Hello, this is my first attempt at this fandom. Been a long time lurker, first time poster. I hope I've done it justice. I LOVE Kyman , they are my absolute FAVE pairing. They are seriously cannon, Cartman is sooo totally gay for Kyle. There are not enough stories with them! So, I thought I'd try to add at least one more to the pile. The sick, twisted side of me especially takes pleasure in the few N/C stories out there, though I do enjoy the angst and drama ones too. Well, I hope you enjoy.

Warning: This story does contain boyxboy N/C, not too graphic. So if you somehow got lost, and clicked on this link expecting to find something else, stick around if you don't mind the previously mentioned. If not, hit that back button and we should all be good.

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How Low

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I can't believe I have to sit here and explain this shit all over to these idiots, again. Wasn't anyone listening the first time? Take any notes moron over in the corner? I know that's your job…

I grumbled under my breath not caring whether or not I'm coming off rude as I look up at the two jackasses in front of me.

"Fine. I'll tell you guys again. Just make sure you pay attention this time. I know it's difficult, what with your tiny little brain spans and all. I'm just saying I'm not repeating myself again fucktards."

They look at me, mouths agape like I've just slapped them in the face. Which, considering the circumstances, would be a little hard to do. But the end result is still satisfying to say the least.

I take a deep breath, glance to my left at the guy with the pen and paper, making sure he does it right this time. Yeah, I know he's on my side, but still. Well, at least he put his goddamn pen to that goddamn paper!

The other dude adjusts the video camera, making sure I'm in its view screen. His hands are visibly shaking as he goes to press the little red button to record. To my surprise, when he catches my stare he practically jumps out of his skin like he's trapped in a room with Hannibal fucking Lecter. Well, I smirk…

Anyhow, lets begin.

I found that I had to close my eyes to do this and it just brought it all back in vivid detail. And, as soon as I opened my mouth to utter my first word, I was there. In that exact moment I was speaking about, reliving it.

There were no longer two assholes staring at me in an ass small room and a stiff chair. But soft, fresh snow crunching beneath my shoes as I walked determined through the cold night air. Everyone was asleep and all was quiet except for my crunching footsteps making their way to their destination.

---

I didn't know what had come over me recently, but lately I've just had this constant hard on for that asshole Kyle.

I'm not sure how the hell this happened. All I knew was that recently every time I got him riled up, well, he got me riled up too. In a good way, if you catch my drift.

We're seniors now, big men on campus. And of course I exploit it in all ways possible. Those little frosh are my puppets, they do anything I say out of fear, and I am legendary.

Well, I say that at least. Kyle always just laughs at me with that gorgeous, carefree smile of his that's permanently been burned into my brain. He finishes laughing, wipes exaggerated tears from his eyes and continues. That stunning, playful grin still fixed on his flawless face as he tells me how I am just an ego-centric, delusional, sociopath that is so conceited that I would actually dare to think I was any sort of legend in our small, insignificant, mountain town.

I mean, I'm Eric fucking Cartman for god sake. Have you not gotten this yet?

Yeah the four of us are still together, good times. Though you would think that Kyle and Stan where attached at the fucking hip the way they are always and have always been together. In a purely platonic way of course (though I secretly believe Kyle will always hold a torch for Stan), Stan has had his good ol' ball and chain Wendy dragging his ass down since 8th grade. Hippie bitch.

Oh, and Kenny, on a completely unrelated topic. But the dudes my best bud, in a way that 'Oh, Stan and Kyle are gonna keep ditching us? Wanna hang out? Sure' kind of way.

Yeah, left over friendship, fine by both of us. The whole concept of BFF's are overrated anyways.

Anyways. Kenny's exactly as we'd all imagined he'd grow up. He's a total slut, and he knows it and loves it. All the girls (and some of the guys) get that dreamy expression as their eyes glaze over when he walks down the hall sizing them up. He totally eats all the attention up. He's such a manwhore.

He swings both ways and doesn't care what anyone thinks (though he's strictly a top… the fact that I even know that and what it means, makes me want to blow my own brains out just to get rid of the image). Though, it's Kenny, so everybody kind of knew it was a given. So, therefore I'm blaming Kenny and his damned casual conversation's of which SP boys he'd "do". Thanks Kenny, you're such a pal.

