The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 6: Summer Awakening — Bringing on the Heartbreak
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by Friggingodess"We have c... cereal, or th... there's f... fruit, or th... there's — I'll just g... get everything."
Rebecca was busying about in the kitchen, radio humming away quietly, with presumably no idea how Kyle wanted to squeeze her magnificent ass every time she bent down to look in a cupboard. He was glad he'd had the foresight to pop his jeans back on before following Rebecca downstairs; not that she hadn't already seen exactly what his erect penis looked like under a pair of boxers, but Kyle felt it was probably polite not to shove it in your girlfriend's face — metaphorically speaking.
"I'll give you a hand," he said, getting to his feet. Rebecca firmly pushed him back down into the wooden country kitchen style chair.
"Th... This is m... my h... house, I'm m... making b... breakfast," she insisted.
Kyle raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! Your rules, Mistress."
Suddenly, Rebecca kissed him hard on the lips.
"What was that for?" Kyle asked once she'd let him go and put some slices of bread in the toaster.
"I th... think I l... like it w... when you c... call me that," she said with a wicked grin that went straight to his cock. They looked at each other in anticipatory silence for a short while, until the toaster popped and Rebecca took the slices and put them in a toast rack.
"Are you sure I can't butter them, or something?"
"J... Just sit th... there and l... look s... sexy," Rebecca insisted.
"Can't I stand and look at you being sexy instead?" he asked, feeling his whole face become consumed by the darkest blush he'd ever experienced. He couldn't wrap his head around why she could possibly think he was sexy. Maybe it was the lack of comparison; except her all girls' school clearly had access to boys out of classes.
She stood looking up at him, one hand holding the full toaster rack and her expression one of deep amusement. "You r... really d... don't see h... how g... good-looking you are, d... do you?"
Kyle couldn't help but laugh. "You're adorable."
"Y... You've s... seen my p... panties. I'd l... like to th... think we're p... past 'adorable'," she replied with a smirk. He couldn't resist; he snatched the toaster rack off her and put it back on the kitchen work surface before grabbing her by the waist and sitting her next to it. She slid her impossibly soft thighs around his waist and he proceeded to kiss her smirk clean off her face.
Just as her fingers wound their way into his bomb-site of bed-hair, and she'd arched her back in a way that pushed them even closer together, the doorbell rang.
They both froze like statues.
"Is that your folks?" Kyle asked.
"I... It c... can't be. Why w... would th... they r... ring the d... doorbell?"
"Good point," he replied as Rebecca slid off the work surface and dashed towards the front door, peering carefully through the letterbox. Her shoulders suddenly relaxed, and she opened the door to a tearful looking Betsy, who walked into the kitchen sobbing.
"Erm, are you okay?" Kyle asked redundantly.
"Oh, God! It's terrible!" Betsy wailed, ignoring Kyle and sitting down on one of the chairs at the table. Rebecca stood by her and put her arms around her.
"I... It can't b... be th... that—"
"It is! It's awful! My little sister... Oh God!" She sobbed onto the table hysterically.
Kyle hovered uselessly next to the kitchen table. "What's happened?"
Betsy tossed her smart phone onto the kitchen table. "This!" Her hands trembled; Kyle recognised the look on her face as equal parts upset and furious.
Rebecca picked up the phone and peered at it curiously. "C... Confessions of a F... F... Fat Fetishist?" she enquired.
"Apparently my sister has had this blog for months... She's not even fourteen!"
"Oh d... dear," Rebecca murmured as her eyes clearly scanned the screen. She didn't seem too shocked given the accusations put forward.
"So, what's in this blog that's so terrible?" Kyle asked, although the title alone gave him some rather revolting food for thought.
"Well, it seems she goes out and screws fat guys, then writes about it on her blog," Betsy spat out, apparently having done with crying and moving swiftly into rage mode.
"Wait, how does she even manage to do that at thirteen?" he asked, thinking back to his own tween years. "Surely she's studying or spending time with her friends doing wholesome stuff like slashing car tyres or taunting cows?"
"Oh, she just lies to people. Tells them she's a nurse, a college cheerleader; anything that'll convince them she's whoever she wants to be in that moment. I'd say it's a combination of her being tall for her age and living with Dad." She shook her head. "He's a professor at Boulder and he just lets her run riot — I think he feels kind of guilty because she was the one that walked in on him being sucked off by his TA."
"Betsy's p... parents are d... divorced," Rebecca explained unnecessarily.
"Yeah, so now Dad's got custody of Angelica and he gives into every stupid demand she makes. Brad tries to get him to put his foot down—"
"Who's Brad?"
"The TA," Betsy replied. "But Dad doesn't listen and so now Angelica's been able to write some blog about her sexual conquests!"
Kyle peered over Rebecca's shoulder at the blog page, which bore the sub-heading 'Once you have fat, you never go back!' and contained a rather horrifying picture of a girl — her face blacked out — with black curly hair and masses of what looked like bite marks all over her body. She was poking her ass out and pointing at it; not only was it covered in bite marks, but it was red raw. Kyle shuddered involuntarily, but he read today's entry — 'Boulder's Flabulous College Boys!' — regardless.
"Umm, Betsy? I don't think you need to worry about your sister having sex with these guys," he offered.
Betsy's head popped up like a meerkat hearing a predator. "What? Are you insane?"
"Have you actually read it?"
"Of course not; I don't want to know what my sister's been doing — or who, for that matter."
Kyle cleared his throat. "Well, she writes, 'After spanking my ass for a good half an hour, 'EC' ordered me onto all fours on the bed. His balls were rubbing against my clit and I could feel his belly flab wobbling against my ass as he fucked me; his cock was so big it kept sliding into my womb because it wouldn't fit in my snatch. My pussy got so wet I sprayed my juice all over his stomach and drenched him and the hotel bed. He loved it and rubbed my litres of cum into his fat folds ...' I think that sounds a little unrealistic, don't you?"
The relief on Betsy's face was palpable, for a brief moment. "But that asshole definitely left her looking like... like that!"
Rebecca nodded. "There's d... definitely no ph... photoshopping h... here. B... Besides the o... obvious."
"Anyway, what about all of her followers? You don't think I should be worried about them?"
Kyle looked down the list: CherryPopper15, HymenBreaker34, HeavyAndHorny13, ILikeLittleGirlsTheyMakeMeFeelSoGood583
"Well, yes. I think you should be really worried about them."
Betsy sighed and flopped her head down on the table again. Rebecca rubbed her back gently. "What can we do?" she asked, and Kyle felt immensely pleased that Rebecca figured he was a good source of advice.
"I guess you want to scare them into leaving your sister alone; perverts are quite easy to frighten off with the threat of exposure," Kyle mused, remembering his own experiences as a young boy — if you could make a paedophile kill themselves just from being faced by Chris Hansen, it can't be too hard to scare off a bunch of perverts on the internet.
"W... Well, I s... suppose you c... could make an e... example of o... one of them," Rebecca suggested.
"Good idea," Kyle said. He loved it when his girlfriend was devious. "The guy in her latest post can't be too hard to track down." He pointed at the photo. "See the wrappings on those soaps? I'm pretty sure I've only ever seen them in the Best Westerns." He tapped on her smart phone and did a quick search. "See? There's only one in Boulder. So that must be where they were whenever they were... you know. So, make nice with the cleaning staff — they see everything — and find out which room your sister came out of. Then you'll know where the asshole was staying. If he isn't still there, you can probably find out where he's moved onto."
A sudden smile spread over Betsy's face. "You're right! Thanks, Kyle." She got up suddenly and grabbed a slice of toast.
"W... Where are you going?" Rebecca asked.
"To Dad's — I've got a honey trap to bait," she said in dark triumph. "Oh, Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I borrow your deodorant?"
"Umm, sure. Why?"
"Oh, Angelica wears exactly the same stuff — I'd recognise the smell a mile off." She rolled her eyes. "She saw some program about how married men don't want to come home reeking of perfume and reckoned using men's stuff was the perfect solution to finding a sugar daddy."
"Okay." He went upstairs to Rebecca's room and grabbed his backpack. As he came down the stairs, he could see Rebecca hurrying Betsy out of the door.
"Th... They'll b... be b... back this afternoon," Rebecca hissed, her cheeks flushed.
"Relax, Bex," Betsy said, giggling. "You'll have plenty of time to—" They both stopped upon seeing Kyle.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine!" they both said in unison; Rebecca nervously, Betsy deviously.
"Here," Kyle said, rooting through his bag and handing his deodorant spray to Betsy.
"Thanks, Kyle. I'll certainly put this to good use." Her expression was deeply menacing; Kyle was thankful he hadn't incurred her wrath.
"Well, g... good luck, B... Betsy," Rebecca said pointedly.
"Later, Kyle," Betsy said with a wink as she took a bite of her toast and waltzed out of the door, Rebecca slamming it shut behind her and locking it.
"Everything ok—" Kyle was interrupted by Rebecca's lips crashing against his own; he had to grab onto the balustrade to stop himself from toppling over. Rebecca pulled away and bit her lip.
"S... Sorry," she whispered. "W... When you get all d... deductive, I c... can't help m... myself."
Her night shirt had slipped to one side, exposing her shoulder, and she was giving him the most smouldering look he had ever seen. She stepped closer to him and pressed her hands against his chest, leaning in for another kiss.
