Author's Note: So it has been forever since this has been updated and I seriously apologize for that. Hopefully I can get updates quicker and also have them be longer :D wouldn't that be great? If you concur, then review. Nah, I'm just kidding...or am I? No, but on a more serious note, I am getting a wee bit frustrated with the ammount of popel who will subscribe to this but not bother to take the tiny 10 seconds to leave a review, but for all of you people out there who also write, then I suppose you know what I mean.

But whatever, not like I can do anything about it because I'm definitely not going to hold these chapters ransom for however many reviews. A really warm and sincere thanks to all my reading reviewers and a wave of acknowledgement to those who just read. Please enjoy the tenth chapter of Better Left Unsung.

Chapter 10: Complications

Kyle's POV

I stare at the place where Cartman was standing on stage a moment ago and feel my stomach do this painful lurch as I suddenly want – need – to chase after him. Yet, even as I lean forward just slightly as if to get up, Nikki's grip on my arm tightens enough, keeping me rooted in my half-standing position. The din of the bar rushes back to me as reality strikes painfully.

Cartman wants me.

The thought hits me like a ton of bricks as I settle back down into the booth's seats, staring without seeing anymore.

Cartman wants me.

I can only imagine how stricken I must look right now. With a jolt, I'm back up on my feet, however, now Nikki grasps on tighter to my wrist. I glance down in the dim lighting of the bar at her, my jaw working soundlessly as I try to force something out to say – but nothing comes. What am I supposed to tell her anyway?

"Kyle."

Her brown eyes glitter dangerously back at me, the flickering light of the candle on the table which cast shadows upon Nikki's beautiful face. That look says it all – leave and it changes everything.

"I'm sorry," I sigh and pull away from her.

The half-drunken crowd is still cheering wildly as I take the stage stairs two at a time until reaching the top. I round the corner of the dividing red curtains, frantically scanning for Cartman anywhere. My heart drops as I whirl around the empty backstage area until my eyes land on the backdoor and the bright green beacon of hope, illuminating 'EXIT'.

Just as I take a step, a hand yanks me back around while its partner in crime latches onto the collar of my shirt. I come face to face with…Rudy? Or was it Ruben? Whatever his name, the pudgy hipster looks furious – a hard thing to imagine but true enough.

"You're such a fucking tool, you know that?" he demands angrily, giving me a rough a shake. He took the words right out of my mouth. "Do you?"

My own temper flares as I grasp his wrist closest to my face and hold on with a vice-like grip. Once again, I feel smug when a fleeting wince of pain crosses his face, eyes scrunching behind thick rimmed glasses.

"Let me go," I growl, my own voice sounding distant and unreal.

"Yeah?" Ruben challenges, lifting his chin a bit in defiance. "And then what? Did you ever even think of that? Erica is a nice girl – and sure, sometimes she seems mean and conceited but that's not how she is, not really anyway – but she doesn't deserve scum like you. She deserves a guy who will treat her right-,"

"Like you?" I ask abruptly. "Give me a fucking break."

"And why not? At least I know who I want and don't bring some tramp around!" he shoots back acidly. "Why don't you just leave with that skinny ho and leave Erica alone? She would be better off without you."

"Because…," words suddenly fail me. Why am I chasing after Cartman, even after all this shit, even when I know that a relationship is out of the question? And why the hell does that hurt so much?

Ruben releases me, shoving me away from him slightly, and stuffs his hands back into his 'shabby-chic' trench coat. With a soft sigh, he turns away and begins to just stalk off, shoulders hunched in defeat.

"You better figure that out, Kyle," Ruben calls back at me, "because if you don't, I'll settle for being Erica's second choice."

With that, he disappears around the curtains, leaving me with a very tortuous thought yet empty handed. I groan in frustration, raking a hand through my wild curls. What the hell am I supposed to do?

. . . . .

I rolled over in my bed for what seems to be the millionth time later the same night – nearly morning – and stare out my window at the rising sun that's coming up over the surrounding mountains of South Park. I can't help but sigh. Again.

A few hours ago, I'd taken Nikki home after a blatantly awkward drive. We pointedly avoided the subject of Barbwire, her opting to face the window the entire time while I stayed focused on the road. Even when I pulled into her driveway, she didn't glance at me, just barely muttered a 'thanks' and a 'see you later' before getting out.

Groaning, I flop over onto my back and throw my arms across my face in exasperation. I have no idea where this is all going and the thought of seeing Cartman again makes my stomach turn in a painful way. When had I begun to feel something other than hatred for that fat Nazi bastard? My mind flicks annoyingly over to him, grinning at me, holding frozen veggies up to my jaw, singing with that mildly flirtatious smirk, busting me out of detention.