Now Kyle, well Kyle is a different story. That pussy is always busy with one thing or another that he claims he doesn't have time for relationships, but he's never been with anyone. Let alone shown any sort of typical teenage male behavior. If I hadn't seen his "fireman" when we were kids sharing a shower room, I'd have sworn he was a eunuch!

That's why I've deduced that he's up for grabs, and I call dibs. And I generally like to get what I want. That's pretty much how I function. I think that's what made me start to notice him in a 'more than friend' way. The fact that he didn't want anything, made me want everything.

Plus, yeah. Okay, I'll admit that I find him somewhat attractive, (he's fucking hot, ok? Damn him and his tight little track ass). I think during all those years of our constant arguing and fighting he kind of grew on me. That's why it was so much fucking fun. I loved getting him to that breaking point, just so I could laugh in his face and run to the nearest private space to jerk off to that face that's specifically mine. The one that's reserved especially for me and our notorious arguments.

He didn't know it, but I had been sneaking into his room for the past week and a half. Eye raping him at school just wasn't enough anymore. So, now I convinced myself that if I just watched him while he slept, I would be satisfied. And, okay, so I jerked off too but I was going to explode if I didn't do anything about it. The fucking boner in my pants seemed to grow every fucking time he made the slightest of movements, let out the slightest of moans.

Such a tease.

---

I just opened the front door. Windows are for pussies. Besides, the stupid Jew leaves his front door unlocked when his parents are out of town. More convenient for his "super best friend" to come over whenever something goes bump in the night, and he needs his butt buddy to cuddle up to. Though, Stan never actually uses it. I know for a fact that he likes to crawl up the tree and rap on Kyle's window like he's fucking Romeo; I've seen him do it before. Fag.

I know he'd leave it unlocked all the time if it was up to him, but mom and dad tell him how he should never do such a thing because of all the monsters in the world.

Aw, looks like they were right.

As soon as I enter the door I instantly run into something. "Shit! Get off me!" I yell out in a harsh whisper, fighting with the object before I manage to disentangle myself from it.

It goes down with a dull thud.

Ha! It's just a dumb coat rack. Oh, um… No one saw that.

I hop over it and head up the stairs, screw subtleties. If he were going to wake up, he would've rushed down the stairs a minute ago and witnessed my epic battle with the family coat rack.

---

So, now I'm in his room. Awesome.

I always just want to reach out and touch him. Run my fingers through his soft, fiery curls. But I always manage to restrain myself, though for some reason tonight I just couldn't help myself and I found my hand moving of it's own accord slowly over Kyle's sleeping form.

His sheets had been kicked off some time ago and the only things keeping him warm were his flannel pajama pants and thin shirt.

I started slowly at his calf and moved upward, ghosting softly along the curves. A smile was creeping along my face as I got inches away from my friend's package.

Oh, this is so sweet.

Goal!

Hmm… Ok, well it's there and to be honest I'm not really sure what I want to do, its just so ohhh… there. And was that a moan I just heard?

I manage to get my hand down my own pants and get to work. My other hand still firmly on Kyle's crotch. Maybe a little to firmly because I like, just got a rhythm going when I felt him go stiff beneath me, and not in a good way.

I look down to see a pair of wide, frightened eyes glowing in the dark, staring straight up at me and in an instant everything's gone to shit.

---

Before he could even get a word out, my hand flew quicker than fuck out of my pants and over his mouth, and for some reason the other still stayed firmly planted on his covered pecker.

Now he started struggling, oh if he only knew that was only turning me on more. Fine, I guess I'll let him speak…

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU MOTHER FUCKER! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! LET ME THE FUCK GO GODDAMMIT!"

Feisty.

And actually I just couldn't help myself, but I just had to laugh.

"Cartman?" Came his timid query from the dark. That was fast.

"Yeah. You've got a filthy mouth, you know that?"

I really didn't see it coming, otherwise I would've moved out of the way. But, out of nowhere his fist comes flying at me and hits me squaw in the jaw.

Godamn Jew playing dirty! I'll just have to fix that, and in one fluid move I've got both his hands pinned above his head.

"Ow, Cartman! Quit it! What the fuck's your problem?"

"Are you going to behave now?" I ask him, trying my best to resist the urge to knee him in the nuts.

