You Can't Always Get What You Want {Kyman} || (SLOW UPDATES)

Variety of Sobriety

I had so much adrenaline and tobacco flowing through my body that night. I lied to an actual authority of the law. A worker for the city, the state, the entire goddamned country.
And right then and there, I said that I was seventeen, and that Kenny was my father.
I really, really need to start watching my back from here through the rest of the week. It's crazy to think that just two days I got here, and I've already smoked, almost snuck into a strip club, lied to a cop, and got into a fight with my best friend.
In two days.
What's next? Buying alcohol? Buying drugs? Losing virginity? Dining and dashing?
Is this really what I became? I've been on this planet for only fourteen years. I have all my life to do this, and I decide to do this now? I'm not even a legal adult yet, I'm four years away from stopping living with my parents and being on their healthcare bill, and then I gotta start thinking about life.
School starts in three weeks. I am going to a new school. Not South Park Elementary. I'm going to an actual high school. Then I gotta think about college. Then being a lawyer. Then growing old and depressed with my husband as we die peacefully on rocking chairs, with no children running around to take our money.
That's how I want to go out.
I sat on the edge of the bed getting ready for bed. Stan came running into the living room.
"GUYS!" He yelled, and it sounded utterly urgent. I ran in.
"What?"
"My parents aren't back yet, so I ran in and stole these," and he held before us something our little eyes have never seen before–alcohol.
By our, I mean mine and Cartman. Stan had enough Jameson in him already, and there was no doubt that Kenny's parents were giving it to him.
This day sure is full of experiences, huh?
The only time I've tried anything alcoholic was wine at my cousin's, because since kids in Europe could drink it, so could I.
"Stan, don't you think this is a little extreme?"
"Extreme? It's just a drink."
"But Stan. I'm not–I don't–I just—"
"Kyle, today is your new experience day. The last you could do is have a cold one.
"No, Stan. Seriously. My parents are not like yours, they'll beat me to death if they find out about of this at all." The toilet flushes and Cartman walked out. "Cool, I'm gonna tell 'em!" He grinned.
"Piss off!" I gave him the finger.
"Up yours!" He gave it back.
"Shut up! Here, either you drink this, our you're both pussies!"
"Stan, we aren't drinking this."
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with Kyle on this. I don't want any of this."
"Pussies! Pussies!" Kenny called.
"Yeah! Pussies! Pussies!" Stan joined in.
It became a chorus of them calling us pussies. I looked at Cartman,
"What do we do?"
"I dunno."
"I don't wanna get drunk, Cartman! My head is killing me from the cigs that this will fuck me up even more."
He looked around the room for an excuse.
"Oh, damn...8:30 is pretty late. We should be getting to bed, right Kyle?" He stammered.
"Yeah, today sure was a long day!" I went along with it.
"Yeah right! You're pussing out on this like two little bitches!"
"Hey! We aren't bitches! We just don't wanna get in on your crap!" Cartman yelled.
"Oh come ON."
"Stan, you're going to fucking kill yourself with the mixture of tobacco in your lungs and Pabst in your stomach."
"How do others do it? Huh?"
"Because they're adults! You are fourteen!"
"Kyle, this is all my decision. Please, just at least try it."
"No!"
Stan's face lit up. "Then I'm telling Cartman your dirty little secret."
I almost dropped the can. "You wouldn't." He smirked.
"You prick! I fucking hate you!" Tears welled up in my eyes. I can't budge for things anymore, because this is where it's leads to. "You're a fucking dick." I went to get Cartman outta the other room.
"I'm doing it."
"Holy shit you are? I thought we were both gonna be in this together! What made you change your mind?"
"Uhh..." I stammered. "Pussy didn't start to sound like a word anymore because of how much they said it, so I just said fuck it and c'mon. Adulthood starts today." I grabbed Cartman's fat hand and pulled him into the living room.
Stan gave each of us a Pabst Blue Ribbon and the sound of cans creaking open filled my eardrums.
"To childhood," Stan said, as he lifted his can in the air.
"To childhood," we all said in unison, and all took a huge gulp. It wasn't all that bad. It smelt like shit and it tasted bitter, but it was much better than the taste of cigarette. I took down another six gulps, almost finishing it, and then stopped. Then I forgot this was alcohol we were talking about, and after that I put it down. I did not intend on getting drunk. Stan and Kenny finished their cans easily and asked Cartman and I for the rest. I felt really weird. On the verge of drunk. I felt shaky, like, Stan's Aunt Flo (bless her) shaky.
