Kyle Broflovski's Study was the only place where he felt he could be himself. In there, he was finally at peace and alone with his own thoughts: No wife to nag him, no kids to bother him, and no employees to annoy him unceasingly. No one other than himself was allowed to enter it unannounced or uninvited; the only exception to this rule was on Thursday mornings, when his wife, Rebecca, would come in and clean it thoroughly. That small trespass didn't bother him much since he was at the office most Thursday mornings anyway, but the odd times he was home, he'd make sure to leave the place upside down and as filthy as possible. He would sit on his burgundy velvet armchair, a glass of scotch in hand, and take pleasure in watching his wife scrub and disinfect the place as she cursed and he would purposely ignore every single attempt she'd make at any form of communication with him. Kyle and Rebecca had been married ten years, but their love had died before they even got to pronounce their vows. The two of them first met when Kyle was in grade three and he, Rebecca and her brother Mark were finalists in the South Park spelling bee. Back then, he developed some sort of crush on her and tried to woo her to make her his girlfriend, but after their first kiss, Rebecca became a total slut. Mark and Rebecca went back to being homeschooled by their overbearing parents and it wasn't until his last year at Harvard that he was reunited with her once more. Rebecca's hormones had toned down and Kyle gave her another shot. A couple of months later, the two of them tied the knot in a simple, yet elegant ceremony. Next thing he knew, Kyle became an alcoholic: it was the only way he could bare to look at his wife. Despite their loveless marriage, the doomed couple had two adorable children: Ayala and little Adam.
Ayala was now eight years of age and she was the spitting image of her father: Red curls, fair skin, emerald green eyes, all made complete by her father's stereotypical Jewish nose. She had a sharp, critical mind and a great sense of morality that made her father especially proud. She was curious about the world and was eager to learn how the world worked, and while Kyle was happy to answer her questions to the best of his knowledge while he was sober, he'd start spewing nonsense at her when he was inebriated and would leave the poor child absolutely confused. Adam was three years old and he looked nothing like Kyle or Rebecca: he had raven hair, icy blue eyes, rosy skin and a teeny, tiny little button nose unlike anyone's in Kyle's or Rebecca's family. Unlike his sister, Adam was not only loud and obnoxious, but he was often up to no good. Kyle had no recollection of Adam's conception; the last time he had remembered being intimate with his wife was years before his birth, but Rebecca always claimed that Kyle was just too drunk to remember it. Kyle had noticed that the older the toddler got, the more erratic his behaviour was. He was moody and selfish; that child was content only when he had his mother's undivided attention. Rebecca was more than willing to fulfill her son's needs, often at her daughter's expense. As a matter a fact, Rebecca often overlooked her son's erratic behaviour, but severely reprimanded Ayala's smallest faults and often times didn't even bother to explain why she was getting punished in the first place. The Broflovski household was not a healthy environment, but to an outsider, it seemed like the family was united and thriving: Kyle was amongst the richest people in South Park making it so Rebecca didn't need to work, they lived in a pretty house, they drove luxury cars and whenever they were seen in public, whether it was at a restaurant or a charity event, they always seemed blissful. But then again, it is said that appearances are often deceiving and the Broflovskis had mastered the art of deception.
Kyle was sitting on his velvet armchair, his fourth scotch glass in hand. His eyes were focused unto the flames that danced behind the mesh screen curtain of the study's green marble fireplace. Outside, the winter wind blew and howled, making the house creak. 'A storm is coming,' he thought, 'there's no doubt about it.' He congratulated himself for having such a lucid thought despite the familiar light-headedness and dizziness he was experiencing. He knew he was getting close to his nightly goal, but he hadn't quite reached it yet. He was not satisfied until he was intoxicated enough to blackout, and he was still far from reaching that point. Fire had always fascinated him; he loved getting hypnotized by the flames for it was the only way his mind could truly disconnect from the fiasco that was his life. On the mahogany coffee table to his left was a small pile of envelopes consisting of the mail he had received that day and that his wife had handed to him earlier: mostly bills that needed to be paid, some postcards from various acquaintances that happened to be on vacation, a few thank you notes from charities he had donated to and a shimmery envelope from Hawaii containing an invitation.
Dear Kyle and Rebecca Broflovski
We're in love
And we want the world to know it.
