A/N- Oh my god, I can't even begin to tell you guys how sorry I am! I've been SO uninspired latley, and just needed a break. But I'm back baby! So this was originally going to be the third chapter, but I moved some things around so it would make more sense. I can now say, truthfully, that I will continue this story until the end. The fact is, I watched Grey's Anatomy and got like this spark of inspiration. Oh, by the way, if you're new, this is really depressing and will get worse. JUST A HEADS UP! So for the WAY late update, again, we're sorry. Sorry. So sorry. PLEASE reveiw, and tell me how i'm doing! It means the WORLD to me! And if you have suggestiond for the plot/storyline, I'd be more than happy to hear them :) THANK YOU SO MUCH!
The day dragged on, leaving behind more wasted hours. The time that ticked by, the minutes I spent laying in the cold hospital bed, wondering which seconds I had would be his last. His state, and mine as well, we're my own fault. I knew at the time that if I could just make him suffer, it would be enough to satisfy me. But just the fact that I knew how much I hurt him made me shudder.
I tried to make sense of why I could be having feelings towards Cartman, but nothing clicked. He had never been anything but cruel to me, making my life a living hell. So, revenge should feel good, right? I just couln't make sense of it. The other thing that didn't make sense was the fact that I was set on making his pain show, but when it was revealed, I felt a pain that didn't involve blood. But it did. I forced this upon him. I put him in a coma. I felt the pain, and it was unbearable. But now it was his blood that I couldn't bare to come across, and now it was his pain that I was feeling.
A concerned nurse walked in, and checked on all the machines, more slowly than usual. I waited for her to finish, but she chose to delay leaving, and re-check. Finally, she finished, only to retreat to the hallway and come back with an arrangement of flowers. I scrunched my nose ot the floral fumes rising from the basket. "Your parents stopped by, and left you some things," The nurse chirped, setting the vase of roses and tulips at my feet. I took the card from her outstretched hand, and simply looked at it. "They hope you're feeling much better soon." When I opened the card, as plain as dirt, I note she practically quoted what was written.
We hope you feel much better in time.
I swallowed, a sudden sense of guilt hitting me like a bomb. There was not even the slightest hint of sadness in what my mother clearly had written, not that I didn't already know I would be disowned for my outburst. I guess it made it better that they even took the time to prepare send me something worth giving, but then I started second guessing myself. The little tag poking through the leaves was from the gift shop below, a trademark HP encirled in cursive nonsense. Now I knew where the bouquet had come from. And, since my parents hadn't even once visited since my arrival, I knew it wasn't from them.
"Who are those from?" I questioned sadley, pointing to the flowers. Her face lit up.
"Oh, well your friend came by a few minutes ago to drop them off and-" I snapped out of my depressed daze an practically fell from the bed.
"Is he still here?" The nurse nodded, and signaled towards the ajar door. "I've sent for him. He should be on his way up shortly." I smiled weakly, and sat up. She gasped at my stuggle to move, and quickly slid over to my side, reaching for the pillow.
"I'm fine, thank you." She propped the thin pad back behind my exposed back against my request, and it was only until I felt the cloth press against my skin did I realize I was half naked...in a dress. I felt my face go hot
"Do you need some air? A fan, maybe?" I blinked up at her, trying to shake away the growing heat.
"Y-Yes please." She smiled, and opened a small closet behind her. I sunk into the bed once the cold breeze surrounded my face, sending a chill up my back. I turned my head so it was cozied against the pillow, and shut my eyes. I waited to allow myself to stop worrying, or at least rest until I heard the door fly shut. I moved myself into a position were I could easily pass for being asleep, and closed my eyes once again. My thoughts were interupted when I heard a soft knocking at my door. It was so quiet, that I assumed it had come from the room across from mine, but then I heard it again and sat up. The familar clicks of the blonde nurse's heels were noticably clacking against the tile at a quickened pace, and they came to a sudden hault.
"Oh, well hello there!" I heard her exclaim. I waited for a response from the visitor, but instead the door silently creeked open.
Slowly, Stan entered the room, the preppy nurse at his side. His eyes were flying around, uneasy with his surroundings. I could tell he was shaking when he got closer, but he didn't get within five feet of my bed. He stopped and tore his hat from his raven hair, gripping it in his hands.
