A/N~ Oh god...I must say this is every freaking chapter...I'M SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING IN FOREVER! I'm just...done with this story. I mean, I honestly think its run it's sad course, and it's time to end. So this will be the next to last chapter than...because I'm dried out of all my awesome ideas I had planned for this. Eh...I've been stalling on writing this. I'm stalling right now, actually, because I wasn't going to HAVE an authors note. Hmm.
~Okay, enjoy luvies! Reviews are appreiciated~
My eyes flutter awake, bringing rays of golden sunshine washing past my lids. I rub my eyes sleepily, and yawn, tasting the bitter air of the freshly painted room. I wiggle free of the thick navy blue comforter encasing my body and stretch, grabbing hold of the headboard with my one good hand. My shoulders crack, so I let my arm fall to the mattress once more. Instead of feeling the soft, flannel fabric, my hand touches a cold, lifeless arm. I tense at the contact, and slowly bring my eyes to see the deathly figure in my mattress, now transformed into a thin hospital bed. A faint buzzing makes its way to my ears, until I spot the heart monitor across the figure, nothing but a straight line. I spring upwards, and fly from my bed, racing towards the door. When I reach for the handle, it melts at my touch. Looking back at the bed, I see the ghostly figure rising, bloody and covered in stitches. Slowly, the blank face twists into that of Eric's, his eyes glued shut. His heart monitor loudens, the endless beep echoing through the dark hospital room. I scream, and turn back to the door, dripping from the top with blood. The handle had returned to it's place, but when my fingers touch the metal, a pain runs through my body. The invisible knives shred my insides, and slowly rip through my skin, revealing the bloody blades. I try to bring my fingers to the reddened surface, but something keeps me stiff, unmoving. As the blades show more of themselves, a familiar rusty taste makes presence in my mouth, and soon begins to flood over my lips. The knives twist once more, clouding my vision with red, bloody tears falling down my cheeks. Just as the blades fall to the ground, giving me a second of relief, another pain explodes over my shoulder. It's not sharp, but more of a burning sensation. Frozen in place, not able to turn and see the cause, I cry more bloody tears. My breath is suddenly whisked away as I'm held in the air by nothing but that fiery touch. I strain to get air, and soon it becomes unbearable, my lungs filling with fire. As I close my eyes in defeat, the heat courses once more through my body just long enough for me to be spun around, and scream. Eric's glazed over eyes send more heat through my own eyes, as he opens his stitched lips to barely a crack. "Kyle..." His voice is harsh, and makes my ears ring from pain. "Kyle..." More bloody tears falling past my cheeks and onto the ground. "Kyle..." The pain becomes unbearable, so I scream his name, forcing my own out of my thoughts~
"Kyle!" I sat up, drenched in sweat. "Dude, are you okay?" Stan sets a hand on my shoudler, handing me a glass of orange juice. I stare at him, tears streaking down my face. Anxiously, I reach to touch the salty liquid, and find that it's clear. I glance back up at him, and break into helpless sobs. "Kyle, chill. It's just me." He wraps me in his arms, taking the glass and setting it on the nightstand. I bury my face into his red racer shirt, sniffling against the rough fabric. When a rustic taste floods my mouth, my eyes snap open at the realization that I bit my tongue, and I reach for the juice. I take an eager sip from the glass, and end up spilling most of the contents on my shirt. Stan furrows his brow and removes the glass from my hand, replacing it with a cloth. I stare at my hands curled tightly in fists, shaking to an extent I didn't know possible. "Dude, you need to chill." He says, grabbing my shoulders. "What's wrong?" He brings my back to the comfort of his chest, allowing me to finish the remains of orange juice.
"I drempt about him again, dude. I-it's like he's always here...watching me." I stutter, taking a fistful of his shirt. "A-and he won't leave."
"Well, maybe-" Just as he starts, there's a knock at my already open door.
"Good morning Kyle," My dad coos, taking a sip of his coffee. "It look's like Stanley found his way, than." He nods curiously to Stan, and retreats downstairs, quietly humming to himself. Stan turns back to me, and tries to smile.
"I'm sorry, dude." He mumbles, pulling the covers over his own legs.
"About what?" I question, nudging his shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong." He bites his lip, slowly shaking his head.
"I hated you." I turn to face him, glaring. "I hated you for hurting him. I...I thought he was really gone, y'know? I just...couldn't bare knowing my best friend- only best friend hurt him like that." Slowly my glare softened to a look of guilt, which Stan caught on to. "But it wasn't your fault, even if you think it was. I mean, it was your fault, but-"
"Where are you going with this, Stan?" I hiss through clenched teeth. He laughs nervously, and scratches his head.
"But you had a reason to. We all know you did it just because he was being an ass, and we all stand behind you for it." He assures, pulling me closer when he sees my frown return.
"I still hurt him. I put him in a coma, Stan. He might die because I was stupid, he might die, and I could never live knowing that I-"
"Kyle, look. He's getting better, dude. He really is. The doctor's are all pretty sure he'll be fine," Stan smiles, giving a playful tug on one of my curls. I sigh.