We would be honoured to have you join us
As we take the plunge and become One
May 5that the Coco Palms Resort
Ceremony starts at 5 PM
Refreshments and Reception to follow at 7 PM
We hope to see you there
Leopold "Butters" Stotch
Kenny McCormick
Without taking his eyes off the flames, Kyle grimaced as he swallowed whatever little liquid that was left in his glass. Last time he had seen Kenny and Butters was about seven years ago at his ten year high school reunion, and the invitation took him a little off guard. He was friends with them on facebook and therefore knew about their relationship, but they had been out of touch for so long that he was still fazed by the whole ordeal. He started to wonder which other old friends would get invited. He was ready to bet that Stan and Bebe would be amongst the guests, along with Tweek and Craig and most likely Wendy and Token too. He was fairly certain that although Cartman was certainly going to be invited to the event, he would be a no-show. Last time he saw the fat ass in person was a week after he graduated from Harvard. The four childhood friends had kept in touch and saw each other at least once every second month until they were about twenty-five years old. Kyle remembered that the last time he saw Cartman was the day he announced to his friends that he was going to marry Rebecca. He remembers his friends, including the fat ass, congratulating him. They all seemed pretty excited for him: Kenny was the one who planned his bachelor's party, Stan was his best man, and Cartman was absent from his life ever since. Cartman was nowhere to be found at his wedding and Adam's Brit milah, and even managed to be absent from the ten years reunion for the high school. Kyle knew that Cartman was now a big shot, multibillionaire businessman that was coveted by thousands of models and starlets, but he never understood how Cartman could bail from his hometown the way he did, without any sign of warning. He had made the Forbes cover a couple of times and was a favorite of the paparazzi, always getting photographed leaving fancy restaurants or high end charities with a different bimbo by his side on a regular basis. Kyle sighed and got up: he needed a refill. The redhead grabbed his bottle of scotch, poured himself another glass of the burning liquid and immediately swallowed the entire content of his glass before pouring himself yet another one. Before he sat back down with his freshly poured drink, he placed the Laphroaig bottle back on his desk, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out two albums: his high school yearbook and a photo album containing pictures that were taken between senior year and the day he got his Law degree. He took a deep breath, knowing damn well what would happen next, and opened the yearbook. The pictures brought back bittersweet memories and his eyes started to water. He missed those carefree days. He finally found the picture he was looking for, a picture that described the relationship he had with the giant boy to perfection. Cartman was dressed up as Adolph Hitler and Kyle was dressed up as Franklin Roosevelt; Cartman was clearly upset while Kyle was cheering. They had played Axis and Allies, a World War Two strategy game, and Kyle had just won by having France and Russia invade Germany. The game lasted twenty-four hours and Kyle was psyched by finally having the last word. That picture was taken during spring break of senior year. Their rivalry only died down when they bumped into each other on campus at Harvard: it turned out the fat ass had excellent grades and that since he came from a single parent family with little income, he qualified for a scholarship and a bursary. As a matter a fact, Cartman graduated Harvard with honours; he majored in business with a minor in world history and then went back to do a Masters in business. While attending Harvard, the two of them became closer friends and hostilities were replaced by endless teasing. Cartman finished Harvard a year before Kyle did and moved to New York City, but kept in touch with the redhead during his final year of law school, until Kyle got married to Rebecca.
His eyes still resting on the flickering flames, he thought of what happened after his wedding. He moved to Los Angeles with his wife and he worked for Sullivan & Cromwell for five years, making his way to full partner shortly after Ayala's birth. The rift between him and Rebecca widened during those years: he was either working like a dog, often spending the night at the office, or he was drinking to fill an ever growing void he felt in the depth of his heart, an emptiness that he failed to identify, let alone verbalize. At first, Rebecca tried her best to be supportive of her husband, but quickly realized that her efforts were futile and eventually gave up on her husband all together out of frustration. Kyle had rejected all her ideas to try and fix their couple: romantic getaways, doing activities together, joining alcoholics anonymous and couple's therapy. Back then, Kyle used to feel terrible when he caught Rebecca crying; he knew he was a very bad husband and that she deserved better than him. The thought of that reminiscence made him gulp down whatever Scotch was left in his glass as a lonely tear streamed down his left cheek.
