Much thanks to everyone who reviewed and loved! I heart all yall! Haha, I'm listening to What Would Brian Boitano Do, and was thus hit with the urge to get this up. Also, I love yall, so it goes up. Either way, here it is...haha, Brian Boitano...(snickers) Also, I just realized something. No new South Park tonight. Just Free Willzyx or however its spelled. While funny, nothing new. So this is new! Yay! Enjoy!

EDIT: Same as laster chapter

Chapter 2

The four seniors opened Craig's front door and were nearly blow away by the sheer volume of the music that was playing. "God damn!" They moved inside, and Kenny, having spotted Bebe dancing, quickly parted from them. Wendy frowned after him.

"You know they've had sex at least five times already," Kyle yelled in her ear.

"I know," Wendy said. She took the red plastic cup Stan passed her and took a sip. God, Stan knew how to make a drink! He must have picked it up form his dad. He knew Wendy's alcohol tolerance and mixed accordingly.

Kyle reached out and smacked Stan's arm as he poured whiskey into another cup. "No double shot, dude. One of us needs to stay decently functional tonight," Kyle said.

Stan frowned. "What for? There's no school or tests tomorrow."

"We're still in charge of Wendy tonight. And we drove. I'd prefer to not die in a drunken wreck three weeks before I graduate high school, thanks," Kyle said, crossing his arms.

"Good point," Stan said setting down the bottle. He finished Kyle's drink and pumped beer from the keg. He chugged it down quickly and filled up another one.

"Slow down, tiger," Craig said as he walked over. "We only have one of those tonight."

"You have enough liquor to entertain everyone else," Stan said. "I'm sticking to beer tonight, so half of this is mine."

"Oh my God!" Tweek cried desperately. "You'll die of alcohol poisoning, Stan! Jesus! We'll have to call the cops! They'll throw us in the big house! I'll get raped! Craig, do something!"

Craig just laughed and planted a quick kiss on Tweek's lips. "Calm down, babe," he said. "Stan'll be fine. He knows when to stop. And if he doesn't stop, Kyle will kick his ass."

Kyle grinned in a reassuring manner at the blonde, who looked slightly relieved. "Don't let him die, Kyle," Tweek said seriously.

Craig and Tweek walked off to go make sure the bedroom doors were locked. Wendy grinned after them. "You know, I really will miss those random outbursts of his," she said fondly. Stan and Kyle just exchanged glances.

"Let's go sit down," Kyle said. The three made their way over to the sofa that had been pushed up against the wall to make a dance floor. Stan pushed Mark off so they could all fit. He wrapped his arm around Kyle, and the redhead leaned comfortably onto him. Wendy smiled.

Her smile, however, was short lived. An obnoxious voice sneered, "That is fucking disgusting." Stan rolled his eyes and took another sip of his beer. Kyle showed no reaction other that the twitching of his brows. Wendy, however, turned to face him.

"Get a life, Cartman," she snapped.

"I wasn't talking about you, bitch," he said lazily. "I was referring to the fags, but if you'd rather I insult you, I guess I could work something out."

"You are so full of yourself," she said. "We didn't do anything to you, so back off."

"You're just as uppity as you claim I am, if not more," Cartman retorted. "All your save the rainforest bullshit. You ever been to the rainforest, ho? I have. It's a shit hole that needs to be torn down. Even those fags agree with me."

"Stop calling them fags," Wendy yelled, jumping up from her seat.

"It's what they are," he yelled back.

"You're just being derogatory," she screamed.

"Wendy," Kyle started, reaching up to grab her hand.

"No," she yelled snatching it away from him. "No, he can't just walk around do this. No one ever stands up to him."

"There's a reason for that," Cartman said smugly. "You've seen what happens to people who piss me off. My evil twin. That Skyler kid. Scott Tenorman. Saddam Hussein. Those are just a few examples. And you're being hypocritical. Remember when you had that substitute teacher fired into the sun because Stan threw up around her?" He laughed. "Too bad you didn't foresee that Stan was a fag."

"You—you jerk!" she yelled. "At least I show remorse when I do something wrong! You don't care!"

"And neither do you," Cartman said coldly. "You don't feel bad that you killed that woman. You can't bullshit a bullshitter. Doesn't work that way. You're a bitch, Wendy. A cold, heartless bitch. You don't give a shit about other people, especially if they get in your way. All you care about is coming out on top and staying on your little pedestal. As long as everyone conforms to you and your views, everything will be fine, but if someone comes along with the slightest difference in opinion, you explode."

Normally, Wendy would have just snapped back at him. Normally, she would have matched him with a ferocity that few could muster. But right then, Wendy felt her heart clench and the full emotional effects of her period hit her. Wendy bit down hard on her lip to keep from sobbing. She blinked rapidly in hopes of keeping tears at bay. She wasn't able to hold in a sniffle. Cartman scoffed, "Pussy."