"Hey Ky," He whispered, almost in audible. Quickly the nurse patted him on the back, nudging him forward. He stumbled slightly, but kept his place. She sighed at her attempt, and set a small cup next to the flowers.
"Take your pills, hun, they'll help with the pain." I nodded, and with that she left the room. The silence that traveled through the small space was unbearable. Stan nervously fiddled with his thumbs, hat in between his hands.
"Hey, dude?" He looked up, but when his eyes met mine, he gazed back down at his thumbs.
"Yeah what's up Ky?" He said, holding back a cry. I tore the blankets from my legs, one of which encased in a cast, and sat on the edge of the bed. I purposly showed him my wounds, heavily wrapped in bandages. He only looked further away.
"Stan, are you okay?" He just now seemed to realize how down he was being and forced an overly fake smile on his face.
"Yeah, of course I am, but...are you?" I watched his wet eyes travel over my heavily bandaged body, only to have tears gather around his eyes. I sighed when I realized that he had been crying before he came here, his eyes already red and swollen. He only managed to force out the last of his sentence before turning towards the wall and start to sob, mumbling through the wails. I sat there, petrified. He continued to wail with his hands pressed against his forehead, until Stan heard my cast clink against the floor. In the time it took him to gather himself into what he would call normal, I made my way to his spot in the room. For the first time today, he looked at my face, his dark navy blue eyes electric against his tears.
"Stan..." I began, trying to find something to say that would comfort him. From what I did, what I made everybbody witness, it was clear that there would be no comfort. I understood why he was weary of being near me, and how even the sight of me made him scared. Before I could find anything to say, I felt him close me in an embrace, crying on my shoulder. "Stan?"
"Kyle, thank god you're okay. Thank god." Feeling my own tears stinging my eyes, I let them fall, wrapping my arms around his back.
We stayed like that, crying in each others warmth, not caring who saw. He stepped on my foot in an attempt to pull me closer, and burst into hysteria thinking he had hurt me. I tried to tell him it was okay, but he didn't believe me, and continued bawling. I tried to stop my cries, but I couldn't. There was no reason, but it felt so good. It was even more comforting than holding Stan in my arms. We cried, until we had nothing left to cry, and then we just screamed. Even though our sobs echoed through the halls, no one bothered to come check. Maybe they just knew. Or maybe they just didn't care.
I thought he had fallen asleep. His arms were limp around my waist, and his head rolled aimlessly against my chest. His breathing had slowed, against the occasional sniffle. My hand continued stroking his back, tracing the seams on his faded jacket. One time I stopped this simple action, and he started to sob. I dare not move, not wanting to wake him. Trying not to move, I loosened my arms and set my head on top of his blanket of black hair. Surprisingly, I found myself to be tired, but there was no point in trying- I would just wake right back up. I stopped my hand, and moved it down to his waist when I felt his lips against my ear. Slowly, as if he were asleep, his lips parted. Stan's minty breath travled across my skin, finding its way to my nose. I inhaled, but it smelt less desirable.
"I saw him, Kyle." I was startled by the sudden voice, and glanced down to see Stan, no longer sleeping. He wasn't looking at me, but just staring blankley at the bed. "I tried to tell myself that it wasn't your fault, and that you just snapped- that it was an accident, but..." Stan trailed of into small whimpers, before biting his lip. "But I couldn't." I looked down, pressing my lips against his head.
"I don't expect you to think that it was." I hushed, trying to stay calm. "I put him where he is." Stan tore away from my grasp, and burst into more tears, shaking his head.
"I tried to look past it, Kyle. I really did. But everytime I saw his face...I just saw you. I saw you, and I felt like...like I shouldn't even be here for you. To be honest, I came to see Eric. But I just couldn't leave," He practically fell from the small bench, and stumbled to the door. "I came to say goodbye, because I got a call that Eric might not make it through the night. And I came to tell you."
"Tell me what?" I squeaked, letting more tears fall down my cheeks.
"Tell you that if he makes it through this, you're going to be in a real hell, Kyle." He grabbed the handle, and flung the door open, stepping into the hall. "And if he dies, you might as well be dead too." The door slammed shut, sending a wave of warm air rushing past me. I knew I shouldn't be alive for what I did. I should be in his place. I should be the one in the coma. But...just not him.
