Disclaimer: South Park is not mine, I wrote this story just for fun.
Author's note: Been a while…
I thought of this idea not long ago, thought I might write it down.
I don't really like how it turned out, personally I think it's horribly rushed, but… I'll let you judge.
Please, leave a review :)
Sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.
For What it's Worth
He was shaking so bad that even from my spot by the door I could see it and hear the occasional squeaks of the bed. I could just see him, lying there, covered with his thick blanket up to his head, eyes wide with fear and body tensed. I pondered momentarily if he was shaking before, or started to when he heard me opening his bedroom door. I could just hear his quick breaths, accompanied with quiet, nearly inaudible whimpers. I wondered if it was a good idea to come here.
I took a step forward, closing the door behind me and approaching him slowly, hoping that I was imagining when I noticed he started to shake even harder. I stood mere inches from his bed, seeing only his red curls, which were the only thing visible on the pillow. I lifted the blanket, surprised when I saw no objections from his side. He yelped and crossed his arms over his head, as if protecting himself from debris that fell from his ceiling. "Please… go away… leave me alone…" the fear was clear in his voice, and for the first time since that incident I felt my heart clenching in my chest. I swallowed thickly and sat on his bed, making it squeak once again. He curled into himself in response, edging towards the edge of his bed. I took a deep breath, lied down next to him and wrapped my arms around his shaking body.
He stiffened and fell silent, fear paralyzing his whole. "It's alright, Kyle," I whispered in his ear. "It's me. He won't come... I won't hurt you…"
He began shaking again, but not from fear. He uttered my name, not facing me. I leaned my forehead on his back, hushing him.
Then he cried.
Everyone in town knew that Eric Cartman was a racist, fat, manipulative jerk. Behind every action of his there was a hidden motive that only he knew about- that's why one had to be cautious when associating with him. One could never trust him.
Eric Cartman was also known for the fact the he got whatever he wanted- whether it was revenge or money. Nothing stood in his way if he wished for something with his whole heart, and that included the law. Even if it was taken away from him, it didn't change the fact that he actually got whatever it was, even if it was just for a short period of time.
And Eric Cartman wanted Kyle Broflovski.
His back is turned to me, only half visible from behind the bars…
During our early days, Cartman pestered Kyle about his religion constantly, never letting off. It ended up alright, usually, because Kyle was stronger than Cartman- and if things deteriorated to beating, Kyle was the winner.
Years passed, people changed. Carmtan grew fatter and bigger, while Kyle mainly grew taller. They fought more often, Kyle maintaining his winning streak until that day, in which Cartman managed to win. He won the second time, and the third, and the fourth, until Kyle simply stopped trying to win.
That, if you asked Cartman, was still winning, and not by default. He was finally strong enough to scare Kyle away.
Kyle ignored his Jew-remarks most of times, retorting only when Cartman really got on his nerves. Yet, he avoided fighting with him like fire. When asked, he never once admitted he was afraid, usually he said he was simply more mature than Cartman. Most people bought it, since it was a known fact that Eric Cartman acted like a child most of the time. But I knew the truth, and he knew that I knew it, even though he never said so.
"Can you honestly say it was worth it?" I asked…
A new school year began, and I entered our new classroom. Immediately I spotted Kyle in the farthest seat from the board. He smiled and waved when he spotted me, and I smiled back, walking towards him. Someone pushed me suddenly and I lost my balance for a moment, yet managed to remain standing. When I looked up Cartman was seated in my seat next to Kyle, and Kyle was glaring at him, yet saying nothing.
"Move, fatass!" I shouted, pointing at another seat, as if the one I was talking to was an obedient dog, which was true, except for the obedient part.
"Why should I?" he asked, calm.
"This is my seat," I explained, still angry.
"Yeah," Kyle agreed, keeping the anger from his voice.
Cartman smiled, making me flinch inwardly. "This is the first day of school," he said. "I'm allowed to sit wherever I want."
"You son of a…" I muttered under my breath, taking the seat in front of Kyle, much to my - and his, too - dismay.
As the day progressed, I noticed that Kyle became attached to me, looking nervous and glancing sideways all of the time. I finally had enough of it during lunch. "Dude, you're scaring me," I said. "Did Cartman do something?"
He swallowed, nervous. "He-" he started, then stopped, choosing his words carefully. "He keeps on touching me…" he whispered.
My eyebrow rose. "What?" I asked.
"He keeps on-"
"Yeah, yeah. I heard you. Why is he touching you? Where?"