"Pretty sure." I mutter, closing my eyes. "They're pretty sure what?" Stan tightens his grip on my shoulders, keeping my body wrapped in his warmth.
"They're pretty sure that he'll make it, Kyle! Don't you get it? That means he won't die-"
"But he could still be in a coma that I put him in for the rest of his life." Stan is at a loss for words, until he shoots off the bed, dragging the blankets with him.
"Well until then, we're gonna go see him everyday. So get outta bed, 'cause the sun is shining, and todays a beautiful day," He chirps happily, pulling me from the comfort of bed. "Now wipe away that frown, and let's skip off to town-"
"You mean the ICU of the hospital?" I ask bitterly. He shrugs.
"We can bring flowers," Stan suggests, shooting me a look of annoyance. "Or whatever. Stop being so down, dude. It's really affecting my buzz-"
"Your buzz?" He nods joyfully, and whisks a metal flask from his back pocket. Waving it teasingly in front of my grasp, he quickly unhooks the top and takes a chug.
"That place really gets me down, dude. Maybe you should have some-"
"I dont drink." I say, shaking my head. Once more, he shrugs, and brings the metal up to his lips. "But...could I just...?" Stan chuckles darkly and hands me the already almost empty flask. "What..."
"It's a mix of cherry vodka and chocolate brandy, so it's good. Don't drink it all-" By the time he finished, I had already downed the delicious drink. It burned my throat for only mere seconds before I was overcome with warmth. Stan smirked when a goofy grin crossed my face. "Good shit, huh?" I nod, and take his arm.
"Let's go see Eric," I sing, tugging him down the skinny stairs. "Hey, do you have anymore of that-" I stop when I see a policeman parked at the bottom off the staircase. "Uhm...hello?" The cop nods, and motions for me to follow. Stan gives me a slight push when I don't move, and I practically topple down the remaining steps.
"Good morning, Kyle." The man says, looking down at my crumpled figure. "May I have a quick word with you? Then you may go on your way." I nod quickly, not as if I had much choice, and follow the officer outside, where he motions for me to sit on one of the four steps. I sit wordlessly, and watch as the man follows, his joints creaking.
"So uhm...what did you need?" I whisper, trying not to be rude.
"Liane Cartman called the station this morning, said she wanted us to talk to you," I pale at his words, knowing it can't be good. Seeing me reaction, he pats my back. "She wanted us to ask if you could go and maybe visit Mr. Cartman down at the hospital, knowing how much her son liked you." I stare at him in shock, my stomach dropping to my feet.
"We were actually just going to see him, sir." I murmer, trying to become fascinated with my foggy breath lingering in the air. He smiles.
"Good. Well, since you were already, may I offer you a ride?" He asks politely, raising a brow.
"Can Stan come too?" I squeak hoarsely, clearing my throat.
"Of course." With one final nod, he gets up, and I do the same. "I'll be in the car when you boys are ready." I tug on the handle, but am stopped by a burning sensation on my shoulder. Horrified, I spin around only to see the officer. "Ms. Cartman also would like me to assure you she won't be pressing serious charges, so you might like to...thank her." Getting his message, I pull myself inside, only to bump into Stan whos already at the door.
"What'd he say?" He hisses, making his voice almost inaudible.
"Nothing, dude. He's just giving us a ride, that's all." Stan makes an "O" shape with his mouth, and follows me back outside.
We pull up to the hospital in silence, and once we thank the officer for the ride, the cruiser pulls away into the snowy mist. Stan looks at me, unsure. When I give him a light smile, he returns the gesture, and we walk quietly through the sliding doors. I take a seat in a chair, as Stan makes his way to the crowded front desk. "Cartman?" I hear him ask quickly, tapping his fingers along the granite countertop.
"Are you family?" The receptionist asks coldly, taking a look at Stan.
"W-well no, but-"
"If you're not family, than I'm going to have to dismiss you. Mr. Cartman is not taking guests right now-"
"He's with me, Debby." Her voice is strained and harsh, but still had the subtle silkiness that had always been. "And so is he," Her thin finger points at me, putting me under some sort of trance. I instantly stand up, removing myself from the wooden rocking chair. I walk slowly towards her, keeping my gaze on my sneakers. When her flowy purple skirt stops my path, I'm forced to look up into her sorrowful eyes. "Hello, Kyle." She looms sadly. I look back at my shoes.
"Ms. Cartman," I say, not able to even make out a proper greeting. She eyes me, and nods.
"Well, come with me boys." Liane says, walking us down the familiar hallway. I trail behind, looking at each door, hoping to see something that could make the tears not come. Stan waits for me to catch up, and links our arms together.
"It'll be okay, dude. Just chill out." He whispers,squeezing my free hand. Liane suddenly comes to a halt, turning slowly to face one of the doors. We arn't even close to the ICU, let alone his old room. She takes a large breath, closing her eyes and forcing an overly fake smile on her face, and pushes the door open. Stan follows, and shortly after, I walk in too.
