Eric's POV

Note: We changed the statue of limitations for the state of Colorado.

Okay, fuck it. I'll be honest. I had a hard time sleeping last night.

I feel myself turning to the side to get a glimpse of my alarm clock. 9:34. Well, I guess I do have to get up sometime. FUCK!

I stretch and feel the sunshine on my face, leaking through the blinds... I guess I woke up once or twice in the middle of the night, wondering if all that shit really went down.

Now, I'm a pretty fearless guy. I usually don't mind taking chances and just saying, "Fuck it."

But I have to say that I was pretty scared to take the chance I took last night.

Did I actually kiss Kahl? Kyle Fucking-Goodie-Goodie-Two-Shoes-Jew Broflovski?

AND he actually didn't seem to mind it?

I mean, maybe he did, but being that he seems to get around these days, he wasn't going to say no. But if that were true, why did he kiss me back?

These thoughts have been racing through my mind since we parted ways last night. As soon as I was alone, I couldn't help but reflect on the entire night's events. Now it's driving me mental. I'm going to have to ask him about it. I'll try not to be an asshole while I'm at it. I lack tact sometimes, especially when it comes to the damn Jew. I can be mean.

I get out of bed, stretching out my limbs some more. First thing's first. I move into the bathroom and ready myself for the day. Then breakfast. I have eggs and toast and bacon, eating in silence. After that, I go back into my room to check my emails. Nothing important.

I'm not sure what I'll end up doing today, but I'll probably see Kyle at some point - whether or not it's planned.

I'm worried about him. That's what it boils down to. He's fucked up - really fucked up. He was never the most stable guy around, but he's so much worse now.

Still, I'm not going to think about that. Instead, I'm going to go to the gym. I need to work off all the shit I ate yesterday.

.

.

I arrive at the gym and there's only a handful of people here. That's what I have always liked about this gym; it's never overcrowded. Once I put my shit away in my locker I climb on the elliptical and get ready to go at it for some time. I do believe the elliptical is part of the reason as to why I have such a great ass (if I do say so myself). Well, the elliptical and squats. Guess I should do that today, too.

After about half an hour I notice someone climbing on the elliptical next to me. I glance, and then do a double take. I rip the ear buds out of my ears.

"Kahl?!" I exclaim in shock. "Since when do you work out?"

He smiles sheepishly while punching the buttons for his settings. "I just started," he says.

"Really?" I ask, somewhat surprised. I never pictured him in a gym. He seems too anxious for it.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm not horribly out of shape, but I could look better. I guess I want to increase my stamina."

I nod my head along to what he's saying. I bet the only exercise he gets is when he's riding a dick. "Natural highs are better than whatever feeling alcohol gives you," I tell him.

"We'll see," he says with a shrug before returning his attention back to his pace.

I decide to to the same.

I think it'd be nice if he stopped drinking all together, but I doubt it will be that easy. He might like to think it's not a problem, but it's obvious that it is. If he can somehow substitute drinking for exercise, I think he'd be much better off.

"By the way," I say, pulling myself from my thoughts. "Did you have fun last night?"

"Yeah!" he answers enthusiastically, smiling. "I mean," he breaths heavy, "yeah. It was fun." I can tell he's trying to tone down his excitement.

"Good," I say. I am going faster than him but it isn't effecting my breathing much. "I hoped you would."

Then neither of us say anything, going back to our workout. I start to wonder if I should just put my ear buds back in or if that would come off as dick to the Jew.

"Oh, umm..." he starts slowly.

"Yes?" I ask, looking over at him.

"What are you up to today?" he wonders, huffing the words out.

"Well, I'm meeting with a Realtor this afternoon," I explain. "I got to start working on selling the house." I realize that I feel kinda sad actually saying that.

"You're selling it?" The redhead asks, somewhat surprised.

"There's no reason for me to keep it," I explain, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

He nods his head understandingly. "So, that's it then?"

"I guess so."

"Doesn't it feel weird selling the house you grew up in?"

"I guess so," I murmur once more.

"What now?" he asks.

"I don't know," I admit.

"Are you staying here? Leaving?"

He's full of questions today.

"I don't know," I say again and it's the truth. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I'm not sure if I'm going to stay. I'm not sure if I'm doing to leave. I'm not sure what would be easiest or smartest, but I'm not rushing my decision.

"I know that I do have to start going through everything in the house and either sell it or put it in a storage unit."

"You doing that today?" the Jew asks. His pace looks like it's slowing down.

"No. Not today. Just meeting with the realtor," I say, keeping my pace the same. "Why do you ask?"

"Ummm, nothing," Kyle says, picking his pace up a little.

I laugh. "You want to know what I'm up to tonight, don'tcha, Kahl?"

"Maybe," he huffs.

"I'm sure I can pencil you in this evening," I smile. "What did you have in mind, Jew?"

He gives me a dull stare. "Whatever you want, Cartman," he says calmly. "I'm easy to please."

"Are you?" I taunt, not quite believing it.

"Yes," he insists.

I chuckle at that and then say, "All right, how about we just kick back and watch a movie? I'd say let's have a glass of wine, but alcohol seems to be a little too tantalizing for you. I don't want you to go nuts."

He huffs some more. "I can control myself," he tells me, even though it's a big fat lie.

"Oh yeah?" I taunt again.

"Yes!" he exclaims.

I glance at my iPhone. 10:45. I'm meeting the realtor at 11:30. FUCK.

"I hate to be a downer Kahl," I say as I turn down the resistance. "But I'm going to have to wrap this up. Gotta meet the realtor at 11:30."

