Author's Note: Another Cartman/Kyle fic, written from Kyle's POV just to switch things up a bit. Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: South Park belongs to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.
Hi. My name's Kyle Broflovski. I'm nine years old, Jewish, and I live in South Park, Colorado.
Let's see… What else can I share about myself?
Well, okay, if there's only one thing everyone knows about me, it's that there's this one person in the entire world that I absolutely, without a doubt, can't stand. I'm not even kidding when I say that I fucking hate this kid with every single inch of my body.
His name is Eric Cartman.
If you're lucky enough to not know anything about that son of a bitch, allow me to take this opportunity to quickly fill you in. He's basically an arrogant, manipulative, narcissistic, psychotic, selfish, annoying, evil, racist, sadistic, fat, retarded fucking douche bag.
…Did I mention fat?
If you think all of that sounds bad, you don't even know the fucking half of it. Seriously, you wouldn't believe the shit that asshole has done to me.
Oh, God, you're curious, aren't you? All right, fine.
Well, for starters, he's ripped on me for being Jewish probably about a million times, and no, that's not an exaggeration. He's literally called me every Jewish stereotype in the book, that I'm greedy, that I'm a rat… You name it, he's said it. Fuck, he pretty much just addresses me as 'Jew' almost all the time. I guess I'm kinda used to it by now, but still, it's really fucking annoying.
His anti-Semitism actually goes way beyond immature name calling though. He once pretended to have fucking Tourette's Syndrome, and as if that weren't bad enough, he thought it would be fun to use his 'illness' as an excuse to go on national television to bash the Jews. I stopped him from doing it, thank God, but that somehow ended up working out in his favor. You have no idea how pissed off I was about that.
Also, he's tried to kill me before. One time he tried beating me to death with a wiffle bat. (I know what you're thinking, and the answer is yes, he really is that stupid.)
And, oh yeah, here's a good one: he's given me fucking AIDS! He broke into my room, while I was sleeping, and he injected a needle filled with his own blood into my mouth.
But none of that stuff compares to when he went to such extreme lengths to get me to suck his balls all because of a stupid fucking bet we made over a leprechaun.
I swear to God, I'm not making this shit up.
Anyway, I could keep going on and on about the fucked up things Cartman's done to me in the past, but I'm sure you get the point. Besides, I really have nothing more to say about that fat prick, except for the fact that I despise him. Always have, always will.
So, you can only imagine the total disgust I'm currently feeling as I suddenly wake up in the middle of the night to Cartman obnoxiously tapping on my window. (This isn't the first time he's done this, by the way.)
I let out a long, frustrated sigh as I tiredly get out from underneath my covers and crawl across my bed until I reach the window. I hold out my hand and grab onto the string that closes the curtain. Just as I'm about to pull on it, Cartman starts frantically banging on the glass.
"Jesus fucking Christ, what?" I shout at him.
He looks at me with those cold, vicious eyes of his. "Let me in, Goddammit!" he shouts back at me. It's sort of hard to hear him through the glass, though, and to be honest, I kinda like it that way. I hate hearing his voice.
I shake my head. "Fuck no! Go away, fatass!" I say a little softer now. I can't risk accidentally waking up my little brother, or more importantly, my parents.
He folds his hands together. "Pleeeeeease?" he whines.
Oh, God, he's begging? He's so fucking pathetic. And the worst part is, even if I decide to ignore him and try to go back to sleep (which I would absolutely love to do), I guarantee you that he'll keep knocking on my window for at least another twenty minutes. So, either way, I can't go back to bed until he leaves, and I figure the sooner I shut him up and let him come in, the sooner he'll fucking go away.
I roll my eyes, and reluctantly, I unlock the handle on my windows and push them open. I notice that Cartman is smiling as I do this. It almost seems like he has an evil scheme up his sleeve, and the reason he's smiling like that is because the first step – which I guess is waking me up from a sound sleep and breaking into my room yet again – is now complete.
That's definitely why he's here. I'm sure of it. He must be in the middle of yet another one of his crazy, diabolical plans. He's fucking always up to something. That's another reason why I hate him. You can never let your guard down with Cartman, because if you do, he'll screw you over in a second. And, believe me, I learned that the hard way.
Anyway, after I open up the windows, I watch as Cartman struggles to bring his entire fat body over the edge so that he can enter my room. He grasps onto the curtain for support, and then he swings one leg over, and right away, he starts to lose his balance. He slips and falls, making a loud crashing sound as he hits the floor. I can hear him weakly moaning in agony now.