He clumsily got up, making the yearbook and photo album fall from his lap and wobbled his way to his desk where he retrieved the bottle of precious liquid and poured himself another drink, a double this time. As he walked back to his favorite seat, more memories came to torment him. On Kyle's thirtieth birthday, his father announced his retirement and Kyle got to take over the family law firm. He moved back to South Park with his wife and daughter, hoping that the quiet mountain town would be the remedy to his misery: whenever he visited his parents, the town from his childhood seemed to soothe him. Unfortunately, once he and his family settled there, the void just grew bigger and deeper, his wife repulsed him more than ever, his binge drinking became a daily ritual and he gradually alienated himself from most his childhood friends, including Stan. Rebecca was through with trying to help her husband, but she still cried when she watched him come home in the wee hours of the morning, reeking of liquor and cheap perfume from God knows who he had hooked up with at Skeeter's Bar, completely and utterly incapable of coherent speech. Rebecca wasn't happy, and it was his fault. He should have felt terrible for treating his wife in such a wretched way, but he felt nothing when he looked at her. All he felt was that something wasn't right; something was missing and kept the town from seeming complete, and that something was becoming more and more apparent every time he drove by a certain green house. At first when he came back to South Park, he'd sometimes catch Ms Cartman working in front of the property, either planting flowers in the spring, mowing the lawn in the summer, decorating the house with pumpkins and scarecrows in the fall or shoveling snow in the winter. A few times he stopped by and made small talk with her, hoping to muster the guts to ask her about how her son was doing, and more importantly, when he'd come to visit her. Many times he fantasized to drive by and see Cartman ringing his mother's doorbell, but alas, none of his wishes ever occurred. One day, he noticed a sign in front of the house saying that it was for sale; it turned out that Ms Cartman had finally met her prince charming and that she was moving to a lovely villa by the ocean in Ogunquit, Maine to live out her ever after. All of Kyle's hopes to see his childhood friend vanished the day he saw that the house was sold and that moving trucks were driving away from it. Kyle was now quietly sobbing as he quaffed more scotch; that happened almost four years ago. What used to feel like a void in Kyle's heart started to feel more like a stabbing wound: he no longer drank to fill a hole; he now drank to numb the pain. The problem was that the pain never subsided.
Kyle swallowed what was left in his glass as more tears rolled down his cheeks. While the peaty liquor burned his oesophagus as it went down, Kyle glanced down to the shimmery invitation once more. His vision was starting to blur and he couldn't make out what was written on it any longer. He wasn't sure whose wedding he was invited to anymore; all he recalled was that the ceremony was to take place in Hawaii. 'Poor them' he thought 'Marriage is such bullshit!' At that moment, Kyle failed to remember why he got married in the first place. In his drunken stupor, he forgot what had happened mere days before he bumped into Rebecca at Harvard. The time his parents came to Cambridge uninvited had slipped from his memory. He didn't recall the expression of horror his poor mother had on her face when he turned around, still seated in his computer chair. His mind was too hazy to think back at how angry his father looked when he made eye contact with him. The memory of the shame and guilt he felt when his parents caught him masturbating to gay porn when the two of them paid him a surprise visit to celebrate his birthday, a few weeks before he got his law degree, was missing from head. The remembrance of the stress and humiliation he felt when his parents demanded an explanation for what they had just witnessed was nowhere to be found in his mind. He had a vague flashback of the discussion he had with his parent, where he basically had them believe that gay sex was a fantasy of his, but that he had never gone through with actually trying it because he was into women; a blatant lie that his parents were more than eager to believe. They were even happier when they got the news that their son had a girlfriend that he wanted to marry. The Broflovskis were more than delighted to pay for the wedding entirely, especially since Rebecca happened to be Jewish. Despite how dysfunctional his intoxicated mind was, Kyle remembered the moment when he pronounced his vows. He recalled how he cried as he said the words that would change the course of his life for the worst. The attendees believed he was crying of joy, but in reality he was crying out of despair. He never truly wanted to marry Rebecca and he had promised himself that she would never know his true feelings. He also swore to himself to be a good husband, a man that Rebecca actually deserved. He didn't know that he would never be able to honour these promises. He didn't realize just how quickly he'd grow tired of his wife. He failed to anticipate how short lived his charade would be. There was one thing he was certain of though; only one thing he truly wanted, but that no one would ever know of. The one thing he was obsessed with and that thing, or person rather, was Eric Theodore Cartman.