Kyle picked her up and she instantly wrapped her legs around his waist, hungrily kissing him in a way that fogged his brain and had him half-worried he would drop her.
"Kitchen?" he asked breathlessly. Rebecca merely nodded, her arms around his neck and her left hand playing with his hair in a way that had him straining against his pants yet again. He carried her over to the kitchen as she kissed him deeply and sat down on the nearest chair before he could drop her — he wasn't as strong as he'd like to be. She straddled him as though it were the most natural thing to do, her legs sliding over his as though they were perfectly fitting pieces of a jigsaw. He let his eager hands caress her thighs before moving up her body and slipping under her shirt, her gasp of desire breaking their deepening kiss. He barely registered the Righteous Brothers' 'Unchained Melody' playing on the radio.
"K... Kyle. P... Please," she begged huskily; Kyle was so distracted by this new and incredibly hot intonation that he didn't think to ask what she wanted and so was a little surprised to find her hands tugging at his zipper.
"Rebecca?" he asked, breathlessly.
"I just... I j... just want t... to t... touch it," she pleaded. Kyle was a little surprised that anybody could want to be anywhere near his dick so much. He stopped her and pressed a hand to her cheek.
"You don't have to do this," he said, hoping against hope that she'd pull her hands free from his and got to town on his too-hard cock. "I... I love you anyway."
She looked at him in surprise; it closely mirrored the surprise he'd felt at having uttered the words. It was one of those strange moments where he only realised how much he meant what he had said once the words were out. Wow. He was in love with Rebecca Cotswold. He wanted to run through the streets shouting it, challenging anyone to doubt the voracity of his feelings.
Then she pulled her hands free from his and tugged his underpants down a little, her right hand gently gripping his exposed cock. Running down the streets could wait.
"It's... It's k... kind of s... swollen," she said, handling it as though it were a dangerous animal.
"It's not going to bite," he assured her with a smile. She giggled and met his gaze.
"Y... Yes, b... but it c... could s... spit at me," she retorted.
"I'll give you fair warning. Promise."
"O... Okay. H... Here goes." Rebecca started sliding her hand lightly up and down; Kyle could barely feel anything. Should he tell her? What was the accepted behaviour in these circumstances? He glanced up and the intense concentration on her face; the look of frustration she wore as nothing seemed to be happening.
"Umm, you can grip it harder," he offered.
"Oh. O... Okay."
Suddenly Kyle felt as though Rebecca was trying to pull the thing right off. He hastily grabbed her hand and prised her fingers loose.
"Maybe not quite that hard," he said gently. She let go and pouted; Kyle would have found it utterly adorable were it not heralding her refusal to continue playing with his dick and deeming it an unsolvable puzzle.
He leant forward and kissed her lips. "Maybe if I showed you?" he suggested tentatively, already feeling a little guilty for being so picky when he figured he should just be grateful her hands were anywhere near his genitals to begin with. She seemed to brighten at this, but got up off his lap anyway.
"Rebecca?" he called mournfully as she stepped over to the other end of the kitchen table.
"I r... remember y... you said y... you used h... hand c... cream," she said. "W... Would butter w... work? It's s... slippery."
Kyle smiled. "Let's find out."
She grinned back at him and padded back over to him with the butter dish, which she placed on the table next to them. She straddled his lap again, then reached over and pinched a knob of butter between her fingers before rubbing her hands together.
"I'm r... ready," she said, holding her hands out to him as though for inspection. Feeling unbelievably weird, Kyle wrapped his hand around hers and guided it over his shaft, almost dying on the spot as he easily found a pressure which suited him.
"O... Oh. I s... see," Rebecca said, flicking his hand away with her free one and staring in intense concentration as she gripped, slid, tickled and did all sorts of strange and very pleasurable things to his erect penis as she became enslaved to her own unique brand of scientific exploration; he could see it in her eyes when she wondered what happened if she squeezed this, or slicked her thumb over that, or did both at the same time... Kyle felt as though he was dying, and he was happy to let God take him. He made to grip her pillowy thighs, and could find no purchase on account of literally having butter fingers. Instead he slid his hands up her thighs, under her shirt and up her belly, then cupped her breasts as best he could. She gasped and broke her rhythm momentarily; he bucked his hips against her before he could even stop himself.
"Y... You're e... eager, aren't y... you," she gasped, and it was about this moment that he realised he was very close to making something of a mess.
"Rebecca, I think I'm going to..." Unable to form the words, he instead desperately poked her shoulder and moaned, "Towel!" until she got the message.
With a guttural moan he scarcely recognised as coming from his own throat, he came, and noticed Rebecca grab her half-empty coffee cup and catch his emissions with surprising efficiency.
"Wow," he said, dazed and immensely satisfied. "Nice catch."
"Hy... Hyperb... Hyperbolic curves are s... something of a sp... speciality of m... mine." She peered in the coffee cup. "Wow; I didn't r... realise t... there w... would b... be that m... much."
"Mmm; put my cup of jizz down and let me kiss you," he murmured. With a dramatic sigh, Rebecca put the cup down on the table and scooted further up his body so he could kiss her lips, cheek, temple — anywhere he could reach — and savour the sensation of warm wetness against his cock.
A wetness he soon realised didn't belong to him.
She was wet. She was straddling him and wet. Did he have a wet patch on his jeans? He hoped so; he'd wear it like a badge of honour emblazoned across his crotch, the mark of a guy whose girlfriend got excited just from jerking him off.
Fuck, he wanted to touch her. Sadly, she was climbing off his lap rather than staying within stroking distance. He tried to implore her to stay and let him return the favour; let him stoke the sultry fires of her need and take her to paradise, but it kind of came out as a whine of, "Rebecca, come back!" which only just cut across the radio announcer stating he was about to play a song by Cindi Lauper.
"I... I'm j... just going t... to w... wash my h... hands," she said, walking over to the sink and bending down to reach into the cupboard below.
Now he could see her panties were damp.
Despite his body feeling as though it shouldn't have to move until at least next week, Kyle got up, tucked himself into his boxers and walked purposefully over to Rebecca. She smiled and squirted soap into his hands as well. They giggled and flicked water at each other as they cleaned the butter off their hands, but Kyle had barely dried his hand before they were on the waistband of her panties.
"Let me," he whispered against her ear, feeling bolder with each word. "Let me make you come as hard as you made me."
She sighed against him, which he took as a yes and slowly pulled them down to her ankles.
"Y... You c... can't say th... things l... like that!" she whimpered as she stepped out of her underpants. "Do y... you h... have any i... idea how h... hot it m... makes me?"
Just as she picked up the white cotton panties, Kyle grabbed her around the waist, emboldened by her scandalised excitement.
"Rebecca; I've not even started," he growled against her neck, before kissing her hard as he walked them both back over to the chair, delighting in the way she clambered back onto his lap again once he sat down.
"The things I want to do to you," he said, flashing a friendly smile when he realised he was beginning to sound like Butters' dad after a night at the bar when faced with Stan reaching for a cable at the back of the TV.
"T... Tell m... me!" Rebecca moaned, and Jesus Christ he was hard already. Did his dick ever stop?
He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, primarily so he could see what he was trying to fondle. "I'm going to show you instead." Dear Abraham and all that was holy, he hoped he could back up his promise with action.
She gasped headily; he wasn't sure if it was to do with his hands, the shirt slipping down to her elbows or the cool air reaching her bare body. Frankly, he was too busy admiring her wondrously soft curves to really work it out. She had a mass of pubic hair; something he wasn't readily used to in pornos, so his plan to make her intimate areas more visible had already backfired a little. He presumed it was an age thing; guys lost hair on their head as they got older, so maybe women lost hair around their pussy with age? Most of the women he'd seen getting banged in Kenny's favourite films had to be in their thirties at the very least.
"W... What's th... the m... matter?" Rebecca was staring at him, wide-eyed and frantic. He kissed her lips.
"I was admiring the view," he assured her. He didn't know where to begin; it all begged to be explored. He figured he'd already touched her breasts, but it seemed rude to just delve into her pussy like his fingers were heat-seeking missiles. Instead, he cupped her right breast with one hand, and settled his other on the small of her back to keep her steady. Tentatively, he brought his mouth closer to her breasts and placed a few delicate kisses in the region to see what kind of reaction that got.
Rebecca moaned in a manner that was definitely appreciative; she arched her back and Kyle felt her breasts squash closer against his face. He kept up his kisses, and ran a tongue over her nipple. At this point, he realised she was bucking her hips in need of contact. He stopped cupping her breast and let his fingers walk down her belly and towards her pubic hair, while trying to slide his other hand down over her ass. Christ, it was complicated — like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, only with wobbly, sexy girl bits that ground your competence into mush before you could even get started.
Now his fingers were sliding through the pubic hair between her thighs; Rebecca was gasping in delight as he felt his way through hair, hair, hair, wet hair. Ah; he was here. Carefully, he ran his fingers around what seemed to be her labia — it wasn't as though he'd thought to print a diagram off the internet and check.
"O... Oh, K... Kyle, p... please. P... Please!" Rebecca gasped over and over as though it were a mantra, her hips bucking wildly. Kyle could have watched her do that all day; he was pretty certain he'd come in his pants if he so much as coughed too hard. He was clearly an evil bastard, but teasing her was just so exciting.