It's pretty fucking funny. I'm not gonna lie.
I hastily shut the windows and lock them, all the while Cartman is still lying on the ground. I look down at him, and I can't help but smile. He finally lifts his head up and makes eyes contact with me.
"You know," he says as he pushes himself off the floor and stands up. "You could've fucking helped me, Jew!"
"You wouldn't have helped me, fatass!" I angrily reply. "You would've just fucking laughed!"
I don't care what he says. I know that he knows I'm right. He doesn't say anything, though. He just diverts his gaze and brushes himself off a little bit.
"Dude, why the fuck are you even here, fatass?" I demand to know. "I mean, it's…" I take a quick glance at the digital clock sitting on my nightstand. "…three fucking thirty! Jesus, what's so Goddamn important that you just had to wake me up at 3:30 in the fucking morning?"
"I'm glad you asked, Kahl," he says, clamping his hands behind his back. He takes a few steps away from the window, stops, and turns around to face me again.
Okay, I'm sorry, but this is just pissing me off. Why the FUCK can't he pronounce my Goddamn name correctly? It's KYLE, dipshit.
Oh, God, what the hell is he doing now? It looks like he's pulling something out of his coat pocket, but I'm not really sure. It's kinda hard to see him since it's so dark in here. I mean, the only source of light is the one coming from the window, and it's obviously fucking dark out there, too, so it's not helping much.
He's holding something out in front of him now. "Do you recognize this, Kahl?" he asks.
My eyes squint as I try to make-out whatever the hell it is that he's holding in his hand. It looks kinda round and…soft, by the way Cartman is squeezing it. And I'm not completely sure, but I think something is oozing out from the top of it. Wait a minute, what the hell?
"Dude, is that a jelly doughnut?" I ask with almost no doubt in my mind.
"Yes, Jew, that's exactly what it is!" he practically screams at the top of his lungs.
"Okay…" I say. I'm so fucking confused right now. "…and that's important because…" I'm hoping he'll finish that sentence for me, because I literally have no clue what's going on. But then again, I never understand anything Cartman does.
"You don't remember, Kahl?" he asks me. Call me crazy, but I think he already knew that I wouldn't remember whatever the fuck it is he wanted me to remember. He takes a deep breath. "Well then, let me remind you about what happened exactly 37 days ago, on a Thursday, at 12:06 in the afternoon…"
How does he know all of that shit? Either he has a really amazing memory (which would be creepy), or he's making up random numbers just to screw with my head and make me think he knows what he's talking about, when in reality, he doesn't.
I'm leaning more toward the latter one.
"It was during lunchtime, Kahl. You were eating one of those gay kosher meals that your mom packed for you, while I was enjoying my awesome food that isn't meant for complete Jewish pussies, such as yourself."
You see what I mean? There he goes again, mocking my religion.
"Anyway, Kahl, just when I was about to eat my delicious jelly doughnut, you decided it would be a good idea to pick it up with your filthy Jew hands and take a bite out of it. I'm sure you thought you were gonna get away with it, too! Well, not this time, Kahl."
I have no idea what he's talking about at all. Is he trying to drive me crazy? Because if he is, then it's seriously fucking working.
But you know what, I'm way too tired to fight with him right now, so I'm just gonna play along.
"Yeah? And what exactly are you gonna do about it, fatass?" I ask.
Cartman starts walking toward me now. "Well, Jew, since you just had to take a bite out of it in the first place, I want you to finish it." He stops right at the foot of my bed and extends the doughnut out near my face. "Right now."
Is he fucking serious?
…Well, that's actually a stupid question. Of course he's serious. That's the sad part.
I push the disgusting, powdery doughnut away from my face. "So, let me get this straight." Let's see if I can wrap my head around his logic. "You found it necessary to wake me up in the middle of the fucking night…just so you could force me to eat an old, moldy doughnut?"
If he doesn't see the insanity in that, then he's even more retarded than I thought.
He stares at me for a couple of seconds, probably trying to come up with a 'clever' answer, but then he thrusts the doughnut at me again. "Just fucking eat it, Jew!"
I shove it back at him. "Why don't you eat it, you fat fuck!"
"Ay, I'm not fat!" he snaps at me.
"Yes you are!" I say through clenched teeth. I feel like I'm about to explode. I've had enough of this shit. "Dude, are you really that oblivious, Cartman? You can't honestly believe that you aren't fat. You're fucking blind if you do."