"What the fuck are you talking about Cartman? Get the fuck out of my bed, and the fuck out of my house for that matter."

He stares up at me with such a straight and serious face that I had forgot that this was Kyle that I was dealing with and I couldn't possibly be serious.

"No, I don't think I'm going to do that." Simple, clean, effective.

Now he just looks confused, isn't that just adorable?

"So, what d-do you want." Oh, I think the seriousness of the situation might be sinking in.

"Well, I want you." Cliché, I know, but I couldn't come up with anything more eloquent at the moment.

Now it was his turn to laugh. And I'll be honest; I didn't see that coming either. But he's just laying there laughing it up at my expense. Well, I'll just have to shut him the fuck up.

I jerked one of his arms I was holding above his head quickly to an odd angle and kept going till I saw his face twist in pain and his voice gasp out in agony.

"Cartman, stop! Dude, your fucking hurting me!" He was straining to keep his voice steady. "Let go dammit! Your going to fucking break it, stop! Shit!"

I was tired of his pussy little whining, so I stopped. But I didn't let go.

"Shit! Fuck! Cartman, what the hell was that for you asshole?"

"You were laughing at me."

"Yeah, so. Since when is that anything new." He managed to crack a grin even though I could tell he was still in pain from before. "'Sides, you weren't serious were you?"

"As matter of fact I was. And you interrupted me." I smirked down at him; his legs were separated by my knee resting snugly in between them, the other closer to his left hip.

I ground my still throbbing groin into his thigh and that did the trick. He quickly jerked back, head smacking against his headboard.

"Shit! Jesus Christ Cartman!" He was bucking himself beneath me. Oh, if only he knew. "Get the fuck off me. This shit wasn't funny when we were kids and it sure as hell isn't funny now. Besides, I thought you got over yourself."

I let out a snort, but let him continue with his rant… yeah, we both "changed" so much.

"You haven't done any of your immature shit in a while, since we started high school as a matter of fact. Finally got a taste of your own goddamned medicine if you ask me."

He squirmed beneath me, not trying to free himself anymore I could tell, just trying to find a more comfortable position in which to lecture me. Resistance is futile.

"And now, here, just what are you playing at? Fucking molesting me while I sleep?! I didn't know you swung that way?" He was grinning as he continued on with his angry outburst. "And, for the love of Moses, what the hell was on your hand?! That was foul you asshole! You know what," he saw me open my mouth but kept on, "don't tell me, 'cause I think I know and I'd rather you not confirm it."

Oh. My. God. He needs to shut the hell up. He could literally go on for hours. He's in debate, so one time I decided I'd go stalk him at a match and I was so bored. I'd almost given up on him then. Almost.

So, when I see he's about to start up again, I abruptly cut him off.

"Geeze Kyle, your acting like a whiny little bitch. You've been hanging out with Stan to much."

His face-hardens at that, "Yeah well, your still an asshole and theirs no one to blame for that, so here we are." He's paused… "Dude, what the fuck? Stop that."

His expression is hilarious, though I don't know why he's looking up at me like I sprouted antennas or something. "What?"

"Dude, you're humping my leg."

Oh. I look down.

Well look at that. I am humping his leg like a fucking dog. Ok, that's enough of that; I'm better than this.

It takes slightly more willpower than I had initially thought to control my urges, but I'm successful. And I'm left staring down, and into his gorgeous eyes. His gorgeous, wide and frightened green eyes.

And I'm left mesmerized…for about a minute.

It came over me so suddenly. This urge to just fuck him right here and now. And, I'll have you know that this was never my original intention. I was just gonna watch, remember? But now I just couldn't help myself. He was right here! I had him!

In a manner of speaking anyways.

So, in a moment of weakness (or passion, as I'd prefer) I went for it.

The knee that I had resting so comfortably between his thighs was quickly lifted up and to the right, and in a flash I was yanking his flannels and boxer briefs down to his shins. Now he was thrashing beneath me, arms flailing, legs kicking.

"So the carpet does match the drapes." Lame, I know. I'm so bad.

"CARTMAN! DON'T YOU DARE… YOU MOTHER FUCKER! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME GOD DAMMIT! SHIT! NO! YOU BASTARD! THE FUCK, STOP IT!"