He slid two fingers between her lips in order to feel his way around her inner area. He lightly touched what he assumed must be her vaginal entrance and a swollen bit that must be her clitoris; he parted his fingers and skirted it gingerly, then moved back. Lather, rinse, repeat.
"O... Oh! O... Oh! O... Oh!" Rebecca's moaning was music to his ears, but the way she kept writhing against him made it really difficult to keep doing what he was doing; he was essentially trying to tenderly caress a moving target.
Suddenly, she ground against him and he felt his fingers slip and sink into something. For a brief, panicked moment, he thought he'd ripped her open. The he realised he was inside her.
He looked up into her startled eyes; she had clearly noticed too.
"Sorry," he whispered, and began to pull his fingers out, but she gasped and grabbed his wrist sharply.
"St... Stay," she begged, and he wondered if this was what Heaven was like.
"Sure. I'll stay," he said, and began to slide his two fingers in and out, because it was kind of like sex so it seemed to make sense. Then he realised his thumb was fairly close to what he thought must be her clitoris, so he stroked that as best he could. He seemed to have a fairly decent rhythm going, and when Rebecca dug her fingers into his shoulders and started crying out in obvious pleasure, he dreamily wished he could spend all day doing this to her.
Five minutes in and he was starting to get cramp in his fingers, so he wiggled them a bit to try and restore the blood flow. Rebecca practically hit the ceiling.
"Oh, God! Y... Yes! Yes!" she shrieked, and it was this that pushed him through the pain of his sore wrist and cramping fingers. He felt like a marathon runner smashing through the wall, only with marginally less sweating and a lot less pissing in the street.
"You like that, huh?" he whispered, cupping her breast with his free hand and noticing for the first time that they were reflected in the over door and it gave him a perfect view of her ass, partially obscured by her night shirt, as it slapped against his thighs.
He didn't exactly expect a coherent response, and the mingle of groans, grunts and moans he got was proof enough that yes, she liked that. He kept it up, noticing she was grinding faster and faster and he didn't want to mess it up by trying anything too wild or experimental when she seemed to be steamrollering towards something pretty damn good.
"Ooh... Coming... Coming!" She was gasping as though struggling for air and Kyle was half concerned she was going to have some kind of asthma attack. He looked up and saw her beautiful face in the throes of ecstasy, her lips parted and her eyes half-closed. He tilted his head to kiss her, just at the moment she dropped her head forward. There was a dull thud as her forehead collided with the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, God! I'm sorry!" Rebecca gasped in a funny mixture of concern and arousal.
"It's cool, don't worry," Kyle insisted. "You keep coming, Rebecca. Just keep coming." He was certain he couldn't even feel pain while watching her unravel the way she was, plus he was beginning to lose feeling in his right hand and wanted her to come before he'd have to admit defeat and try to use his less coordinated left hand.
Suddenly, Rebecca came. She came in quivers, violent shakes, loud desperate cries of his name and wetness. She came like it was an Olympic event. She came, and came and Kyle was beginning to wonder if she'd ever stop. He didn't know if he should feel smug or worried.
Finally, she slumped against him, panting wildly.
"Wow," she sighed.
"Wow," Kyle agreed, feeling her pulse intensely around his fingers. Wow indeed.
She lifted her head from his shoulder momentarily to inspect his face. "You're bleeding," she said dreamily.
Kyle put his fingers to his nose. Sure enough, he was.
"Yeah. That's probably bad," he replied.
"Do you want me to get you a wet towel?"
"Yeah. Maybe. Later. Right now, I just want you to stay right there looking thoroughly ravished, if it's all the same to you."
Rebecca shrugged. "Okay." She sat up a little, and Kyle could see the flush that had spread right down to her chest; pale in comparison to her deeply red lips and her darkened, half-lidded eyes.
"Fuck me, you're beautiful when you come," he remarked, fascinated.
She giggled and kissed him; he slipped his free hand around her waist, holding her close to him. She sighed in contentment, and Kyle was certain that this moment right here was utter, blissful perfection and nothing could touch them.
Suddenly, the back door opened and before they could even blink, two adults and the boy Kyle knew to be Rebecca's brother Mark entered the kitchen carrying travel bags; which they swiftly dropped — along with their jaws — as they saw Kyle and Rebecca.
"Umm, you're back," Rebecca acknowledged brightly, her face locked into an expression of fear.
They continued to stare wildly at them.
"What.... Who... What..." Rebecca's father seemed to have lost all capacity for speech. Her mother started to shake. Mark folded his arms and glared at them.
"This... This is Kyle," Rebecca said in a voice far too calm to be completely sane. "He's my boyfriend. We were just having breakfast; there's still some toast left if you want it. There's some coffee brewed, too."
"Breakfast?" Her mother looked as though she was about to cry.
Kyle stared at Rebecca's horrified father, distraught mother and furious brother.
"Erm, hi," he said awkwardly, Rebecca straddling his lap and his fingers still inside her pulsing vagina. "I could try and say that this isn't what it looks like, but let's face it; it's exactly what it looks like. I have two of my fingers inside your daughter — who I deeply respect and care for — but I'm just expressing my love and affection for—"
"Kyle; please stop talking," Rebecca insisted. "And could you just pull your fingers out, please?"
"Oh, sorry." Kyle pulled his hand from between Rebecca's warm, inviting thighs and tried his best to disguise the trail of clear vaginal fluid that followed his fingers. Rebecca clambered to her feet — Kyle couldn't help but notice her legs were trembling a little — and hastily buttoned up her pyjama top.
"Mother, Father. How was your vacation?" she asked, feeling around for something. Kyle twigged and surreptitiously snuck her panties from the chair next to him and into her hands.
Her mother looked fit to burst. "Don't you 'How was your vacation' me! You were... You've been..." To Kyle's astonishment, she actually burst into tears.
"Mother, please don't cry." Rebecca was stepping into her underpants as she spoke. "It's really no big deal."
"No big deal? No big deal? You've been.... Been violated by this... this devil!" her father roared, pointing at Kyle who stood up defensively.
"Oh come on, I only fingered her!" he protested, pulling his pants up and attempting to zip himself with one hand.
"You poked her delicate flower!" he retorted hotly. Despite the situation, it took Kyle a Herculean effort not to burst out laughing. He felt Rebecca kick him in the shin with her heel.
"Father, Kyle Broflovski is the kindest guy I've ever known—"
"Oh, Broflovski, is it? I should have known." He glared at Kyle. "You've been nothing but trouble, sniffing around my daughter." He raised his hands in despair. "Now we're going to have to move again to keep her away from your filthy clutches..."
"Seriously? You left South Park because of... of me?" Kyle couldn't bring himself to feel guilty in the face of such retardation. "I was eight? What did you think I was going to do? I wouldn't have been able to maintain an erection at eight years old, much less know what to do with one."
He heard Rebecca's mother wail in horror.
"Kyle, you really can't talk about erections; it makes my mother cry," she said quietly.
"What the hell happened to your stutter?" Mark blurted out. His knuckles were white with rage, but he wore an expression of bewilderment.
"I... Wow. I don't know," Rebecca replied calmly. "I'm sure I had it this morning..."
"Oh, good Lord; it's just like 'Brimstone and Treacle'!" Rebecca's mother sobbed hysterically.
"Now, now; we can sort this out." Rebecca's father reached over and grabbed the half-full coffee cup near them — the very one Rebecca had expertly caught Kyle's ejaculate in — and took a large gulp. Kyle looked at Rebecca; her eyes registered the same horror he felt.
Her father winced and swallowed. "We need to get more milk; this stuff's gone off. It's all clumpy."
Mark looked at his father in horror. "Father we have to do something!" He glared at Kyle and strode towards him. "You have defiled my sister for the last time, Broflovski!" he snarled. "I challenge you to a duel!"
Kyle rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious—"
"What's the matter, Broflovski? Scared?"
"Of you? Dream on," Kyle scoffed. "I accept; if only so you'll quit treating Rebecca like she's incapable of making her own choices!"
"Fine. Tonight at nine o'clock, in front of the Sphere in Battery Park. I trust you know where that is."
Kyle stepped up and met Mark head on. "Oh, I can Google it," he spat back.
"Fine, be there. I promise you, Kyle Broflovski, I shall have satisfaction." With those words, Mark slapped him hard across the face. Ignoring the shock, Kyle met Mark's eyes with an equally steely glare.
"Fine, and I shall defend my lady's honour," he promised, slapping Mark back.
It was only when the wet, slopping sound resonated and Mark grabbed at his cheek in horror that Kyle remembered he hadn't washed his hands.
"Oh. Sorry. Right-handed, can't help it."
Mark's whole mouth slipped as though he had suddenly developed Bells' Palsy. He choked back a sob and rushed to the sink, vomiting copiously.
Rebecca glanced at Kyle. "You don't have to do this."
Kyle took her hands in his. "I do," he replied, before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. He heard her mother start to cry again.
"For the love of God, make him stop this debauchery!" she wailed.
Rebecca sighed. "Maybe you should go."
"Yeah." He took his belongings from Rebecca.
"I'm sorry." Rebecca looked at the floor with sadness in her eyes. Kyle cupped her face with his free hand, and saw Rebecca's father reach for a kitchen knife.