Shit!

I can't deal with this right now, I decide suddenly. Graduation was soon, which meant college, which ultimately meant leaving this hick-town, which was what I'd been wanting my whole life, right? Of course. And until college admissions come in, I still have prom to go to, plus finals. I can't let this…thing with Cartman throw me off from my goals.

And Nikki – Nikki was nice, she was smart, she wasn't a total Jew-basher and she was also a girl. I could be happy with her, have a relationship, get out of college and then settle down with her, maybe even have some kids. Nikki could be the door to normalcy, where I could at least be content.

I sigh to myself softly. Yeah, that sounds…regular.

With another grunt, I roll once more to face my nightstand and retrieve my cell phone. Hopefully, I can fix things and finally get back on the right track, before all of this with Cartman started. I sigh.

. . . . .

"You look handsome, dude."

I fiddled with my tie again, straightening and un-straightening the damned thing. From behind me in the mirror, Stan brushes invisible dust once again from his vest, looking every bit the stereotypical jock from every teen movie. His jet black hair is its usual tousled self, but he looks much more clean-cut than the kid I'd grown up with. Stan's a lady killer in black slacks, matching dress shoes, along with a black blazer over a deep gray vest with the collar of a white shirt peeking out. A small purple corsage is pinned to the fold on the jacket, looking both elegant yet not too feminine.

"Thanks," I reply sarcastically, done with inspecting my best friend, "but I think Wendy will have a hard time keeping her paws off you tonight, dude. Seriously, you look like some model from one of those sexy cologne ads."

"Well, I am pretty fucking hot," he concedes with a smirk as he walks up to me. In response, I give him a light punch in the arm, "but I fear you might be the one to outshine me tonight, darling. I mean, damn Kyle, if anyone looks like a model, I'd say it's gotta be you."

I glance at my reflection again. My curls had taken on a soft bronze look that barely reached my light green eyes, giving a stark contrast with my black ensemble accompanied by only a thin and long white tie standing out against.

"Okay, maybe I do look…not so Jewish," I admit slowly.

Stan turns me around to face him, taking the tie into his own hands as he too begins to absently tighten and then loosen it. His pale blue eyes stare back up at me for a second before returning to his work.

He asks quietly, almost hesitating, "Kyle…dude, you're okay, right? Like, you – you're good? Nothing wrong?"

I pause, then force a quick smile as I take a small step away from Stan. "No, yeah, I'm great, I'm fantastic. Why wouldn't I be? I'm going to prom with a totally sexy and funny chick, man. I'm fucking fabulous, why should I not be?"

My best friend blinks slowly, just once, and then something on his face changes as he gives a nonchalant shrug. We're left with a brief moment of silence where we each start to say something but stop and waver. Before we can either get any words out, Mr. Marsh – Randy – flings the door open carelessly to his son's room.

"Come on, boys, I'm sure you both look beautiful and your dates probably won't call you fat," the older man says gruffly with a roll of his eyes. "But if you plan on getting there at all, you probably ought to leave. Now."

Stan just rolls his eyes as well, snagging his car keys off of his desk. After a few photos and Stan's dad bursting into tears of pride for his son with his mom oddly comforting the man, we leave and head to pick up the girls.

Thankfully, Wendy's house is a two-story, so the girls got to take their slow-walk down the staircase together. Wendy, as always, looks stunning in a long dark purple gown and black lace shawl. On the other hand, Nikki looked drop-dead gorgeous in a black, backless gown that matched my outfit, her dark hair falling to her shoulder in familiar ringlets. A few more pictures and we're on our way.

"You look good," I murmur to my date in the backseat of Stan's car. Nikki spares a look at me but it's one that holds some weight that I don't recognize. Once more, all I get from my girlfriend is a rushed 'thanks', thus signaling the end of our conversation.

With the school's shitty budget, the prom is being held in the gymnasium, but damn, when we walk in, I have to hand it to the decoration committee. Little strings of lights are hung in low arches across the ceiling along with white paper lamps that adorn the walls. A large space has been cleared for a dance floor with a stage in front of that but all around it, small tables with white table cloths sit, illuminated by a white candle in the center. In the corners of the room, canopies are in place, shrouded by thin, see-though curtains and inside there are white downy throws and lavishly silken pillows.

"Seems like the school splurged this year," Wendy comments dryly before launching into a speech about needless décor and starving babies in Africa. Meanwhile, Stan just smiles at her like an idiot while she rants.