It didn't help that my linebacker-toned physique had a hundred pounds or so on his lithe frame. He was bound and determined to gain control of the situation with no avail.

Ow. Shit. Little fucker needs to cut his nails. Ow, ok enough of this. I unbuttoned my fly, revealing my pulsating junk in all its glory. It's thicker than I remember, maybe something to do with the 'heat of the moment', but whatever.

Now Kyle's wide-eyed expression and anger fueled cries are stopped, momentarily filled with nothing but pure terror. He quickly snaps out of it and is back to thrashing beneath me, picking up the obscenities right where he left off. His nails catching more skin than I like. It's stinging, but it's more annoying than anything.

So, screw formalities. It's now or never.

I skip the prep work cause I don't really have the time for that, obviously. Now I knew it'd hurt like a bitch for Kyle, but damn, he's yelling bloody murder right now that I can't even concentrate on what I'm doing.

I clamp my one hand over his mouth, muffling his cries while I try and reposition myself. I finally get comfortable and I notice Kyle's shouting has turned into painful moaning into my hand, and now it sounds like he's chocking as well. I look down at him and he has his eyes clamped shut, tears leaking out the sides. He's worked himself up so much that he's physically chocking himself; without my help. So, being somewhat sympathetic, I raise my hand just an inch above his face and watch him take in huge gulps of air to satisfy his aching lungs.

"Kyle, you need to calm down. You're making this much more difficult than it needs to be." I'm thrusting quickly, erratically. Not caring much to go at a slower pace for his benefit. I like this fast and hard sort of rhythm I've got going. The sadistic side of me is enjoying this way too much that for the moment, I'm completely oblivious to his level of discomfort. I continue like this, hearing his head smack against the headboard a few more times with a satisfying thud. Skin slapping against skin hard enough to bruise. My hand is absentmindedly snaking it way around his throat and starting to squeeze.

Everything around me went silent as I watched with this sort of glazed over morbid curiosity as his eyes started to go wide then flutter. As his mouth parted itself in an imitation of breathing, sucking in air that was never going to reach his lungs. It's not until his eyes start to go unfocused and the color on his face go from bright red to purple and now a slight bluish, that I released my grasp around his neck. Sound came flooding back to me in an instant as his gasping and crying reaches my ears and I'm momentarily pulled out of my rhythm to glance down and actually see the pained expression on his face and can tell that it hurts. A lot.

He's biting his lip, still breathing heavily, and trying to get back to a normal pace. His eyebrows knitted together as beads of sweat begin to collect together on his forehead. His lower lip is quivering slightly now that he's stopped biting it so fiercely, parting his lips quickly to release the most disturbing noise ever.

Now, ordinarily I can ignore things or hear only what I choose to. But, there was no mistaking this pain laced moan from Kyle for pleasure. Weak.

Jesus. He's totally killing the mood. And I'm not even being that rough. His breath keep's hitching in his throat as he tries to hold back grunts of pain.

You'd think I was killing him.

Sheesh. Ok. That's it. I rolled my eyes and pushed my bangs out of my eyes, catching a brief glance down at his stiffened member. I can't help but let a small chuckle escape. Oh, biology, you twisted bitch.

While I'm lost in a mini trance, Kyle's moved just barely an inch, and I spot something that makes even me cringe.

There, in all its unholy glory – blood.

That did the trick. It snapped me back into what little empathy I had left and I stopped. I'm actually disgusted by it. I couldn't believe myself either, but damn, I didn't realize I'd feel this conflicted over a little (non) consensual sex. I guess there was a little humanity lurking inside of me. Sneaky bastard, I thought I had squashed all of it out by the third grade.

I stopped, pulled out, wiped myself off on his sheet and stuffed myself back inside and just sat there wondering what to do now, all but twiddling my thumbs…

Kyle seizes this opportunity and shakily pushes himself up on unsteady limbs. He's abnormally pale and he's staring at me with these red and swollen eyes. Nothing but complete and utter malice behind them. The handprint around his neck is practically glowing in the dark and screaming at me accusingly.

I try not to stare as he clumsily yanks up his bottoms. Now we're just sitting here on his bed, neither one of us daring to say anything as we continue to try and regulate our own breathing. Awkward.