I see the disappointment in his face but then he nods, quickly catching himself and brushing it off. "'Kay," the Jew responds. I dismount the elliptical and I can feel his eyes still fixated on me. "Ummm," he huffs awkwardly.

"I'll call you this afternoon, okay?" The Jew is so easy to read.

"You would need my number right?"

Oh shit. I STILL don't have his number. I grab my phone and add his digits and call him quickly call him to make sure I got it right.

"Kewl," I say. "See yah later, Kahl."

He waves before turning away and returning to his work out. I watch him for a brief moment, watching his movements. This is good for him. This is healthy - much healthier than binge drinking.

After another brief moment, I make my way to the locker rooms, showering quickly before changing into something more business appropriate. After checking myself in a mirror, I decide I'm good to go. I take my gym bag and sling it over my shoulder before leaving the gym. In the parking lot, I find my car and drop my bag in the trunk before settling in the driver's seat. Pulling out of the parking lot, my mind starts wandering.

It's been happening a lot. My mind starts to wander and I end up thinking about Kyle. I still can't help but find it funny, the way things are turning out. I still can't help but wonder where this is leading, though.

.

.

"You have reached your destination."

My GPS says as I pull into the driveway of "Lockhart Realtor". I walk inside and am greeted by an older (but attractive) woman. "You must be Eric!" she says too excitedly. She quickly pushes herself up from her desk and extends her hand.

"I am," I say, noticing that her handshake is perhaps a little too firm. "And you're Erin Lockhart, I'm guessing?"

"Erin Lockhart, yes indeed!" She smiles and motions for me to follow her. "Would you like anything to drink, Eric?"

"Just water, thanks," I say as I sit down. She comes with a glass of water and places it in front of me on her desk neatly using a placemat first.

"Soooo," she starts by opening up a folder, putting on her reading glasses, and going through papers. "The house is in your mother's name, Liane Cartman, correct?"

"That's correct," I answer.

"And you live in Denver, right?"

"Yep."

"How much time do you have here, in South Park?"

I shrug. "Well obviously I don't have forever. But I could stay here a couple of months, if I have to."

I notice the realtor making a sour face.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Well, in a normal housing market, a couple of months wouldn't be a problem," she starts.

"Buuuut...?"

"But, to be quite frank Eric, it's going to be difficult to sell a nice home like yours within a couple of months here in South Park,"

I deadpan. WHAT?

"No one moves to South Park," she catches herself. "I mean, not many people move into South Park on a daily basis."

"Okay," I breathe heavily. "So, what are we gonna have to do to make it happen?"

"Well," she starts by taking off her glasses. "Have you gone through your mother's things yet?"

"What do you mean?" I raise an eyebrow.

"If you're planning to sell the house completely, it would be best to start emptying it. The sooner a new home owner can move in, the more likely it is to sell."

The thought of it hits me hard. I don't really want to start sorting through her things so soon, to be honest. It seems too grim - like I'm going through her life. I used to do it all the time as a kid, but doing it as an adult I might find out things I'd rather not know about... Then again, maybe it'll all just make me too fucking sad. She's dead. Somehow, it still doesn't feel quite real.

"Oh," is all I muster up, frowning to myself as the thoughts continue to pervade.

The realtor gives me a sympathetic look and says, "I don't meant to sound harsh, but it needs to be done quickly if you're on a tight schedule."

"Yeah, I understand," I tell her.

Honestly, I haven't spent much time in that house since leaving South Park. I visited, sure, but not often. I regret that. I wish I came around more. I wish I spent more time with her. Now it's too damn late.

"You think we can have the house ready for viewing next week?" she asks.

"Sure," I answer hesitantly. "I'll go ahead and get started today."

Shit. This is NOT what I had in mind for my plans today. But I guess I knew my trip back to South Park was going to to tough for this reason.

"Great," she says.

.

.

I pull up to my old house and turn off the ignition. I take a deep breath. I SO don't want to do this.

I step inside and take a moment. It all looks the same. Fuck, it even smells the same. It's familiar - the place of my childhood. I spent a lot of happy and sad times here - a lot of times with Kyle, Stan, Kenny. That's all gone from my life now. Everyone is gone. Everyone except for the Jew.

I take a deep breath and walk to the basement. I'll start from the bottom up. Most of the basement is already packed up anyway. I just need to bring them upstairs and load them in my car.

So, I get to work. I try to work diligently. I'll look through the boxes later. I don't want to get distracted. I just want this done.

I don't even see the sun setting once I make it upstairs. I am so tired and worn out that I had to stop and see what's available in the kitchen. Myum was always a healthy eater; a bag of rice cakes and some coke zero do the trick for me.

With the basement and mid floor packed up and ready-to-go, I take a deep breath while I contemplate the upstairs part of the house. While I don't know if I'll finish the upstairs today, I definitely want to try to start. I slowly open the door and feel almost mesmerized by what I see. Everything is just as I left it. Even Clyde Frog is in his usual spot, propped up against my desk. I sit at my desk and pick him up. Hmm, it's hard to not talk to him like I did when I was young. But there's something about holding him that feels... Familiar and safe. Besides, I locked the front door behind me when I came in. Even if it does look gay, no one will ever know.

My eyes wander to the books laying on my desk. Some old text books, an autobiography of Terrance and Philip, a World War 2 Memorabilia, and then something catches my eye. A photo album...?

I pick it up and sit on my bed before opening it up.

Shit.

