holy christ, look, another one. im on a roll. but i think this is the last for a while cuz im travelling for thanksgiving and then school is going to eat my life again...
again, this was written as a one shot without much editing and its probably really corny... im sorry, but i write when im half asleep. thanks for the reviews on the last two things, i didn't expect anyone would read them =) im glad you liked them.
"Your mom is such a bitch, dude."
Look at me.
His eyes are on his homework, his jaw is tense and his hand is white-knuckled around his pencil. Is that a stray curl I see peaking out from under his hat? Yes -- it falls against his temple, just a tiny wisp of red. I think of the mass of hair still hidden, and wonder what it smells like. Probably sweat, with his hat on all the time.
... I wonder, is he sweating now, beneath those many layers of clothing?
Come on, look at me.
"I mean like, can't she just shut up for one minute? One minute is all I ask. That's not much, is it, Kahl?"
His cheeks flush a blotchy pink. I can almost see the blood rushing into his face as his eyes freeze on the page and the pencil creaks with pressure. Stan looks up from his own homework, glaring at me loyally from across the table. Jesus, that boy is fucking whipped. Wendy should watch her ass.
And a muscle in Kyle's jaw twitches.
Look at me for just one fucking second, you damn Jew.
"I feel for you, man. Your bitch mom, your fucking gay-ass Jew dad, your Canadian retard brother... it must be rough."
God, douchebag, how far do I have to go!? Just fucking look at me!
His head jerks up, face taught with fury, and my heart... skips, stutters, and then beats a tattoo against my ribs.
... You're really fucking beautiful, for a Jewish rat.
"God DAMMIT, Cartman, you shut the fuck up right now or I swear I'm going to bust your fat face open!!"
Stan cringes from beside him, looking over at him reproachfully from under a shock of dark hair.
And I feel high.
His face is flushed, his eyes (deep set above those sharp cheekbones; where did he get that face?) glitter a cold, pale grey-green – they seem almost wet; he always does get teary when he's angry, like a fucking girl – and I can see the raised peak of his collarbone standing out, pale and sharp above his T-shirt, where his jacket buttons have come slightly undone...
You make me feel really fucking high.
"Dude, calm down, he's just being an ass."
Up yours, Stan.
"Yeah, Kahl, calm down. How's your blood sugar? Did the Jew bitch give you a ho-ho by accident?"
I can't resist, although I know every word makes him hate me more, I can't. His eyes are on me – those eyes, on me, on only me, not on Stan, not on anyone else...
He's so goddamn addicting, if he would just shut the fuck up, sit down, and stop... stop blushing like that and stop fucking baring his teeth like some mad dog --
Perfect teeth -- white, and tiny, and straight and even...
If he just stopped all that, I could ignore him!! Fucking Jewish bastard!
Beautiful teeth, beautiful mouth. Oh god.
I want him to bite me.
"I swear, I swear to God, one more word and I'm going break your head all over the cafeteria and send you straight to hell. You. Fat. Fuck."
"Hmm, Kahl, we are bitchy today, aren't we? Is it your period? Do you need a tampon?"
I'm floating. There are little bubbles in my blood; I can feel it fizzing.
He's standing now, with his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his whole tall lean frame rigid with fury. Stan is looking up at him, telling him some gay hippie shit to calm him down, but I can't hear it because he's still looking at me and goddamn who needs drugs when you can feel like this?
There's another curl. He would kill me if I ever touched it.
Forbidden fruit indeed.
You fucking Jew. What the hell have you done to me?
"Fuck you, Stan, I'm going to snap his neck!"
"Kyle, really, you know him, he's a fucking sadist, don't indulge him. Come on, let's go find Kenny. I haven't seen him since morning, he might have died again. We should go check. Let's go, dude. Take it easy."
"... Fucking tub of lard. Say one more thing about my mom, you fascist dick, and I am going to kill you. Let's get out of here, Stan."
Withdrawal. They taught us this feeling in Psych class, first period. You let me copy your notecards, for once in your life. Ironic.
They're gone. He's gone. The stray curls and the eyes and the unbuttoned jacket are gone.
I sit for a minute, and know that the seat he's just vacated is still warm, given a shadow of life from that breathing body.
And then I tear open my cup of pudding, and pretend I'm not an addict, and not obsessed, and not fucking insane.
"Stimulants. Drugs that excite the central nervous system and increase dopamine levels in the brain. Continued use can lead to psychological as well as physical dependence, and cessation can cause withdrawal."
Your handwriting. I copied it. I should've added an example.
"E.g. Kyle Broflovski."
Fucking Jewish piece of shit. Now my pudding doesn't even taste as good.