"Kyle...yeah we're gonna go get more okay? Okay...buddy?"
"Huh? What? Uh, oh yeah sure go 'head. I think I'm gonna....go to....bed..." I slurred, and dragged my feet across the carpet to our room. Cartman was under the covers on his phone. I took off my socks and climbed in.
"So whatsya think about the Pabst?" I asked him drunkly.
"I didn't drink it," he responded firmly.
"What? Yousa-yous didn't...drink it?"
"Yeah. Because that's what happens. You get all fucked up like that."
"I'm not fucking....I'm not fucked up..."
"Oh, of course you are." He looked over and smiled kind of sadly. Or, what I thought. My eyes were so screwed up I couldn't tell what he was doing. But for once, he wasn't making fun of me and was reassuring me. Maybe he thought I was too drunk to understand what he was saying. I'd gotten just a little tipsy, but I could still get what he was saying.
"Do you want a little more? I still have mine. Maybe it'll help you fall asleep faster."
"I wanna falls asleep but I don't wanna use that..."
"Oh, just take the damn thing. You're annoying to hear talking to." He gave me the can, and my fingers trembled when he handed it to me. I took another sip of it.
"You didn't spit in it...or some shit...right?"
"No. Why in the hell would I do that?"
"Oh, s-sorry," I said and drank the whole thing without noticing how much I did intake.
"Who're you textin'?"
"Mom."
"Why, ya MISS her? That's–" I burped in the middle of my sentence–"That's GAY."
"I don't miss her, just checking into see if it's all good over there. And it seems as it is." He lay down his phone and sighed. "My mom still calls me Poopsykins, Kyle."
"It's okay, m-m-my mom calls me...BUBBY. I under-understand," I stuttered.
"You're really fucking annoying drunk. You should take more."
"If I'm annoying drun-drunk, why do you want me to take in more?"
And with the tiny bit of sobriety left in my head, I realized Cartman liked me drunk. He actually talked to me like a real person while I had intake of alcohol. And I think I enjoyed it, because I finished the rest of the can.
"Are you tired or thirsty?"
"Cartman I like this feeling I like it a lot it makes me happy to feel this way Cartman did I ever tell you how beautiful you look you have gorgeous eyes the shine so beautiful–"
"The fuck are you saying? I think you should sleep now, buddy."
"I love you Cartman do you love me I really love you did you know that you're so magnificent and pretty—"
"Well, of course I am, thanks drunk Kyle."
"Cartman?" I asked like I was sober. No stuttering or fast talking, an actual question.
"Yeah?"
What was supposed to happen was that I told him I was gonna be sick and I needed him to walk me to the bathroom. Instead, he was my bathroom in this situation and I hurled all over him.
"Fucking sick!"
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so super sorry–"
"Shut up and get me paper towels!"
Saliva dropped down my neck as I grabbed the door and stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed the whole roll of paper towels. Stan and Kenny were sleeping because I didn't notice them in the living room. I dropped the paper towels in Cartman's arms and immediately he ripped them and tried to clean up his whole area as I watched and a spit kept flowing out of my mouth. I didn't decide to get water to clean my mouth out but by this time it was too late. I had to help Cartman clean himself up. He turned on the light and pulled off his shirt.
"Aw sick! Your barf was so thick it's still on me now! I gotta shower now!"
"What about me? I threw-I threw up."
"Yeah, but you didn't get it on yourself." He was right. There were dribbles of spit running down my neck but that was about all. A little got on my muscle top but luckily it was just a plain white sleeping one. He stripped down and climbed into the shower, and I eyed myself in the mirror to look away. I heard him cursing me under my breath, lots of "fucking jew" over and over.
The one time Cartman would be nice to me and I blew it by trying to be cool.
"Cartman, I'm really fucking sorry that I went and fucking did that fucking thing. It was my fucking fault and I'm really fucking so fucking sorry."
No reply. I sounded so stupid, saying fuck six times in two sentences. Sober me would try and work it out. Sadly, sober me was not here.