It's full of photos from my childhood - photos of me with Kyle, Stan, Kenny, Butters and even some fucks I didn't care for that much like Craig, Token, Tweek and Clyde. Christ, I wonder what the fuck happened to Craig and his idiotic friends. Half of them are probably dead. None of them had much going for them.

I leaf through more photos. In them, I'm young and smiling. So is Kyle.

Hell, how times have changed - the way they so often do... and at too many times it's for the worst.

I find a group picture of me, Stan, Kenny, and the Jew. Kenny is on the end, next to Stan, who looks like his usual hippy self. Then there's the Jew, slightly facing him but making a sour face at me over his shoulder. I was definitely grinning and looking right at the Jew, up to my usual shenanigans. The picture is comical itself, but for whatever reason it makes me sad. I get a closer look of the picture. Despite Kyle's sour face, I see a suppressed smile underneath his "eat shit" expression that he was trying to give me. His cheeks are flushed and I can tell that he looks a little embarrassed that I'm messing with him. Still, he looks very much that he was in the moment in this picture. He looks very... happy.

Christ, Jew. What happened to you?

I am so deep in thought that I almost don't hear my phone getting a text message. I pull it out and look.

Hey is all the text from Kyle says.

I respond with a similar greeting and then I ask him what's up.

KYLE: Not much, you?
ME: I'm at my mom's house trying to get rid of everything. Just found a photo album.
KYLE: Ha, who of?
ME: Childhood stuff. Some of you. I'll show you later.
KYLE: Sounds good. I want to see.

I set my phone aside again for a moment, leafing through more pictures. I'm glad my mom kept these. I leaf back to the one where Kyle looks happy and take a picture with it on my phone before sending it to Kyle.

ME: Remember this?
KYLE: Wow.
ME: Yeah I know, wow.
KYLE: Can I ask you something?
ME: 'Course Jew.
KYLE: Do you still want to hang out tonight?
ME: Sure I do.
KYLE: 'Kay. I'll be at the apartment. Lemme know when you're ready. You'll bring that album, right?
ME: Yep. See yah in an hour, kay, Kahl?
KYLE: See yah soon, Cartman.

I look out the window and I see that the sun is setting. I guess I'll finish up with the upstairs part of the house tomorrow. I should probably head home and take a shower before I see the Jew tonight.

I stretch me limbs out and then leave, getting in my car and setting the photo album in the passenger's seat. I don't know what I'll do with the rest of this shit. I guess I'll have to sell most of it. It'll be fucking depressing. It'll be like selling parts of my damn childhood. It's weird to think about. Gay as it sounds, it kind of hurts to think about.

I drive back to my apartment and try to focus on the road. It doesn't take me long.

When I'm back, I grab the album and move inside. I set it on the sofa and head straight for the bathroom. I turn on the taps and peel off my clothes, washing off quickly. When I'm done, I dry off and move into my room before getting dressed. I put on something nice yet casual.

Once I'm good to go, I send Kyle a text and then I grab the photo album, making my way next door. I knock a few times before simply allowing myself in.

"Kahl?" I call.

"One sec!" I hear him call back.

I move into the living room and sit down, setting the album on the coffee table. I can't help but think about the first time I was in this room and Kyle got drunk and started whining before taking off his damn clothes.

God, that was fucked up.

Well, at least he didn't have a fit. I don't know what the hell I'd do in that situation.

After another minute, Kyle appears. He's wearing a knitted sweater and a pair of beige khakis. His hair is tidy and he looks good. "Hey," he says before apologizing with, "Sorry about that. Sometimes I'm bad at being on time."

I shrug my shoulders and tell him, "It's fine." I pat the spot next to me and say, "I brought the album. We can look at it if you want."

He sits down next to me, reaching for it on the coffee table and placing it gingerly on his lap before opening to the first page. "Geez," he says, very slowly turning to the next page. "We were so young,"

"No shit," I say.

"Ohh," he says. "This is the picture you texted me earlier, right?" He points to that distinctive group photo where it looks like we were having a blast.

"Yes," I confirm. "You see how happy you are there, Kahl?"

For a second his face looks like a deer in headlights. Then his expression softens in a sad way and he turns his gaze back to the picture. "Yeah..."

"What happened, Jew?" I ask, still looking at his eyes.

"Life happened, I guess," he says softly, focusing on the picture.

I still want to pry. Fucking hell, I want to pry... but I force myself to keep quiet. He'll tell me when or if he's ready. I don't want to keep nagging him about whatever the fuck is going on. He's probably getting damn sick of it by now.

After a moment, he turns the page. There are more pictures. With each page we turn, we're aging in the photographs.

"Graduation," Kyle recalls when we finally reach the end of the album. There are countless photos of crowds of students. My mom took them. I think my mom took pretty much all of the photos in this album and, shit, I'm glad she did.

"Yeah," I say. "Seems like so damn long ago."

"It was," Kyle point out.

"Sometimes I forget how many years have passed," I admit.

"Me, too."

The Jew then sits there, looking at me. Christ, does he have the prettiest green eyes. Before I even know it, I'm placing my hand under his chin, leaning forward and kissing him. It's very slow and gradually both of our mouths part open and our tongues tangle. I can hear Kyle closing the photo album and placing it on the coffee table before he wraps his arms around me and leans back on the couch. I swear I hear some soft and light moans coming from the Jew's lips while I gently press up against him, towering over him a bit on the couch while our kissing gets more intense.

Before things get too heated, I abruptly sit up and clear my throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, Kahl."

The redhead looks at me, still laying on the couch. He chuckles, maybe out of surprise. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Cartman."