Oh. I guess he thinks that minute or so was enough time to efficiently regain his composure because he has his trembling arms up as his weak hands attempt to strangle me to no avail.

"I'LL FUCKING… KILL…YOU…" He manages to choke out giving up on the half assed murder attempt, which felt more or less like a weak massage… He could have kept going, really. But now he's picking up steam and hitting me with balled up fists of fury. I can tell he's getting some of his strength back as that fire is lit behind his eyes once again.

He knew it too and attempted to squeeze the life out of me again. Well, that's enough of that. "Well," I forcefully pry him off of me, stand up, and make a saluting gesture to lighten the mood, "I must be going." Only I could rape someone and make a joke afterwards, like it was no big deal.

I'm only one foot away from the bed when he leaps from it and jumps onto my back. He's wrapping his arms and legs tightly around me, getting tighter by the second. The bastard's trying to choke me. And dammit he's actually somewhat successful. I can feel my face redden, as my head gets dizzier while he grips tighter around my windpipe.

I'm trying to wriggle him of off me. Swaying my body forcefully one way and another. I unknowingly backed myself into his doorframe and I heard him grunt out in protest, momentarily loosening his hold. So I took this opportunity and began ramming my back, Kyle still attached, into that blessed frame. And, after several or so attempts he reluctantly let go.

Now we were back to panting. Again. Him, staring at me with those accusing, murderous green eyes. And I can tell he honest to god wants to kill me, and I get it; but hell if I'm going down without a fight.

"Come on Kyle. Really, you need to calm down." Whoa, déjà vu. I was holding my hands out in sign of defense, but this gesture was lost on him.

"No, fatass. You. Need. To. Die. You selfish son of a bitch!" His furious battle cry shot out at the top of his lungs. He's hysterical! He practically flew out toward me while I simultaneously tried to roll out of the way. The impact sent us tumbling out into the hall clawing at each other, him for blood; me, to get the crazy fucker off.

We're still rolling around, testosterone high, tempers flaring, neither of us paying attention to where exactly we were headed. I think I just hit a rail or something. I immediately put one and two together while fighting off my attacker, and as realization set in my eyes widened in horror.

I was teetering on the edge of the stairs, "Kyle, wait…" was the last thing I said before he pushed forward, sending us both tumbling down the stairs full force.

---

Ow. Fuck… Oh, I guess I blacked out.

I'm blinking in the darkness, trying to re-gather my thoughts and figure out the situation. Well, I'm alive. Kyle didn't take this opportunity to smother me? "Kyle?" I slowly get up, my head dizzy and throbbing. "Helloooo?" I let my voice trail off into the darkness of his home. Where the hell could he have gone?

As I move to get up, my hand brushes against something. It's soft and still… Kyle.

---

I focus my eyes on him now that they've adjusted to the moonlight filtering itself thorough the open spaces of his home, my breath hitches in my throat and I'm momentarily mesmerized by the image before me.

Kyle looks like he's sleeping, body still and slack beside me. Eyes and mouth shut, lower lip jutting out slightly. His whole form is completely and eerily peaceful.

He's rolled onto his stomach, head twisted to the right and smashed against the carpet facing me. Left arm up beside his head, resting on the black iron rack. I kneel down beside him and see blood dripping from the iron rod onto his head.

Then it clicks. The coat rack from earlier, and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.

I'm kneeling beside him, taking in his halo of copper curls that are splayed against the carpet that's currently soaking up fresh, vivid blood. My brain is taking in the scene before me and all I can see; all I can focus on is the blood. It's such a bright, brilliant red. I know it shouldn't be that bright but that's how it will forever be burned into my brain.

My mind has distorted and disassociated the whole thing that I'm now currently brushing the bangs out of his face, smearing the blood across his forehead and staining my fingertips.

How did this happen? My mind whispers to me… well obviously he hit his head. Nasty blow to his temple I'd say.

I'm hypnotized by Kyle's slowly cooling figure. I'm simultaneously horrified and fascinated that I can't look away. I run my thumb over his bottom lip slowly before I lean down, placing a chaste kiss on those beautiful lips. I'm such a walking contradiction.

I feel nothing; I'm disconnected, detached… I guess I really am a bastard.

