Chapter 22

Author's Note: Hey all! I know I've really been spacing out these updates but it's for good reason. I'm taking my time with the last few chapters because: ONE. It makes for delicious suspense and makes it all the more worth it when you guys can finally read it. TWO. The story is coming to an end and I want it to last as long as it possibly can. THREE. I'm working on a super secret side Kyman project that will be an entire story in itself that I will be posting here for all of you guys to read. *HINT* It may or may not involve a locker room. …I have a thing for locker rooms. It's a problem. STOP JUDGING MEEEEEEEE xD just kidding. Here's 22!

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**CARTMAN'S P.O.V**

The police sirens rang in my ears as I stared at the sight before me. Two EMTs walked behind me and a blanket was placed around my shoulders. As I looked over to Stan I couldn't help but smile a bit. The police were distracted and talking to a couple of witnesses as I headed over to the hippie, not minding the weather.

It was pouring rain, and I mean POURING rain. Stan stood there motionless as the heavy and cold droplets were ambushing him mercilessly.

The pale bastard had puked his fucking guts up at least three times.

He clutched the blanket that was draped around him and visibly trembled as he watched a couple of medics ease Tyler onto a stretcher. I greedily looked on as he whimpered into a bloody cloth, his legs mangled beyond belief. The metal pole that Jacartha had used was laying on the floor, a couple of police officers huddled over it no doubt collecting the evidence. I pulled my headphones on and played some music to block out the wail of the continuous police sirens in the distance.

Marcus was a blubbering mess in the corner while he was being tended to, covered entirely on one side in his own blood. His arm was gone, severed clean off a few feet away from him. He was clearly in shock as the medics attempted to ease him over to Tyler. He just kept screaming.

I stood next to Stan and looked over nonchalantly, freeing one of my ears from under my headphones so I could hear him, that is, if he even answered me. The poor pussy was obviously traumatized.

"Are you sure you want to see this hippie? The only reason I'm still here is to admire my own handiwork." I admitted sheepishly, shoving my hands in my pockets. "You should have went home with Kenny and Butters before this all went down. It would have saved you your fucking dinner."

I pointed to the ground where he had puked several times.

"How…" Stan breathed. "How do you always get away with doing things like this to people…? And… And do you really think they deserved this? …N-no. They did. They did deserve this… but…"

I couldn't help but chuckle a bit to myself. I wouldn't have gotten away with this if it wasn't for Kenny, but I still would have done it regardless. Kenny really was a silent genius. I'd have to remind myself to give him more credit in the future.

He was always pretty stoic throughout the years when I'd tell him about plots I had for certain people. He'd usually admire the cleverness of them, unless of course, I was planning to hurt someone he cared about like Butters. Honestly, Kenny was the only reason I stopped seriously messing with Butters. Even though he was always really interested in most of my plots, he never actually became a part of one. Until now.

It was Kenny's idea to stage my fake party at Bennigans. It was Kenny's idea to do some serious digging on Tyler's family life. All I had to do was plant some fake evidence…

We sort of lucked out with Tyler. Apparently the kid had an older brother who was already incarcerated for shooting up his private school in Michigan. Always wanting to be the popular jock and never getting to, plus the convenient scholarship Tyler had just received… it was a decent motive. All I had to do was plant a fake phone call between Jacartha and the brother.

Apparently that was all it took. Of course, it didn't really matter to me at this point. Revenge was so satisfying, especially with the lovely sound of Marcus's blood curdling screams forever carved into my memory. That and Tyler's broken sobs.

Marcus's throwing arm had been completely cleaved. He would never throw a football again. As for Tyler, Jacartha made sure to target the spine and disfigure his legs for good measure. He would be bound to a wheelchair forever.

It really was a job well done.

"Cartman…" Stan finally choked out. "Why? Why did you do all of this for Kyle?"

"Why. Why indeed." I said quietly and looked over to him. "I think you know the answer to that hippie. I hate him."

"I know you do…" Stan mumbled looking over to me and shaking his head. "I know you hate him."

"I fucking hate him." I repeated and blushed slightly. "So naturally... at the same time… I'm in fucking love with him too."

Stan's eyes widened at my sudden admission and he looked away awkwardly. He trembled again.

"Dude that's so weird… to hear you say something like that. It… ugh…" Stan covered his mouth again. "I'm sorry but…"

"It is weird." I replied. "But it's just as weird as this stupid town isn't it? …Just as weird as all of the other random fucked up shit that happens here."

Stan looked over at me and cracked a really small smile.

"I guess Fatso." He murmured. "…Things are never going to be the same anymore are they?"

"If everything stayed the same forever, we'd all be boring r-tards and nothing interesting would ever happen to any of us asshole." I rolled my eyes. "Sometimes you just gotta…"

"…Take a left turn?" Stan finished raising an eyebrow. I scoffed.

"That sounds really gay." I replied with a laugh. "What kind of fruitcake told you that?"

"Take a guess dude." Stan snickered. I shook my head, instantly knowing and took a deep breath.

"Stupid Jew." I smiled to myself. My phone rang in my pocket suddenly and I didn't hesitate to answer it, sliding my headphones fully off so that they rested on my shoulders as I pressed my phone to my ear and sighed in slight annoyance. "Talk."