"I mean," I run my right hand through my hair, my left hand placed on my left knee. "What I meant to do was to ask you if you wanted to go out to eat tonight, or maybe a movie or something? Since we didn't really get a chance to talk about it earlier."

He shrugs. "It's fine..." he says. "We can just stay in if you want."

"I don't want to move too fast," I tell him. I know he's probably been hurt in the past and I don't want to look like just another dick who wants to fuck him.

He chuckles at that. "Oh," he says in a teasing tone. "You're a nice guy, huh?"

I give him a dull stare, not wanting to get wrapped up in any of his annoying games. "I just don't want to fuck around with you, Jew. Don't be a dick."

Is it right to call him out like that? I don't want him to have a fucking temper tantrum. I should probably be more careful, especially since we're starting this kind of relationship.

"I'm not!" he snaps at me.

"Then tell me what you want to do," I say.

"I told you I'm fine with staying in," he repeats himself tersely. "You were the one jumping to conclusions. Shit."

"Fine, I'm sorry," I apologize. It's fucking hard to do because I'm not one for apologies.

He softens, sensing it. "It's fine... So am I. I get defensive... but really, it's okay if we stay here. I won't try anything. I won't even get drunk, okay?"

I look at him somewhat warily.

"I won't!" he protests. "So, uh, wanna watch something on Netflix?"

I shrug and nod. "Sure. Whatcha have in mind?"

The ginger shrugged. "Wanna watch 50 Shades of Grey?"

I laugh at the prospect. "You mean, 50 Shades of Gay?"

The Jew laughs. "Well, what do you want to watch?"

I shrug. "Anything other than that S&M chick-flick shit."

He pauses for a second. "I still haven't seen Lone Survivor."

"Fuck it, let's watch it." I shrug again.

So, Kyle turns on the television and we start the movie. "Want anything to drink?" Kyle asks before sitting back down.

"Water is fine," I tell him.

He nods, leaving the room briefly. When he returns, he has two cups of water. "Here," he says, setting one down in front of me.

I thank him and we watch the movie quietly. Kyle drinks his water quickly, going to get another glass. I put my arm around him when he returns, watching as he sips on his water.

Towards the end of the movie, I get suspicious. I grab his glass and take a whiff. "For fuck's sake, this is vodka!" I snap in disbelief.

Kyle stares at me, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't try to defend himself. He just glances to the side, looking almost ashamed.

"I thought you weren't going to drink!" I say, again.

"Look, it's just one glass," he responds. "It's not a big deal,"

"Kahl, I thought you were really going to work on this!" I exclaim as I stand up with his glass and walk to the kitchen. I throw it out in the sink.

He watches me, but he doesn't try to stop me as his vodka disappears down the drain. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"Why?" I ask him.

"I don't fucking know," he says. "I know you expect better from me and sorry I keep fucking disappointing you."

I let out a sharp sigh, trying to keep myself calm and collected. "It's not about me, is it?" I start. "It's about you and you're health and you're well-being. I just don't get why you want to throw it all away."

"Addiction is complicated," he says softly. "It doesn't matter what I want. It doesn't matter that the things I'm addicted to aren't good for me. There's a sense of need and necessity that you can't possibly understand... and I wouldn't want you to. If you understood, then you'd be like me and you'd be fucked up, too."

I shrug my shoulders. "Just talk to me, then. I may not be able to get it on the same level as you, but at least I can have a better grasp. Then I'll know what to expect."

"All right," he agrees in a mumble.

When we return to the living room, I sit back down next to the Jew on the couch as he takes a deep sigh.

"I don't know if I would say that I'm an alcoholic," he starts, "but sometimes I tend to act out more sexually when I drink too much."

Act out MORE sexually? I can't help but wonder how the hell things could get any worse, but I'm careful not to show what I'm thinking. I just nod.

"But the sex I probably have a problem with," he admits looking down, avoiding eye contact. "The cutting I definitely have a problem with."

"You've been cutting for a really long time, haven't you?" I ask gingerly.

"Yeah," he answers. "Since I was 13." He hangs his head, ashamed.

I want to immediately tell him that it's okay, but I stop myself, figuring that that may not mean a whole lot. I really want to talk to the Jew from the heart, out of sincerity.

"Yah know, Kahl, I may not be some addiction specialist, but I do know a little bit about it because of my myum," I say.

He nods his head, still not looking at me.

"Look at me Jew," I say finally. Slowly, he turns his head and we lock eyes. His big green ones are full of fear, shame, guilt, remorse. Somewhat stunned. "Hey," I whisper, and and grab his right hand. "You don't have to keep living this way if you don't want to."

He smiles bitterly. "It's harder than that... I mean, I can admit these things but actually going and making the change... That part gets hard. I've tried before, y'know? I always end up relapsing and in a worse state than before."

"Have you ever been hospitalized?" I pry, wondering if he ever cut too deep or drank too much.

"Once," he says with a shrug. "Kenny found me bleeding in my bedroom. If he didn't, I'd be dead for sure. I fucking hated him so much when I woke up in the hospital. I never thanked him, but I probably should. He did the right thing, I just didn't appreciate it at the time because I felt so, so, so fucking sad. I never told my parents about it. I didn't want them to know. They have enough shit to take care of without me acting up."

I frown at that. It's a scary thought. It's too scary. It makes me worry for him.

"I mean, I don't truly want to die," he continues, "but sometimes I get stuck in these ruts and I screw up."

"Yeah," I say softly.

"I feel bad for my parents," he murmurs. "They got stuck with two nut-cases. I try to keep my distance because they already have more important things to deal with."