Kyle got up one last time and wobbled back to his desk with much difficulty: his vision was blurred, his legs were shaky and he couldn't walk straight anymore, so he had to grab on to furniture so he wouldn't just fall to the floor. He grabbed the nearly empty bottle of Scotch and slowly and carefully leaned against his luxurious mahogany desk. He took a swig right from the bottle. The degree of intoxication he craved was almost reached: he closed his eyes, letting a small tear droplet roll down his face. He tried to summon the memory of Eric Cartman's features and his face contorted with pain when he had some trouble remembering some of them. He took a deep breath and focused his mind to recall them one by one: his large mischievous hazel eyes, his cute little button nose, his thin lips that were almost always giving the world a smug grin, his broad shoulders, his large hands and the scent of his skin... Most of all, the aura of confidence he gave off. He felt his pants tighten as he pictured himself unbuttoning the large man's shirt and stuffing his face into his chest to plant some kisses on his milky white skin and gently suckle on his nipples. Kyle bit his lower lip as a shiver went down his spine. He took another quick swig from the bottle before setting it back on the desk he was still leaning on. He quickly unzipped his pants and stuffed his right hand in his underwear, grabbing his throbbing cock. As he envisioned himself removing Eric's pants and taking his member in his mouth, he started to stroke himself with vigor. Small jolts of pleasure emanated from his crotch as he imagined Eric moaning and calling his name. When Kyle visualised Eric turning him around and pressing his hard manhood against his tight entrance, it was too much for him to bear: he grunted as his semen started spilling in his underwear. He took a few moments to regain his breath before he opened his eyes and come back to his cruel and disappointing reality: he had just jerked off in his study while his wife and kids were in the adjacent living room and he hadn't seen or spoken to the object of his desire in a decade. Kyle didn't care that his hand was covered in his own seed; he grabbed the bottle next to him and chugged down what was left in it before he violently threw it in the direction of the fire place, knocking down a picture frame that rested on top of it. The bottle and the glass from the frame shattered into hundreds of tiny little pieces; Kyle let himself slide down from the desk, unto his knees as he started to cry again. Not before long, he heard a knock on the door.
"Daddy, are you OK? Did you hurt yourself?" his daughter asked him. Upon hearing the question, Kyle cleared his throat.
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Everything's ok." He lied, but his tenacious daughter knew better than that.
"Are you sure? Can I come in?" She asked in the sweetest voice possible. Kyle sighed; there was no way in hell he would ever allow his daughter to see him in that state.
"No need for you to come in; there's glass everywhere and I don't want you to hurt yourself." He quickly replied, hoping that Ayala would just get off his case. There was a moment of silence, and just as Kyle started to believe he was off the hook, he heard another knock on the door.
"Daddy, can I talk to you? Like, can we talk face to face?" Ayala asked. Kyle sighed and grabbed his face with both his hands. He knew he was piss drunk, and he hated having conversations with his family while inebriated, but how could he turn down his daughter's request? One thing was certain: he wouldn't let Ayala come in the study, not tonight.
"Of course we can talk. How about you go up and get yourself ready for bed? I'll be up in a little bit so we can talk before I tuck you in." Kyle said back to her, trying his best not to slur. He had just bought himself fifteen minutes of sobering up time. Of course, there was no way on Earth he would be sober in such little time, but it made sense to his intoxicated mind.
"Thank you Daddy! I'm gonna go wash up right away." His daughter exclaimed almost cheerfully, and then Kyle heard her run up the stairs.
Kyle took a deep breath and painfully brought himself to a standing position, trying really hard not to wobble all over the place. He zipped up his pants back up and drew in a deep breath to try and fight off his dizziness. He took a few steps towards the fire place, being as careful as he could around the broken glass that was scattered all over the hardwood floor. He carefully crouched down to pick up the picture frame and he examined it; it was a fairy recent family portrait, taken about a year prior, where he had Ayala sitting on his lap and his arm was wrapped around Rebecca's shoulder as she held Adam in her arms. The four family members were all smiles on the picture, but Ayala had the biggest, toothiest grin out of them all even if one of her front teeth was missing. 'We truly mastered the art of looking like a happy and united family' he thought to himself. Kyle remembered the day that the photo was taken; Ayala had lost a baby tooth the night before. Her mother told her to put it under her pillow so that the tooth fairy could pick it up and give her a dollar in exchange. Kyle agreed with his wife that he'd be the one leaving the coin under the little girl's pillow, but he had gotten far too drunk to be discreet. Kyle felt a pinch in his heart as he remembered how he stumbled on his own feet, lost the little balance he had and fell on top of his daughter who never got so scared in her short life. When she demanded to know what her father was doing in her room in the middle of the night, Kyle felt trapped and told her that the tooth fairy was on vacation and that she asked him to replace him for that one time. Ayala was far too intelligent to fall for such a petty lie, and she called her father out on it. Kyle was then forced to tell her that the tooth fairy didn't exist and that it was parents who left money for their children. Upon learning the truth, Kyle painfully watched his daughter's eyes fill with tears. Rebecca, who had rushed to the little girl's bedroom to see what the ruckus was all about, stood in the doorway and gave her husband the look of death. Kyle didn't care much for his wife's reaction, but he felt horrible about breaking his daughter's heart. Kyle adored his daughter: she was his little ray of sunshine, his motivation to get up in the morning and the reason he came back home at night. The following morning, while Kyle was drinking his coffee and was watching the news, he was surprised when Ayala stormed down the stairs, ran to him and jumped on his lap, nearly knocking the kitchen stool he was sitting on over. She hugged her father tightly, thanking him for telling her the truth.