"Ike just called me." Kenny said in a panic. I raised my eyebrows.

"Why?"

"His mom got taken to the looney section of the hospital and Kyle left there like an hour ago and he's not at practice. Clyde is the last person who saw him and he just told me that Kyle was called into the Coach's office, came out, and just fucking left. He didn't go change or have his bag or anything! I think he got kicked off the fucking team!" Kenny exclaimed angrily. "I think those assholes got their revenge on Kyle before we got revenge on them! Dude do you have any idea where he could be?!"

I took a few unsteady breaths and Stan looked at me in concern.

"Dude? You okay?" Stan asked.

No. No I wasn't.

"Cartman! Answer me!" Kenny yelled in my ear.

Yeah, Kyle was dealing with a whole lot… but would he really…?

"GOD DAMN IT CARTMAN! HELLO?!" Kenny exclaimed. I closed my eyes, Kyle's words echoing in my mind.

'…That's a tall cliff.'

"I'm on it." I finally said into the phone and hung up abruptly. I turned to Stan my eyes wild.

"I need you to go over to Kyle's house and tell his dad that he's staying over at my place." I said quickly. "Got that hippie?"

"Um okay dude… But why?" Stan asked. I shook my head.

"No time." I said and took off in a run down the street towards Stark Pond. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, my stomach doing flips. I couldn't, no, wouldn't let this happen. There was no way in hell.

My feet pounded against the damp pavement, running through puddles and even hopping a fence or two as the rain continued to fall around me in a race against time.

GOD DAMN IT!

Wait for me, Kyle.

Don't do it.

Don't you dare fucking jump.

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**KYLE'S P.O.V**

The climb was a challenge, but I didn't really pay attention to the strain in my back as I pushed forward and up the rocky slope. The higher I went, the shorter my breath came and the tighter my chest grew. Every part of my body cried out for me to stop, but I was already more than halfway there and knew I was close to the top.

My fingernails scraped the top as I groaned loudly and hoisted my body over the peak of the cliff. It was very strange to pull myself across grass. Grass? What was grass doing here? I looked around once I finally reached my destination, also surprised to see a large tree. I forced myself to my feet and stumbled over towards the old and tall plant. The wind was really picking up and I was soaked to the bone, shivering violently.

I'd be lying if I said it was from the cold.

Being up here was exhilarating. To know I climbed that high up and that quickly was something to be proud of. If only I had the emotional capacity at that moment to feel pride.

To feel anything but the emptiness.

I touched my hand to the damp bark and felt a slight warmth. A fading life. This tree must have been hundreds of years old. It was greying with age, its branches wilted and crumbling. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the bark as well.

"You must be in pain." I whispered to the trunk, my hand slowly sliding down. "No kids playing on you, no dogs sleeping in your shade, all of your leaves decided to abandon you just because you grew somewhere… a little different."

I closed my eyes as the wind picked up, the icy rain hitting my face as I shivered there. My eyes opened again, I walked over to the very edge, and made the mistake of looking down.

Holy shit that's a long drop…

I took a step back, only to feel my back hit the tree trunk. I was trapped there it seemed… Trapped between a sturdy wall and the edge of a cliff. It really seemed to summarize everything I was going through. This was my choice.

Stay here just like the tree must have been doing for years, completely isolated without anything to hold dear, or I could take my fate into my own hands and escape.

…Would I really escape the pain?

It's gonna fucking hurt when I die.

…It WAS gonna hurt. Probably a lot. But at least maybe the fall would be nice. Like… like flying or something.

It would hurt when I hit the ground, but what was a better solution?

Stay where I was surrounded by the people who I just couldn't seem to stop hurting and be in a constant state of emotional agony? Or suffer through a momentary flash of unbelievable pain followed by the merciful nothingness of death?

The second choice just seemed like the most logical, but as I inched towards the edge again, vertigo smacked me right in the face and I was scared.

I was fucking scared.

GOD I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT! I CAN'T EVEN PROPERLY KILL MYSELF! I'M SO FUCKING WEAK!

I bit my lip really hard and hung onto the tree trunk with both of my hands. Then, with a sharp breath of air, I let one arm drop, leaning over the edge. I stared at the long drop and felt tears well in my eyes. I swung slightly, dangling only by one hand holding onto an old piece of tree bark. And it was slipping.

I can do this… I can do this…

And then… I saw his face in my mind. Thunder crashed loudly, making my body jump at the sudden noise. My hold on the bark slipped even further, but I didn't care.

I remembered how he smiled at me for that first time, that real genuine smile. And how his eyes screamed with worry when he found my bruises… How his lips felt pressed against mine.

…I was in love with him. And he deserved better.

I felt the emotion start to rip through my chest and I let out a shaky cough, choking back a sob as tears blurred my vision of the rocky ditch so far down below. The pain was coming and it was bad.

It was so so fucking bad… I couldn't feel it anymore. I didn't want to feel anything anymore. Not like this. Not alone.

Just as my fingers slipped from the damp bark and I tipped forward into an unavoidable free fall, I felt a strong warm and large hand grip my wrist. It pulled me back so quickly, I hardly had time to inhale as I fell into something solid and soft, two arms roughly wrapped around my chest effectively trapping me where I was.

A voice at my ear.

"Don't you fucking dare."