I stood with my head against the door, listening to the quiet murmers of patients outside. The ramble of drama outside the closed door had come to a hault, night being on occasion anyone got any sleep. My lights were out, along with every room in the corridors. I stepped away from the small window everytime a figure passed, engulfing myself in the darkness. They hadn't gone in any of the rooms for some time, so I slowly brought the door open enough so I could peek down the hall. It was visibly empty, and at the other end, shown the sigh of the ICU. I slid from the crack, shutting the door behind me, and trotted down the hall barefoot.
The ground was unbelievably cold. It enhanced the fact that I wasn't wearing anything but a thin nightshirt, its back completly gone. Each step I took, it made me shiver, the AC already sweeping through the small hospital. As I slid carefully against the walls, trying to avoid contact with the doctors, I began scanning the patient's board posted on the wall outside of each individual room. As if by coincidence, the cases got worse as I approached the ICU. One man having pnemonia, the next dying of pancreatic cancer. Some of the rooms were empty, and when I looked at the clipboard, the word DESEASED had been stamped at the bottom.
My heart raced as I came upon the wall that signaled the turn to where, I hoped, I would find him. I stuck my head around the cornor, and began to jog to the next hallway down. I was surprised when the deadly silence suddenly turned at the next cornor, into a panic filled hall. Doctors raced from room to room, as dying childeren were being rolled to surgery. I was lost in the nonsense, everybody having something more important to do than worry about my whereabouts.
As I pushed past a panicked nurse, she collided with my cast, and fell to the floor. Nothing around us stopped, everything a constant blur. I held my breath, waiting for someone to drag me back to my room. Instead, she quickly scooted up, and continued to run to her designated room. With a sigh of relief, I continued on.
Everytime I tried to catch a glance at the name for the room, I was pushed out of the way so someone could get inside. Deciding the best course of action, I stole a eyeful of the paper, only reading the last name, realizing how many actual Erics' there were here.
Shnieder. No. Quimbey. No. McCormick. What? I re-read the paper, not noticing the first name, and stuck my head in the door. Half expecting to see Kenny hooked up to a bunch of machines struggling for his cursed life, instead I saw his father, vomiting in a bucket. Several doctors surrounded him, but not doing much. I pulled on the trim of the door, forcing myself into the open room. All eyes remained on Stewart, exempt, for his. I could tell he was in pain. He looked at me, knowing oh to well who I was. Surley Kenny had told him that I was here, but then again, seeing him like this didn't make me so sure. As soon as I felt his strained eyes cast a glance at me, I ran from the room, bumping into another doctor. Knowing nothing would happen, I split, but was grabbed by the string in my attire.
"What are you doing outside of your room at this hour?" His cold voice drained my breath, as I tried for an explanation. "What's your last name?" He questioned dryly, pulling me back the route I came.
"C-Cartman." He stopped dead in his tracks, and glared.
"Cartman?" I nodded, and he dragged me to one of the nurses I probably bumped into. "Kate, where's 'Cartman'?" She pointed to a door just to the left of us, and I was tugged to the door. As he reached down to jiggle the handle, I lifted my good leg and brought it up to his shin, kicking hard. He let out a moan, before collapsing to the tile. "Nurse? Nurse! Code Red! Code Red!" I felt the stares of nurses quickly moving away from me. Just as I spotted three large men coming at me with a dangerous speed, I burst into the room, shutting the door behind me. When my fingers fumbled blindley for the lock, there wasn't one. Stupid hospitals.
I slid down the door, gasping for breath. It wasn't long until people were shoving the door against my back, the brace bending in its place. I let out a shrill cry, as pain exploded throughout my body as the door slammed against my weak body. With every slam, it opened further, until doctors flooded in, grabbing at me. I allowed them the pick me up, and fling me into a wheelchair. It turned harshley, skidding from the room. But I didn't care. I let them take me away from my goal, because I had seen enough.
One glance at the frail figure, and you would have never guessed it to be Cartman. His big, powerful arms were wasted to practically bone. Wires streaming from every inch of his chest, and a mask hiding few stitches on his face that forced him to breath. Even watching his chest rise and fall for those few seconds, I could tell it was artificial. It made me sick to my stomache, to be honest. Seeing him like that, so weak and lifeless, it made me want to cry. It made me want to die.