Chapter Three: Obliterating the Lines

And then at school the next day (Friday), he treated me like I was the Jew he loathed his entire life. The split was very obvious- he treated Kylie like a person, and me like a doormat that was fun to step on.

I don't think I've ever seen him treat anyone the way he has treated me when I'm Kylie. It's becoming strange to see the two different sides of him. I mean- he's Cartman. He's tried to kill me more times than I can count on my fingers. But lately… it's just gotten too complicated. I have to stop thinking about it.

He saved me. Well, Kylie, from those guys. I never could think of him as someone who would do that. For anyone, let alone me.

We were in English again having group discussions on Crime and Punishment. Cartman was enjoying relentlessly annoying me again. God, one day I'm going to have a severe identity crisis and need a therapist because of this kid.

"Will you knock it off already?!" I yell, facing him. He was prattling on some nonsense about Jews again, I was mostly zoning out, but I was trying to work on our project, so any distractions weren't really helping. Namely though, it was Kenny, Stan, Cartman and my project.

"Dude, chill, let's just get this done," Stan says, narrowing his eyes and trying to read a passage in the middle of the book. "Who's Raskolnikov?"
I roll my eyes, "The main character who kills the old pawn broker and her sister."

"Oh," Stan says. He glances over his shoulder and looks at Wendy in another group. She giggles and waves at him, I try to tune it out. How long had it been since Stan and I hung out? A few months probably. He never tried to initiate anything after my home situation got pretty bad- mostly because about the same time, he and Wendy got back together. He wasn't abandoning me

"I really don't want to fucking do this," Kenny says from next to us. We moved all our desks together to work. Kenny didn't really ditch me either, he'd been dying pretty frequently lately, so I can't really blame him if his thoughts were elsewhere. I hadn't been ditched by my friends.

"Well, we have to," I say, glancing over at Kenny in annoyance. He sighs and pushes some strands of blonde hair behind his ears.

Cartman sighs loudly. "Well if the Jew says we have to do it, then by all means guys, we have to. After all, he is the ruler of all things-

"Just shut the fuck up, Cartman, I'm really not in the mood," because of you, you dumb fuck. "And remember, I said you can't copy off of me anymore. You actually read the book this time, right? You can contribute to our group."

I smile wide with the full intention of pissing him off. Stan says, "Dude, cut it out, both of you. I just want to get this done."

"So you can get back to your girlfriend?" I snap without meaning to. Stan looks surprised, then smiles.

"Yes, actually," he obviously didn't hear the bitterness in my voice. I inwardly wretch at his goofy smile from thinking about Wendy. Idiot. I really have lost my best friend.

Little did I notice, Cartman had been staring at me since I smiled at him. I narrow my eyes, "What do you want, fat-ass?"

He blinked and narrowed his eyes in return. In one quick movement, he grabbed my green trapper hat off my head and pulled, before I could stop him. My red curls fell down to my shoulders and in my face as I looked at him, shocked. He looked equally shocked.

"K-kylie?" he asks. I feel my cheeks turn red.

Fuck.

He knows.

His face has no expression for a moment, then he grabs my wrist and pulls me upward as he stands up. "Bathroom," he murmurs; he turns toward the door and yanks me behind him.

Before Stan or Kenny even speaks, I'm out the door with Cartman, with barely a fight.

I regain my senses three steps before the men's room door. "Let go of me!" I pull my arm back and more red hair falls in my face. Cartman is still holding my hat.

"You…" he begins, looking at me. The ice forms in my chest again- he looks really mad. "You sneaky, little, Jew-rat." He grabs me by both my arms and shoves me against the wall. Pain radiates from my back- I wince but he doesn't let up. He lowers his face into mine and whispers dangerously, "Were you pretending to be a girl to get me to admit things that you could use against me? Seeing if you could find my weakness?"

I stammer- he was so wrong! I wouldn't go that far for fucking Cartman, "No you asshole," I didn't like being at this close proximity with him. "I needed the job!"

