What have I done?

My legs move numbly as I walk back to Cartm-

My house.

My face feels droopy and my mind feels heavy with thoughts swirling like a tornado in my mind. I want to think about this, but I can't. This is too much to take in. Too much to process at the moment. All I can do right now is just walk. I stare at my feet as I walk, quickly picking up my walking pattern. I haven't felt this confused and miserable since Cartman ran off.

I want to cry. I seriously want to cry. I want the lump in my throat to just come up and allow me to release all the unnameable things I feel. But I can't. For reasons I can't quite grasp, maybe something to do with psychology, I can't cry nothing more than bitter crocodile tears. It's not that I'm ashamed or anything, after all I'm the only one here, it's just really difficult to push the tears out. My eyes get covered in a thin sheet of tears, blurring my vision temporarily. I bring my sleeves up and dab at my eyes and eyelashes, removing any trace of tears before stepping up to the green house I've grown to recognize. My first instinct was to knock, though that would be pointless since I live here now.

I opened the door, finding Cartman anxiously waiting for me on the couch. His eyes are so dark, and the skin around them is red and swollen. He must've been pretty upset after I ran out. He sprung up the second I stepped in and approached me worriedly. I wanted to step back, but that might come off as cowardly, and I'm anything but that around Cartman.

"Kyle, please let me explain."

I ignore him, tunnel visioning my way up to the bathroom. Where else should I go? My room isn't done yet, so my best bet is hiding out in the bathroom until we leave to see Tweek and Craig. That's right, I haven't forgotten. I'd never hear the end of it if I missed out on a study date. Cartman knocked at the door, pleading to come in, but I mute out his voice and turn on the shower. I wanted to step in, fully clothed, but I don't really have other clothes to change into, so I strip to my boxers and sit against the door. I'm not sure why I do the things I do when I'm upset. Maybe it's a Pavlovian response or some shit. I can't think anything past the painfully obvious 'I'm in deep shit.' This was something I've always known when it came to Cartman, but never had the balls to admit as I started to love him.

Really love him.

Not like some Disney bullshit. Actually, now that I think about it, just like some Disney bullshit. A twisted romance.

Beauty and the Beast. a tale of Stockholm Syndrome, where Cartman and I are the main characters, therefore love interests. I didn't think it could be possible. I mean, I've known Cartman all my life, I can tell when he's telling the honest truth. Then again, there have been many instances, even now, in which he's successfully fooled me into believing whatever lie he spouts. Most of the lies he told were minor, but I was stupid enough to believe half of them. I thought I knew better.

I finally got up and took off my boxers, stepping into the shower and letting the water smack my face unpleasantly. I want to get used to the feeling, but it takes too long and I just start to lather my fingers through my nasty red hair. It's all tangled from being bunched up in my green hat, but it's somewhat clean from my earlier shower. My fingers start to prune as they rub against my scalp and I cringe at the feeling. After my hair has been successfully drenched and washed, I grab at the sides of my arms and squeeze.

What have I done?

I want to break something. I need to punch something, snap something, get this anger out somehow. I want to pull at my hair now, but that may backfire. I need to relive this frustration another way. What could I do though?

Before I left Stan's house, he told me to stop by whenever I needed something, and to be wary of Cartman. I guess I could go to his house and listen to music with him. Besides, I've really been meaning to listen to his music for a while now. Yeah, that could work. First off, I need to get this study date over with and talk to Cartman as little as possible.

After I got back into my clothes and stepped out of the shower, Cartman was sitting in his room, doing something on his phone. He looked up to see me and tried to smile reassuringly. I took this chance to glace in his mirror and see what I must look like to him. My eyes are sunken in and dull, and my skin is pasty, almost grey. I look...I dunno. My skins so light, I almost seem sick. I feel sick. Sick to my stomach.

"Hey..." Cartman started. He was talking softer than I've ever heard from him, but that did nothing to soothe me. "You ready to listen now?" He asked. Anyone who knew Cartman any less would've gotten angry at that, but I know that's his way of saying 'I know you're upset, but I have an explanation that might help you feel better'. I hate how much I know about him. I feel like I'm gonna collapse under my own guilt.