"I'm not," he replied before dashing out of the door. "It was totally worth it!"
Cartman held out two t-shirts — he had narrowed his choice down in the last hour — and tried to pick one. Obviously, it wasn't because he gave a damn what Angelica thought; he just needed to make sure he struck the right chord. With weary resignation, he left his hotel room and knocked on the door next to him. It swung open.
"Kenny?" Cartman called. "You in here?"
He could hear faint sounds of vomiting. He pushed at the bathroom door. "I don't give a fuck if you're dying of alcohol poisoning, I just need you to point at a shirt. Think you can manage that, you poor piece of—" He stopped as he saw a very pale Maria hunched over the toilet bowl while Kenny rubbed her back tenderly. Kenny looked up; his expression appeared oddly frightened.
"The left one," he said, turning his attention back to Maria. The little bitch hadn't even looked.
"Fine. Thanks, Kenny. You're really fucking helpful," Cartman shouted back as he stomped to his hotel room. That Maria was getting really fucking needy of late — he needed to have a talk with Kenny before he lost his balls completely.
Putting on his shirt, he glanced at his watch — 6:55pm. Angelica's note said to meet her in the lobby at 7pm. Cartman fingered the scrap of paper, infused with her perfume like a real pro, and began to pace. He hated having to wait for things.
Eventually, he could stand it no more and at 6:57pm he was in the hotel lobby. The clerk kept eyeing him and he was about to have words with him about fucking manners and knowing his place as staff, except he cleared his throat and enquired, "Mr Cartman?"
"What's it to you?"
"This arrived a few minutes ago. The young lady told me to give it to you." The clerk handed Cartman an envelope with sweaty hands; he opened it and saw yet another note from Angelica.
'Surprise! In your room. Meet me there. P.S. I left a little something good on the table for you —x'
Well, that was weird. Not that Cartman cared; he was too busy rushing to his room. Then he realised he needed to play it cool, so waited outside his hotel room until he caught his breath. He wondered what she had left on the coffee table for him — he hoped it was her ass, ready for another spanking. God damn, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it all day; the more he remembered, the better it was. She had writhed in his lap and begged for his punishment.
No doubt about it, his natural charm astounded even him at times.
The door was unlocked and he pushed it open, hoping to catch her unawares. She was nowhere to be seen. He heard water sloshing against tiles — she was in the bathroom, taking a shower. Taking a hot, wet, slippery shower in no clothes. He tried the handle; it didn't budge.
"Hey!" He banged on the door. "Let me in, you little slut! I'm going to give you a shower that'll make you really fucking dirty."
"Be patient, Eric. You go and entertain yourself; it took me a hell of a job to get that stuff." Her voice sounded a little weird; Cartman figured it must be the echo of the bathroom. He glanced down at the coffee table and saw a bottle of wine with two small greenish coloured tablets beside it.
"What the hell's this shit?" he queried.
"It's called, umm, Garection," she called from the bathroom. "It makes you so horny and hard for hours!"
Cartman felt a sting of humiliation. "I don't need some pill to help my pussy-seeking missile of spunk, bitch."
There was no answer; Cartman was almost worried he'd upset her. Then he heard, "But just think how long I could suck you off? I could be on my knees for hours, worshipping your huge, monstrous cock all night long."
Cartman hadn't thought of that; he could feel his balls tighten at the very idea.
"Okay, okay; I'll fucking take them!" he promised, grabbing the bottle of wine and downing both little tablets.
It didn't take long for them to kick in — he had to unzip his pants to relieve the pressure.
"Hurry up in there," he growled. "There's a hard fat cock out here with your name on it."
There was no reply.
"Oi! Do what Daddy tells you, bitch! Get out here and spread 'em wide!" Even he was starting to feel a little silly shouting all this crap at her, but he knew it got her going and getting Angelica's pussy wet was in danger of becoming one of his favourite pastimes.
Still no reply. Little slut wanted to play games, huh? Cartman was ready to just wrench the door down and show her who was boss, when he felt suddenly woozy. He staggered over to the bed, his head pounding. When his vision started to blur, he got really freaked out.
"What the fuck is this shit, Angelica?" he called out as the room started to spin.
The bathroom door swung open; a bone dry, fully dressed girl with a long plait — who wasn't Angelica — stormed out. Cartman noticed the shower hadn't stopped running.
"Hello there, lover," she spat, gripping her rucksack and looking like one of those butch lesbians who ruined Cartman's jacking off fantasies about hot lesbian orgies by storming in and chopping his dick off before he came into his tissues.
"Who the hell are you?" he slurred, struggling to keep his head up. The mystery dyke dropped the bag and staked over to him, gripping plastic wrist ties in her bony hands.
"I'm the sister of the little girl you did the nasty to last night," she sneered, brandishing the wrist ties menacingly. "You know that thing about payback?"
"T... The fuck?" he asked, despite being fully aware he had got his wish and been well and truly fucked tonight.
She hit him hard across the fact with the wrist ties. "It's a bitch; and guess who I am?"
"Part of a threesome?" He couldn't just roll over and give up.
"The bitch. And how!"
The last thing Cartman saw was the mystery frigid lesbian pin his wrist to the bedpost before everything went black.
Kyle raced around his cousin's room. He didn't know exactly what you needed to bring to a duel, so he was going for anything that could be used as a weapon. So far, he had a piece of lead piping from the back of the airing cupboard, a carving knife from the kitchen and Kyle's Mathlete trophy.
"Kyle, this is insane!" his cousin implored.
"Yeah!" Ike was watching him from the top bunk with worry in his eyes.
"I will not stand by and let him besmirch my girlfriend's good name!" Kyle glared in the mirror to test the effect, and saw the dangerous air to his own reflection. "I am going to fuck him up."
"Kyle, you know I like Rebecca, but she's just some girl. Let it go." Ike stared at the ceiling as he said this. "What am I saying? Asking you to let something go is like asking Imelda Marcos to stop buying shoes."
They were all distracted by a sudden tap at the window. Kyle looked across the room and saw Rebecca hanging onto the window ledge for dear life.
"Rebecca!" He rushed to the sash window and pulled it up, helping Rebecca through. Her arms were shaking and she had tear tracks down her face.
"Kyle!" She hugged him tightly. "Oh, Kyle; don't go out there tonight!"
Kyle stroked her face with his hand. "Rebecca, I'm not going to stand by and let your brother treat you like some kind of sex worker just for dating me."
"No, I mean don't go because it's a trap," she begged.
"What?"
"I heard Father on the phone; he's hired some assassins to kill you!"
Kyle held her at arm's length for a moment. "Wait, what?"
"Assassins. To kill you. I don't know who; I think maybe they're Russians." She bit her lip in worry; Kyle kissed her cheek.
"Relax, Rebecca. It's nothing I can't handle."
"Kyle, are you even listening to me? Russian assassins are trying to kill you!"
He shrugged. "It's hardly the first time."
They all fell silent when a pin-prick of red flickered against Kyle's chest.
"Aww sh—"
He pushed Rebecca to the ground as a shot ripped through his cousin's Jaime Bergman poster — right between the eyes.
Ike sighed heavily. "And I thought this summer might be different."
Kyle kissed Rebecca hard on the lips. "I have to go, beautiful," he whispered. "Look after Kyle and Ike for me."
"Hold on, where are you going?"
"I have to get those assholes away from my family," Kyle insisted, grabbing the lead piping and Kyle's Mathlete trophy before leaping out of the window and rolling on the grass.
"Alright, you cocksuckers! Be men and show yourselves!"
Three burly men with heavy stubble and scarred faces stepped out of the gloom and raised Kalashnikovs at him. Kyle began to wish he'd brought a spare pair of pants.
"Yup. You're definitely men," he backpedalled. "Glad we've established that." With those words, he turned on his heel and fled. Heavy footsteps and thick accents told him they were in hot pursuit.
He felt something whistle past his ear; the shop window behind him shattered, sending several sets of handcuffs tumbling to the floor.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he yelled, and picked up his pace. In a moment of inspiration, he doubled back and grabbed one of the sets of handcuffs before sloping off to the nearby subway station. He didn't know if Mark would actually show up, but it was all he had right now.
It turned out he didn't even have to get to Battery Park — Mark was sitting calmly in a carriage, talking on his cellphone.
"So you lost him; he'll be at Battery Park, trust me... I don't care, just tell me when the job's—" He stopped as he saw Kyle's sweaty face next to him.
"Hello, Mark." Kyle leant over him and slid the lead piping nonchalantly into his hand so Mark could see; he was pretty such he at least looked like a bad assed MoFo, which would be enough.
Mark at least had the good grace to appear scared. They tried to stare each other out for a while, but Mark quickly broke the moody silence.
"I thought maybe you wouldn't show," he said quietly.
"Really," Kyle deadpanned. "Well, I'm here now; why don't we get started?"
Mark closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "The whole point of a duel is that you do so at a designated time and place; not brawl all over the street like a bachelor party."
"Or set Russian assassins on your opponent," Kyle added.
Mark stared at him, aghast. "How did you know they were Russian?"
"They usually are."
"I presume she told you." Mark's eyes narrowed. "She's besotted with you. I'm sure you were counting on that."
"I'm crazy about her too; quit acting like there's some master scheme going on here. I just love her."
