South Park © Matt & Trey.
Kyle's POV
I'm at the hospital again and I just witnessed Kenny being taken away like some kind of out of control animal. It was awful. I don't really think there's anything I can do for him now.
"Why do you do every fucking thing you're told to do?" I yell after finding Craig.
"I'm a cop," he states, but there's guilt in his stare.
"That's not why!" I say tersely, pointing my finger at him and jabbing it into his chest. "You're lying!"
He lets out a sigh. "Let's talk somewhere private."
"Why?" I raise a suspicious eyebrow.
"You want to know the truth, don't you?" he asks.
"Yes…" I say slowly.
"Then come," he nods his head towards the hallway and I follow him into a dim, empty room.
"Well?" I say expectantly once he closes the door.
"He has something on me…" Craig admits quietly.
"What?" I whisper, afraid to find out more. "Who?" Though I know the answer already.
"Eric Cartman."
"Wh-what does he have on you?" I ask, stuttering the question.
Craig looks even more miserable than he usually looks as he admits, "When I was fourteen I killed someone."
I feel my eyes widen and my lips part.
"Yeah," he snorts, reading my reaction. "Surprising, right? Boring Craig Tucker is a murderer…"
"And Eric found out?" I presume.
He confirms, "Yup."
"How?" I ask.
"I don't know," Craig shrugs. "Maybe he always knew. Maybe he followed me after school one day and saw it all happen. Maybe he was just waiting for the opportunity to put his blackmail material to good use."
"Who was it…?" I whisper the question, no longer able to raise my voice. I'm too shocked.
"Some kid that lived down the street from me," he shrugs. "He was younger… a really annoying little shit. He kept trying to fight me, but like hell I was gonna fight a kid, right? I got irritated. He wouldn't leave me alone so I pushed him. Hard. He fell and cracked his head open… I didn't mean to do it… but it happened and just like that he was dead and the contents of his skull were leaking out onto the pavement by my feet. I couldn't change what I did."
"Jesus Christ…" I choke.
"Water can wash evidence away," he murmurs somewhat offhandedly. "Did you know that?"
"Yeah," I tell him.
"I was scared… I don't ever remember being scared before. Is that weird?"
"It's not weird, Craig…" I say gently.
"We were near Stark's Pond," he says, sounding detached. "So I dragged his body and threw him in there. The pond wasn't completely frozen over yet. He sank and I ran. I went back a week later and found that the body surfaced… he looked all stiff and swollen and blue. It was disgusting… he was a child… he was so fucking small and I remember thinking, 'I did this,' and it made me throw up."
I frown, recalling a news story from a long time ago. "They discovered the body a couple weeks later," I add, filling in the blanks. "A kid named Filmore Anderson."
Ike knew him. They were classroom rivals, but they eventually became friends. Ike was sad for a while. A counsellor came to talk to the kids because they didn't really understand what was happening. Ike knew, though. He was always smarter.
Craig nods. "I wanted to become a cop…" he says, sighing. "It was my choice in the start. I wanted to atone for what I did by doing something good… helping people or whatever. Eric got wind of it. He decided to use it against me and for his own benefit. Now I'm doing more bad than good."
I'm surprised he's telling me all of this. It's the most I've ever heard him speak. He's probably wanted to get it out for a long time. It's been more than ten years since it happened and that weight has probably been heavy on his shoulders. He looks worn out. Now I get why.
It's late now. When I get home, I calmly sit down in my living room and wait for what I know is coming. Eric looks at me expectantly after entering my apartment. He seems calm and somewhat melancholic. "What are you doing here?" I ask weakly.
He smiles, walking towards me.
"Eric," my voice cracks.
"Kahl."
"T-tell me it's not true…" I plead.
"Is that what you want to hear?"
"I…"
He leans forward and I feel his mouth against my cheek before he whispers into my ear, "I ratted on the McCormicks."
Of all the lies he's told in his life… He chooses now to be honest. It's probably for the best. I feel like, in my current state of mind, if he lied I would go ahead and believe him. I want so desperately for him to just fucking lie to me. I can feel my eyes stinging and my chest tightening. I feel like my heart is going to stop and it hurts to breathe.
"I was doing my job," he continues. "I'm the mayor, right? That's what I'm supposed to do… I'm supposed to make the town better and by doing that, we can't have junkies and dealers roaming freely if there's an outcry."
"But Kenny…" I trail off.
He lets out a sigh. "To be fair, I didn't even mention his name. I just said the McCormicks had a meth lab… Stuart and Carol. It wasn't supposed to happen like this…"
"It's still your fault!" I yell.
"It was the council," he corrects. "All I did was give them a push in that direction by talking about the meth lab."
I let out a shaky breath, not knowing what to believe. I close my eyes, feeling his fingers tangle in my hair.
"You're mine," he hisses.