"And there weren't any jobs that didn't require you to wear a skirt exactly where I hang out at least twice a week!?"
"Hey- fuck off! How was I supposed to know you went there?!"

"WHY DOES THAT MATTER?!" He slams me into the lockers behind me. It hurt so much, I began to see stars. Being much lighter than Cartman didn't help unless I was able to run away. He hissed at me, "You fucking deceived me Jew! Not only me, but the restaurant! I doubt you'd be able to keep that job if they figured out you were male!"

I blink through the pain and look him in the eyes. He's right- if they find out, I'll get fired in a heartbeat. It's all over. I'll have to find a new job. What if they contact my parents? I'm still underage.

I slump in Cartman's hands and look down. He chuckles and I meet his eyes. He's smirking.

"Well… I won't tell anyone," I literally feel my hopes being lifted inside of me. "Solely because making a Jew do whatever I say puts you in your rightful place. I rather enjoy watching you struggle in heels and lacey things." I freeze.

"And if you don't treat me right- I'll out you not only to the manager and your parents, but to the whole town. Understand?" he smiles at me with his Cheshire Cat-like grin and I know my insides are permanently frozen over.

As soon as I thought everything would work out, it all goes to shit yet again. Of course. I scowl at him, unable to do anything, for fear of the consequences.

Fuck you Cartman.

The girls noticed there was something wrong at work that night. I have to admit- I was pretty out of it, with everything going on. I ended up mixing up two different orders and giving a diabetic regular soda instead of diet. There were a lot of customers today too, which wasn't helping the fact I was so zoned out. Most of the other girls took my tables after I messed up a few times, so at this second, I only had two, both of which were just seated.

"Are you okay, Kylie?" Mercedes asked me as she put on her white lacey dress. I was hiding in the backroom when she came in for her shift. I look away from her.

"Yeah… I'm fine," I try to smile but it even looks half-assed. She looks at me worriedly after fastening the back clips and shaking out her blonde hair.

"You know you can talk to us about anything, right?" she blinks her large blue eyes at me.

Not everything- trust me.

I attempt to smile at her in thanks anyway. "Yeah… thanks, Mercedes. This is just something I have to deal with on my own."

She smiles at me warmly and rubs my arm. "Okay sweetie, just feel better."

At that moment, Porsche opens the backroom door and walks toward us, humming and smiling.

"What's up?" Mercedes asks, noticing her happy mood.

"Oh nothing…" she smiles mischievously at me, "Something just showed up that will fix Kylie's bad mood."

My heart begins to sink. What?

Mercedes too catches on to what Porsche is saying, "I'll take the last of your tables, Kylie, it's fine. Go have fun!"

"He requested you- that means he's interested!"

"Good for you Kylie!"

And before I can say a word in edgewise, they practically push me out of the room and (because of my klutziness in three-inch-high shoes) onto the tiled floor. Fucking heels.

"Ouch…" I curse. I look around the dining area- some of the nearby tables were stifling giggles at the clumsy redhead on the floor. It was only five o'clock- Cartman couldn't have been here already.

I stand up and brush off my skirt. After the incident with the college boys two days before, my bow had finally been sewed back on by Mr. Yamamoto. I adjusted my clothes and finally looked toward Cartman's normal seat. He was there, watching me with an evil smile on his face.

I literally deadpan, unsure of what I'm supposed to do. My feet slowly carry me toward his table as I scowl.

"What do you want?" I ask with as much hate as I can muster in a lower voice. His grin only seems to get wider.

"Why, Kylie, I didn't expect to see you here! What a pleasant surpri-ise!" he draws out the last word. His fake happy voice again. How I loathe it. I sigh, but he leans into me and lowers his voice, "What better day to take advantage of your services if not today?"

I can't help but blush at the obvious sexual innuendo in his words, and I know he meant for it to sound like that. "I hate you so much," I say in return, glaring at him through my not-so-threatening red curls and lacey bows. His smile only seems to get bigger.

"Aren't you going to offer me the specials, Kylie?"

