Cartman slammed his locker shut much harder than he needed too, and a few in the crowd of students around him jumped a little. Butters jumped ten feet in the air yelling something about "Jesus, Mary and Joseph" and back down into Kenny McCormick's chest, gripping the orange parka. Cartman didn't care. They weren't the ones he was looking to disturb. But she hadn't even taken notice.
Or, if she had, she pretended not to. Like always.
He closed the lock and spun the dial as angrily as a person could do such a mundane thing, watching as she feigned not to notice him at all. Stuffing his books in his backpack and nearly catching his own finger as he zipped it shut as viciously as he could, he ended up clunking Butters upside the head as he swung it over his shoulder. The tiny blonde whimpered, but Cartman took no notice of it until he was pulled back roughly by his bag. He barely mustered enough balance to stay standing.
"Jesus fucking Chri—" Cartman started, turning around to see intense blue eyes staring daggers at him.
"Apologize," Kenny demanded. There was no use arguing with him. Eric could have hit anyone else over the head with his bag, and that wouldn't have mattered. But it was Butters who was on the receiving end, and when Butters was on the receiving end of anything negative, even if it was unintentional, it made Kenny very, very unhappy. He wasn't in the mood to apologize to anyone for anything, especially since he didn't even mean to do it this time, but he knew arguing with Kenny over anything that had to do with the shy little blonde at his side was completely pointless.
"Sorry, Butters," Eric muttered half-heartedly, and he felt the taller of the two blondes let go of his backpack. He started turning around to leave when he was passed by by the one thing he was trying to avoid seeing. He heard her laugh. Such a stupid fucking beautiful fucking stupid laugh. Eric clenched his fist, waiting for them to be safely out of ear-shot before landing one on the front of his neighbor's locker, making everyone in the vicinity jump again and leaving a nicely sized dent right in the middle. He made to leave again, but his backpack didn't go with him. It was a much less angry hold on it this time, however.
"What the fuck is up with you, dude?" Kenny asked. He was actually concerned. But it wasn't his concern Eric sought after. He didn't even turn around. Kenny tried to continue. "You're punching things more than usual—"
"If you don't let go of my fucking backpack right now, your face will be next, McCormick."
Kenny wasn't usually intimidated by anything that came out of Cartman's mouth, but this time he sensed something other than his somewhat-friend's usual senseless anger. Something was seriously wrong. Kenny let go of his hold on the strap and watched his formerly fat classmate walk out of the school, glancing a worried look at Butters before gently caressing the back of his head.
Eric plowed through the crowd of students like they were nothing. If they didn't get out of the way, that was their fucking problem. He'd lost a ton of weight anyway, so it wasn't like they could make the same old "watch out! The fatass is coming through!" jokes that they always would. At least he'd proven them all wrong on that account. But nothing he did was ever enough. Not enough for her.
Never enough for her.
Cold mountain air hit his angry, flushed face just the way it did every time he stormed out of school. He just wanted to get home. He tried to avoid looking up whenever he passed her house, but this time was just unavoidable. He heard screeching as the red Ford Explorer almost took down the Testaburger mailbox. Stan's car haphazardly mounted the sidewalk in front of Wendy's house. Cartman hadn't even reached them yet and he could hear Wendy screaming from inside it.
What the fuck?
"...sus Christ you spend all your fucking TIME with Kyle and you can't even set aside one night so we can talk!?" She had opened the door of the passengers side and was getting out in a huff.
"Look, I'm sorry, Wends, I just... Kyle really needs me right now—"
"Kyle really needs you, Kyle really needs you, oh, go fuck him already, Stan!"
Right as she slammed the door shut she looked to her left. She only held his gaze for a second, but it was enough to let Eric know what was up. What was always up. Hoisting her back pack over her shoulder, she walked inside her house as Stan sped off towards the Broflovski residence. She didn't even give him the courtesy of a glance back in his direction.
Here we go again.
Cartman trudged off to his house, getting more and more upset with each passing step. Who the fuck did she think she was, looking at him like that? After everything, after every-fucking-thing that he had done for her. Every fucking thing that he had kept to himself, when all he wanted to do was walk right up to her in the cafeteria and wipe that charade she had going on with Stan off their fucking faces by kissing her as fiercely as he'd always wanted to in front of everyone. He opened the door to the sounds of his mom having sex upstairs and grunted in disgust. Hopefully she'd leave before the inevitable.
It was always the same. Always the same fucking thing. She and Stan would have a fight, another fucking stupid fight over Kyle or whatever else ticked her off, and by half-past midnight there would be a knock on his door.
It was the same fucking knock every fucking time. Sometimes her knuckles would hit the wood a little more forcefully, depending on her mood, but it was always the same. He would answer the door, and she'd throw herself at him. No "hello," no "how are you," no "are you okay with the fact that I use you for sex whenever I'm pissed at my boyfriend," no nothing. She would throw herself on him and all his plans of shutting her out would fly out the back of his head as though they never existed. And, always, she was gone without a word by the time he woke up.