"So why are you here, given she risked punishment to let slip our plan?" He smirked. "Come to face an honourable death? Conscience get to you, did it?"
"Nah," Kyle replied, deftly handcuffing his and Mark's wrists together. "I came to share."
He raised his eyebrows and grinned maniacally — if he was going down, then he was taking that asshole with him.
Cartman groggily opened his eyes; the pitch black slowly formed into recognisable shapes that reassured him he was still in his hotel room. He swallowed away a dry throat and tried to stretch — then he was decidedly not reassured by the fact he was still in his hotel room and apparently chained to his bed.
He glanced at the LCD display on his little alarm clock — three AM — then tried to move his legs. No luck; he was stuck fast. His wrists and ankles were fucking sore, even more than his head. What the fuck was going on?
As he lay there in the dark, fragments started to come back to him — being slapped into consciousness only to find that lesbian bitch straddling him like some cock-hungry skeleton; panicking that he'd been slipped Viagra and was about to be raped to within an inch of his life; the fear when he realised he'd been gagged...
"You're awake? At last; I was getting bored." She held a thick black marker pen aloft. "You're the sick fuck who's been messing with my sister, right?"
Cartman tried to say, "How the fuck do I know who your fucking sister is, you anorexic whore," but it came out as strangled screaming.
She held something else in her hand — it looked like his travel ID.
"Eric Theodore Cartman. Date of Birth, July 1st... Wow; you're fifteen." She glared at him and tossed the card to one side. "You're not just a sick fuck, you're a lying sick fuck."
She grabbed his jaw hard. "I'd hate to think of you going back to school and pulling this crap on your female classmates—"Cartman watched as she pulled the lid off the marker pen with her teeth and spat out the cap— "So, I think it's my duty to let them know what they're dealing with."
The stench of market pen fumes flooded his nostrils as she scribbled all over his chest and finally on his forehead...
Things went a bit blank after that. Cartman tried to wrench his hands free of the restraints and failed. They weren't just starting to hurt, they even itched a bit. He tried to curl his hands towards his wrists, and once he felt the ridged plastic, he remembered the wrist cuffs. Amongst other things...
"You think it's funny to do that to a little girl? You think it's cool to beat her black and blue?"
"I spanked her, bitch; she fucking came all over herself when I did it!" he tried to protest but, again, the gag prevented his voice from being heard.
She smirked at him. "Okay. I'll give you something to scream about."
To his horror, Cartman felt her shove his ass cheeks apart with an uncapped deodorant can. At first, he figured she was being a little kinky, but then it started to fucking burn.
"You come anywhere near her again — you even try to contact her — and I'll do that again. Nod if you understand."
Cartman nodded; his ass felt as though it was on fire.
She leant over him cruelly and kicked the deodorant can hard into his rectum. He screamed for real this time, but it was muffled by the gag.
"Just a reminder. Stay the fuck away." With those words, she left the room and shut the door behind her...
That had been hours ago, and it felt as though it was still embedded up there. As he shifted his weight and felt a sharp pain in his ass, it dawned on him that he was probably right.
What the fuck was wrong with that frigid bitch? Just because she was a dyke who couldn't get any cock wasn't his fault. If she hadn't been such a bitch about it, he might even have given it to her — providing she begged and swallowed or something.
As he lay spread-eagle on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, he realised he needed to break out of his bonds before he died of starvation in this shitty hotel room — or worse, was found by someone with a camera.
A couple of hours later, his nightmare came true as he heard the door open and winced against the bright light as the light switch snapped on.
Kenny was staring at him, pale and trembling. The little fucker was clearly trying not to laugh.
"Don't say a fucking word, you poor piece of—" God damn it; for a moment he'd forgotten he was still gagged.
Kenny silently pulled out a flick knife and released him from his bonds before untying his gag. Cartman was amazed; which was the fucking retard doing cutting him down without taking a bunch of photos he could plaster over the school lockers? Cartman knew everyone thought he was really fucking cool, but he didn't realise Kenny figured he was so awesome he should be protected from such humiliation.
"Get dressed, the cops are on their way," Kenny said numbly, his shoulders hunched like some bad lady.
Cartman glared at him. "What the fuck have you done now, Kenny?" Unless of course they'd caught that skinny dyke... only that would mean he'd have to admit what she'd done to him.
"Nothing." Kenny sighed deeply and stared at the ceiling with his hands in his pockets. "Maria's dead."
"Are you going to call them off yet?" Kyle asked as red laser beams landed smoothly on his jacket and he changed direction to dodge them.
"I... I can't!" Mark insisted, panting wildly.
They continued to run through Battery Park, having seemingly exhausted every other hiding spot in Manhattan. It had swiftly dawned on Kyle that he was much fitter than Mark, who had started holding him back as far away as Greenwich Village. Still, Rebecca would be pissed if he got her brother killed — even if he was a douche — and now the grizzly assassin dudes had figured they'd make more money from despatching the two of them, he was kind of stuck.
"Can't, or won't?" Kyle asked, pulling Mark up when he stumbled over a thick branch and lost his footing.
"Can't," he insisted. "They're assassins; you can't exactly appeal to their better nature."
"Gah, why the hell do your folks have contacts who are Russian killers?"
"How the hell should I know?"
The laser beams kept tracking them. Kyle could feel his t-shirt cling to him with sweat, and a quick glance at Mark told him he was exhausted.
"Let's go... go up there," Mark panted, pointing to a street beyond the closed park gate. "You... you climb, right?"
"How do you think I've been kissing Rebecca goodnight for the past two months?"
"You... asshole!" Mark panted as they raced across the grass towards the locked gate.
Suddenly, Kyle heard a dull metal clunk. He stopped dead; Mark crashed into him.
"What—"
"Grenade," Kyle whispered.
Mark gawped at him. "How do you know what a grenade sounds like?"
Kyle rolled his eyes. "You thought this was the first time I'd had to flee from Russian assassins?"
"You know what, Kyle? Yes, I really did." Mark shook his head in despair.
A small hand grenade rolled towards them; the pin bounced metres away. Kyle and Mark both screamed in terror.
"Jesus—"
"Just fucking run!" Kyle yelled, dragging Mark along as he fled for his life. The grenade exploded behind them with a deafening roar. Kyle pulled them both to the ground and reflexively shielded Mark from the sudden heat; God damn fraternal instinct — he'd smack Ike if he ever got out of this alive.
Before the sensation of intense heat could subside, Kyle became suddenly aware of a sharp thud near his shoulder blade which was quickly followed by searing pain. He screamed loudly. Gingerly, he felt the area with his unchained hand and found something jagged and hot; when he pulled his hand away, he saw it was covered with blood. Shit.
"Are you okay?" Mark asked as he staggered to his feet, yanking Kyle's arm up as he did so.
"I've been better," Kyle said as he felt the blood drain from his face.
"Shit!" Mark hissed. "You've been hit!"
"Oh really? Gee, I hadn't noticed!" Kyle spat.
Mark looked at him and swiftly tucked his arm around Kyle's waist. "Come on," he said solemnly. "Let's get out of here."
Kyle felt his legs tremble as he tried to move. "No, I... I'm done for. Tell Rebecca... Tell her I love her."
"Tell her yourself," Mark spat back, dragging Kyle along the grass.
"You go on, save yourself," Kyle insisted. "I'll only slow you down."
"I can't..."
"Damn it; quit being a martyr, Cotswold!"
"No; I mean I can't. I'm handcuffed to you, remember?"
"Oh, yeah." Kyle shrugged. "Well, sucks to be you."
"What? Just unlock them, asshole!"
"I don't know where the key is!"
Mark glared at him, wide eyed with panic. "What? What kind of crazy bastard handcuffs himself to someone and doesn't know where the key is?"
"One that's just found out he's being hunted by hit men and isn't thinking that far ahead?" Kyle offered sardonically. He was pretty sure Mark was about to retort, but the grizzled assassins had already surrounded them. One of them — taller, boarded and apparently the leader — brought the barrel of his gun to Kyle's forehead.
"Look; Just... Just listen for a second, o... okay?" Kyle pleaded, raising his hands in surrender and dragging Mark up with the movement. "I know you've been hired to kill me; probably for a lot of money—"
"Enough," one of the assassins agreed.
"Not to kill me, though," Mark insisted. "You won't get paid if you kill me as well. So... I... Well, you'll have to separate us, which won't be easy." He nudged Kyle and smiled knowingly.
"Or we could just shoot your friend and not you," another of the assassins suggested.
Mark went pale. "But... but that would traumatise me, and I... I think that would affect your pay out," he babbled.
The other assassin frowned in thought. "What if we chopped his hand off? Then you'd be separated—"
"Mark, stop helping!" Kyle insisted, before mustering all of his courage and looking the main assassin in the eye. "This isn't about revenge, or honour. This is about love. See, this summer I met the most wonderful girl in the whole world. I... Well, I gave her my heart—"
"Amongst other things," Mark muttered.
"And I'm here because I'd do anything for her — I'd even risk death — because what's the point of even existing on this tiny, unforgiving planet if not for love?" He stood up as straight as he could, ignoring the searing pain between his shoulder blades. "Do what you want to me; I don't care because if I'm not free to love Rebecca, then I might as well be dead. My heart might still beat and my blood might still pump through my veins, but it'll be a mere existence, a mockery of life." He let his head droop towards his chest. "She's the only person who has the power to truly hurt me now, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
The assassin's hand shook and he lowered his gun; Kyle saw a tear trickle from his eye.