I step over his body and head toward the kitchen. I run my hands under the warm water, watching as the blood runs off fingertips and swirls down the drain until there's nothing left. After patting them dry on the kitchen towel, I step over to the back door. Hand on the handle, I take one last glance into the hallway and see the lovely silhouette in the dark, turn the knob and walk out that door.

Slam.

That sounds louder than I remember.

Slam, and oh…

---

I'm snapped back into my current reality and I hurriedly try and discreetly blink away the moisture from my eyes.

Sorry.

That's what I had meant to say, but I just wasn't able to will my mouth to part that pointless word to him. No use now.

I look up to see the one guy waving his hand in front of me. "Hello???" He slams it down on the table again.

"Oh my god. You're still here? I'm still here?" Crap. This is some horrible nightmare, right?

Yeah, yeah I know. Wishful thinking has never helped anyone. And certainly not me. Ever.

Well, now that I'm brought back into my unfortunate reality, I guess I'll just have to deal with it. "So, you got all that this time, right? The red light's still on, so that's a good sign." I know it's not necessary to be rude, and it's certainly not helping my situation.

I shift in my seat slightly, the cuffs are chaffing my skin and it's more than annoying to say the least. I'm broken out of my pathetic self-loathing when I hear someone clear there throat to get my attention.

"What?" I ask, a bit more forcefully then intended, but whatever. Oh, it was my lawyer, the twitchy guy with the note pad.

"Please state that your confession was voluntary, not coerced into the camera."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. I, Eric Cartman, gave that confession voluntary. Blah, blah, blah." Yes, I know I'm guilty but I can still be an asshole even in the face of death. And I don't even care at this point. I can't believe how out of character I've been these past 72 hours… Fuck me.

---

The police had come the following evening after the err, incident. Guns blazing, doors were broken. It was oh so dramatic. Thank god my mom wasn't home. She was at some whore convention or something. They tackled me out of my bed, pinned me to the ground, roughed me up a bit before forcing the cuffs on me. Damn police brutality!

They made a whole show out of it. Shoving me down my front sidewalk towards the squad car. I was completely apathetic to the whole situation. I wasn't scared and oddly enough I wasn't taking sick sadistic pleasure out of this. How very odd? I think that something inside of me broke that night, but I'm just too afraid to admit this to myself. Cause then I'd be left alone with my thoughts and forced to psychoanalyze myself. Barf.

I remember seeing Stan out of the corner of my eye. His expression was completely devastated. A mixture of anger and sorrow, his fists were balled at his sides as he glared at me with complete revulsion, but the tears mercilessly running down his face gave him away.

---

Two days after I was booked, my good old buddy Kenny came to visit; lucky me.

I could see him down at the end of the hall from my cell in Park County's lock up. He's yelling furiously at the guard who's gone beet red and is looking at Kenny like his heads about to explode from confusion as to why the town's manwhore (that's right Bebe, you skank) is yelling at him like there's no tomorrow (you never want to be one the wrong end of a McCormick yelling match anyways).

The sad sack was probably trying to figure out what he did wrong and, knowing Kenny, it was probably something as small as the moron not clearing him fast enough to go inside.

Of course I was able to tell all this from my askewed view, which also happened to be obscured by annoying bars and a big white door with a little window at the top where I could see the action taking place without actually being able to hear anything. All those years of garbled speak due to a certain orange parka pulled too tight; you learned to know what the guy was saying. It's like some strange (well, not for South Park) telepathic link he has with everyone… That must be how he can get anything that moves to fuck him! That asshole is totally Jedi mind tricking us!

Woah, short attentions span much? Anyways, back to my shitty reality.

He was finally cleared and allowed inside, his casual walk contradicted the hate and anger radiating from his self. This was going to be fun. Kenny stared at me hotly between the bars, his face set and furious. Dirty blonde fringe was obscuring the fire that was obviously burning behind his normally easygoing, honeyed eyes.

Shaking his head to flip the hair out of his eyes, he glared at me. Arms gripping so tightly at the bars had his knuckles turning white as the guard was giving us the eye as if I was in any actually danger of Kenny reaching in and throttling me to death with his bare hands.

Hmm… I unconsciously take a step back and am right back to giving Kenny that bored stare I had resigned my face to making.