He tried to get mad at her, he really did. One time he managed to make her knock twice, insisting that he wasn't going to answer the door. But that was about as far as he'd gotten with the whole shutting-her-out idea. He loved her. What the fuck else was he going to do, deny himself an opportunity to be with her? Fuck that. At least it was something.
He was about halfway through making himself a BLT when his mom stumbled downstairs, two men he'd never seen in his life in tow. They walked out of the house without even noticing he'd gotten home, and he didn't care. She just paid for stuff—that was as far as her maternal abilities went. He contemplated going to the gym, in hopes that when Wendy stopped by, he'd be out, and thus finally reject her by default. He thought about the countless hours he spent looking at himself in that room of mirrors, sweating his goddamn balls off trying to get in shape. He'd only started that because of her. When she first came to his house almost two years ago, crying and throwing herself on him, he had still been a little on the pudgy side. He convinced himself that if he got better looking, she would want him more. Indeed, the thinner and more muscular he got, the more she would end up coming over. Or at least that's the way he saw it.
It still wasn't enough. Eric now competed on the girls' lists for the top spot as hottest guy in school, along with Token, Stan, and Kenny, and she still gave him no more than the rare sideways glance when they were in public together. Bebe, Annie, all of them flirted their slutty little asses off to him trying to get him to ask them out. He just wasn't interested. The only girl he wanted only wanted him when she needed to be fucked out of her mind.
At least he knew only he could do that much. Otherwise, she wouldn't keep coming back. Right?
By 10:45, he had made himself dinner, finished his homework, destroyed the Japanese army on his GameSphere, and wanted nothing more than to call it a night. His mom wasn't home, he was tired, and waiting for Wendy was as taxing as waking up in the morning to see that she'd gone. He was tired of dreaming that one of these times, he'd open his eyes and still see her raven hair splayed out across his pillow, still have his arm around her slender, naked waist. He dreamt once that it happened, and woke up to the cruelest sight of her absence.
He wanted to give up. He wanted to want her to stay home and not come by and drag him through hell, heaven, and back. He wanted to not want her anymore. He even managed to get a third of the way upstairs before that all-too-familiar knock at the door reached his heart.
He might as well have jumped to the door.
And there they were again. Always the same thing, always the same story. Eric Cartman opened the door and looked Wendy Testaburger square in the eyes for not five seconds before she threw herself on his person. She might have bruised them both with the force of her kiss, but he didn't give a flying fuck anymore. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, leaving him with only his feet to kick the door shut.
Here we go again.
He tried to tell her with what he was doing all the things he couldn't say. All the things she never gave him the time to say. They never talked during these trysts, and she was always gone in the morning. He tried to communicate how much he loved her with his kiss as he carried her upstairs to his room. He tried to say how bad he wanted her with his hands, which did their best to touch every part of her skin as they removed her clothing. He tried so hard, and she wasn't listening to any of it.
He stumbled into his bedroom, dropping them both on the bed and eliciting a giggle from her. That was new. He never made her laugh during one of these as far as he could remember. Then again, they'd been doing this little charade for almost two years now. She kissed him fiercely, rolling them so that he was on his back and unbuttoning his shirt. Fuck that, he thought to himself. If she was going to have this kind of power over him, he was at least going to control what went down in this room. As soon as she'd successfully removed his shirt, he stood up, holding her firmly against the erection in his lap, grinding into her as he slammed her back into the wall a little harder than most girls would have liked. He knew what she wanted. He knew what she came here for. She wanted to fuck until she couldn't remember anything about anything. And he was going to give it to her.
He loved her. How could he deny her anything she wanted?
He felt her push down his sweatpants and he stepped out of them. There were no boxers; he knew what would happen tonight, what was the point? He put her down long enough to roughly, unceremoniously whirl her around strip her of her clothes, turning her back around to face him before he picked her up, pinned her back against the wall and entered her in one fell swoop; hard.
"FUCK!" she screamed. He wasted no time as he started thrusting into her, his head nestled in the crook of her neck, licking and nibbling exactly where he knew she liked it. He knew the ticks of her body better than his own. The hand that wasn't holding her up reached for both of hers and pinned them over her head. She was his. For now.
He felt her approach orgasm and quickly let go of her hands to use his own to get her there. Her walls tightened around his dick as she had her first release of the night, breathing her moans into his open mouth. He usually didn't let her go to sleep until she'd had at least five.
He wasn't going to give her a moments rest. What she wanted was to not think, so, Eric wasn't going to let her think. If he let her think then he was going to start to think and the last thing he needed to be doing right now was thinking about anything he needed to think about. He carried her over to the bed and sat her down on the edge, pulling his still-rock-hard self out of her and kneeling down to suck her clit before she could even conceive the thought to protest. She let out a loud gasp for air, fisting a handful of his hair and falling backwards on the bed.
