Work Text:
Dear Kyle,
I'm choking. But I've been dying inside for years now, so I just wanted to get this off my chest and say goodbye, I guess. I bought three bottles of sleeping pills, and I've downed them all. It's weird; it's a different kind of high. I wouldn't recommend it.
I've been having the craziest dreams before I started taking sleeping pills. Dreams of you, Kyle, and they persist into my waking hours even when I do. I've become obsessed for some reason, and I couldn't accept it.
You must be wondering what I'm telling you for, but for what it's worth, I'll tell you a secret.
You were a good friend to me
You are my stability
I lo
NEVER MIND!
A large blotch of blurry ink blocked out the small paragraph following this. It was written in pencil, a stupid object to be writing such a letter with. Kyle got the feeling Cartman wanted to be done with this letter at that point, but kept writing in his frenzied state.
This is stupid. I'm scared. You probably won't read this anyway. I hope you do
I looked up to you, and I got nothing but spite in return. I'm sorry for coming off like a jerk all the time. I value your friendship if that means anything to you. Thanks for putting up with me, but I've had it.
You're too perfect, even for me, okay?
Everyone I know leaves me at some point. My dad did, and probably didn't even know I existed. My mom will. Soon, I think; she's never even there anyway. Stan and Kenny have. You will too, won't you? Everyone is so ashamed of me, and I know why. I can't help it. I'm crazy, so shut up and give me this last thing. Just read this, please, and I'll never bother you again. I hope you're happy now.
You're too good to me, you pay attention to me no matter what shit I bring up. Sometimes I can imagine you can stand being next to me, following along with whatever scheme I have at the moment. Sometimes I wish those days would last forever. But Stan comes along, disillusions you; everything is about you.
Did you ever stop to think that YOU were the selfish one?
I never broke our tradition. Insulting you was the only thing I knew. I mean, you wouldn't trust me to be...nice, right? Who are we kidding... Because change is so volatile, it would backfire if I tried anything different. I was afraid of losing what little we had in common.
The words just stopped there—well, there was a long crooked line from the period to the end of the page. Cartman had taken the pills beforehand, and that moment must've been when it took effect. Kyle felt the void in his chest burn out all his emotions but dread, and he tried to gulp down the growing lump in his throat.
More blotches of blurry ink appeared on the page; he realized he was crying over the letter. If any part of this were true, then he could breathe in relief, because that meant there was a heart somewhere under all of Cartman's blubber. If any part of this were true, then that meant all his nagging weren't lost on him; maybe the fat boy listened to him after all.
Liane left, following the doctor, as they discussed that this was a coma, that Eric can be treated, and they had hopes of recovery. But, "three bottles of sleeping pills were more than enough for an overdose," said the doctor, "this was intentional, and we should probably leave him alone."
Kyle scrunched up the letter in anger and almost gave them a piece of his mind, if he hadn't caught himself, thinking in Stan's words, "You sound just like Cartman."
In the meantime, there was little to do in this hospital room. He recalled how startled he had been when Principal Victoria herself poked her head into the classroom and asked him to meet Eric's mother in her office. Both women had looked distressed as he sat in front of them, clueless. Kyle didn't understand a word of their anxious talking, until Liane, who was crying ceaselessly, handed him a folded letter she found under Eric's pillow, from which he never roused. Instantly Kyle was excused from class and they drove to the hospital where an unconscious lump was covered in white linen in a cramped, square room.
All color left Kyle, but luckily his knees didn't give out. He had always thought the fatass was depressed and/or psychotic in some way, and he was taking out his issues on everyone else. He almost felt sorry for him. No one deserved to feel pushed to the brink of suicide like that. Not even Cartman, the embodiment of all that was evil and self-serving.
But there was no use denying it, and there was no way to clarify further, which left Kyle's mood to darken along with the sky. He thought Stan would come see where he was, but Stan remained absent, and so did Kenny.