Wendy didn't say anything but rather turned and ran from the house. She flew out into the front yard and plopped down into the wooden swing hanging from the tree. She wrapped her arms around her body and sobbed. Why was he so hurtful? Why did she not hate him for the things he said to her? Why did she still love him?

A few seconds later, a soft, caring voice said, "Hey." Wendy looked up to see Kyle standing above her. Wendy scooted over, giving him room to sit with her on the swing. He took it, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, each facing an opposite direction. Wendy finally couldn't hold in her sniffles anymore. Kyle reached out an arm and drew her into a hug. Wendy cried for a few minutes on his shoulder. "I know it's hard, but don't let him get to you."

"Why does he do that," she sobbed.

"Because he's an asshole. You know that," Kyle answered.

"Then why do I still care?"

Kyle was silent for a few seconds. "I can't answer that," he finally responded. "For the life of me, I've never understood why you picked Cartman of all people. I know South Park doesn't have much to offer, but there are better specimens out there."

"I can't explain it," Wendy said. "Like I'm sure you can't explain why you like guys."

Kyle chuckled. "I guess," he said gently pulled Wendy back. He smiled. "You have mascara all over your face," he said. Kyle brought his thumb up and wiped as much of the offending make-up away as he could. "I've just got to say, it's pretty crappy that you make yourself look so good for him, and then he's the one to turn you into a melting Michael Jackson."

Wendy's eyes widened. "I look that bad," she cried.

Kyle shook his head. "Naw, it was just the best analogy I could come up with. But you do look pretty miserable right now."

"I am pretty miserable," she said leaning back on his shoulder. "This is stupid. It's not like he's never said those things to me before. I shouldn't be so upset."

Kyle let her have a few more minutes before saying, "Come on. Let's go back in. There's no reason to let Cartman ruin your last break day before all those tests. Stan and Bebe are double teaming his ass. Let's go find a bathroom and make sure you get all the running crap off."

Wendy offered him a smile. Kyle knew it was forced and fake, but it was better than nothing. He took her hand and led her back inside. They walked past the dancing and drinking teens and up the stairs, ignoring any stares or questions. Kyle had been right. Bebe and Stan were screaming at Cartman on the other end of the living room. Wendy gulped. He wasn't giving them an ounce of his attention. He was watching her and Kyle.

It was that stare, the one that made her want to ravish him. She probably would have run across the room and thrown herself on him had Kyle not had a tight hold of her hand. They ducked into a bathroom. Kyle threw Red and Kenny out and turned on the sink. Wendy pulled a few squares of toilet paper off the roll and set to work ridding herself of her running make-up. "You okay now," Kyle asked.

Wendy drew in a breath and said, "Not really, but don't worry about it. I just want Stan to make me another drink, then I'll go hang with Bebe and some of the other girls. That'll give you and Stan some time together." Kyle looked like he was about to protest, but Wendy cut him off, "You two don't need to have a bad night just because I am."

She fixed Kyle with a stubborn look. Kyle rolled his eyes good naturedly. "You can always come hang with us. We don't care at all. We're your friends. And we can take you home any time you want."

Wendy shook her head. "I'll be fine." They headed back downstairs, passing and ignoring an indignant Kenny. Stan and Bebe were waiting for them, Cartman nowhere to be seen. Stan immediately set to work making Wendy's requested drink. Bebe then led Wendy out to the dance floor. They danced with the others to the loud music, leaving only to refill empty cups. And so it was a few hours later that Wendy was definitely drunk. She and Bebe were falling all over each other and giggling. Bebe grabbed Wendy's cup and tried to take a sip. "There's no more!"

Bebe frowned, but it was quickly replaced with a grin. "Let's get more!" They broke through the swaying bodies and headed towards the keg. Craig and Stan were staring each other down. "What are you doing," Bebe slurred. Tweek let out a strangled yell.

Kyle, whose cheeks were a rather merry pink, swirled the drink in his hand and said, "They're having a chugging contest. Tied right now." The girls looked over at the competitors. Both were swaying slightly, and their eyes were glazed over. They certainly were wasted. They simultaneously counted to three and began. They slammed their cups to the counter at the same time and swore. Kyle finished off his drink and filled another one. He took Bebe and Wendy's cups and did the same.

The girls wandered away from the contest to sit down for a while. Bebe was quickly picked up by Clyde for a dance. Wendy vaguely watched the couples grinding in front of her. She sighed and chugged her drink. Token passed her up, and she yelled at him to grab her something on his way back. He tossed her a Smirnoff as he made his way back to Annie. Wendy's glazed eyes traveled over the clock on the wall. It was after three? Already? Wow. Time had flown.