"I'm tired." I say simply. He noticeably cringes at the emptiness of my voice, but scoots over on the bed.

"Come take a nap then. We don't have to meet with Tweek and Craig for another few minutes, so don't worry about that."

I oblige and lie down, facing away from him. He doesn't comment about this and just stares at my limp body under the covers as I try to drift off to sleep. I am tired, but I can't seem to relax and sleep.

Too tired to get to sleep.

Cartman moves and lies down next to me, lightly touching my shoulder.

"I- I'm sorry."

Those two words make my heart leap, since I know how hard it must've been for him to say them, but I choose not to react. I'm not gonna be pushed to trust him again just by two simple words. He made me look stupid. He made me just like Heidi.

Next thing I know, he's gonna be tricking me into eating pork and shellfish.

I must've dosed off at some point, because Cartman was shaking me awake a little later. The sky had gotten a little darker, and according to Cartman's beside clock, a few hours had passed.

Shit, that means I must've missed studying with Craig and Tweek.

"Hey, I really think we need to talk."

"You sound like Stan."

I sat up at looked away from Cartman, purposefully ignoring him. He groaned, "Look, I'm sorry okay? I don't know what else to do here."

"That's too bad then."

Cartman sighed and sat back against the headboard, running his fingers through his hair.

"If I tell you one of my darkest secrets, we'll be even."

"I guess so."

"Alright, here goes." I still faced away from him. Might be better like that.

"Remember the day Mr. Mackey called you and guys to his office, and told you I attempted."

Like it was yesterday. I can still feel the dread after hearing what he did. I still have his note somewhere back in my old room. Ike said he's gonna bring me the rest of my stuff tomorrow. Thankfully, that's also when my room is supposed to be done.

"Well, that wasn't my first attempt like everyone thinks it was."

"What do you mean?"

"My very first attempt was much earlier than that, but less successful. Since I had no contact to the online world for a long time, I hadn't done much research on drug overdose and how much can kill you. It was a night or two after my mom left. I stole a random bottle of pills from the school nurse and downed the whole thing in one go. It wasn't too bad, not like the most recent one at all. I just got a killer headache and woke up with an upset stomach. I was super pissed that it didn't work, but determined to try again soon."

He...

"Have you told anyone about this? Did anyone help you?"

"Fuck no! If anyone knew that I was even a failure at dying, I'd either seem like a complete loser or a nutcase. I didn't want anyone to know about the first time I tried because it didn't matter. I failed anyways."

"It does matter."

"No it doesn't. But, there you go. Now you know my darkest secret. Can we please talk to each other again?"

I didn't respond. I still don't know if I can trust him. He did tell me his supposed 'darkest' secret, but that would have easily been made up to make me forgive him.

"Do you still have the bottle?" I asked. Cartman went silent, and I thought I might've made a mistake here, but then he got up and went over to his desk. He began digging through the top drawer with a focused gaze, searching for a specific bottle. He then pulled out three orange bottles, all of them empty. He tossed in my lap, and I picked them up. The labels read 'Morphine' on every one of them. A Morphine overdose is possible, so I wonder how he messed it up.

"It's one of those bottles." He commented.

"Only one?"

"Yeah. Do you know how hard it is to steal from the school nurse?"

"Then why do you have three?"

"I didn't say my most recent one was my second time."

He's been attempting for a while now? How has he survived every last one of them without any medical care? He couldn't have lasted without any intervention for this long.

"How many times?"

"11. 5 were from overdose, 5 from cutting and one from a gun. You intervened on the last one, but I still count it."

11 times? God damn.

"You cut?"

"Used to. Not anymore."

"Where?"

"My stomach mostly. Sometimes on my arms, but those have healed enough where they're barely visible to the naked eye."

"Are you comfortable with letting me see?"

Cartman's eyes darted from the ground to me to his stomach a few times before he carefully sat down next to me. I turned to look at him, and waited while he unbuttoned his jacket and lifted his shirt. There was dark red lines spewn across his stomach like sprinkles on a cupcake. Some were dark and wide, others with skinny and small, but each one had hate behind every slice from, what I guess is, his pocket blade. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers on them, but I maintained some self control and kept my hands firmly pressed in my lap. I felt compelled to do something, anything, that'd help. Make the ugly marks go away.