He tried to imagine Cartman as he wrote the letter. It was pretty stupid of him to simply cross out the bits he didn't want Kyle to see, because he could read them anyway. Then the enigmatic blotches showed that Cartman was crying. Him, crying? Gold! Rare. Not impossible. Kyle had only witnessed crocodile tears from him previously. Now knowing this made him confused, concerned, scared. Mostly scared. Kyle fancied that this letter was conceived in the dim light of his room—no, more like the basement, yeah—with that silly green stuffed frog he seemed to cling to for comfort. Hell, Kyle didn't know he was aware of the fact, but now that he thought of it, he knew Cartman a lot. He didn't want to. But they had been less 'enemies' and more 'neutral' peers lately, at least.
Maybe that was what encouraged Cartman to write this.
But it was all for naught. Unlike Kenny, Cartman wasn't going to come back if he died. Kyle stood up and paced around the room, waiting for Liane or his mother to come pick him up, as it was now approaching six in the evening. He fidgeted with his gloves, wanting something useful to do while he waited with the unconscious boy, lest he went insane staring at the lifeless face of that whom he thought he hated for hours more. But that wasn't true anymore. With what Cartman wrote in that letter, it was like a thorn was removed from his side. It wasn't his Jewishness or his red hair or his intellect that threatened Cartman, it was...friendship? Kyle couldn't bring himself to believe it, but he was bound by the letter to do so.
He could almost chuckle at how stupid he was being, how bent up he was over this confession of sorts. In a suicide letter of all things! He swallowed the cry that wanted so badly to escape his lips. He sat back down and poked the soft, rotund arm that was closer to him. Poke, poke. He tried to make believe that this was all another prank. Poke, poke, poke. He could imagine Cartman's annoying screeching, "Don't touch me, stupid Jew!" if he poked enough times. And he could imagine laughing back at him. If only he would wake up.
Kyle turned over the letter in his hands. Clean. He reached for the drawer and there was a black pen inside, next to a bible and some other junk. He poised to write. But what to say? He looked at the messy crop of brown hair on Cartman's head, thought hard about the eyes hiding behind heavy lids. Despite everything, he didn't hate Cartman. The words suddenly began to pour.
I was afraid of you, and angry, and confused. Because all you were to me was a big pain in the ass, and every time we met was hellish in a way that I don't understand. You were always baiting me, hunting excuses to hurt me, never relenting, for what purpose? I didn't know! I was so mad and I got caught up in everything you did to me, that I didn't stop to consider maybe there was some other reason.
And the reason tore my heart. You didn't have to run away, or hurt yourself. If you had just told me instead, I wouldn't have believed you, but you know I'd be there grudgingly. But it's me being selfish again.
I know this is my fault, and I'm here to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't pay attention, didn't look beyond your exterior. You were as human as any of us. You hurt just like any of us. You loved like any of us.
Maybe more.
Honestly, we had more in common than you thought. I never thought I could ever admit this, but you were an inspiring leader, even if the things you fought for were sometimes downright stupid. But if anyone asks, I tell them, Cartman is a strong-willed, single-minded, intimidating piece of crap I'm proud to call my friend.
No, I'm not ashamed of you, and no, I don't tell people behind your back that you're a terrible person. I respect you.
Kyle paused. Where was this going? He felt pathetic. It was only a coma. He didn't need to write this embarrassing letter for Cartman to use as next quarrel's fuel. Did he want a next fight? Surely, that kind of normalcy was better than this awkward waiting to see if Cartman was going to open his eyes again, or call him a "Jew rat", or some other offensive thing...
The door opened. Kyle looked up rigidly to find his mom approaching him solemnly. "Kyle, let's go home," she said in a low voice. "I'm sorry about your friend."
"He'll be fine, mom," Kyle answered without thinking. "Bad weeds don't die easily," he added, earning a fierce glare from his mom.
But Shiela glanced at Cartman and that shut up her angry remarks. She had to give it to Kyle, who was doing well despite seeing his friend like that. "Let's go, bubbe."
So I'm sending this letter through Kenny. I hope he finds you in more or less good shape. Round is a shape LOL I told him to drag you back to us so I could punch you in the face. I want you to wake up, and tell me straight what you think about me, and I’ll do the same.
You'd better come back, fatass. Don't make me come get you.
END.