He narrows his eyes, like he's trying to threaten me or something. "At least I'm not a Jew," he says menacingly.
Wow. I should've seen that coming.
I put my head in my hands, maybe due to the drowsiness, maybe because I'm so damn sick and tired of wise ass comments, I don't know.
I bring my head up to look at him again. His hands are clutching onto my bedpost now.
…I know, I'm wondering where the fuck he put the doughnut, too. Your guess is as good as mine.
He's viciously glaring at me, and I'm doing the same exact thing to him, but both of us are staying quiet. I wonder what the hell is going on in that twisted mind of his. He's probably thinking about how much he wants to kill me for being such a 'pesky Jew'.
Well…whatever he's so deep in thought about, I'm guessing it at least has something to do with me. I can tell by the way he's staring at me in such a demonic, heart piercing kind of way.
Shit, how long have we been staring at each other like this anyway? Why didn't you fucking say something?
The silence is quickly becoming way too excruciating for me. I need to break it now before it starts getting awkward.
"Dude, why do you always have to fight with me like this, Cartman?" I ask. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is? I mean, can't you think of anything better to do than to pick fights with me all the time?"
His mouth parts open slightly as soon as I finish asking the question. Huh. That's kinda weird. Maybe I caught him off guard or something, but I really don't see how I could've done that. After all, it's a pretty straightforward question.
"Because I like fighting with you, Jew," he says almost inaudibly.
I tilt my head to the left and blink twice.
Yeah, yeah, I heard what he said. That doesn't mean I understood what he meant by it though.
"Why?" I decide to ask.
I notice right away that his fingers tighten around my bedpost, like he's holding onto it for dear life. What's with him right now? He seems…scared, maybe? I honestly don't know. I've never seen him like this before.
"'Cause, Kahl, you're just fucking fun to mess with!" he finally answers. "Way more fun than messing with Butters, that's for sure. He's too much of a pussy. He doesn't actually fight back, and that's way too fucking boring for me! I'm just so used to pissing you off all the time! I mean, if I didn't have you to fight with, I'd go fucking insane! That's why when you moved away to San Francisco that time, I-"
He suddenly stops talking then. He literally stops himself right there, mid-sentence. It was so abrupt that my eyebrows instantly shoot up out of being so completely taken aback by it.
"You…you what?" I ask.
I've never been more curious about anything before in my life.
He brings a clamped hand to his mouth and clears his throat. "Nothing. Don't worry about it," he says, looking away from me.
My eyebrows lower now. "No, fuck that. Tell me right now, fatass!"
"Just forget it, Jew!" he says, still avoiding eye contact with me.
Why does he always have to make everything so fucking difficult?
"Just fucking tell me!" I yell, the frustration bursting out of me.
He locks his eyes onto mine, and the second he does that, I feel the anger build up between us, maybe even more so than I was able to feel it before.
"Didn't you ever wonder how you and your Goddamn family managed to get out of that city alive when it was about to be fucking destroyed? I'm disappointed in you, Kahl. I thought you would've figured it out by now. I mean, you are a smart, know-it-all Jew, aren't you?" He pauses, and the expression on his face changes noticeably, switching from anger to…hurt, possibly?
"It was because of me, asshole," he says in such a deep, serious tone of voice.
I feel my heart skip a beat then, and my whole body just freezes. It's the weirdest sensation I've ever experienced before, almost like the world just came to a screeching halt, and that everything I once knew no longer makes sense to me anymore. I think I'm getting a headache…
Cartman saved me?
I shudder at the thought of him actually risking his own life just to save mine, regardless of whatever stupid, selfish reasons he may have had for doing it.
"Well," I say, comfortably leaning my back against the headboard of my bed. "I guess that makes us even then."
Ha. I bet he wasn't expecting me to react like that.
One of his eyebrows rises up. "The fuck are you talking about, Jew?"
I smirk. Of course he doesn't know what I'm talking about. How convenient. "Don't you remember that time we all got trapped in that gay Cave of the Winds, fatass? And me and Stan thought you were fucking dying, when later we found out that you just ate fake fucking treasure? Yeah, I was the one who nearly died trying to save you! When it started flooding in there, we both would've drowned if it weren't for me!"
He frowns, and there's another few seconds of silence before he shrugs and says, "Well, yeah, but that's nothing compared to what I went through to save you, Jew."
