on me."

"Sure," the redhead muttered, scanning the noisy crowd for Cartman's face. Kenny pulled a waitress aside, ordering a round of beers. The woman smiled, dragging her hand over Kenny's shoulder as she went to get their drinks.

Jesus Christ. How did Kenny do that to every single woman he met? The blond had the most experience with girls out of anybody Kyle had ever known. Stan had only gone out with Wendy, and who knew about the fatass, but Kyle had admittedly never had a girlfriend. Sure, he'd gone on dates, but it had just never worked out. But it seemed that Kenny had a new girlfriend every time he went out.

"WHAT THE HELL, KAHL? It took me forever to find a fucking parking spot!" Cartman slid into the seat next to his employee, looking furious and out of breath. Kyle snapped out of his thoughts for long enough to shoot the fatass a withering glare.

"Holy hell! Is that you, Cartman? I didn't know you were coming," Stan nearly shouted in surprise and, to Kyle's annoyance, excitement.

"Yeah, well, if your stupid friend here hadn't made me give him a ride I wouldn't be here." Cartman looked embarrassed as Stan studied his new appearance.

"Dude! You look awesome! How much weight have you lost? And check out that sweet watch!" Stan exclaimed, not pausing for breath. Cartman allowed himself a small grin.

"Yeah, well, it was easier to pay for all my cool shit before I hired this asshole," he muttered, nudging Kyle with his elbow. Kenny and Stan chuckled when Kyle jabbed Cartman's side in retaliation. The redhead grinned with pride when his nemesis doubled over in pain.

"I guess you guys aren't as different as you look," Kenny muttered, looking away with a small smile. Kyle's mouth hung open with wounded pride.

The waitress from earlier stopped by the table with a round of beers. She giggled as Kenny slipped her a small tip, waving behind her back.

The four men each took a drink, bickering good-naturedly. The next hour was filled with cheerful conversation about their new lives and memories from their shared childhood years. The waitress brought out a few more rounds every once in a while. Kyle began to feel a bit woozy as Stan recounted the story of when they all tricked Cartman into thinking he was dead.

"And then you and Butters sent Scott Tenorman and all them fruit baskets? Dude, that was fucking hilarious!"

"Shut up, you asshole," Cartman snapped. But he didn't really look angry; he looked amused. Almost happy. Over the past hour, Kyle had watched with interest as his employer's demeanor changed from disguised shyness to his obnoxious and confident persona of fifteen years ago.

"Dude, Butters was such a fag," Kenny interjected. He still seemed completely sober, even after six beers. Cartman looked pretty normal, too. But Stan was completely and thoroughly wasted. Kyle himself felt a little drunk as well. The blaring music from the dance floor was giving him a headache.

One of Kenny's girls from earlier walked up to the table, trying to catch Kenny's attention. The blond grinned, standing up from the leather couch to join her.

"I dunno about you guys, but I'm going to go dance," he said, allowing the girl to latch onto his arm. "Coming?"

"I guess… sso," Stan slurred, trying to stand but falling limply across the table. Kyle held in a snicker. Cartman folded his arms, turning away from Kenny.

"No way, you poor asshole. Dancing's for fags," he muttered, draining the last of Stan's beer.

"Heyy…" the drunken man slurred in indignation. This time Kyle had to laugh.

"Well, I guess I'll come." Kyle stood up from the table, only slightly tipping to the side. Kenny grinned, starting towards the dance floor with his friend. After only moments in the large crowd, the blond had managed to attract a crowd of young women around him.

Kyle shot a curious glance back at the table from the crowd. His best friend was still sprawled across the table, but Cartman was gone. Kyle was puzzled for a moment, but was distracted by two skimpily dressed girls tapping his shoulder.

"Want to dance with me?" one of the girls asked, playing with a strand of her short black hair. The other girl pushed in front of her, grabbing Kyle's forearm.

"I saw him first," she said playfully, running a hand up Kyle's arm to his shoulder. This girl was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a jean miniskirt and a pink tube top. The other girl smiled seductively, stepping back to wait her turn. The blonde pulled Kyle into the crowd of dancers before he even had time to speak.

"Relax, sweetie, I don't bite," the blonde girl purred, running her hands through Kyle's red curls. He felt disoriented, his head pounding sharply. The flashing lights traced patterns on the black and white tile floor, dancing across Kyle's eyes. A wave of dizziness tore through his stomach.

Suddenly, the girl leaned in and kissed Kyle roughly. The man tried to pull back, alarmed, but his body suddenly felt weak. The girl had slipped something into Kyle's mouth. A pill, maybe, or a tablet. She broke the kiss with a smirk, leaning in close to the man's ear.

"Just relax…"

Kyle felt the drug's effects immediately. All the lights in the room blurred and brightened. The loud music seemed to slow down, and the faces of the people around him were distorted.

"Kyle? You okay?" Kenny's voice pierced through the dreamlike state as the redhead's vision swam. Suddenly, the lights in the room disappeared, and everything went pitch-black. There was a sensation of falling, broken by something soft. Kyle was tired. He wanted to sleep. But the hands around his shoulders gripped so tightly they hurt. The redhead shifted uncomfortably.

"What did you give him?" a voice asked in cold panic. Kyle vaguely wondered what was going on. The sounds of the music faded away to a soft hum.

"I SAID, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU GIVE HIM?" the voice shouted. Kyle felt himself being lifted into someone's arms. The man's thoughts ran thick like honey, dripping into what remained of his consciousness.

Kyle could vaguely feel a rush of cold air surround him as a door slammed. The worried voices slowly disintegrated into a faint buzz as his mind slipped away.

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A/N: Let me start by saying that I am so, so sorry for the wait. I was really busy with school and horseback riding that I couldn't find the time to finish this chapter for a while. And then I only have this short monstrosity of a chapter to offer you… Oh well. I hope you enjoy anyway! I promise the wait won't be so long for chapter 8.

Ah HA! Another cliffhanger. HA HA HA. Sorry. I feel extremely devious today. Lyric for the title is from the song 'Untouched' by The Veronicas. Me no own. Please review! ^___^