It was just like my nightmare, only better. There was no blood, and the stitches were fading, most already gone. His heart monitor was rising and falling, nowhere near strait. Hair still ruffled, eyes still closed. But it was getting better. Much better.
A lump forms in my throat, and before I know it, I'm in joyful tears. Not really joyful, but grateful. The sobs are almost laughs of happiness, but the tears are still tears, and a pair of arms wrap around me. Thinking it's Stan, I collapse to the floor, pulling the body with me. I cry into the warmth, and when I look up, I choke on my sobs. Liane is holding me tightly to her chest, letting my cries be burried in her shirt, as her own silent tears fall. I trace her gaze up to the bed, where Eric lay peacefully. His eyes arn't glued shut with pain, merely fluttering with each breath he takes. Each breath he takes on his own. "He really is getting better, hun." Liane soothes, petting my matted hair. "The doctor's say each day he's becoming more conscious, and should wake up sometime soon." By now, her tears arn't quiet. "He's going to be okay, he really is."
I smile for the first time in months, I actually, genuinely smile. It's not fake, or forced either. It's real. And I'm crying for what seems like the millionth time in these last few months, but it's out of sheer happiness, knowing that my guilt, the one thing that will always remain, can also have something to even out the pain. Relief.
"Hey, Liane?" Liane lifts her chin off the top of my head to look over at Stan, leaning awkwardly against the bed.
"Yes sweetie, what is it?" She asks worried, rising from her spot on the floor.
"Do you think Kyle...could have a minute alone with him?" He questions nervously. Liane holds her breath, gulping, not wanting to leave us alone. "I...I could stay with him, if you want." Stan adds, rubbing his neck. She brings her puffy eyes to look at me, and smiles lightly.
"Kyle can have a minute, certainly," Liane coos, turning back to Stan. "And I don't think it's nessicary to stay unless he wants you to." My eyes widen, as I quickly stumble up.
"T-thank you, Ms. Cartman-"
"Of course. I'm sure my little Eric would be glad you came to visit him." She says merrily, making her way from the room. "I'll be in the cafeteria if you need me, boys." Stan nudges my leg encased in a purple cast, sliding it towards the bed.
"Go on, dude. I'll be waiting in the lobby when you're done, okay?" Stan nods, and heads towards the door. I reach out and grab his hand before he leaves, tugging him back.
"Don't you want to-"
"I've been talking to him for the past month, Kyle. I'm sure he doesn't want to here more about how shitty things are without him from me." He jokes with a wave, closing the door behind him. I slowly turn to the bed, and take a seat in the chair that had been previously set up for Liane to use. I reach out my hand, and trace every detail on Eric's healing face, wanting to capture the image in my mind. Bringing my gliding fingers down his arm, I cup his boney hand in my own, and intertwine our fingers.
"Hey, Eric," I mumble, laying my head against the sheet near his shoulder. I wait for a reply out of habit, and continue. "I don't know why I'm here. Well, I guess I know why, but I'm still trying to figure it out, really. I think maybe it's the guilt that's been eating me alive over the past month, starving me away, forcing me to open my eyes to see the truth. I see what I did to you, and I wish with every fiber of my body I could take it back- it all back, but I can't. And I'm sorry. The guilt I've been feeling, and the pain I still feel, I don't ever think it'll leave. I'm sure you'd laugh at that, and say I deserve it. The truth is, I do-" I stop when my ears deceive me of a snicker, but I bring my eyes up anyway, and he's still sleeping. "I deserve everything I feel, even if everybody says it wasn't my fault. It was my fault. The reason you ended up like this is all my fault, and the reason I'm probably going to jail is my fault too. I'm weak, as you've always told me. I'm powerless, as you've made so clear. I'm...hurting, because of you. You told me I was selfish. You were right. How could I be hurting, and blaming you for my pain when I'm to blame for your condition. It is selfish, but I can't help it. You made me realize all of these things, Eric, when you wern't even with me. That proves how powerful you are. How strong, intelligent, amazing you are," I feel my hand twitch, though I'm not aware of it. Once again, my mind was toying with me. "I know you can't hear me, and when you wake up, I know you'll hate me, but..." I wipe a tear against his arm, sniffing. "Just be okay. Not for me, but for everybody else. They deserve you. Please wake up, and just be okay-" I bite my lip, and find comfort against Eric's thin robe, sobbing against his shoulder. "I don't wish you were dead."
Stupid Jew. "I know, I am. I was stupid..." Stupid, stupid Jew. "Please...just be alright..."
"Stupid Jew." His words scar my mind, as I sob helplessly into his shirt. The memories fog my vision, and plug my ears with his painful words. "I hate you, Kahl." My hand jumps at the sudden movement underneath, but I block it out. Why is this so painful? The crude games my mind played on me weren't worth even the slightest bit of hope. There's no point, but I drag my eyes up to stare at his lifeless face, lids sealed closed. But their not. Instead, his face is filled with a warmth, and his chocolaty brown eyes are half lidded life pooled with life, staring down at me. Tears continue rolling down my cheeks, as he cocks his head and smirks. "You really are a stupid Jew, aren't you?"