"Don't say it like that," I tell him.

He shrugs again. "I guess Ike actually has an excuse... I don't, really. I can't really pinpoint why I'm like this and all the shitty typical things that might count as a reason happened after I started spiralling downward."

"Like what?" I ask, trying to keep my voice as gentle as I can.

"Violent stuff," he says with a frown.

"Like...?" I trail off and my frown deepens.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "It's like... I bring it on myself half the time. I egg guys on. I invite them to hurt me and they do and I feel like there's still a sense of control with the technical loss of control. Then I get to play the victim and I get to make a scene and scream and I like that. I just want attention, I guess... even if it's the bad kind."

"Heavy," I say, not sure what else I can add because the shit he's saying is so unbelievably fucked up.

"Umm," he starts nervously. "Cartman?"

"Yes?"

"Um, I just want to thank you. For everything,"

"Everything?" I ask.

"I mean, everything you've done since you've been back," he elaborates. "Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if you were to disappear and never talk to me again after everything you know about me," he chuckles cynically.

"Why you're quite welcome Kahl," I start. "You know Jew, you're kinda hard on yourself. Yeah, you've got some issues, but you have a lot of good qualities, too."

The redhead smiles slowly. Then his phone rings, almost breaking us up instantly from the serious conversation. Of course I assume it's going to be one of the Jew's gentleman callers, but when he takes the cell phone out of his pocket he scrunches his eyebrow, confused.

"Who is it?" I ask, curious.

"It's my mom," he says in a shocked tone. "She never calls me." After a split second, he answers the call, putting the phone up to his hear. "Hello?"

I don't hear what Sheila is saying on the other end. All I do is watch as Kyle's expression falls and it honestly looks like whatever his mom just said split his heart in half.

"What?" his voice breaks. "N-no..."

He continues listening to whatever the fuck it is she's saying. He raises a palm, covering his mouth. It looks like he's trying to suppress his emotions. It's worrying me. Whatever he's hearing, it's not good.

"Yeah... Yeah okay," he says, taking it all in. "Hell's Pass? Okay, I'm on my way."

As soon as he got off the phone he gets up from the couch and runs to grab his jacket.

"Kahl, what's going on?" I ask calmly.

"It's Ike," he says shakily.

"What happened?" I ask, following him.

"It was either an overdose or he tried to kill himself... Not sure yet," he reveals, his voice cracking.

I'm full of questions, but I don't pry. Instead, I simply nod my head and take out my keys. "I'll drive," I tell him.

Kyle lets out a shuddery sigh, but relents with a nod. "All right..."

Better than forcing him to walk there since he can't drive.

I slip into my shoes and then follow him out. He doesn't bother locking his apartment. We walk briskly, leaving the building and moving into the parking lot. The ride doesn't take long since everything in South Park is close together. Soon enough, we're pulling into the hospital. I let Kyle out at the front doors while I find a place to park. It's crowded. I guess there are lots of emergencies tonight.

Eventually, I find a place to park. I move into Hell's Pass and linger outside of the waiting room. Should I intrude?

Instead, I decide to wait. I don't want Kyle to think I just dropped him off but I do want to know if he found Ike. So I get out my phone and text.

ME: Hey, did you find which room he's in?

I wait a second, then promptly got a response.

KYLE: He's on the 5th floor in ICU. Room 515. I'm in the elevator.

"Where's the elevator?" I ask the front receptionist.

"Over to the right," the middle-aged woman responds, pointing out what was right in front of me, but for whatever reason I didn't see.

I step in and there are already several people there. I see an older man, sad with red eyes, swollen from crying. I see a few female college students rush in and I hold the elevator door open for them. One of them is carrying a large vase of assorted flowers, and the girls are smiling, discussing if their friend will like the flowers they all pitched in for. I see another older couple, the wife looks tired and the man looks obviously sick and yellow with jaundice. He carries an air of indifference, as if his wife's suffering isn't enough to make him stop whatever he's doing. From the looks of it, I would guess that that would be drinking.

It's fucking depressing. This is why I hate hospitals. Everyone is already half dead or looks it. I cross my arms, trying to keep my personal space, though it's hard in a cramped space such as this.

Ding.

I don't fucking get it.

Ding.

I don't get why a kid like Ike would try to off himself or be on drugs or whatever the hell is going on. He always seemed pretty happy when we were young. Then again, things change as the years go by. I'm no stranger to that.

Ding.

I don't know what the fuck might've happened to him.

Ding.

But I want to.

Ding.

After countless people entering and exiting the elevator, we're on the fifth floor. I let out a breath and step out. It's bright, too blindingly bright. The walls are white, the floors are white and the doctor's in the halls are dressed in white. It all reflects numbingly thanks to the fluorescent lights.

I step out quickly and see the sign directing me to go left for rooms 500 to 525. I move fast, and I realize that room 515 is coming up shortly on my left. The door is closed and to my surprise, I don't hear anything. I knock gently, not sure of what else to do.

Kyle's dad timidly opens the door. He stares at me for a second, not recognizing me. I see that his eyes are swollen and bloodshot, showing me that it wasn't that long ago that he had been crying.

"Hello Mr. Broflovski," I greet him quietly.

"Eric?" He says, dumbfunded. "Is that you?"

I smile and suppress a chuckle. "Yes, it's me."

"Come on in, Eric," he opens the door wider for me and steps aside. I step in and as he closes it behind me he says, "I'm sorry, it's just been a really long time that I've seen you."

