Author's Note: Alright! So this took waaaaay too long to put up but here it is! I hope you guys really enjoy this chapter and just know that I'm really really really incredibly sorry for the amazingly long delay ;A; Forgive meh? You guys wouldn't believe how hard it was to write this because I've had so many senarios planned out in my head, but I decided to go with this once, and yeah, so please don't kill me.
I hope you guys read, review and most importantly - enjoy this chapter of Better Left Unsung. I will definately try harder to get updates out earlier and faster too. Enjoy! ~CutiePie
p.s. I was listening to the Scientist by Coldplay while writing this, so yeah. If you guys need any mood music for the last scene of the chapter.
Chapter 11: Just Guessing
My anger dissipates like a deflating balloon as Cartman vanishes into the crowd, not once glancing back. I almost want to go after him, chase him down, and force him to understand how I feel, but I don't. I can't.
The music of the dance floor is too loud as the song changes to a fast beat, making the other prom-goers shift in their movements. People turn back into indistinguishable masses that throb and pulse and writhe together as one. But a small, tight circle forms around me as I stand utterly still.
I feel my throat close up and for the first time in a long while, tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. In frustration I bite down on my lip to stop the halting sob that was gathering and had been gathering since this shit had begun. I don't know whether I want Cartman out of my life or to never leave me again.
Not like it matters, seeing as he already made that call, I think to myself dejectedly. With the back of my hand, I wipe away the moisture before it could spill across my cheek. I'm just too tired and sick of the crap to let myself go and break down.
"Dude, what just happened?" Stan walks up behind me and tries to sling his arm over my shoulders – I stoop to allow for the height difference. I can't help but lean into his hold slightly and give in to being comforted. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he rubs his thumb across my shoulder and sighs that soft fluttery breath that lets me know how upset he is that I won't let him in.
"I…," I trail off, clearing my throat with a bit more conviction. "It's nothing."
. . . . .
Sleep won't come.
I roll over to stare at my alarm clock as it strikes six o'clock, the radio playing a slow country song to tell me it's time to get up. The sun outside my window is just barely breeching the horizon, the start of a new day. I greet Monday as she just begins.
I feel like I'm in a daze as I pull myself up from the cocoon of sheets and rake a sloppy hand through my tangled mane. I feel empty and hollow. I feel like today will be absolutely shitty. And I feel like I didn't want to feel anything at all, but of course I do. Too many things all at once, too many of these damned feelings that assault any and all logical thinking.
"Hey, Kyle, I'm taking the shower first!" Ike calls to me from the hallway. The water rushes on without me even giving a response, but I don't care. With a groan, I flop back down and sigh as he enters my mind again, fleetingly leaving a bitter taste in my mouth and an ache in my chest that's slowly becoming nearly impossible to ignore.
Cartman is a virus, I frown to myself. A cancer that will spread without any hope of recession. A disease that won't kill me – just keep me clinging to life.
"Yeah, real positive thoughts," I murmur to the stale air of my room. God, why do things always have to be so fucked up between he and I? Why can't we just for once realize that this stupid situation didn't have to be this difficult? I have no answers for my questions.
My hand flops down on the clock with a thump, silencing the whine of a man with a guitar who's woman left him and took the dog too. I can relate. It seems like Cartman has taken everything from me, or maybe I was the one who'd stolen it all.
. . . . .
School has become monotonous. Everyday I 'get up' from lounging in my bed for eight straight hours and then drag my sorry ass to high school to fill out the remaining two weeks before graduation. There are finals that no one cares about and end of the year parties that everyone attends each night. All but me, that is.
But everyday I went to school, I found myself staring at the empty space at the lunch table where Cartman usually was blabbing about the evils of Jews and hippies. For a whole week, he was gone and no one seemed to even care – it was like he'd just disappeared off the face of the earth. I was stuck debating whether that was a good thing or not.
I was madder at him for being gone than anything else. If at least he had been here, calling me a stupid Jew, then maybe things would've been okay, but his absence spoke volumes. I'm just not sure exactly what it said.
"Dude, are you alright?" Kenny frowns as he pokes my nonresponsive arm. I can only stare blankly back at him, my cheek resting against the cool plastic of the lunch table. My eyes feel tired, sore, and suddenly, I felt like I could drift off right there.
"I'm…," I almost say fine but stop myself. I'm not fine, I'm not okay, and I'm not going to be. Not until…my thought trails off, unable to finish. "So, finals are starting to get rough, huh?"
Kenny's deep blue eyes flash with understanding. My down-hill slide is definitely not open for discussion any more. He scoots over close to me, just his arms brushing against mine but it's enough for me.
"Yeah, I think I failed my math final," he shoots me a sideways grin and places a soft hand down on my head. His fingers delve into my tangled locks as he absently plays with my hair. "When did you stop wearing your hat, you sneaky Jew? I bet you're having to beat the ladies back with a stick."
Cartman's face pops painfully into my head as I reply, "Oh, you know it. And I just figured that it was time for a change, that's all."