He shrugged. "Dunno why," he said. "He touched my hair, my shoulder… he even touched my cheek!"
I smiled. "I think he has a crush on you."
He paled. "Don't even go there!" he said. "It makes me sick enough when he's next to me…" he shuddered as impure thoughts corrupted his mind.
When lunch break ended, I found him sitting in the seat next to me, ignoring the protests of the girl, who sat there before. "I am not sitting there," he told me. He did a mistake, though. Now he was sitting in front of Cartman.
I regret it now that I didn't agree to change seats when he begged me to. He's not the only one, who wants to be farthest from Cartman as humanly possible.
Sometimes I saw Cartman caressing his back slowly, teasing him, and I could see Kyle fighting the urge to hit him, or even get up and leave. He kept on staring at his woodden table, shaking with anger, gritting his teeth and remaining silent.
It was weird. Everyone in our class thought so, but simply guessed that it was Cartman's new way for annoying Kyle. My thoughts were no different. Kyle, though, thought differently: "He's planning something!" he always told me on our way back home, describing just where Cartman touched him today. "God, it makes me so sick!" he always complained.
I can tell he's smiling even if I can't see his face…
I don't have Math with Kyle, unlike Cartman. During our recess after that class I walked down the hall, talking with Clyde about this thing or another, when suddenly Kyle rushed past me into the boys' bathroom. "Somebody ate something bad," Clyde said snidely.
I felt worried suddenly, so I went inside after him. As I entered the smelly room I was welcomed with the sound of someone throwing up. "Kyle!" I called, following the sound to the right stall.
He didn't even bother to lock the door. He sat there, on his knees, holding the toilet and emptying his lunch into it as if he was drunk.
"Kyle, dude, are you okay?" I asked as he stood up shakily and wiped his mouth with toilet paper.
He turned towards me, his eyes red. He opened his mouth, about to say something, and then suddenly closed it, eyes wide. "Kyle?" I tried again. I turned around, figuring he stopped because there was some other student standing there, my eyes meeting with the malicious pair of Cartman. It was then that Kyle decided to shut the door and lock it. Cartman was smiling.
"What did you do to him?" I asked, talking quietly, afraid that once I'll start talking louder there would be nothing in my way towards his throat. I knew that Kyle was afraid of Cartman, but this was the first time he showed it. Something clearly went wrong.
Cartman shrugged. "Nothing," he said, making me clench my fists in anger. "He hit his arm by mistake, so I simply offered to kiss it and make the pain go away."
Now I could understand what made Kyle feel so sick. "That's it?" I asked, suspicious. "I can see why that would make him feel sick, but what did you possibly do to actually make him throw up?"
"Nothing in particular," He replied. "He said that it would only make it worse, so I kissed him instead."
I think it was the shock that kept me from punching his face. "You sick fucker…" I seethed from behind my gritted teeth. The smile never left Cartman's face. He waved, turned around, and left the room.
From that day on, Kyle never left my side. He didn't show up for classes he didn't share with me, instead spending those long minutes hidden in bathroom stalls. Cartman never seemed happier.
Then he replies…
A few weeks after that incident I had a dream. I dreamt that I was standing in the darkness, and from afar I could see Kyle running as if he was possessed by something. I called his name numerous times, but he didn't hear. He just kept on running.
I woke up with a fever and didn't go to school. That evening Kyle's mother called, asking if maybe I knew where her son was. I knew immediately that something went wrong. I went out even though my mother protested against it, setting my goal on finding him. Cartman surely did something…
The rain soaked me to my bones and made me keep my eyes only half open. I felt terribly sick, but never stopped walking and calling his name. I didn't care if he won't hear it- I just wanted to see him run again.
When I passed Cartman's house I glanced upwards, feeling his eyes on me. His room was dark. I kept on walking, trudging my way through the thin layer of snow, about to pass out any moment. I had to find him…
His voice alone makes me shudder inwardly…
Kyle was raped, they said. Eric Cartman did it.
It was his father that found him, eventually. I couldn't go on and finally gave in to my fever mere feet from our school. My dad was the one who filled me with the details later. "He was behind the Gym," he told me from his place next to my bed. "Eric…" he hesitated with his words. "Stan, he's… he's in jail now."
Kyle's shaking with sobs in my arms now, and in my dreams he keeps on running, possessed, haunted.
Now, though, I join him in his runs in my dreams. He's haunted by the actions, I'm haunted by the words.
"Love worth it all."