I'm quiet for a moment. "No," I say. "I'm not… but I could have been." He's pulling on my hair now and it hurts, but I don't protest. "I love you," I continue, sniffling, "but I can't be with you anymore."
"Why?" he growls.
"Maybe someday I could have forgiven you for the things you did to me…" I tell him, though I'm ashamed of how weak that makes me, "but what you put Kenny through… I can't forgive you for that, Eric."
"Why not?" he asks.
"If I forgave you, it would make it seem like I didn't care. I do. You can forgive the pain people inflict upon you, but it's different when it comes to pain inflicted upon others."
"Is it really?"
"It is," I insist and I know he probably doesn't even understand why.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," he says, finally untangling his fingers. He looks sombre as he cups my face in his hands. He doesn't move forward. He doesn't try to kiss me. He just stares at me and there's something so fucking innocent in that look… but I can't give in.
"Stop!" I scream at him, pushing him away.
He holds his hands up, surrendering.
"You can't just do things like that!" I yell, voice cracking.
"Do things like what, Kahl?"
"Act nice, and pretend you care, then go back to being a fucking asshole the next day!" I cover my mouth with a hand as I start crying, ashamed and embarrassed. "What you did to Kenny…" I can't even finish the sentence.
Cartman doesn't say anything at first. He just looks a way, like he can't stand the sight of me. "Tsk…" he sighs. "Fuck Kinny! Fuck the McCormicks!" he shouts angrily. "Fuck you! Fuck you!"
I sob loudly, shuddering at his tone. He sounds psychotic.
"Come on, Kahl, don't fucking do that…" he hisses. "Just don't."
Don't cry. That's what he's telling me. I fucking hate when people say that. I hate it. Nothing feels worse than someone telling you not to cry because they don't want to see it or deal with it. It makes you feel angry and shameful and it feels even worse when the person saying that is someone you care about.
"I can't!" I sob. I care about him… No, it's more than that. It always has been and I've tried so hard to hide it but I can't keep doing this anymore. I love him and I want him to care about me the way I care about him… and at the same time, I wish I could just hate him. That would make everything so much easier. I wish you could change the way you felt about things. If I could do that, I'd be able to solve all my problems. Apathy would be wonderful.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"No, you're not!" I scream, hitting him. He doesn't look fazed. He hardly budges. I'm not even strong enough to hurt him like this.
"Yes, I am," he insists, wrapping his fingers around my wrists and holding me in place, "but not for the Kinny thing."
"Then why…?"
"I'm sorry for the insults… for making you feel like you weren't worth anything, for the things I did to you when you told me to stop and for the things I did to you when you were drunk and unable to protest," he says, letting me go, "unable to get away…"
"What?" I ask in a choked whisper. "What?" I say again, covering my mouth as realization creeps into my mind. "No… No, no, no…!"
"Yes," he says quietly.
"No!" I scream, feeling like I'm going fucking crazy. I sink to the floor and hunch over, covering my face in my hands and sobbing grossly. "No! You're lying! Stop lying…!"
I feel his hand on the top of my head. "I love you," he says sadly. "I've never been able to say that aloud with confidence before, but now I can. That's why I can't lie to you anymore."
"No…" I moan miserably.
"Hey," he murmurs, placing a gentle hand on my cheek.
"What?" I ask, unfamiliar with that kind of physical contact.
"I'm really am sorry, Kyle," he says, pronouncing my name carefully and correctly for the first time in his life.
"Don't," I choke. "Please… Oh, God."
"I'm sorry," he says again, and I start sobbing harder because his tone sounds so fucking genuine.
He wanders out of the apartment quietly as I continue to cry into my hands. I don't know how long I'm just sitting here, but Stan barges into the apartment looking scared. He doesn't hesitate to approach me.
"K-Kyle?" he asks carefully, looking afraid at the same time.
I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to calm down but it's too hard.
"Kyle?" he says my name again. "What happened? You're scaring me… I heard you all the way from down the hall…"
"Oh, God," I gasp, looking at Stan with wide eyes and what probably looks like a really helpless expression. "Look at me!"
"There's nothing wrong with you, Kyle," he says softly.
"He's ruining me!" I shout. "He's killing me…!"
"Who is?"
"Eric!"
"Shh…" Stan tries to comfort as he pulls me into his chest. "I'm sorry, Kyle."
I'm getting tired of all the apologies. Nonetheless, I press my face into his sweater, sobbing openly and it feels good not to have someone telling me to stop.
When I wake up Stan is asleep against me and it feels like we're thirteen years old again, having sleepovers at our parents' houses. I'd give anything to be a child once more. All my problems were shallow compared to this.
I lean my head against Stan's shoulder, letting a numb feeling overtake me. It's better than feeling all this pain. "Kyle?" I hear him mumble.
"Hm?"
"You're awake?" he asks.
"Mhm…"
He shifts slightly and wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer and hugging me like a stuffed animal to his chest. "Do you wanna talk about what happened with Cartman?" he asks softly.