I grit my teeth and close my eyes, trying to forget it was Cartman I had to serve. I pull my notepad out of my front pocket and ready my pen to write down what he wants. "We have the mac and cheese, broccoli soup-

"I want ice cream," Cartman says suddenly. My eyes shoot open as I frown.

"It's barely five o'clock," I begin, my obvious contempt at being interrupted showing.

"So? Go get me some fucking ice cream, Jew," he pauses and smiles again. "Unless you want me to tell all these good customers exactly what you have hiding under that mini skirt?"

I growl, unable to do anything, and stomp off toward the kitchen. He wants fucking ice cream? I'll give it to him. I walk over to the counter in front of the kitchen and wave at our chef, Thomas, to get his attention. He looks up and smiles at me.

"I just got an order in for one scoop of every type of ice cream we have, with every topping," I say. Making Cartman sick would be quite rewarding.

Thomas blinks, "That's at least twenty one flavors," he twitches slightly. When I started the job, I recognized him as the boy with Tourette's I met many years ago- when Cartman pretended to have Tourette's. He was the one who helped me (Kyle) get all the perverts to walk into the filming of Dateline and interrupt Chris Hanson. He seemed to be getting better, but he still cursed sometimes without meaning to, hence why the manager decided to put him in the kitchen instead of seating people.

"Yeah- this guy is crazy," I lean in slightly and smile at Thomas, "I don't think he'd be happy with anything else."

Thomas nodded and cursed in one quick motion, and minutes later, a large platter with twenty one scoops (one of every flavor) topped with whipped cream, fudge, bananas, cherries, almonds, and every other topping imaginable came out of the kitchen for me. Cartman looked confused when I was carrying it toward his table, but he seemed to put two and two together quickly. He glowered at me.

"Sneaky Jew," he says as I put the plate on his table. I smile at his obvious annoyance.

"Bon appétit," I say in the most fake and high pitched voice I can muster, and turn around, ready to head back toward the kitchen for the next table over's order.

"Wait, Kylie, I have a great idea," Cartman says from behind me in his 'oh I'm so sweet and innocent voice'. I turn around and meet his eyes, slightly afraid of the sheer glee I can make out on his face. "You can feed it to me."

"Excuse me?" I ask, sure I misheard him.

"You heard me, Kylie," there was an obvious glint in his eyes. "Obviously, you didn't read the rules of the restaurant before applying.

I try to think about what Cartman means- rules?

He points behind me at the backroom door. On the right side is the counter in the hole in the wall, which connects the restaurant with the kitchen, on the left side, was an elaborate black paper with pink writing on it entitled "What you can and can't do in Angel Morte!"

1) Our waitresses can chat with you if you please, as long as the day isn't too busy. Just ask us to sit down and we will comply!

2) If you have a favorite waitress, you can request them. You can also request them in one of our many costumes. Along with Guardian Angel and Death Angel, we also have Playboy Bunny outfits, various oriental garbs and many more! (If you call ahead, we can preorder it for you!)

3) You can play games with our waitresses! Card games, 20 questions, anything is acceptable!

4) If you wish for help with eating your food, our waitresses can assist you!

5) NO TOUCHING THE WAITRESSES UNLESS SHE PERMITS IT. We have the authority to kick you off the premises if you try anything illegal.

6) No smoking. Please and thank you!

I stare at the sign, my mouth wide open. I'd worked here for two weeks and hadn't noticed the giant sign board next to my retreat?

What kind of sick, twisted person was Mr. Yamamoto for opening this kind of restaurant?! It's just as bad (if not worse) than Raisins! It's, like, a step above a brothel!

Well, that would explain my pay.

I hear someone clear their throat behind me and slowly, I turn my head slowly around. He was smiling wide.

"So… Kylie…" he accentuates my fake name and picks up the spoon. "You were saying."
I growl again and ball my hands into fists from habit, but quickly cool down and sit across from him. I can't believe for a moment I ever thought he was human. I snatch the spoon from his hand and dig it into the platter of ice cream. I hold the spoon like I'm about to gag him with it, but he stops smiling and narrows his eyes.