"We can't take this job," he said, wiping his eyes. "Who hasn't felt love the way this boy does?" He put his gun on the floor. His comrade started to sob loudly.
Mark stared at Kyle, his mouth agape. "Seriously?" he whispered. "Seriously?"
The last remaining assassin glared at them.
"You fools, with the kind of money they're paying us we can buy love. Lots and lots of love with hot blyads." He grabbed his gun and Kyle had no choice but to close his eyes and try to stop himself from trembling wildly as he waited for the moment.
Suddenly, the gates burst open and a flash of light forced Kyle to shield his eyes with his free hand. He heard the blaring horn and revving engine of an estate car, and as he looked up he saw a familiar Lincoln estate plough into his would-be killer. The sickening sound of bones crushed against metal filled his ears.
His mother clambered out of the driver's seat, closely followed by an anxious Rebecca who shoved open the passenger door and jumped out.
"Kyle!" Rebecca screamed, dashing towards him and flinging her arms around him. "Thank God you're..." She pulled her hand from his shoulder and gasped. "You're bleeding!"
"I don't think it's that bad," Kyle assured her, squeezing her with his free hand and hoping Mark wouldn't give too much away just how much he'd squealed at the time.
As he rested his chin on Rebecca's head and felt her warm hands caress the base of his spine, he could see his mother giving the assassins a good talking to.
"Oh, I'll pay, will I? My husband's a lawyer — you'll be paying for the damage to my car when he's through with you! Don't you run away from me, you fershtinkiner! I'm not done with you — that's my boy you were pointing a gun at!"
Mark stared in horror. "Shouldn't we call the police?"
Kyle shrugged. "Ma seems to be doing just fine on her own," he said, holding Rebecca tightly with his free hand.
Mark continued to stare at the surrounding chaos. "And none of this phases you? Are you sure you're not, I don't know, batshit insane?"
"We should call an ambulance," Rebecca said, although her voice was muffled by Kyle's shirt. "You're losing a lot of blood." She lifted her head and showed her hand to Kyle, which was dripping with his blood. He suddenly felt very woozy indeed.
Cartman stared at the polystyrene cup of coffee in his hand. He used to hate the stuff, but now he'd developed a taste for it. This meant he could determine just how fucking rancid the stuff from the police station vending machine was. He looked up at the clock; it was nearly midday, and Kenny was still in that interview room. Cartman couldn't really tell what was going on from the tiny window in the door; Kenny had spent most of the past six hours with his head slumped in his hands, while the two bloated, balding detectives had made notes and phone calls.
A policewoman stopped in front of him— not bad looking, definitely had nice titties — and sat down in the plastic chair next to him.
"How are you doing?" she asked kindly.
"Fine," Cartman replied warily, instantly distrusting her gentle face and soft blue eyes. They totally used this broad for honey traps, and he wasn't about to fall into this one.
"I'm sorry we've had to keep your friend for so long. He's not in any trouble, I promise. We're just trying to find out who Maria's family are, so we can let them know what's happened to her. Do you know anything about them? Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope."
She gently patted his shoulder. "What about you? Have you got a mom or dad we can call for—"
"Listen, bitch, I don't know anything, okay?" Cartman said in a low voice he knew said 'don't fuck with me'. The woman raised her eyebrows, but merely rested her hand on his arm.
"When you're ready," she said in that saccharine voice, before getting up and walking to the interview room. Damn, she looked even better from behind.
Cartman watched as she entered the interview room and sat with Kenny. The policemen left the room and went out to the vending machine, which meant they were within earshot of Cartman.
"Poor kid; he's devastated."
"Think it's an act?"
"No; his story checks out. Girl had a syringe of diamorphine and a pack of oral hydromorphone. The coroner got hold of the doctor who signed off her prescription; she was suffering from metastatic breast cancer and she'd been given three months to live about five months ago. She did well, all things considered. She never gave her a next of kin to contact, so we're still stuck."
"Maybe Martha can get some details out of him, the girl must have family." The policeman with thinning blonde hair and a big moustache pressed some buttons on the machine and sipped at the drink that was spat out on front of him.
"He might not know anything." The greying man shook his head sadly. "He won't even tell us how to get hold of his folks. Think he's a runaway?"
The blonde drained his cup. "I think he's in shock. We should speak to his fat friend next."
Fucking assholes. At least Kenny wasn't in trouble. Cartman was relieved — the last thing he wanted was to be implicated in whatever sick shit Kenny had been up to.
He glanced up and saw Kenny wrapped in the arms of that honey trap bitch, his head buried against her chest. Cartman couldn't help but smirk; typical fucking Kenny. Any excuse to get a feel of some titties; Cartman should have thought of the old 'sobbing for mother' technique when he'd had the chance.
Soon enough, he was surrounded by the two coppers. The sat either side of him and leant their elbows on their thighs, clasping their hands together as though in prayer.
"How are you holding up, big man?" the greying officer asked. God fucking damn, he was not fat!
"Fine."
"Sally's just finishing up with your friend," the blonde said quietly. "There's nothing to worry about. We were just hoping to contact her next of kin."
"Like I told that other bitch; we don't know. We just hitched a ride with her a couple of months ago and didn't stop. I don't know shit about her, except that she had cancer, she was an annoying do-gooder and that she's dead."
The officers appeared taken aback.
"Umm. Okay." The blonde scratched his arm nervously.
The greying officer glanced up and the interview room and smiled. "Well, looks like he's got a great consolation prize."
The blonde looked up as well. "God damn, that's one lucky boy."
They smirked at each other, then seemed to remember Cartman was sitting between them and instantly sobered up.
"We'd better get back in there," the greying officer said quietly, just as the door to the interview room opened and Kenny walked out with the honey trap bitch. She had wet patches all down her shirt and Kenny's eyes were bloodshot. Damn, he really went the whole hog with his plots.
"Ken here suggested we take a look in the glove box; apparently Maria kept her title in there. They really don't know anything else," she said sadly. "I think we should take them home."
"Can... Can I see her?" Kenny asked, his voice thick with phlegm.
The honey trap officer placed her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ken. We have to keep her body here until we find out who to release it to. We can't let you go down there."
This seemed to horrify Kenny. "Wait, she's just going to lie in some drawer until you can figure out where her family are? No! We've got to cremate her! She wanted to be cremated, and she wanted the ashes scattered... Well, she didn't say where, but somewhere nice!"
"Ken, it'll be okay..."
To Cartman's amazement, Kenny simply sat himself on the floor and folded his arms. "I'm not going anywhere until she's safe. You can just lock me up in the morgue, because there's no fucking way I'm leaving her all alone here!"
"Jesus, Kenny; she's dead. What the fuck else do you think will happen to her?"
"I don't know! Anything! She'll be all alone! You hear stories; there could be some sick fuck who's going to rape her corpse!"
"Ken, we keep the morgue very secure. Nobody will be able to touch her, I promise you." The honey trap officer had tears in her eyes. Fucking hell, was there anybody who wasn't going to start blubbing over this fucking Maria chick?
"Kenny, relax. Nobody's going to rape that ugly skank's corpse if there's any alternative," Cartman reassured him. He looked up at the three officers. "You must have some prettier dead chicks locked up in there, right?"
Cartman didn't hear if there was any reply, because Kenny leapt to his feet and dragged him to the floor in a flurry of kicks, punches and bites.
"Kyle? Are you okay?"
Kyle woke up to find himself in a hospital bed — which was bad — and with Rebecca gently mopping his brow — which was good. He figured it evened out.
"I think so." He winced as he sat up, taking care not to knock her off the bed. "My shoulder's kind of sore, though. And how did they get the handcuffs off?"
"That was your mom. She used a hairpin."
"Oh."
Rebecca put down the damp sponge she had been using and kissed him tenderly on the lips.
"I love you," she said quietly, and suddenly the pain seemed to vanish. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb, cupping her face with his hand.
"Love you too," he replied, unable to wipe the smile from his face.
Loud yells suddenly pierced his ear drums; he saw shadowy figures moving outside the frosted glass on the door to his ward.
"My daughter's in there alone with your rascal son?" That was definitely Rebecca's father. Kyle felt Rebecca grip his hand tightly at the mere sound.
"Don't you even dare; he's in that hospital because of you, and don't think I'll ever forget that!"
"I wouldn't have had to take any action to protect my daughter if I hadn't walked into my kitchen to find—" There was a sudden crash and a cry of horror. When the door eventually opened, Kyle saw Rebecca's father step into the room, soaking wet and with a dented bedpan on his head. His mother was boring a hole through the back of his head with her icy glare.
"You don't have to speak to him, bubbeleh," she insisted. "I can have him removed. Personally," she spat.
"It's okay," Kyle replied, still holding Rebecca's hand in an act of defiance. "Go ahead, Mr Cotswold."
"Well, I probably should apologise for the events of last night. I perhaps overreacted slightly—"
"Slightly!"
"Ma, let him talk." Kyle kept eye contact with Rebecca's father and noticed with grim delight that he appeared to be squirming.