I mentally slap myself. "It's not a fucking contest, fatass!" I snarl.
We both fall silent again, and now all I can think about is what he just said. The worst part about it is that, as much as I fucking hate to admit it, I know he's right. I can't tell him that though, because if there's one thing that Cartman loves (other than himself, obviously), it's the satisfaction of knowing when he's right about something. And I just can't give it to him, because if I do, he'll throw it right back in my face, and I'll never hear the fucking end of it.
But…I suppose there is one thing he deserves to hear…
"Anyway…" I say, slowly drawing in a long breath and letting it out. I think I'm gonna seriously regret what I'm about to say to him…
I mean, this is something I've never said to him before. Ever.
I hesitate a little while longer, wondering how he's gonna react when I say it, but I guess I'm about to find out.
Oh well, here it goes.
"Thanks, Cartman," I say so quietly that I can barely hear myself saying it.
There it is. I said it. It's out in the open. I can't take it back now, and even if I could, I wouldn't want to.
…Because, come on, the least I can do is thank him for what he did, right? He rescued me and my entire family for crying out loud. That's the nicest fucking thing anyone has ever done for me.
Oh, shut up. And wipe that Goddamn smile off your face.
"You're welcome," he mumbles, though I'm still able to understand him, for some reason, considering it's so painfully quiet in here. "And…thank you, too, I guess…" he adds.
Whoa, did he really just say that? You heard him, right? It's not just the insomnia kicking in and making me hear things?
Okay, good. I thought I was losing it for a second.
Well, what do you expect? It's almost 4 o'clock in the fucking morning.
Holy shit, I've never stayed up this late before. I'm so damn exhausted right now. Seriously, I'm finding it extremely difficult just to keep my head up, because I honestly feel like I'm about to collapse right onto my bed at any given moment.
I open my mouth to yawn, but instead I just say, "Dude, listen, I'm really fucking tired, so I think you'd better get going now."
"Oh," Cartman replies, looking surprised. "Well, see, the thing is, Kahl, I would do that if I could, but I can't."
"…Why not?" I ask.
"I sorta…accidentally…locked myself out of my house."
"So just break in," I suggest.
I feel myself quickly losing patience with him again. "Why the fuck not?"
"I don't know how," he answers simply.
Is he joking? "Dude, you break into my fucking house all the time!" I point out.
"But your house is super easy to break into, Jew," he says. "Plus I've done it, like, 500 times…"
Five fucking hundred? That's probably an understatement.
I release a small huff. "Fine. You can sleep on the floor."
"How about…" he says, tapping his chin. "You sleep on the floor."
"It's my fucking room, fatass!"
"Yes, but I'm the guest! You need to show some hospitality, Kahl."
He's really pushing his limit here. He's lucky I don't throw his ass out right now. I should do that. It sounds awfully tempting, that's for sure.
"Just go to sleep," I say, finally lying down and pulling the covers over myself.
I hear him shuffling around a little bit, and then, absolutely nothing.
Perfect. Almost like he's not even here.
I slowly open my eyes, and I lie there in a daze, staring up at the ceiling and wondering for a few seconds why it's so fucking bright in here, until I stupidly realize that it's morning. I groggily reach my hand up and rub one of my eyes. I wonder what time it is…
Just as I try to shift my body over to look at my clock, I feel something overpowering my chest, making it impossible for me to move. What the fuck?
I sharply turn my head to see a mess of brown hair and an arm outstretched toward me with a hand resting right on top of my chest.
Dude, what the FUCK? Cartman's in my bed? How the fuck did that happen?
I shoot up from my pillow. Cartman's hand slides off my body and lands on my comforter, much to my tremendous relief. My heart is racing so fucking fast right now. I can actually feel it beating in my chest, and it's scaring the shit out of me. I need to calm down.
But, wow… I don't believe this. He must've climbed into my bed after I fell asleep last night.
Goddammit, why is he in my fucking bed? Really, what the hell is so bad about sleeping on the floor for just one fucking night?
I look down at him again. He's dead asleep. He's just softly breathing in and out, his mouth hanging open, his brown hair all tangled up…
He looks peaceful, though, and I can't help but feel…I dunno…safe, maybe, knowing the fact that he obviously can't do anything to me while he's sleeping…
I quietly lay my head back down on my pillow, and I move a little bit closer, just enough for our bodies to touch. My face immediately starts burning up as I feel the warmth of his body pressing into mine. I slowly close my eyes again.
If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll kill you.