His words from earlier ring in my head.

"And if you don't treat me right- I'll out you not only to the manager and your parents, but to the whole town. Understand?" I can't try anything funny.

I sigh loudly and place a hand under my chin as I reach my hand toward his mouth, spoon at the ready. He smiles again and opens his mouth.

I slowly place the spoon full of ice cream in his mouth and he closes his lip around the end of it. I blush- but more out of anger than anything. This is fucking humiliating. I grit my teeth as I pull it from his mouth- he's smiling.

I try to retain my composure- I don't want him knowing how disgusting he's making me feel, if he knew that, then he would win. I can't give him the satisfaction. I attempt to place the spoon in the platter again, but he reaches out and grabs my hand, causing me to drop it on the table with a loud klank.

His eyes glinted evilly as he looked at me. "This time, don't use the spoon." I blink, his grip on my wrist never letting up.

"What do you mean…?" I ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer. He sighs exasperatedly and takes my hand in his hand, his other still holding my wrist. He separates the fingers and pulls them downward. I brush the ice cream with my index finger.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

"You can't be serious," I say, hoping I'm wrong. He wants to be fed with my fingers? "You wouldn't…"

"I would, Kahl," he says, letting go of my hand and opening his mouth.

I close my eyes for a moment to calm myself. Breathe in. Breathe out. I open my eyes and dip my finger further into the ice cream.

You need this job. You need the money. You want to escape your overbearing family? Just do this. It's only a second. Get over yourself. No one knows it's you. Only Cartman.

And if you want him to keep it that way, you'll do what he says.

I reach out toward him with my hand and quickly place my index finger in his mouth. He closes his mouth around it, his lips pressing quickly against my skin and his tongue against the end. I blush ferociously and automatically pull my hand back, keeping down a squeal as my heart beat speeds up. He smiles at me, my insides grow cold.

He reaches out his hands toward mine, and pulls my right hand back toward his mouth.

"I'm still hungry, Jew," he says darkly, his breath hitting the back of my hand. I can't think straight- this is all too fucking ridiculous. He sticks his tongue out his mouth and slowly licks the back of my hand- tasting it. "And the taste of your complete surrender to me is so sweet."

I see white. Senses overload. I pull my hand back and practically fall out of the booth in an attempt to get away. I try to balance on my heels again- I'm getting looks from nearby patrons and waitresses. I hold my hand close to myself, like it was wounded instead of caressed, and stutter, "Ex- excuse me, s-s-sir."

I dash off into the backroom without even looking back. Soon, my back is against the wall and my butt is on the floor. I hold myself in the fetal position and bury my head in my arms.

That… was too much. There are lines. Lines I am willing to cross, lines I am not. That was a pretty fucking thick line! I HATE HIM! I FUCKING HATE THAT ASSHOLE!

I inwardly voice my hatred until I hear a voice in front of me, "Kylie?" I look up- it is Lexis. "That boy… Eric? He asked me to give this to you." She holds out a folded napkin with the name 'Kylie' scribbled on it. I blink and reach out, taking it from her, and unfold it. Two one-hundred dollar bills fall out and onto my lap. I blink and pick them up- they appear authentic. Lexis ooh's and aw's at the money as I glance back at the napkin, hoping for some explanation. There was an untidy message scribbled on it.

-Kylie,

Today was so much fun! I look forward to spending much more time with you like we did today- it truly is the highlight of my week!

Although the end of the ice cream was a bit of a fiasco, maybe next time you won't have too much difficulty following direct orders. Hopefully this tip will make up for any misunderstandings.

PS: Remember that leprechaun we were talking about a while ago? Well, this is so much more fun!

Be seeing you, Mr. Eric-

I reread the letter and hold my stomach. Lexis is still here watching my reaction, except she's smiling. "He so totally likes you, Kylie! You should be thrilled!" She notices my green-looking appearance. "Oh my god, are you okay?"

I just wince from the pain radiating from my stomach. I'm going to be sick.

God damn you, Cartman.