"It's okay," I say, wanting to skip the small talk. "What happened with Ike?" I ask while watching the doctor talking to Sheila, who is crying with Kyle by her side. There is also a nurse checking Ike's vitals. Ike appears to be asleep and we all hear his slow heart beat pulsating.

"We... Well, the doctor explained that Ike took a LOT of prescription pills that did not belong to him."

"Shit," I whisper piteously. What the hell is going on with their family? They used to be so... together. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes," Gerald says with a sigh. "He's on... suicide watch..." The words come out weak, almost like he can't bear to say it because if he does then it's harder to pretend otherwise.

I nod sympathetically. "If there's anything I can do..." I trail off.

He claps me on the shoulder and gives me a sincere, "Thank you."

"So, will he be in a hospital after this?" I ask gently.

I want answers and since Kyle isn't giving me any, I may as well try to squeeze some out of his dad.

"We're not sure yet," Gerald says, crossing his arms and staring at his unconscious son. "We're not sure if that would be for better or worse."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I can't even imagine... I can tell Kyle has been worried, though."

"He always is," Gerald says with a weary laugh. "I feel like we've let him down... Me and Sheila both feel that way."

"How so?" I pry.

"We just... weren't around," he explains solemnly. "We weren't around when we should have been. We never knew how to properly distribute our attention. We neglected him for a long time... and now we hardly see him anymore. I think he resents us for it."

"I'm sure he doesn't," I try to comfort him, but honestly, I'm not sure. He might be right. Kyle might feel spite towards his parents. He doesn't really talk to me about the most important things. I still have no fucking idea what's going on.

Finally, Kyle turns around and sees me and realizes that I've been in the room for a second. At first he looks stunned with tears running down his cheeks. But then he tucks his chin and looks at the floor, embarrassed. I walk up to him and put a my right hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Kahl," I whisper.

"Hey," his voice cracks.

"He's still alive," I say, not knowing what else to say. "So, that's good." I suddenly feel stupid saying that, given the circumstances. But I have to be strong for the Jew.

"Mmm-hmm," the redhead murmurs. I can tell that he faking the optimism as well.

"Eric?" Sheila just now sees me, as she has been distracting with her sobbing.

I maneuver over to her and wrap my arms around her, tightly. "Mrs. Broflovski," I say sweetly. Sheila doesn't let go. Instead, her sobs get stronger and I can feel her entire body wrack with each one. I gently play with her long red hair, hoping she knows that I too am hurting for the whole family. I look out the corner of my eye and I see Kyle standing there, arms crossed. His gaze moves towards me and his mom and I can tell he's about to break down, too. Instead, he quickly leaves the room and slams the door.

When Sheila lets me go, I tell them I'm going to find Kyle. They nod gratefully and I leave the room. I glance around the bright, white hallways, but I don't see him. He's probably outside.

I go back down to the first floor and leave the hospital. Right away, I find Kyle on a bench just outside. He's crying still, his elbows on the wooden surface with his face pushed into his palms.

I approach slowly and cautiously. When he hears me, he glances up. "Want to tell me what the fuck is happening?" I ask.

He doesn't respond. "I need a fucking drink," he whispers, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

I frown at that. "Probably not a good idea, Kahl."

"Shut up..." the bites out. "Honestly, just... just shut up... Nothing fucking matters anymore!"

I sit down next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. He starts sobbing again, louder this time. He sounds so fucking pained. I wish there was more I could do, but it's out of my hands.

"I just... I feel so fucking bad for him and there's nothing I can do!" he sobs.

I rub his back, letting him cry. "I'm sorry," I sympathize. "Do you want to go back inside?"

At first he doesn't respond, so I ask him again. He quiets his crying a bit and slightly nods his head.

I stand up first and then lend my hand. He takes it and I feel how heavy he is as I help pull him up. The Jew shoves his hands in pockets of his coat as walk side by side, back into the entrance.

"Umm," is all I hear when I notice that he stopped walking beside me. I turn around. "Can we... Maybe, talk for a second?" His eyes are big and vulnerable. "You know, before we see him again?" His voice cracks a little when he said 'him'.

"'Course, Kahl. Wanna get some coffee at the new cafe they have inside?"

"Yeah," he says and he continues to follow me. Once we get inside, I ask the receptionist where the cafe is and she directs us to the right. I myself have never been, but my myum told me about all the renovations being made to Hell's Pass about a year ago. She told me how the cafe was being added as well as the hospital restaurant was getting a complete make-over. I remember how amused she was and me rolling my eyes while she told me that over the phone. Now, I wish I could thank her, because I think Kyle has always had a thing for the ambiance of cafes. I think it will help him feel better.

"What do you feel like?" I ask him.

"Um, latte, I guess," he says.

I nod my head and order two lattes. I wait for them while Kyle wanders to find a seat. He's moving like a zombie - tired, distant and removed. I think that's what he's trying to do. He's trying to remove himself from the situation. I can't really blame him. It's probably the only way he can stay sane at this point.

After a few minutes, the drinks are made. Hopefully they won't taste like shit. Hospital food doesn't have a marvellous reputation, but maybe it'll be all right.

I sit across from Kyle. He chooses a seat next to the window-wall. It overseas the field behind the hospitals. There are gardens. In the day time, it looks like it would be nice to walk through.

"Want to talk?" I ask him, taking a sip. Not bad.

He worms his hands around the cup and stares down. "I don't even know what to say..." he murmurs numbly.

"Your dad said it was a drug overdose... Like prescription drugs?"

"I know he's fucked with that shit before," he mumbles. "But Ike was trying to kill himself. I know he was."