"The situation was... regrettable; but please understand I was only trying to protect my daughter."
"Dad, the last person I need protecting from is Kyle," Rebecca insisted, squeezing his hand; Kyle noticed Mr Cotswold blanch at the sight.
He sighed. "In my desperate attempts to protect my daughter, I realise I'm made a terrible mistake. Sending her to an all-girls boarding school to protect her from boys was foolish—"
Kyle glanced at Rebecca; they shared a smile.
"—because boys are lurking just outside the school gates! All the pupils have to do is go to the shops, and boys are all around! Even if I don't give her permission to leave the grounds, there are window cleaners and gardeners all waiting to steal her virtue." He sighed heavily. "Rebecca, go home and pack your things, we're sending you to a convent school."
"What? Dad—"
"No arguments, Rebecca. It's for your own good. We found one that assured us there will be no contact with boys, leaving you free to concentrate on your studies."
"Dad, that's absurd! How has Kyle interfered with my studies? It's been summer break!"
Rebecca's father folded his arms. "He interfered with your vagina, that's close enough."
"What, what, what?" his mother looked as though she was about to have an aneurysm.
"Ma, I only touched it. With fingers," Kyle mumbled, feeling his cheeks colour up just from having to explain it. When Rebecca kissed his cheek tenderly, he saw his mother struggle to hide a smile and Rebecca's father glare at them both.
"Rebecca," he said in a warning tone.
"Of course. Your innocent daughter was clearly traumatised." His mother's voice dripped with sarcasm — she even made finger quotes when she said the word 'innocent'.
"You're going and that's final," Rebecca's father said firmly. "You are not seeing this boy again!"
"Mr Cotswold, please! I love her!" Kyle implored.
Rebecca's father glared at him through his half-moon glasses. "Don't make me laugh. You're an irresponsible cad who thinks nothing of... of swapping bodily fluids in... in meaningless encounters."
Rebecca looked as though she was about to cry; Kyle held her tightly and tried to quell his sudden, burning desire to get up and punch her father in the face. It would solve nothing. Instead he watched as Rebecca's father turned and opened the ward door.
"Oh, Mr Cotswold?" Kyle called sweetly, watching as he glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow as though he didn't deserve to be spoken to.
"That's rich, coming from the guy who swallowed my cum this morning without a care." He was gratified when Rebecca's asshole father appeared confused, then suddenly queasy. He slammed the door shut behind him.
Just as Kyle's mother stormed out of the room, rolling up her sleeves as she went, Rebecca pulled away from Kyle. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her gently on the lips.
"It doesn't matter what school you're sent to," he said firmly. "We can still be together."
"Kyle..." She looked heartbroken.
"We can! We can write, and email, and use IM— I'll call myself Kylie, they'll never know! I can break into the place to see you; my Black Ops gear doesn't fit anymore, but I can get new—"
"Kyle! Stop." Tears were streaming down Rebecca's face. "We can't."
"We can!"
"This is insane!" she blurted out, before wiping her eyes. "There's no way we can keep our relationship going when everyone is making it so difficult."
"Hey, come on. We're not exactly the first people who've been in love against the odds; Romeo and Juliet, Catherine and Heathcliffe, Hester and Dimmingsdale..."
"Kyle, all of those people ended up dead! And I'd argue that the first two don't count due to Romeo being in love with the idea of love and Heathcliffe being destructive and... that isn't the point."
Kyle felt the very air around him had suddenly left the room. "You... You're saying you don't love me?"
"Of course I love you, you idiot! That's precisely why I won't stand by and let you waste your life trying to keep our relationship going." This time, she cupped his face in her warm, delicate hands. "I couldn't stand it, I just couldn't. The past two and a half months have been wonderful, and I don't want to see it end in stolen moments and bitter recriminations because we simply don't have the freedom to be together." She sighed. "You had a life before me, a very full one. Please, go back to it and remember what we had fondly."
She leant forward to kiss him; Kyle turned away. Instead, she took his hand and kissed it.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Kyle."
She ran towards the door, and Kyle instantly felt like a jackass. He ran after her and grabbed her arm.
"Rebecca, wait," he said, turning her around and kissing her hard on the lips. She responded eagerly, threading her fingers through his hair.
"If you want me to remember the good times, I want you to remember this, and not me being all pissed about it ending." he insisted, pressing kisses over any bare flesh he could find. "I want you to remember our first date, all the chess games, the sneaky moments we spent outside your school, the way we beat 'Time Crisis II' in the arcades and were idolised by all those ten year olds." He looked up and raised an eyebrow, staring deep into her tear-filled eyes while trying to stop his from flowing. "And every night, when you're alone, I want you to remember how you screamed my name in your kitchen." He whispered the last part against her ear and felt desire and pain in equal measure when she sighed against him. She blinked, and her tears splashed between her lashes and spilled across her face.
"I'll miss you," she whispered, before turning on her heel and fleeing the room, letting go of his hand at the last possible moment. He heard her sob loudly as she ran along the corridor; if someone had gone up to him and stabbed him in the gut right then, he'd have barely felt it in comparison to the agony that had made him feel.
Suddenly, he heard loud crashes and yells.
"Ow! You crazy... I think it's broken!"
"That's nothing; if my son isn't well enough to be discharged today, there won't be enough of you left to fill a crock pot!"
Kyle stepped over to the door and closed it quietly. Then he climbed onto the bed, hugged his knees to his chest and cried as though his very organs had been ripped out of his body and liquefied.
Stan stared under the hood of Kenny's dad's old pick-up truck, wrench in hand, but could see nothing but rust, metal and plastic. He didn't know how cars worked any more than he understood ballet.
"It's cool, Stan. Just do what I tell you." Kenny seemed very solemn since he'd come back from his and Cartman's road trip. Stan was expecting stories of big titted women and crazy adventures, but Kenny hadn't so much as quipped about Cartman's weight. He hadn't seen Cartman at all.
In all honesty, Stan was more worried about Kyle. He and his family had returned from New York last week, but Stan hadn't heard anything from him; he only knew they were back because Kyle's mom was drinking coffee in his mother's kitchen that day when he got back from playing football.
"I just don't know what to do, Sharon. I've never seen him like this."
"Oh, Sheila, he'll be fine. Boys are surprisingly resilient when it comes to this sort of thing."
"Really? Because you didn't see him when it happened. He looked like he'd been shot. He wouldn't eat for two days — and I know that pancreatic transplant has done wonders for his diabetes, but I was so terrified I nearly called the hospital to get him an IV."
Stan had hovered near the kitchen door on the pretext of getting a soda, but all they had talked about afterwards was how Kyle's aunt was putting on weight and bossing his cousin about again. He waited to hear from Kyle, but there was radio silence. He even tried to phone him, but the phone just rang out for ages until it finally prompted him to leave a voicemail.
"Relax, Stan. Your boyfriend's coming over in a bit," Kenny teased, though his expression suggested it had taken him great effort to even manage that. "Now, just undo that bolt there."
Stan did as he was told; it took him two hands and several grunts of effort before the thing even loosened.
"Okay, now pull that out and replace it with this." Kenny handed him a tubular piece of rubber that looked much like the one under the hood, only cleaner and less oily.
"Sure." He looked at how far he was going to have to reach under the hood, and peeled his t-shirt off before he began. Delving into the bowels of the truck, Stan felt for the tubing and managed to replace it, covering himself with grease and rust particles in the process. He sloppily wiped himself off with a nearby rag as best he could, but was pretty sure he'd only succeeded in spreading the grease around.
They worked in relative silence — punctuated only with Kenny's instructions — until Stan heard the patter of feet behind him. He turned around and saw Karen, Kenny's undeniably adorable little sister. He'd have happily picked her up and cuddled her, even at twelve, but she only let two guys beside her father do that. Besides, Stan could see she was starting to show signs of hitting puberty; budding breasts were beginning to show through her dress and she was starting to get a little clumsy. It wouldn't be long before she was chasing after boys and finding her brother's indulgent attention embarrassing; Stan shuddered to think how Kenny would deal with that. He was so overprotective that he made Kyle look relaxed as a big brother.
She stared shyly at them. "What are you doing?" she asked, making a beeline for Kenny and feeling for his hand. He stopped what he was doing and gave her a bear hug.
"We're fixing up the truck," he said. "We're going for a ride."
"Can I come?"
Kenny scratched the back of his head. "Umm, it's kind of a guy thing."
Karen looked disappointed.
"But we'll do something when I get back, okay?" Kenny insisted, and she seemed to brighten at this.
"Hey, Karen," Stan offered, and saw her glance briefly up at him, then turn bright red and stare at the floor.
"Hi, Stan," she whispered, looking up occasionally as though daring herself to. Every time, she turned even redder than Stan thought possible. He was stunned; she couldn't possibly have a crush on him. Then she bit her lip and he felt her eyes lingering over his bare chest. By the time Kenny had muttered, "Put a fucking shirt on, dude," he'd got the memo loud and clear.
Just as he was about to argue to Kenny that he wasn't going to ruin his new 'Colostomy Explosion' band t-shirt just to cool Karen's ardour, Kyle turned up and Karen seemingly abandoned both of them.
"Kyle! You're back! How was New York?"