I took my wet hands and fingered my chin to get rid of all the drool and whatever vomit was leftover. I cupped my hands, drank, and spat out, because I still had the taste left in my mouth. I brushed my teeth again, and looked at myself.
"God dammit. I'm such a fucking idiot."
"You sure are," he called from inside. "It was nice seeing you drunk. Funny. And then you pulled that shit?"
Even drunk, I could notice Cartman was really calm in this situation.
"Are you just being ni-nice? Or is that-is that-is that my brain?" I hiccuped. No reply. I hiccuped again. And then it wouldn't stop.
I waited in the bedroom for him to come back. Maybe the alcohol would come off by then, I'm not sure.
And then, that's when the night went from bad to worse–when the sex instincts come up on you.
After awhile Cartman came in and turned on the light, all wet with his short, wet hair dripping down his back.
"I fucking hate you."
I got up from my side and inched my way over to him.
"I'm sorry, daddy."
Cartman's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
"The fuck did you just say?"
"I sa-I said sorry daddy. You're my daddy, right?" I said seductively.
"Do you need to go to a fucking mental hospital?" He said, immediately standing up as I went to stroke his arm.
Trust me—I would've NEVER done this sober, I promise. Seriously.
Cartman glared at me, but then his eyebrows turned sexual.
"So that's what you're playing at, huh? You'll have sex with anyone and you chose me?"
"Mmm," I said, and ran my finger down his arm. "Just-hic- you, nobody e-lse."
And that's why when you're gay and haven't told anyone, don't get drunk. And then I thought for a second. Was I actually fucking attracted to Eric Theodore Cartman, the fattest person on this planet, who has teased me for being a Jew all my life? Was I interested in sex with him, or, hell, interested in him at all?
I think damn sure I was, which was weird because just a couple hours earlier I wasn't.
Besides, Cartman was straight.
"Well, would you look at that..." He said, chewing the nail on his thumb. "I'm stunned, Kyle. Shit, I knew you were gay, but for me? Wow."
"N-no—"
"No, I know you are, you whore," he said, and smirked at me. "Pathetic."
"You knew I was gay?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"And you-you-you didn't make fun of me?"
"Oh, of course I did! You didn't see me calling you fag all the time? Yeah, they were thrown at you."
"But it was-hic-wasn't enough, I really expected lots—"
"Eh, earlier in my life when being gay wasn't really as exposed nowadays I would've picked the fuck out of you. But now you can't go anywhere without seeing a rainbow flag. So it's become the norm for me, I guess."
"That is very old of you."
"Mature is the word."
"Manure?"
"Mature, you fucker. You need it in a sentence? 'I'm reading a mature story right now.'"
"Cartman if you wanna have sex get it-get over with it I mean jeez what's taking so long of you?"
"First, I don't wanna fuck you. Second, learn English."
"You do not?"
"With you? PFT! I don't know what kids of STDs you Jews have."
"Oh, Cartman," I said as I swooned over the side of the bed. "Paint me like...like....one of your French girls."
"You're so fucking desperate for me. You're a whore."
"I'm not a horse."
"Kyle, I'm not spending time reasoning with your alcohol-filled body. I'm your friend, not your English teacher." He finally got off the bed and proceeded to put on his pajamas.
"Awww, getting dre-dressed?"
"Yes. And I'm going to bed." He shut off the lamp, and we were in pitch darkness. "Y'know, Kyle, this is all your fucking fault."
"MY FAULT?" I yelled.
"Shut the fuck up! You're gonna wake everyone in this whole building! Yes. It's your fault. You could've faked the drinking like I did and been completely sober. We would've went to our normal fatass and Jew. And then you made it gay. Y'know, Kyle, scratch that part. I enjoyed talking to alcohol-infused Kyle, even if it got really gay. I could've talked to you all night. And you had to pull a stunt like puking on me."
"Christ Cartman I'm really...sorry I really didn't...mean it."
"Yeah, well it's time to tone it down now. Go to bed. Night, Jew."
"Night." I didn't add fatass along. Instead, I added along much worse.
I propped myself up on my elbows, brushed the hair in front of Cartman's eyes away, and planted my lips against his forehead. He sat up, stared at me right in the face, and slapped me.
"What the fuck was that gay stunt you decided to pull? Respect my goddamned authoritah!"
"Heat of moment," I managed to sputter out, before I crashed my head on the pillow, and after that, was history.