But there's nothing I can do.

The damage has been done. I can tell the most recent one. It's right under his rib cage, at the very top of his stomach. A long continuous line of red that stretches from both sides of his body. It's barely healed, and doesn't look cleaned at all. In fact, none of them do.

"Can I clean them for you? So they don't get infected."

Cartman nodded and I left to get the treatments. I grabbed some antiseptics spray, bandages, burning alcohol, and a cookie. I figured he'd want one.

When I came back up, he was sitting on the end of his bed, shirt off, examining himself like it's the first time he's seen it. He traced the healed wounds on his arms as if he was recalling something. He probably was. When he saw me come in, he smiled a little. I guess it was an attempt at reassurance, but I was already pretty assured. I knew Cartman had stopped this harmful habit, so there's no need to feel worried about it. Cartman's not the type to have an addiction to something, especially something he would call 'emo'. He'd rather drop dead than be considered an 'emo' like Stan, though he'd rather drop dead than do anything.

I got on my knees in front of him and started to tend to his cuts, starting at the bottom of his stomach and making my way up. I quickly picked up a rhythm of spraying the antiseptics and applying burning alcohol, deciding to wrap everything at the end to save bandages and time. Cartman munched quietly on the cookie I gave him, neither of us breaking the silence. I figured I should say something before this moment passes and I get angry at myself for not saying anything.

"So, are Tweek and Craig angry?"

"Hm? Oh, nah. I told them something came up and we'll just text them tonight on Instagram."

Silence again. I'm starting to get sick of these awkward silences. Cartman and I are dating, there shouldn't be any awkward moments with us.

"When was the last time you attempted alone? Before the one that put you in the hospital."

"It was the beginning of April. Right after Spring break had ended. I got home to another lonely day and found my house was fucking robbed. They took all my food, not that I really ate it, and my mom's jewelry. I was so pissed, but I felt powerless. If they were to mess with me now, I would track their asses, but during that time, I couldn't. I was so weak from starving myself, stressed with school, I got no sleep, and I was dealing with all that shit alone too. Not even my own mom was around to help me. I just broke down and sliced my stomach in the bathroom, bleeding out until I fell unconscious. When I woke up, my bathroom was all bloody and I was really weak. I kept.."

He paused. I started to bandage him, forcing to raise both his arms.

"Go on." I said simply.

"I kept questioning why I was still here. Why I couldn't die. Why God wouldn't let me. I heard somewhere that everything happens for a reason. I refused to believe that everything that's happened to me was for a reason. What kind of person would put someone through that kind of suffering just to teach them a lesson? I'd take any class in school over that. Then you came, and helped me when I thought nobody cared. I thought I wasn't worthy of your pity at first, then I realised. You don't pity me, you never did. You genuinely care about me, for some reason. I will never understand why you love me, but that's why I love you. You stuck by me at my lowest so you could see me at my highest, and I'll never be able to thank you for that. There are no words in the English dictionary that can describe how thankful I am and how much I love you."

I looked up at him, gazing into his eyes and trying to find any trace of insincerity. I didn't find any. All I found was icy blue and warm brown eyes staring back at me, glimmering from a thin sheet of tears. He was beaming when I looked back at him. Like he's been waiting to see my eyes looking back at him all day.

"I've been wanting to see those beautiful emerald eyes all day." Cartman quietly whispered, bringing me back to reality. Reminding me of where we were, and what was happening. The things Cartman does to me.

"Pffft, shut up!" I responded, making both of us giggle like children. I climbed back into bed, lying next to him and taking in all his heat.

"Are you still mad at me? He asked.

"A little, but I think everything you just told me makes up for it by a longshot."

"I'll say. That's like five years worth of secrets. If that didn't get you to forgive me, I would've given up."

"What do you mean by 'given up'?"

"Nothing too big."

"Cartman, we really need to get your sense of humor in tact."

"First of all, it's called dark humor Kahl. It's a coping mechanism. Secondly, I wasn't making a joke."

"That's a terrible way to cope with suicidal tendencies."

"Hey, it's either humor or uncontrollable crying."

"I'd rather you cry. It's better for you."

