The Things I Couldn't Say (CartmanxButters)

Dead In A Year

-------------Three Days Later-----------

Again.

I told him again.

I told him to fuck off for the fourth time this week and to be honest I'm starting to get scared.

He has everyone under his control, everyone eats up whatever shit comes out his mouth, and I'm the one who takes all the heat.

Cartman made fun of cutting!
I heard he told Kenny to die in a hole!
He's horrible!
Despicable!

Even the teachers hate me now. I keep on trying, but I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.

I always stare at my feet when I walk now, in case some fucker tries to trip me again. It's not me giving up, I'm not doing that just yet, it's just an adaptation. In order to survive, I must be on alert at all times.

I've been getting less and less sleep, spending time reading, drawing, or on the Internet in the safe confines of my house. At least I'm safe there. It's the only place I have left. 

I'm sure Butters has heard the nastiest of the lies Kenny was spreading, like how I 'made fun of self harm' and 'threatened him and his friends', but it hasn't seemed to phase him. Maybe he knows it's a lie, or maybe he still knows that I'm trying my best to be good. It doesn't matter, now he's the only person on my side.

Stan and Kyle are completely absent from my life. They went from exchanging kind glances in the hall and joking around sometimes to not  meeting my gaze and standing in the background as kids I didn't know called me an evil little fat fucker with no future. I always thought I didn't need them, that they were just a group of losers I hung out with, but now I see more than ever that I truly did need them.

I looked around, seeing people scoffing and whispering as I passed by. I lowered my head as I continued to my locker. I lazily opened it to get my books when my hand felt something that definitely wasn't a textbook.

Attached to the inside of my locker door was a wooden doll. It had a small head, stubby little limbs and a big oval body. It wore a little piece of red felt as a jacket, and a yellow and blue hat.

But the most disturbing thing about it was the x's for eyes and the noose tightly wrapped around its neck.

They even took the time to carve in fake little cuts on its arms and stomach and added a mini paper in its hand, 'No one cares about Eric Cartman'.

The laughter behind me was thunderous, an onslaught of chuckles and guffaws, and if you hadn't seen the doll, you'd think that something good was happening. I blinked away the tears stinging my eyes and shoved the doll in my bag. I stormed off to class and tried to ignore the ridicule from the others.

"Maybe if we're lucky he'll end up like the doll! It's not like anyone would miss him!" Wendy snapped, causing more laughs.

So this is how the day went. Insult after insult, laugh after laugh, whisper after whisper, and all I could do was suck it up. Sometimes I think it would be easier to give up, but I keep on pushing. Stop crying, hold your head high, and wait for the perfect time to strike. It's the Cartman way: and the Cartman way is the only way.

-------Time skip brought to you by the "The Author Is An Asshole Association of America." Please enter your well deserved hate comments here: ------

I walked up the driveway, finally free to let the tears fall down my face. I went to the door and found it ajar, and skeptically pushed it open.

My mother sat inside, a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a cream colored folder in the other. Her face and eyes were tinted red and there was a pile of crumpled tissues by her feet.

"Mom...?" I took a step towards her.

She wordlessly tossed the folder to the side and took another drink. I picked it up and read the paper inside aloud. "Dear Mrs. Cartman, we regretfully inform you that the results of your recent tests show you are positive for: Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. What the fuck is-"

............

.....Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome.........

Acquired. Immune. Deficiency. Syndrome.

Acquired. Immune. Deficiency. Syndrome.

"YOU GOT AIDS?!?!" I screamed in shock.

She sniffled through her tears. "Keep reading....."

I continued to read the paper, a.k.a my mother's death sentence. "Without treatment, your advanced strain of AIDS will kill you in approximately 14-18 months......" I froze in place.

"Maybe we can-"

"You can't kill death, Eric."

"But what about the treatme-"

"We can't afford it, sweetie..."

"......You.....You're just gonna die?" My voice cracked, but I didn't care.

She nodded slowly and took another swig of her whiskey.

Another snake eyes. Another bad roll. Another go to jail card for Eric T. Cartman.

"Go up to your room and finish your homework....." She said simply and wiped her eyes. I turned and silently walked to my room.

I didn't do anything to stop the tears, I just collapsed into a ball of sobs on my bed. I hugged a pillow and curled into a fetal position, wanting nothing more than someone here. I've been doing that a lot lately. Maybe one day I'll actually have people to call.

....wait, I do have people to call!

I dialed a number and put the phone up to my face. "Hey Butters...."

"Well hiya Eric! You won't believe what I just did on Club Penguin!"

I chuckled slightly, despite the tears. "Oh really?"

"Yeah! I went into a chat room and...."

I'm going to be honest, I really don't remember what he said. All I remember was that he was talking about something that made him happy, and I sat and listened to his enthusiastic speech. It always made me feel better to talk to him, and right now, I really need to feel better. I was on the phone with him for hours, and by the time I had hung up the tears had stopped altogether.

"You'll help me through this..." I whispered, not caring he wouldn't hear. "You're my only hope."