Despite the fact that the Jew makes that assessment with such certainty, I still want to doubt it. "Are you sure it just wasn't an accidental overdose?"

"Cartman," he says my name, fully getting my attention. "Ike is very, very smart. He has been doing prescription drugs for a while. He's not the type that would just have an accidental overdose." With that he takes a sip of his coffee."

I sit in silence, not sure of what to say.

"And besides," he breaths, "this isn't the first time he's tried to kill himself."

My face drops. "Are you serious, Kahl?"

The redhead solemnly nods. "If I hadn't had come home from synagogue the time that I did that Sunday, he wouldn't already blown his brains out. Luckily, I made it just in time to fight him for the... the gun."

I again sit there in silence, trying to mentally picture all this. Fuck, no wonder the Jew has issues!

It's a lot to take in. They used to be that picture perfect family. They had the breadwinning father, the caring stay-at-home mom and two smart kids.

"A gun..." I murmur aloud, still in complete and total disbelief. With a gun there is very little room for mistakes. If Ike had a gun, then he really wanted to fucking die.

Kyle lets out a shuddery sigh. "Things have been screwed up for a while..." he says.

That's one way to put it!

"My parents try to do what they can..." he continues forlornly. "They try to help him, they try to get him help... Fuck, nothing works. He's still so..." he trails off.

"Fucked?" I guess.

He smiles wearily. "I don't really want to put it like that... but I guess it's not far off the mark."

"Poor bastard," I mutter, unsure of what else to say. This is some really heavy shit. I'm not used to heavy shit, but I've been having to deal with a lot of it lately. First my mom dies and then Kyle told me he almost died and now Ike is trying to die. It's an idea I can't really get used to. I keep seeing that smiley, stupidly smart kid in my head. "I mean," I say, trying to sort it all through in my head. "Wasn't he happy when he was really little?" I ask this question because I know that children don't really BS or act fake. Shit, I think it's life that teaches us how to do that if we want and usually young children don't know how to yet.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "He was the happiest baby and child in the world..." The Jew emphasized the word "was", almost alluding to something.

"So what happened?" I ask.

"He..." The Jew shakes his head, almost dismissing it. "Something happened when he was young."

"Which was...?" I pry.

"There was this guy that used to drive us to basketball practice while our parents were at the synagogue," he explains hoarsely. "He was a close family friend... Supposedly."

I think I know where this is going, but I'm somewhat too tense, uncomfortable, and a slew of other emotions that I can't really pinpoint to say anything.

"He molested Ike."

I feel my eyes widen substantially. For a few minutes, I don't say anything at all. I can't. No words will form and my throat feels tight. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding and I finally say, "Fuck..."

Kyle lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "Yeah, fuck."

I didn't expect it to be something this bad. You always hear stories like this on the news. You always hear stories about sick freaks hurting kids and the kids never fucking recover. That's probably the worst fucking thing someone can do to a kid. I don't get it. I don't get why someone would hurt a kid. They're all innocent and shit.

I glance at Kyle. His eyebrows are drawn together and he looks fucking miserable. I guess I now understand why.

"So, what happened?" I pry hoarsely. "Did the pervert go to prison?"

I really fucking hope he did. I know what they do to guys like that in prison.

"No," he says. "My dad hired a detective and found out that he moved to California."

Something tells me that that means this sick bastard got off free.

Kyle chuckles in a cynical manner. "You know what he does for a living?"

"What?" I ask, although I'm afraid to.

"He's an elementary school teacher," he scoffs. We both look at each other and read each others' expressions.

"So, he got off totally free?" I went ahead and cut to the chase.

"Yes," Kyle answers. "Ike was so young when it happened, and he didn't bother to tell us until he was 16." He sighs another breath. "And there's a statute of limitations in Colorado."

I sink in my chair. "Kyle," I say, taking my time to say his name right. "I am so fucking sorry."

He rubs a hand down his face, weakly responding with, "Yeah..."

"Bullshit," I whisper, partially to myself. I'm still in complete and total disbelief. I can't believe something like that happened to a kid I know. "So, let me guess... After all of that shit happened, your parents stopped paying attention to you."

Kyle lets out a long breath. "He started acting up before he told us. So, it was more complicated than that... and I don't blame Ike. I mean, he was going through something I couldn't possibly have understood. I don't blame my parents, either. This is quite literally a matter of life and death. It's no wonder he took all their attention."

"All right, so tell me about it," I request. "How do you feel?"

He wrinkles his nose and another tear falls. He swipes it away fast. "I don't know. I just feel fucking bad. I feel like this all the time. It won't go away."

"Then get help," I say simply.

He rolls his eyes a me, dismissing me. "I don't want to think about myself right now. I just... I just want Ike to be okay."

I nod, realizing that maybe right now I should get off his case. After all, his baby brother did try to take his own life tonight.

Kyle leans back in his seat, using his index finger to trace the lip on his coffee.

"Yah know what's really funny?" he says, his eyes not leaving his coffee.

"What's that, Kyle?"

"Ike's the one who got sexually abused," he muses, slowly. "And I'm the one who ended up being the dirty, fucking whore," he finishes in barely above a whisper, but I can understand each word perfectly. He says the last bit with some venom and hate and -just for a split second- I can feel his self-disgust. It makes me sad.

"Don't say that about yourself," I plead. The words come out rough. I feel as though there's something in my throat. Am I getting emotional?

"But it's true, Cartman," he says. He pulls his hand back to himself as he crosses his arms and places them on the table, leaning forward.