"No…" I say airily. My head feels cottony. It's too soon to talk about it. I'll let this numb feeling last a little longer. It's easier than welcoming the inevitable pain.
"Will you ever tell me?"
"I will," I promise.
"Just not now?" he guesses.
"Yeah."
"Okay," he says. "I'll be here when you're ready."
"Thanks, Stan…" I tell him, "and I'm really sorry…"
"What for?"
"For yelling at you and making you feel like a bad friend."
"It's okay Kyle," he says. "You were hurting. Part of that was my fault. I was a bad friend, and for that, I'm sorry too."
"It's fine."
"Is it?" he asks.
"Yeah. You're here now, so it's fine." He tightens his grip around me. "Would Wendy be jealous if she saw us right now?" I ask, trying to make light of a painful situation.
"Maybe," Stan chuckles.
I force a smile, even though he can't see it. Maybe I'm just trying to convince myself I'm okay, even though I'm not. I don't think I'll be okay for a long, long time. I always knew Eric was awful, but I didn't think he was this awful. I don't think he's capable of feeling remorse, even if he tries to make it seem like that isn't the case. He's the kind of guy who will play with your heart and laugh as it breaks.
I spend the day pacing, making circles around the rooms in the apartment. Stan takes the day off work to be with me. He probably feels like he has a lot to make up for. "Kyle?" he says my name. "Sit down for a few minutes."
I pause and let out a sigh.
"How 'bout I make us something to eat?" he offers.
"No," I murmur, not feeling particularly hungry.
"What did… What did Cartman do to you?" He quietly asks the question, as if he's worried I might snap.
"I thought you weren't going to pry," I say.
"Sorry," he murmurs.
I shake my head. "It's okay," I reason. "I should talk about it, right? That's how you get better… you talk about it, you cope, you move on… It sounds so fucking easy."
"It's never that easy, though," he smiles sympathetically. "We both know that."
"You're right," I sigh. "Should I go see him?" Stupid question. No. I shouldn't go see him, but I know I will anyway.
"I… I don't know," Stan shrugs. "I mean, I don't understand what happened so I can't really tell you whether or not you should… but you were so fucking upset. I've never seen you like that before."
"It can't be fixed," I say.
"Then why do you want to go see him?" Stan asks softly.
"I don't know," I murmur.
"Yes, you do."
"I love him," I whisper.
Stan picks up his keys and says, "Let's go, then."
I guess it must mean something.
I go to see Eric one last time. I know this makes me weak. I know I shouldn't be here, but I can't help myself. Stan drives and insists on waiting outside. I show up unannounced. He lets me in without a word and I follow him into the living room. "Why are you here?" he asks, pouring aged alcohol into a glass mug and taking a long sip.
"I don't know," I admit.
He scoffs lightly, closing his eyes. "How like you…"
"You're not good," I tell him. "You're not good for me and we're not good for each other."
"I know," he admits in a voice that sounds wet. "I'm oil and you're water."
"I convinced myself that deep down you might've been good… but I was just being naïve and I see that now," I say. "This is the end, Eric."
"You came all the way here just to tell me that?" he growls.
"Yes. This is the end."
"Don't say that," he hisses angrily. I press my lips together, unable to say another word – unable to tell him that I'll stay. "I'll hurt you," he seethes, eyes swimming. "I'll break your fucking legs so you can't run away from me!"
"No, you won't," I say, calling his bluff. He throws his now empty glass across the room and it shatters against the wall. My shoulders shake, but I don't budge an inch. "You can't…"
Eric reaches forward and wraps his hands around my neck, thumbs digging into my throat. "I'll kill you," he yells. "I'll snap your fucking neck like a twig…!"
"No, you won't," I repeat softly. He loves me. He may be sick, but he won't kill me. That much I can be certain of.
A moment later, he lets go and falls to his knees, gripping my hips painfully as he sobs into my abdomen.
"Eric, don't make me say it again," I plead in a wet voice, my own cheeks feeling damp.
"Please," he begs and my heart feels like it's breaking. I feel like the tables have turned. Just yesterday, I was the one crying and begging. Now it's him.
I close my eyes, trying to gather the strength to walk away. "So help me…" I whisper to myself as I push him away. I swallow a sob as I leave, not allowing myself to look back because if I do I know I'll stay. I can't keep torturing myself like this. I can't. I can't. I fucking can't.
"How'd it go?" Stan asks when I open the car door.
"Drive," I choke out and he doesn't hesitate. I force myself to take a deep breath as I wipe my cheeks dry with shaky hands. My head hurts, my chest hurts and I feel sick to my stomach. I don't think words can explain how fucking hard it was to leave him like that. I hated seeing him so fucking miserable, but I can't give in. No. I can't keep being so weak… I need to break this endless cycle before it breaks me, but maybe it's too late to worry about that. Maybe the damage is already done.