Stan glanced across at Kyle; fucking hell, what had happened to him? He looked gay, or European; Stan couldn't quite decide. He also appeared even taller than when he'd left and his hair was... well, it appeared to have a semblance of a style. He looked pretty good, actually; which was a relative term for Kyle. Poor guy didn't exactly have that much to work with, looks wise.
Kyle picked up Karen and twirled her around. "Karen! Wow; you've got even taller! You're going to be catching up with me soon."
She jabbed him in the stomach when he put her down. "Yeah, right. Tell me all about New York!"
"It was cool," he said thoughtfully as Karen flung her arms around his waist and clung on as though for dear life. "They've got tons of museums, and subway trains, and I stood in the Statue of Liberty..." He smiled mischievously. "And they've got some place called 'Topshop'?"
"Wow; did you see it? Did you step into it?" Karen appeared awestruck.
"I might have." Kyle pulled something out of his back pack and handed it to her; Stan watched her eyes grow round with excitement.
"Wow! A Topshop bag!"
"Yeah; there's something inside it," Kyle replied, apparently just as baffled as Stan about her excitement over a paper carrier bag. When she finally pulled out some charm bracelets and little nail polishes, she squeezed Kyle even tighter.
"Thank you," she said against his stomach.
"Hey, you'd better have got us two something," Kenny said, walking over and clapping Kyle on the back, only for Kyle to wince. Karen was already waving the bracelets in his face; they dangled off her tiny wrists and rested around her knuckles.
"Very nice," Kenny said indulgently. "Why don't you show Stan?"
This seemed to terrify Karen, and instead she buried her head against Kyle's stomach. Stan could see Kenny was trying not to laugh.
Eventually Karen let go of Kyle and followed Kenny back to the truck, giving Stan a chance to give his best friend a big welcome back hug.
"Hey, dude," he said. "How are you?"
"Hey," Kyle replied, hugging him back. Stan noticed he didn't answer his question.
"What happened to you?" Stan asked, gesturing for the top of Kyle's head to his feet.
Kyle shrugged. "Girls shopped for me." He adjusted his pants. "They felt a bit weird at first, but I'm kind of used to it now."
"I like your hair," Karen pointed out. "It's all curly on top."
"Thanks."
"So, come on, dude. What did you get up to? I mean, that I don't already know."
Kyle seemed to pale at this. "Look, Stan. I'm still kind of raw about it all. Me and Rebecca—"
He stopped suddenly; Stan glanced around and saw Cartman reach them, wearing an uncharacteristic baseball cap.
"Sup, bitches." He stopped and stared at Kyle. Then he burst into hysterical laughter.
Kyle folded his arms. "Come on, lardass. Get it out of your system."
"You look so fucking gay! I didn't realise that spending three months in Queens was going to make you one!" He started rolling on the floor, tears of laughter streaking his face. Kyle rolled his eyes.
Eventually he calmed down and glanced at Karen. "Hey there... Ooh; you've got some mossies — took you long enough." He patted his chest to make his point even clearer. Karen appeared mortified, and hastily wrapped her arms over her chest.
"Cartman." Kenny's tone was dangerous.
Kyle knelt down and looked Karen in the eye. "Just ignore him," he said, gently prising Karen's arms away from her chest. "He just thinks he's all that because he's got the second biggest pair of tits in our grade."
"Oi! Fuck you, you fucking Jew!" Cartman retorted, while Karen giggled hysterically.
"Like you know anything about tits," Cartman grumbled. "Just because R... R... eb.. b... b... bec... c... ca was dumb enough to let you anywhere near—"
The switch in Kyle's temperament was dizzying; Stan barely had time to react before Kyle had wrestled Cartman to the floor and punched him twice in the gut.
"Dude, calm down!" It took all of Stan's strength to pull Kyle off Cartman before he smashed his face in. Kenny was swiftly trying to drag Cartman out of harm's way.
"Go Kyle!" Karen cheered.
"Karen, don't encourage them," Kenny begged.
"Come on, man. It's okay," Stan soothed, wrapping his arms around a seething Kyle and holding him until he could feel his heart rate drop.
"So, where are we going, Kenny?" Kyle asked eventually, his rage at Cartman apparently forgotten.
"Down to San Isabel," he said. "There's a place round there I want to put it."
Kyle and Stan went over to the back of the truck. Kenny removed the tarpaulin and showed them a small sapling in a plastic pot.
"It's all I could afford," he said quietly. Stan patted him on the back.
"She'll love it, dude."
"Yeah," Kyle agreed sombrely.
"Can I see?" Karen asked, standing on her tiptoes and trying to peer over their shoulders. Stan turned around, put his hands on her waist and hoisted her up.
"Better?" he asked.
"Thanks," she croaked. He held her up until she grabbed his arm with trembling hands and motioned to the floor. Awkwardly, he tried to put her down without dropping her; she clung to him for support. Once she was down, Stan could see her beetroot red face as she backed away.
"I... I need to go to the bathroom," she stammered, dashing away.
Cartman smirked. "Sure that's what you're feeling?" he called after her.
"Cartman!" Kyle was glaring at him.
"What? It's not my fault she's got her little panties all drenched over St—"
Kenny responded by slamming a monkey wrench hard into Cartman's balls. He dropped to the floor like a ton of bricks and screamed.
"Fuck you, Kenny!" he gasped out, tears of agony pouring down his cheeks. For the first time since he'd seen him, Kyle was actually smiling. Then Cartman's baseball hat fell off, and Kyle erupted into laughter.
Stan soon saw why; on Cartman's forehead, the words 'I'm a fat fucking pervert!' were printed across his forehead in what looked like black marker pen.
"Dude! What the hell happened?" Stan asked. Cartman glared at him.
"Some jealous bitch in Boulder, what of it?" he replied sullenly.
"Won't it wash off?" Kyle asked innocently, biting his lip in an obvious — and poor — attempt to cover up his giggles.
"Of course, Kyle; I've just kept it as a fond reminder of my travels, you idiot Jew!"
Kenny slammed the hood of the truck down. "Ready?" he asked.
Soon enough, they had all clambered into the car — Cartman had called shotgun; Kyle and Stan sat in the back seat — and were on their way to... well, wherever Kenny was taking them; San Isabel wasn't exactly a small national park.
"Jesus fucking Christ; haven't we seen enough trees, Kenny?" Cartman complained.
"Shut up," Kenny replied tersely as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"Cartman! Just shut the hell up and let Kenny do his thing. He lost someone really important to him; he needs to say goodbye," Kyle snapped, staring out of the window as he spoke. Stan soon realised from the tone of his voice that Kyle seemed to empathise.
"Dude," he whispered over the rattle of the engine. "Talk to me. What happ—"
Kyle shook his head and raised his palm. Stan understood; it wasn't a refusal to talk, it was a refusal to talk now. He'd go home with him later and let Kyle pour his heart out; Stan could see it must be aching trapped inside his ribcage. For the moment, Stan squeezed Kyle's hand in a gesture of comfort; he felt Kyle squeeze it right back.
"Christ, you two can go and make out later; quit being faggy back there and listen! Kenny might have spent our entire trip helping homeless people or some shit, but some of us actually have some pretty sweet stories. Like, there was this one time I met this girl in a diner with really jiggly titties..."
Three and a half clearly embellished stories about Cartman going back to girls' houses later, and Kenny parked the truck near some waterfall. They got out and carried the sapling and a shovel down to a clearing nearby. Stan looked around at the smooth pale rocks, the trickling water and the lush green forest, and decided Kenny had picked a pretty good spot.
They watched as Kenny quietly dug a hole and dropped the sapling in it, tenderly patting the soil around it as though he were burying a sacred artefact. He poured a little water on it, then stepped back and admired his handiwork.
"Kenny, are you nearly done? I'm sweating my balls off here!" Cartman moaned.
Kenny gestured for them to join him.
"Now, we sing," he said.
Cartman looked horrified. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no! No way am I singing that shitty song."
"Cartman! Kenny's looking for closure. Be a fucking friend and sing!" Kyle yelled at him.
"Why can't he be a fucking friend and stop asking me to sing drivel?"
Kenny glared murderously at Cartman and grabbed the collar of his t-shirt. "You will sing the song and you will fucking like it!" he ground out.
"Okay, okay, calm the fuck down, Kenny." Cartman looked genuinely terrified.
They all looked at each other and waiting for Kenny to start them off; Stan couldn't help but feel a little stupid standing in a clearing off Route 291 ready to serenade a tree, but it was what Kenny needed.
"I sit and wait,
Does an angel contemplate my fate,
And do they know,
The places where we go
When we're grey and old,
'Cause I have been told
That salvation lets their wings unfold," Kenny sang.
They all joined in uncertainly. "So when I'm lying in my bed,
Thoughts running through my head,
And I feel the love is dead,
I'm loving angels instead.
And through it all she offers me protection,
A lot of love and affection,
Whether I'm right or wrong.
And down the waterfall
Where—"
Suddenly, Stan heard a rumble; before he knew it, a pile of rocks crashed through the forest and crushed Kenny before he could even shout 'landslip!'
"Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"
"You bastards! He was trying to grieve!" Kyle yelled up into the sky. "He was just trying to grieve!"
Cartman sighed, stepped over the blood spattered rocks and grabbed the shovel.
"You guys might want to think up some more songs," he said as he dug a hole next to the sapling. "This could take me some time."