He was the one who knew exactly how she liked everything. In fact, he would bet those $10 million he spent his childhood dreaming of on the knowledge that he could give her a better orgasm without even trying than Stan ever had in his whole ten years as her boyfriend. It would have made him so smug and proud if Stan wasn't the one who got to wake up next to her and wish her "good morning."
He felt her come a second time and slowed down enough to let her breathe before assaulting her with his fingers. She had barely recovered before his rapid pumping brought on another one. That's three, he thought to himself. She was breathing hard now, sweat trickling from her forehead down to wherever. He was getting her there, to the land of unable-to-think. Good. At least she was happy.
He picked her up and put her back down on his bed with her head on the foot of it, grabbing her thighs and dragging her across the mattress toward him. She reached for his dick, and he pushed her hand away. Confused, she tried again, and got the same result. She looked at him quizzically.
"You don't get to do this," he cut her off. "I get to do this." She didn't understand that he wasn't going to let her have any more power over him than she already did, and opened her mouth to ask questions again. Too bad for her, he pushed into her full-force and turned her question into a somewhat strangled scream of pleasure. He waited for a second, waited for her to try talking again, and sure enough, as soon as she opened her mouth again, he thrust into her to shut her up. He couldn't handle questions right now. He couldn't handle talking to her, or giving answers, or saying all the things he needed to say. All he could handle was giving her what she wanted. She gave up asking and spread her legs a little wider, lighting his lust further as he pushed into her again, and again, and again, and again. He was going to fuck her senseless.
Her arms came up to drape themselves over his muscular back, and it wasn't long before her nails were leaving their millionth little marks on it. He sped up the pace of his movements, pushing into her spot over and over again, putting a little more force behind it every time. He felt her come.
He sped up again, pushing her legs wider apart and bringing his head down to her breasts to tease her nipples.
"Ahhh, Ah-AHHH, fuck, yes! Yes—I—AHHHH!!!"
He felt himself getting close, but he didn't want her to see him in ecstasy. He refused to let her know just how good fucking her made him feel. In one expert move, he flipped her on all fours, his dick barely leaving her completely before he fucked her as hard and fast as either of them could stand. Her constant stream of yes yes yes yes yes drowned out by the sound of slapping skins and the chaos ensuing in his mind. He gripped her hips, feeling her getting close to bringing him to oblivion. The sweat was pouring down his forehead, his chest. She was so wet. So goddamn wet and for this moment, right now, it was for him.
"Yes! Yes, oh God, yes! Fuck, ERIC! AAAH!"
The second he heard his name come out of her mouth like that, he exploded. He thrust into her, erratic and hard, spilling his seed inside her as he let out a loud, grunting moan of ultimate satisfaction. He was shaking, riding out his orgasm as he pulled her up off her hands and captured her lips with his own. She kissed him back, both of them breathing like they'd just run a marathon.
He was trying desperately to hold on to his moment, nibbling her sweat-covered shoulder and running his hands slowly over every inch of her, savoring the sweet time he had to do so before she would be gone again. As their breathing calmed down, he reached for the tissues, handing her a few before pulling himself out of her and walking to the closet. Without looking at her, he tossed her a shirt and a pair of boxers, grabbing his discarded sweatpants and putting them back on. He crawled into his bed without a word and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the bed sink when she came and joined him. He pulled her close and kissed her behind the ear until they both fell asleep.
Six hours later, his alarm clock went off. He jumped up in his bed with a start and looked at the clock. 6:30. His t-shirt and boxers were folded on the nightstand, and the imprint of Wendy's presence was already almost gone. For the millionth time, his heart broke.
He knew he should have expected it. He knew what was going to happen, and somehow, it still caught him off guard every fucking time. He felt hot, angry tears swell up in his eyes as he grabbed his alarm clock and hurled it against the wall.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!!" Each word was accompanied by a punch into his mattress, his other hand gripping the sheets as the hole in his heart she had created grew deeper. How could she do this to him again? How could she not even so much as leave a note?! How did he not see this coming even though it happened the same way every goddamn time!?
He dissolved into sobs as he always did on these mornings, trying desperately to catch the scent of her in his sheets, on himself, anywhere. He wasn't going to survive this. Her hold on his heart was going to kill him. Oh well, he thought. Hope she's happy. He meant it, too.
After he calmed down, he swore to himself, for the 400th time, that the next time she knocked, he wouldn't answer the door. Even though he knew he would. Because he loved her. And therefore, he couldn't not give her anything she needed, no matter if it killed him. Maybe the day would come when he wouldn't be home when she came, or maybe he'd manage to just ignore the sound of her knocking, or even shut the door in her face for all the pain she caused him. Until then, that knock on the door was all he had to look forward to.