Kyman request- My Only Vice

Kyle's POV

The day hasn't even started and yet I am desperate for it to end. Adding cautiousness to my already fragile state is part of my morning routine, like a pill I must pop to function. Routine? I never live my life through routine, though I long for one. I try and build one but something hits this crazy, redneck town and somehow we get dragged into it. Some people think we want this, but we don't, honest, well I don't...

I like adventure, but then everyone does. They say that too much of one thing can make you detest it, and though I don't protest being the peacemaker I sometimes long for a normal life. I know things that 9 year olds shouldn't know, I have seen things that maybe kids my age shouldn't have seen, I possess the vocabulary of someone 40 years older than me and I also possess the cynicism of a person worn out by life. I have let naivety slip from my fingers, that thought brings me regret but I get comfort in the fact that at least I am not alone. I have three very different characters helping me perform this crazy play.

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There was Kenny, who didn't seem to care that his growing sexuality was snatching his childhood away. In fact, he stood by and watched the snarling monster swallow his boyish innocence whole. Though I never seemed to remember he owned such a thing. I'm not suprised that Kenny is willing to grow up so fast, for death followed Kenny like a shadow, so no one can blame him for living life at a hundred miles per hour.

Then there was Stan, cynicism burning in his weary eyes. He was like a brother to me, super best friends, tied together by common interest and years of shared experiences, that should belong in crazy dreams and nightmares that you'll always remember. We made promises to each other to stay friends throughout the madness, our pinky fingers wrapped tightly together sealed the deal. They were my best friends. A scarred, broken angel, a boy beaten and dogged by cynicism bought on by others, not by himself. Then there was me, the peacemaker tired of picking up the pieces, a messiah tired of leading, a ball of fire that could pack a punch and dished out words filled with wit and insult that could cut you like a knife. In the end, after all the madness, we were tired. Beaten angels, with halos faltering and wings torn, wishing to rest our weary eyes and fall asleep contently.

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Then there was Cartman. Ucckkk... just saying his name makes me sigh and roll my eyes in exasperation before a guilty smile creeps across my face. I've noticed that Stan, Kenny and I have vices. Things that tempt us, lure us in, we come out of it feeling worse about ourselves and then wallow in self pity, there's nothing more satisfying than feeling sorry for yourself. Stan had Wendy, with her jet black mane, intoxicating violet eyes and delicate, fluttering eyelashes.

Kenny had the constant thrill, adrenaline rush of dying over and over. It was like he kept on doing it because he couldn't quite believe it was real. I've been to Kenny's funeral hundreds of times, I even know Father Maxi's speech off by heart and can mouth along to it lazily as my friend's body is lowered into the ground. The next day he could merrily walk to the bus stop, and we wouldn't bat an eyelid as our dead friend sat next to us on the bus.

I, ashamedly, had Cartman. I had Cartman?. The sentence makes my skin crawl. Then that vile sickening thought of owning Cartman pops up in my head and I smile longingly at the sight of seeing Cartman so weak. I didn't have Cartman, no one did, because Cartman owned everybody. Cartman knew everything about you, how to manipulate you, how to bring you to tears and in my case, make you fall for him. I pretend obviously. I pretend to loathe him, to not care what he says, believe every spiteful insult I throw at him.

He just sees a kid who doesn't give a fuck what he says to him, can be very insulting and aggressive when provoked and who are both quite evenly matched. He probably thinks that the only reason I was put on this planet is to give him a challenge. Typical of him to think that the world revovles around him.

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What he doesn't see is the kid whose heart breaks every time he insults him. What he doesn't see is the kid that who is  so paranoid that he'll leave the group forever, because he's tired of all the bullshit. He doesn't see the kid who comes home and cries himself to sleep because the one reason why he wakes up in the morning, the one reason why he doesn't just give up, hates him.

I'm tired. Tired of living a lie. Tired of not pursuing happiness. Tired of the doubt drilled into my mind, holding me back, whispering that I can't say I love him because all he'll do is break my heart.

Courage is a word that is tossed around a lot these days. People say they need courage to do the most simplest things, but that's not courage. People who fight for their countries have courage, people who sacrifice themselves for others, have courage, people who are dying of terrible diseases, and are fighting it instead of just giving up have courage.

Telling someone you love them doesn't take courage. It takes an extreme strength of character to do that. I can't even do that. God knows what he'll say to me, probably scream that he hates me, call me a fag, pussy, freak... yeah keep 'em coming fatass, give me your best shot, I'm sure then I'll finally break.

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So, now would be a great time to say the thing I'm dying to say.
Eric Theodore Cartman, I love you with all my heart and though you piss me off daily, know that there isn't, and never will be anyone else. Only you.

You fucking fatass...