She looked around. Bebe and Clyde had begun to make out; she was grabbing at his crouch. She looked back to the keg. Stan and Kyle were gone. Craig was going at Tweek's neck, and the blond was a bright shade of pink, but he did nothing to push his boyfriend away. Token had Annie in a corner. Kenny and Red were probably having sex in the bathroom. Wendy downed the rest of her drink and sighed. She wished she had a certain someone. Everyone else looked happy, even if some of it was just drunken happiness.

She needed to stop thinking these depressing thoughts. Depressing thoughts and alcohol weren't good mixes. Wendy set her mind to think of funny things. She giggled loudly as squirrels and wombats danced through her head. It was far funnier currently than it should have been. Wendy tried to stand, but she collapsed back down in another fit of giggles. "Are you freaking high?"

She looked up to find the object of her desires standing above her. She smiled brightly, forgetting what he had said to her earlier and that she always put of a front of hating him. "Hi, Cartman," she slurred. "Oh my God!" He lifted a brow. Very seriously, Wendy said, "You have a twin."

Cartman frowned. He pulled out his cell phone and pressed a few buttons. He growled when there was no answer. He tried another number and received the same results. He shoved the phone into his back pocket as Wendy asked when his twin had gotten into town. Cartman grabbed her shoulders. "There is only one of me, Wendy. Only one person. You're seeing double."

"Really," Wendy asked with great interest.

Cartman frowned and took her hand to pull her up. "Come on, I'm getting you out of here."

"But it's a party, Cartman," she protested as he half dragged her outside. They trudged across the yard. It was dark out there. The street light in front of Craig's house was out. Wendy took a bad step and flew to the ground with a loud whoop. She giggled insanely. "Did you see that," she cried. Cartman's brows were knitted together so tightly they were almost touching.

He pulled out his phone and tried the numbers again. "Fucking fags," he muttered and bent down and scooped her up into his arms. Wendy giggled slightly. He got her to his car and placed her in the front seat. He climbed into the driver's seat and tore out of his parking spot.

Wendy laughed as the seat belt kept her from slamming into the door. "My foot hurts," she said lightly. "Like bad." Cartman didn't answer her. Instead, he made a u-turn and sped down the street. A few minutes later, he pulled into his driveway. "This isn't my house," Wendy said groggily. Cartman came around to her side and picked her up. He brought her inside and up the stairs. Wendy yawned as he opened the door and rested her head against his shoulder. She was asleep in seconds.

The next morning, Wendy awoke to a pleasant sun lit room. The sheets were warm, and the mattress was amazingly soft. The pillows smelled like a good cologne. She sighed contently. She could stay in her bed forever.

…wait…

Her pillows didn't smell like cologne. They smelled like lavender. And her walls weren't purple. They were pink. And her bed had posters with curtains. This wasn't her room.

It was definitely a boy's—or a really butchy lesbian's—room. The calendar on the wall was a swimsuit edition from Playboy or Magnum or whatever it was called. Clothes were randomly strewn on the floor. There was a baseball hat hanging on the lamp beside the bed. Various posters were pinned on the walls, and there was a TV with all the works in the corner. On the far side of the room was a desk with a large computer. Stuffed in the chair looking very uncomfortable was Eric Cartman. He had his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

Wendy, in surprise, let out a shrill noise. Cartman jerked in his chair and blinked at her. "You're up," he said simply.

Wendy scooted further into his bed. "What am I doing in your room," she asked almost in dread. She had been very, very drunk last night. No, she assured herself. Only her head hurt, and hopefully Cartman wasn't that big of an asshole.

"You pretty much passed out," he said. "Aren't you supposed to be smart? You should know what your alcohol limits are."

Wendy felt a bit ashamed. She should know those limits and know when enough was enough. But why hadn't Kyle and Stan taken care of her? Where were her clothes? This shirt definitely wasn't hers.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Cartman said, "You were completely wasted last night, so since the fags were off making out somewhere, I tried to bring you home. You passed out, so I just brought you here. I made my mom change you into one of my t-shirts."

"Oh," Wendy said. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the bed. She was about to stand up when Cartman jumped up and said, "No." Wendy looked over at him confused.

"No standing," he said. "Take a look at your ankle."

Wendy glanced down. Her ankle was wrapped up in bandages and a brace. Almost suddenly, she was aware of a dull throb. "What the hell?"

"Girls wear the most impractical shoes ever," Cartman lectured. "You tripped over something on the way to my car. Broke the heel off. It was all swollen and purple when Mom was changing you."

"My shoe's broken," Wendy asked. "Damn it! That was my favorite pair."

"Girls also have warped priorities. What do you want to eat?" Wendy looked up at him. "Eat? You know, food? Come on, bitch, name something and my mom will make it."