Kenny snorts and opens his mouth to say more when suddenly Clyde and Token hurtle into the bench across from us, looking winded but grinning like idiots. Stan is hot on their heels and wearing his usual exasperated face – any moment now and he'd start pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You guys have heard, haven't you?"Clyde is practically vibrating he's so excited.
"Dude, you said that I could tell him!" Token protests loudly, punching his counterpart in the shoulder. The two kick up an argument, their voices just a hapless noise without meaning.
"Shut it, both of you," Stan interrupts loudly, pushing them both apart as he takes a seat between them. In contrast to the other two teen's delight, Stan appears…anxious? Or maybe nervous? He swallows thickly as he leans forward, capturing my gaze.
"What is it?" I'm almost afraid to ask, yet at the same moment, I have a feeling I already know what my super best friend is about to tell me. I don't know if I can handle this.
"Cartman's uh – Kyle, Cartman's moving," he runs a hand across his face before continuing. "He's going to go live with his mom in Texas. I…I thought you'd want to know. I'm so sorry, dude."
I blink a couple of times. What?
"Why…," I trail off before mentally slapping myself, "Why apologize? Finally, I don't have to deal with the fatass. We should throw him a going away party and then not invite him – wouldn't that just be awesome?"
Clydeand Token high-five but Stan looks incredulous, as if I had transformed into an entirely different person right before his eyes. Already I feel my anger spark – had this been a few months ago, he would've been celebrating with me. A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have care. A few weeks ago, I would've been happy.
But now?
I was anything but.
. . . . .
"Bubala, you have to leave the house sometime," my mother's nasally voice calls over the TV. I grind my teeth and turn the volume up higher. She has a point, and I know it, but that doesn't mean I really want to admit it. "Stan called again today. Did you two have a fight?"
My mom's stout frame blocks me from the screen as she steps in front, still drying a dinner plate in her pudgy hands. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom, but she just didn't know when to leave something alone.
"No, we didn't," I reply tightly, trying to lean around her to watch the rest of my show. She side-steps again, once more blocking my view. Sighing, I set the TV remote down and look directly at her with a fake smile on my lips, "Everything's fine, mom. I just haven't had much time to hang out with him is all, seriously. It's busy with the end of school and everything."
"Good," she finally moved out of the way but remains standing next to the couch, "because Sharon is coming over and Stan's coming with her."
Unconsciously, I groan as I snap, "God Mom, we aren't kids anymore. You can't just arrange some 'playdate'." I add snarky air-quotes.
Before she can reply, the door bell rings. A look of expectancy crosses her face before she goes to answer, swinging the door open to reveal Mrs. Marsh and Stan. His eyes land on me and instantly looks guilty – he used his mom to bypass me shutting everyone out. Great.
"Sharon, come in, come in!" My mom opens the door wider to let the pair slip inside the warmth of our house. "Boys if you want any food, I just went to the grocery. Me and Sharon will be back in the kitchen if you need us."
My mother and Mrs. Marsh scurry back to the other side of the house, leaving me and Stan to stare at each other awkwardly. Finally, he hangs his coat on the rack, along with his scarf and hat, but remains standing.
"Um, what are you watching?" he asks quietly, gesturing to the TV.
"Jerseylicious."
He wrinkles his nose, "You actually like that shit?"
I just shrug and move over to allow for enough room for Stan to join me. He takes the hint as he sits down next to me. We watch as two overly tanned and munchkin-like girls scream at one another, arms flailing and weaves bouncing in a wild rage.
"Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?" Stan says suddenly, twisting to face me. I frown and continue to just watch the show. I know I can't just keep putting him off – he's my best friend – but for god's sake, what am I even supposed to say?
"I don't know what you're talking about." Maybe the oblivious route would work.
"Bullshit, and you know it," he growls. Apparently not. "Something's happened between you and Cartman – like at prom, what the hell was that all about? And you've bailed out on me and Kenny on more than one occasion on a Friday night. Look, I'm not an idiot – what's really going on, dude?"
"It's nothing."
"Dude…you're my best friend, if you're in trouble or if he's done something to you-,"
"No, it's not like that-," I feel those tears that I'd held back for such a long time bubbling up to the surface. I cannot cry, please at least not in front of Stan.
"Come on, dude, you can tell me anything," he leans in closer, putting one hand on the center of my back and rubbing in slow, long circles. More tears gather up, threatening to spill over. I know I can't hold the truth back any longer.
"I just…I just don't want him to leave," I blurt out, my voice cracked and broken. It's like someone opened the flood gates – all of the emotions I'd locked away come rushing back out full force. I bury my head into Stan's shoulder, clutching onto him as silent sobs rack my body. "Oh god, I don't want to lose him, Stan. I don't want him to leave me."
Stan, blessedly, holds onto me just as tightly as I cry miserably. It was true. I didn't want Cartman to leave. I want to argue with him, I want to see him sing, I want to be with him. I just don't know how.
"Then go after him," he murmurs against my temple, lips brushing against my skin softly. Stan rocks back and forth with me until at last my tears come to stop and sleep begins to overtake me. I fall into blissful blackness.
. . . . .