"Testing one, two, mm'kay. Welcome South Park High students, we hope you enjoy your prom, mm'kay? Please don't dance inappropriately, because freak-dancing's bad, mm'kay?" Mr. Mackey drawls into the microphone on stage just before loud pop-ish music with a thrumming beat plays from the giant speakers on stage, followed by the whoops and hollers of the prom goers. The crowd of well-dressed teens all make their way to the dance floor, lead of course by Kenny, who was already jumping and wiggling to the beat.

Silently, Nikki and I make our way out there.

I've never really been one for dances, seeing as all you do for four hours is grind up on your date and watch other people grind on theirs, but try to awkwardly not make eye contact.

But that's exactly what I end up doing for the first few songs. Until of course, the universe decided to shit on my night. Just as the song changes to a slower, actual dancing type of rhythm, it happens.

There's a tap on my shoulder, and as I turn to look, I feel my stomach drop.

"Kahl, may I have this dance?" Cartman smirks at me in delight as my face twists probably into a look of sheer horror. He looks even better in a run-of-the-mill black suit and tie than all the frills and tight leather.

"Actually-,"

"Go ahead," Nikki chuckles, stepping back as if to retreat. "You know, I need to catch up with my girlfriends and get some of that spiked punch. So share a dance or two, and I'll be back in just a little bit." My date abandons me with the last person I want to see on the entire planet, shooting me a little knowing wink over her shoulder.

"At least she can take a hint," Cartman snorts from behind me.

I whirl to face him, feeling suddenly and ambiguously furious, as I demand, "What the hell do you want?"

He almost appears taken aback, but as always, Cartman recovers smoothly, extending a hand to me as he says, "A dance, simple enough Jew."

"Fuck you."

"Gladly," comes his retort. But, before I can beat the hell out of the asshole Nazi, he snatches my hand and forcibly guides the other to his shoulder while he clamps down on both my wrist and waist.

"So, why are you here?" I growl under my breath, giving in as I follow his steps begrudgingly while keeping in time with the music.

Cartman's smirk gets a bit cold as he answers, "I figured that I could trap you here so that way you couldn't just pussy out like you did last time."

"Excuse me?" I exclaim exasperatedly. "You were the one who ran away, for the record. I was the one who came chasing after you. I never 'pussied out'," I snarl, bringing my heel down upon the top of his foot with all of my weight.

"What? Oh come on, Kyle! At least I came after you and I tried to fix this shit, but you were the one who got a girlfriend and have been hiding behind your fucking 'beard' this whole time," Cartman in turn crushes my own toes with his foot.

"Oh, right? Like you weren't dangling Ruben in front of my face this whole time and using him the exact same way!" Smash! I stomp angrily down once more.

"Ouch, fuck! Don't give me any of that bullshit, Jew-fag, you were the one who started this all in the first place – you were the one who ordered me to kiss you!" Crunch!

"You're the one who fucking did it!" Crack!

"You kissed me back!"

We had stopped dancing and now Cartman was grasping onto my upper arms tightly, staring up at me in such a desperate rage that I felt my heart skip a beat.

"I don't know what the hell it is that you want from me Cartman, I seriously fucking don't," I let my voice drop down to hoarse whisper, just barely over the music.

"No, no, don't try to turn this all around on me," Cartman shakes his head in frustration as his hands drop back down to his sides. "I'm the one who doesn't know what your game is. You make me your 'slave' and then all you do is force me to hang out with you, then order me to kiss you. What do you want from me, Kahl, 'cause I'm getting sick of all this bullshit."

"God, you don't fucking get it, do you?" I snap, "Stop acting like the victim, asshole! You're not the one who's had to deal with all of your shit over the years – I have. Not you, me. And when I finally get a chance to get back at you, you still manage to somehow make it all blow up in my face! I can't ever win with you."

"Yeah, well you just did – I'm done," Cartman shakes his head slightly and starts to turn away from me.

My anger gets the better of me as I shout at his back, "Don't give me that crap. It's not like you actually have a heart, you fucking Nazi prick!"

"Really?" Cartman's shoulders shake slightly with a humorless and dry chuckle. "Because it feels like it's breaking to me."

The expression that crosses Cartman's face when he glances over his shoulder back at me is enough to make my blood run cold and my pulse halt. His eyes look red and watery, his mouth just a grim line. And that look. The amount of hurt and pure anguish in it penetrates me with the intensity, making my breath stop short in my throat. At last, our contact is broken just as the song comes to an end around us, the couples all splitting apart.

As he walks away, a distance grows that appears almost infinite. I realized that I'd let Cartman slip through my fingers like sand. Again.

A/N after thoughts: Damn! Slipped away again! Alright, so maybe you ladies and gentlement are getting a little frustrated but hang in there. We are at the peak of my story - past the point of no return. So, until next time, darlings!