There are only 3 things in this world that I hate. The first is bigots. Racists, sexists, homophobes, people who stereotype or judge others for things they cannot control, all of those. I mean, why? Seriously why? What is the point? All bigotry and oppression does is spread hate, anger and fear. Where is the love, guys?
The second thing I hate is McDonalds. I was 12, there was a creepy man in an overcoat... Don't ask.
The third thing I hate is sitting upstairs in my bedroom, on my bed, playing my xbox.
'Mom, what the hell is that fatass doing in my room?' My mother jumps in fright as I storm angrily into the kitchen. Imagine the feeling you get when you come home from school, after having such a great day (A's in two tests, pizza for lunch and head from Stan in a bathroom stall), when you find the one person you loathe most in the entire world sitting in your bedroom, on your bed, playing your xbox. I'm so mad that I could puke.
My mother, currently in the process of making somethingorother for dinner, puts down her cutting knife and turns to face me, throwing a piercing glare in my direction. Evidently due to circumstance, however, she lets the 'fatass' comment slide. This on it's own is incredibly unusual, enough to unnerve me slightly.
'Kyle, Bubbalah, we need to talk.' She sounds sympathetic yet serious and firm, which I know isn't a good sign. I quietly mutter my usual 'Don't call me that', the same words I've been repeating since the age of 12 and the very same one she always ignores, and cross my arms tightly against my chest, trying my best to match her steel glare. It's obvious by the look on her face that she can see just how upset, angry, confused, hurt and down right outraged I am, so she pauses, taking a moment to choose the exact wording of what she's about to say.
'Kyle, I know you and Eric don't exactly see eye to eye-'
'Don't see eye to eye? Mom, he tried to wipe out the Jews. He gave me aids, for God sakes!' I say, my voice rising to volumes I didn't even know I was capable of. Surprisingly enough, I don't get told off for yelling at my mom. Not even so much as a word about 'taking the Lord's name in vain', which usually she's so preachy about. My mother simply takes a deep breath and tries again, using a calm and quiet voice. If you've ever been in a similar situation then you know just how damn frustrating it is trying to shout at someone who stays irrefutably calm.
'I know all that sweety, but that's in the past now. Everybody deserves forgiveness, don't they?' I can't believe the words coming out of her mouth.
'I will never forgive him, mom.' I say through gritted teeth, my voice overcome with bitterness. 'For anything that he's ever done. What is he doing in my room?'
'Well, Kyle, you know everything that's been going on in Eric's life recently. Now that his mother's gone, God rest her soul, he doesn't have any family left.'
I know exactly what she's talking about. Two months ago, Lianne Cartman had been in a road accident. A drunk driver had been speeding and driving all over the place, completely out of control. He was headed straight for a car full of 1st and 2nd graders being taken home from soccer practice or something like that. Nobody quite knows whether Mrs Cartman sacrificed herself to save those kids or simply wasn't looking when she pulled out of that junction, but the drunk driver t-boned her head on. Neither of them survived. On the plus side though, none of the kids were harmed. Still, it had been a tragedy. Cartman may be my mortal enemy, but his mom was really nice. She always made cookies for me, Stan and Kenny when we came round and made sure not to play any of her 'special videos' too loudly the nights when we slept over (Which was only when I was forced to as a kid by my mother). Everybody knew her, due to the small size of South Park. She always attended PTA meetings, helped chauffeur kids about when other parent's were too busy, offered to help neighbours with things like moving houses or setting up for a party, without being asked. She was a real important part of our childhood and community, and the whole town loved her.
Our entire grade had been at the funeral, including Cartman, but he didn't cry. He just sat and stared at down at the floor the whole time, politely shaking people's hands and saying 'thank you' and nodding solemnly when appropriate. I'd tried not to cry, tried to stay strong as best I could, but Clyde set me off. Clyde cries at everything so nobody was surprised by that. But me, I don't cry. I mean, of course I cry, but I never do in front of other people. Ever. Somehow though, this day was different. It didn't seem to matter, for once, about pride or acting a certain way in front of other people. Once Clyde started crying, my eyes became wet as well. Although I didn't break out into fully fledged sobs like him, there were droplets running down my cheeks, which only seemed to intensify when my boyfriend pulled me into a rough hug. Stan's eyes were puffed up by the end of the service and Kenny's face was hidden deep within his hood, a habit he'd grown out of several years ago. Most of the girls, including Clyde and Butters, went through several packs of handkerchiefs between them that day. All the adults were in tears also, unsurprisingly.
But Cartman... There was something about him that day, something different. His eyes were dull and cloudy, like they were missing something, missing the spark that made him him. He managed to stay so calm, so emotionless for the whole event, it weirded me out slightly. I always knew he was apathetic, but I never thought that apathy stretched to his own mother.
Three days later, Stan told me that Cartman had dropped out of school. Until now, nobody had seen or heard from him since the funeral. All our classmates simply presumed he'd moved state to live with his grandparents or something like that, and nobody cared or liked him enough to try and find out for sure.
My gaze falls to the floor and I feel a sense of regret spreading through my body as I remember Mrs Cartman's funeral. The feeling lifts slightly, however, when the warm hand of my mother firmly attaches itself to my shoulder, and I raise my head. My eyes are already filling up with water, but I blink back the tears and force myself too put on a brave face.
'I know, sweetheart, I know.' My mom whispers softly. Without me even saying anything, she knows exactly what I'm thinking, and I've never felt closer to my mom than I do right now.
My rage has subsided, been replaced by an empty feeling of regret and pity. Not for Cartman my mortal enemy, the Cartman I've known my whole life, I could never feel anything other than utter contempt for that fatass. But looking into my mother's eyes right now, her hand on my shoulder, that sense of safety, security and love I get simply by being here with her, that's why I feel bad for the Cartman that's sitting on my bed upstairs. Because I know how much it would kill me if anything were to ever happen to my own mother, and I know he can never again feel what I'm feeling right now. Never again have such a close, bonding moment with his mom, where he doesn't even have to say anything and she knows exactly what's wrong, exactly what to say and exactly how too fix it, the way mother's seem to be able to do.
'So what...' My voice trails off and I sniffle, take in a deep breath, and try again. 'W-What is Cartman doing in my room, mom?' Unlike before, I'm talking softly now, involuntarily, almost as though the words don't want to be spoken, want to stay hidden away, echoing inside my mouth forever.
'Well Bubbalah,' She says, tightening the grip on my shoulder in a gesture that I know is meant to be loving, though it does hurt a little bit. The corners of her mouth twitch and, once again, her face takes on that sympathetic expression.
'He's going to be living with us.'
Short Kyman oneshot I wrote. I don't really like Kyman but I just had to write this... Idk, I can't explain why, I just did :L Anyways, if you like it, leave a review and tell me :) If people do actually like it then I might rewrite this chapter and make it a multi-chaptered fic, much longer and stuff. But not definitely, only if people would actually want to read it. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it :D 3