"I'd never let you see me cry."

"I've already seen you cry."

Cartman scoffed, "That was one time, and I was having a mental breakdown. Doesn't count."

"At the cliff."

"Same story."

"Well, two times is still more than once."

"Fine, twice at most."

"Thrice. At the cliff with Asher."

I covered my hand with my mouth the second the words came out. Fuck, why did I say that?

"You were listening to that?"

"Not all of it. I woke up around the end, and barely got anything from it."

"So, you were awake when I put you in the car?"

"Yeah. Why did you tell Asher, of all people? You hardly knew him."

"Exactly. It's easier to admit things to people you hardly know. They don't know you, so they can't tell you what to think or feel. They're not gonna go and do something about it. Half the time they forget what you told them after a week or so. It's just better that way."

I can't necessarily explain how that explanation makes me feel. On one hand, I'm glad he's comfortable sharing private information to strangers, makes therapy easier, but on the other, I'm slightly concerned. This means that he wouldn't be willing to share his trauma with the people who actually need to hear it. Like me. Well, it used to be me. Then he told me. He's telling me things. Does that mean he considers me nothing more than a stranger to him? No, I've known Cartman since we were in diapers, I'm no stranger to him.

This is so confusing.

Cartman wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer to him.

"You know, you overthink too much Jew. I think I oughta take you to a spa someday. Relax that overworking brain of yours."

"Well, my birthday is this month. Maybe we can go on our first official date then."

"Right, your birthday! The big 'one eight'. How does it feel Kahl?"

"The same. I'm just hoping my parent will stop being hard heads and show up."

"Screw them. All they've done is pressure you into depression and compare you to your brother. You're above them."

I chuckled a bit. He's not wrong, though anyone can see how toxic my parents have been. It's not like they try to hide it.

"Hey.." His tone is suddenly quiet. "Do you think you're parents would've accepted you if it were Stan instead of me?"

"Of course they would." I don't filter my answer at all.

"Gee Kahl, I feel so loved."

"They would've loved if I started dating Stan. They would have hugged me and gave me some sappy speech about how I'm still their son and handed me 100 dollars."

I don't even need to look at Cartman to know he's rolling his eyes right now. I continue, "Though, that's because it would've been expected. Stan and I have always been closer that friends, and the town always suspected something. Heck, even you used to joke about it when we were little. The thing is, Stan is a pushover."

"You didn't need to tell me that."

"Let me finish. Stan is the kind of kid that bends to a person's demand to either make them like him or make him seem cooler. My parents would've like him because he said what they wanted to hear. He would have agreed with them when the subject was me, and that made him a good candidate for 'If Kyle is gay, this would be his boyfriend'. The thing about you though, is that you're not afraid to say what you think. You don't care if my parents hate you, because their opinions don't matter. You aren't afraid of them, and that scares them. They know how much you can get away with, and what you're capable of. They're scared of you."

"Most people are."

"Not me though."

"You are not 'most people' my dear Jew. You're different, special even."

"Yeah, it's because I know you won't hurt me. Not on purpose anyways."

"Don't tempt me."

I smirked, Cartman following suit. Something tells me I'm gonna be just fine. Even if I am just like Heidi, there's one thing I didn't consider.

I know Cartman's weaknesses, and I know one of them is hurting his most prized possession. At the moment, I'm his most prized possession, and he'll stop at nothing to keep me safe.

Kyle's just built different.

Sorry, that's all I could think as I was writing this, but I didn't want to make them say it. That's a Gen Z thing to say, and they aren't Gen Z. Actually, I'm not sure what generation they are. I guess that doesn't matter.

Well, the next chapter might be a bit off because I...

Have a sore throat!

Thanks to 4/6 of my family members being sick, I've started to develop a sore throat. Nothing too big, and no other symptoms, but it's still annoying as fuck. I want to sleep all the time now because of it! Well, hopefully I don't wake up sick tomorrow because, even though there was no school today, I have school Thursday and Friday. What kind of school puts a day off in the middle of the week? Not important, I'd better get started on the next chapter.

By the way, I found my older brothers old Wattpad and AO3 accounts. I'm gonna binge read his old Dragon Ball and Naruto fanfics :P

~Craigory