Kenny stood there and told me that it was Stan who'd actually found him, Kyle, and how it transpired in surprising detail, silent tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes that neither one of us acknowledged. He yelled at me a lot when he was finished, cussed me out and left, not before stopping to call me a selfish bastard, a monster of course.

Why does everyone keep feeling the need to call me selfish? Has this not been established within these eighteen years of me being in existence? It should be common knowledge by now; no one needs to keep pointing it out to me. It's just adding insult to injury reminding me of the last words Kyle spoke to me, to anyone. "You selfish son of a bitch!" It stung, it really did.

He left with that and I haven't seen him since. As soon as he had left, I completely ignored his angry remarks, rolling them right off my back and pretending they meant nothing to me.

They meant nothing, I am cold, uncaring. Nothing.

I gave them no time to absorb and instead I instantly imagined the scene Kenny described to me and played it out in my head.

---

Stan, stereotypically climbed up the tree and into Kyle's window early that morning to surprise him or some shit, and immediately found his room in a state of disarray. He immediately began to panic. He saw Kyle's bed empty, noticed the blood and turned that sickly shade of green he goes when he's about ready to toss his lunch. He followed the chaos out of the bedroom and into the hall. Stopping at the foot of the stairs and staring in horror at the shocking sight revealed to him at the bottom of the stairs, instantly losing said lunch.

I then imagined him running down the stairs, collapsing by his, Kyle's, side and futilely trying to bring the dead to life. Feebly feeling for a pulse, gingerly touching his face gently to wake him up only to come back with stained fingers, making the whole situation terrifyingly real. The carpet soaking up as much blood as it could, extending out as far as it could go before he'd be completely drained. That furious red liquid that was currently haunting my daydreams.

It didn't help matters much either that I'd been told that he wasn't actually dead yet when I had left him, that by leaving him there, I had actually let him bleed to death. That there was some life left that I could have saved; what kind of life it was, I wasn't sure and didn't care to obsess about it.

I shook my head. The blood was really freaking me out for some reason. I kept seeing his pale, serene face glaring out at me through the darkness, and the vivid, intense blood screaming at me in an angry red act of protest.

I felt the sudden wave of nausea overcome me, but I fought it back down and composed myself.

The officers in the room were saying something to me, but I hadn't been paying attention for the last fifteen minutes, so I don't think I'll start now. Besides, I'm sure they're just telling me what I already know.

Jail. Court. Murder. Life. Death. I catch these words floating in and out of the conversation. Words I already knew. Words I've resigned myself to be completely apathetic to.

And so here I am. Stuck in lock up, waiting for my court date to hear them find me guilty of murder and, I just don't care. This is it, no bullshit, no manipulation, and no scheme. I did it, I'm guilty. They found evidence all over the place; I just can't be bothered with talking my way out of it. It's pretty solid, concrete to be exact.

Like I said, I find my sate of complete and utter indifference confusing, yet oddly relieving. I'm not sure what to make of it, but what I do know is that I am officially legend.

---

I lay back on my cot, stuffing my arms beneath my head. Crossing one leg leisurely atop the other. "Thanks Kyle," I say out loud, feeling that fire finally being lit inside the pit of my stomach again. Suddenly, this strange guttural sound erupted from that pit, quickly evolving into this spine-tingling cackle.

I laugh until I can barely breath and, as I come off that high, my mouth twists into this disconcerting smirk. I close my eyes and focus on Kyle's tranquil face. His beautiful, pale white face stained with vivid red, lying on the floor.

His green eyes suddenly open up and are piercing me to the core. I hold that smirk a few seconds longer before I breathe "Look forward to seeing you in hell." Then I burst out into that maniacal laughter again. With that, I close my eyes and drift off into blissful sleep.

End

Thanks for reading, hope it was all right. I enjoy feedback as much as the next person :) Song below helped inspire; I definitely recommend it.

How low are you willing to go

before you reach all

your selfish goals.

Punch line after punch line

leaving us sore,

leaving us sore.

Absorbed

in your ill hustling

you're feeding a monster,

just feeding a monster.

Invasion

after invasion,

this means war,

this means war.

Someday you'll be up to your knees

in the shit you seed.

All the gullible

that you mislead

won't be up or it.

Where to

will you relocate

now that it's war.

Now that it's war.

How Low - José González