"It's not," I challenge.

"It is," he bites back.

I press my lips together, wanting to say something but unsure if I should. Fuck it.

"I think you've been taken advantage of by a lot of the men you've been with," I start. "I think you've been hurt and I think there are times you've probably let it happen. You've literally alluded to it when we were talking a while back, so don't bother trying to deny any of it. You said it. You said people were violent with you."

He's quiet. He doesn't react. He doesn't have a sharp retort. He's just quiet.

"Maybe," he finally murmurs.

"Please, get help," I whisper pleadingly. "This isn't right. It's not normal behaviour, Kahl. You even admitted you tried to kill yourself."

"That was an accident," he says sharply.

"Bullshit!"

He forces a smile and shakes his head. "It's not important now."

"It is if you're hurting," I say firmly, "and I know you are. Don't bother trying to deny that, either."

He sighs, shaking his head again, almost like he's trying to convince himself of something. Of what? I don't know.

"Why do you do it?" I ask him. "You hate it, don't you? You regret it when the moment is over, yet you continue to make the same mistakes. Why?"

"I just..." he starts weakly, trailing off. He clears his throat and continues, "I just get in these moods. Hypersexuality, as you referred to it a while ago..."

"Yeah," I say, nodding my head and urging him to continue.

"Maybe it's kinda like when I drink, you know? Like, when I feel bored, sad, lonely, angry, or irritable- I just can't take it and I need something to change my mood right away. So, I either get completely hammered or I have to fuck- hard. Or sometimes, I just do both at the same time."

I nod, listening. "So basically, you'll do anything not to feel pain, no matter the possible consequences, right?"

He nods solemnly. "Yeah, I-I guess that's right." He drinks the last bit of his coffee. "Weird thing is, no matter how shitty I feel the next day, no matter how much I hate myself, no matter how much I say that I'm never doing this shit again, it doesn't last got long. I ALWAYS go back to doing the same shit, usually about two days later."

"I would really like you to make an appointment with a counsellor today or tomorrow," I suggest. Maybe I'm just now beginning to understand his addictive personality. Or at least, I'm touching the tip of the iceberg for the first time.

The Jew looks apprehensive. "...I'll try."

"Just do it," I urge.

He smiles weakly. "Okay." He then sighs heavily. "I guess we should go back and check on Ike, don'tcha think?"

"Yeah, we should," I say as I push myself off my chair.

While we walk side by side to the elevator, I can't help but notice that we haven't said anything to each other for a couple of minutes. We step into the elevator, which this time is empty. I press the button for the fifth floor when I hear Kyle break the silence:

"Cartman?" he says.

I turn my head to the side to face him. "Yes Kahl?"

"Thank you for listening."

I smile at him and nod. "Any time, Kahl."

He smiles back, though it's lackluster. "You don't have to do that," I say out of the blue.

"What?" he asks.

"Pretend."

He chuckles, rubbing a palm down his weary expression. "All right. Sorry."

Soon, the elevator doors open. We move down the hallway and back towards Ike's room. Hopefully he'll be awake by now and ready to communicate.

"I'll wait out here," I say when we reach the room.

He nods. "All right. Thanks."

I nod back, finding a seat in the hallway and thinking to myself. It's a fuck of a lot to take in. It's a lot worse than I could have imagined. That family went through hell. Especially Ike. He didn't deserve that. He was just a kid. Just a damn kid.

Life is never fair. People rarely deserve the things that get thrown their way.

I pass time by dicking around on Facebook, texting my realtor to let her know that the house may not be ready as soon as we had hoped, and checking out the weather for the following week. A good 20 minutes go by when I can see someone approach me from the corner of my eye.

"Hey," the Jew says as he takes a seat next to me.

"How is he?" I ask, putting my phone away.

"Hey just woke up, but he's really weak. He's not talking much yet," he explains.

"Well, I'm glad he's okay," I try to stay positive, although Kyle and I both know that Ike is from from okay.

"Yeah," he says, "The doctor says that he needs to stay here for another 48 hours to rehabilitate. Also, this will give my parents some time to find a good, local rehab for him. One that the staff here agrees with."

"Good," I say.

"But the doctor doesn't recommend that he stays here alone, and my parents are really worn out, so... I volunteered to watch him tonight."

I'm a bit taken aback by the redhead's new demonstration of selflessness, but I am impressed nonetheless. "I totally understand Kahl," I say. "Is there anything I can get you that you'll need for tonight?"

"I'm good now. Caffeine will keep me going, but... could you drop by a little later?" he asks timidly, like he feels bad making the request.

"Yeah, of course," I tell him surely. "Want me to bring anything?"

"More coffee," he says with a chuckle. "I don't want to sleep much. Not tonight. If Ike wakes up again and wants to talk, I want to be ready to listen... though it isn't likely. He hasn't really spoken to me much these past few years."

I frown. "Well, maybe that will change. Maybe he'll talk to you this time."

"Maybe," Kyle murmurs, not sounding too convinced. "I just... want him to be okay... but it seems so impossible."

"Nothin' is impossible, Kahl," I remind him.

He rolls his eyes at me, but smiles nonetheless. "Look at you, Mr. Positivity."

I just smile back at him. "I won't tell you not to worry, because you have reason to worry... but try not to let it make you fucking sick or anything."

"Ha, I'll try," he mutters. He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. "Anyway, I'll talk to you in a bit."

I hold up my hand. "See you. Give Ike my regards."

He nods, waving at me before I turn away. I make my way back down the hallway and into the elevator, down a few floors and out of the building all together.

What now?