"Uh, have you eaten?" Cartman ran a hand through his hair, sending it standing up on ends. He shook his head. "Whatever you want is fine." Cartman left his room muttering about women's indecisiveness. Wendy leaned back into his pillows and observed his room. It was neater than most boys' but somehow more cluttered. He had a lot of stuff. Spoiled, she thought. Making sure he wasn't standing in the doorway, Wendy took a long sniff of his pillows. She smiled. That was a cologne.

A few minutes later, Cartman came back in with a tray full of food. He set it down on her lap and sat beside her on the bed. They both ate off the tray as they chose, Cartman dominating most of it. "That was good," Wendy said as Cartman popped the last piece of toast into his mouth.

"Mom's a good cook," he said. They sat in silence for a while. Wendy asked for the time. "One," he answered.

"Oh shit," she exclaimed. "I need to get home. I have to study!"

Cartman crossed his arms over his chest. "I would worry more about sleeping, you dumb bitch. You're lucky you didn't have alcohol poisoning."

"I have three AP tests next week, Cartman," Wendy said sternly. "My college career is at stake!"

"You're already in college, hippie," he said.

"AP tests get you hours. If I have enough hours, I can start as a sophomore. I have to do that if I want to graduate!" She was starting to get hysterical.

Cartman shook his head. "Plenty of people go in with no hours and graduate on time, and they're dumbasses. I think if you're number two in the class, you'll be fine," he scoffed. "And I know that they get you hours. That's why I'm taking the English and history one. Six hours under my belt."

"Hypocrite," Wendy snapped.

"Not really," he said lazily. "One test per week. And I won't study for them. English will be a simple paper, and you know the history essays will tie into some dictator somehow. It's easy."

"You know," Wendy mused, "if you applied yourself like you do with your schemes and plots to you school work, you'd be competing with Kyle and me for the top spots in the class." Cartman shrugged, and the conversation died down.

A few minutes later, he stood and began digging through his closet. He pulled out a pair of basketball shorts that were too small to be his. He tossed them to her. "Those belong to one of the fags, I think. Put them on, and I'll take you home." He turned away to give her privacy to wiggle into the shorts. He turned around when she was done and scooped her up. Wendy hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt.

Ms. Cartman met them at the door and handed Wendy her things. The drive to Wendy's house was silent. Cartman carried her to the door, and just as they stepped up on the porch, the door flew open to reveal her mother. "Wendy," she cried. "What happened to you? Where have you been? No phone call, nothing! I've been so worried!"

Before Wendy could begin to apologize, Cartman spoke up, "It's not her fault, Mrs. Testaburger. Last night at the party, I accidentally bumped into Wendy. She twisted her ankle pretty badly. It was very late, and since my house was closer, I brought her there and had my mother take care of her. We gave her some pain killers with sleep aids so that she wouldn't be so uncomfortable. I would have felt horrible waking you up at such a late hour, so we didn't call. She only just woke up. We came back immediately. I'm so sorry to have worried you."

Wendy blinked up at him and turned to her mother, expecting the look of fury to still be present. Instead, Mrs. Testaburger's anger had washed away. "Poor Wendy! That was so thoughtful of you to take care of her, Eric," she said. Cartman smiled brightly at her. She stepped away from the door. "Here, bring her in."

Mrs. Testaburger took Wendy's clothes and shoes from her. "You should get some rest, dear. Eric, would it be too much trouble for you to carry her up to her room?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Testaburger," Cartman said with what Wendy knew to be the most extreme of false sweetness that existed.

"I'll bring you up some soup later, honey," she called after them. Cartman let out a low snort when they hear her mutter, "Oh, the shoe's broken. That was such a cute pair."

"Told you your priorities were warped," he said as he set her down on the bed.

Wendy smartly ignored the comment. She looked up at him, and he just stared back down at her. Wendy fought a blush. His eyes were gorgeous. They were the color of warm honey. Screw studying and screw college. She could stay like this forever. Cartman bit his bottom lip and said, "I'll go."

He started to turn around, but Wendy stood and said, "Wait." He stopped. Wendy licked her dry lips and took in a deep breath of determination. She said, "Thanks, Cartman," and stood on tip-toe of her good foot and kissed his cheek.

Cartman's eyes widened, and he gaped down at her. His hand went up and lightly brushed the spot where Wendy's lips had touched his skin. He swallowed thickly. Wendy blinked up at him, waiting for some sort of response. She offered him a small smile.

Cartman blinked once, swallowed again, and gave her a curt nod of his head. With that done, he turned on his heel and walked quickly from the room. The door nearly slammed shut behind him. Wendy slowly lowered herself onto her comforter. A sly smile stretched across her face. Something had just happened, something that had never happened in over eighteen years. And Wendy was very proud to say she was the cause.

Eric Cartman had blushed.