Stan's words ring in my ears as I stand outside the Cartman residence Saturday morning. It looks so normal, and I'm half expecting to see Cartman walk right out the front door, wearing his usual leather get-up and that damnable smirk of his. But of course, things are too different. I stare up at the overcast sky as I think, if only.
I summon up all the courage I have and make my way up to his front door, each step bringing my closer to uncertainty. I don't know what I'm even going to tell him. For some reason, my mind had pieced together some romance-novel ending where I sweep Cartman up into my arms and tell him that I love him, baby. A guy can hope.
The knock on his front door might as well have been a thunder clap with the way it seems to echo all around me. From inside his house, I hear a scuffle followed by a muted thud and then quick footsteps. I swallow nervously.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Cartman hollers from the other side of the door. Now I wonder whether or not he'll just slam it back in my face.
"Um, it's just me…Kyle," I call back. And then the sounds stop. The door slowly opens, Cartman standing before me, confusion resonating in those chocolate depths. His hair looks mousy, windswept, and my chest tightens when I think about running my hands through it and grasping fistfuls only to pull him closer.
"What are you doing here?" he asks haltingly, searching my face intently.
"I – um, can I come in?" I ask, breathing out a breath of hot air that spirals away before dissipating. It seemsSouthParkwas only getting colder, or maybe that was just me.
Cartman moves aside to let me squeeze in past him, I automatically shudder as his clean scent washes over me. His house seems bare yet cluttered at the same time. Boxes are stacked against all the walls, yet all of the major pieces of furniture are gone. All but one – a large piano, half covered by a sheet in the corner. My stomach lurches.
"So, you're moving," I say, trying to put on some air of normality, but keep my back to Cartman. I can practically feel his gaze boring into my back.
A short pause, a breath in, and then, "Yeah, I am actually, to go live with my mom and her new husband down inTexas. She says the have a great college down there, plus an apartment nearby for me to live in."
"Sounds good."
"I suppose it does," he murmurs. Finally I turn back to watch him as Cartman takes the last of the remaining nick-knacks off the shelf of his fireplace and places them into an open box on a stack nearby. My heart drops down into the knotted mess of my insides. "So what's up? What are you doing here?"
He keeps his back to me now.
"Uh, nothing much, really." I can't find anything better to say, so I stay silent, waiting patiently for his response. It doesn't come right away, Cartman seemingly mulling over his options. He glances back over his shoulder at me, his intensity reminding me of that night when I'd asked him to – ordered him to kiss me. But the look fades as he returns to his work.
"Do you want something? To eat or to drink, I mean," he makes an empty gesture with his hands, still trying to not quite make eye contact.
"No, I'm…I'm fine."
The awkward silence spans for more than a few minutes, only interrupted by the sounds of items being placed into the box. Once again, I find myself peeking around at the sheer emptiness of this home, his home. I can't imagine what it'll be like when it's completely barren.
Cartman finishes, staring at the blank place on the ledge for moment, and then walks back over to his couch to sit. I don't dare sit down next him, god only knows what would come of that.
"What's up, Kyle?" he asks casually, but it sounds like anything but to me.
"N-nothing," I stammer, wanting to add more but once more, hold my tongue.
"Then why are you here?" the edge of frustration dawns in his tone. He knows why I'm here, but I also know that he wants me to actually say it. My courage falters.
"I-I wanted…I wanted to see you off, you know, make sure you don't forget all those corsets and feather boas," I offer up a dry laugh that dies in my throat.
"Heh," Cartman snorts, "yeah don't worry, I packed them all, just in case the localTexasbars needed some cross-dressing entertainment."
"They'll be luck to have you," I nod. Cartman glances up at me, his eyes looking tired and dulled. I add a tad slower, "Anyone would."
It seems like the universe was holding its breath for something, anything, to happen. But then Cartman releases a dead chuckle that almost sounds remorseful, bitterly so. We lock eyes once more and my insides freeze.
"Do you really think so?" he asks with a quirk of his brows. We aren't talking about Texan bars any more. But Cartman looks so afraid, terrified that I might say I want him to stay, or maybe terrified that I won't.
"Yeah,Texas will be perfect for you," I smile, clenching my jaw, "much better thanSouthPark."
His shoulders slump slightly, a sharp look in the back of his eyes but I can't decipher it. Heart-ache or relief? I'm not sure which.
"Well, I still have a few things to pack…," his voice cuts off short, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
"I'll be going then," I try to smile again but my lips revolt, twisting into something of a pained grin as I make my way to the front door once again. "Guess I'll be seeing you."
No you won't.
"Sure thing," his smile is just as forced as my own.
I wave once, a quick movement, and then the door clicks shut behind me.
The END!
Oh my god, you guys would totally kill me. No, we have a few - maybe two? - more chapters to go. So, just kidding everyone ^_^
A/N: Okay, so there were a lot of "scenes" in that. I guess that's what to call them. Those little breaks that lead into something entirely different. Do you guys find those annoying? I was starting to wonder this because I've been doing that alot in my writing but now I sort of wonder whether people really want a more consistent chapter and stuff.
Just a little thought. Review if you'd like and tell me what you thought og this chapter ^_^ Thanks so much!