His gaze still resting on the family portrait, Kyle smiled for the first time that evening, but frowned immediately after, when he realized that his daughter was waiting for him upstairs. As steadily as he could, he put the broken picture frame back on top of the fireplace and drew in another deep breath.
"Fuck my life" The redhead mumbled to himself as he made his way to the study's door, once again careful not to stumble or step on glass shards and concentrating to walk as straight as possible. As soon as he walked out of his study, he marched to the powder room as fast as he could, completely ignoring his wife, who was most likely glaring at him anyway. He heard his wife play with Adam; the little boy was giggling, and so was Rebecca. He resented her for focusing almost all of her attention on the young boy, and hardly ever gave any attention to Ayala. He knew he was a hypocrite for thinking that that way since he was, in his opinion, the worst father in the world. After he switched on the lights, he took a look at himself in the mirror: his face looked as though it had been through a war; his eyes told a tale of despair and exhaustion and his hair resembled a rat's nest. He washed his hand and splashed some water in his face; the coolness felt good against his skin. He opened the pharmacy and grabbed the mouth wash; the stale aftertaste of liquor was quickly replaced by minty freshness. The last thing Kyle needed to do was to grab a comb and try to tame the tangled mess on his head so he could look a little more presentable to his precious little girl. After one last look in the mirror, Kyle deemed he looked as presentable as he could be in his current state, so he walked out the powder room and headed to the stairs. As he went up, he saw the light on in Adam's room and he heard his wife's familiar voice telling him the story of a thief who took from the rich and gave to the poor as Kyle let himself into his daughter's room.
Ayala was in her bed, quietly reading a Through the Looking Glass as she waited for her father. As soon as Kyle knocked on the door, the little girly swiftly closed her book and set it aside.
"What do you want to talk about sweetie?" Kyle asked as he sat on his daughter's bed.
"Well, you know my friend Lily? I went to her place last week and we played in her room. And then we went downstairs and I saw her parents hugging…"
Ayala paused and looked at her father. Kyle stared blankly at his little girl. He was trying to anticipate what she was about to tell him.
"You know my other friend Fiona? Whenever I go over, I always see her parents cuddling on the couch as they watch TV…"
The little girl paused once again. Kyle noticed that her cheeks were getting a little rosy tint.
"And then there's grandpa and grandma always holding hands…"
Kyle had an idea where this was going, and if he was right, it wasn't the kind of conversation he enjoyed having while he was drunk.
"Yes, a lot of couples display affection." Kyle added, fearing that his daughter was going to ask him about sex.
"How come you and mom never do it then?" She bluntly asked.
Kyle was caught off guard. He couldn't tell Ayala the truth: she'd be devastated!
"We don't feel the need to." Kyle replied, hoping it will satisfy his daughter's curiosity.
"Dad, do you and mom still love each other?" She asked just as bluntly as she did before.
"Of course we do, Honey!" He lied through his teeth as he suppressed a gag brought on by the mere idea of loving Rebecca.
"But you never hug each other or tell each other 'I love you'. You barely even talk to each other!" The little girl banged her fists on her bed out of frustration while Kyle just stared at her, speechless.
Kyle truly wished he was sober to have this conversation: his mind was too sluggish to come up with anything to respond to the little girl's questions. He couldn't just tell Ayala the truth.
"Are you going to divorce mom? Kelly's parents are getting a divorce…"
"Oh, so that's what it's all about. No, Ayala. Your mother and I are not divorcing." Kyle replied, breathing a sigh of relief at the thought of this uncomfortable conversation being over and done with.
"But you don't love each other!" Kyle was impressed by how spot on his daughter was. 'Of course we don't love each other! I fucking hate that harpy!' He couldn't help but think. Of course, he could never say that to his kids.
"Yes, we do!" He lied, feeling sick again.
"So why don't you hug and kiss and cuddle if you love each other?" Kyle's head was starting to spin; whether it was the booze or the interrogation he was undergoing was yet to be determined. The last thing Kyle wanted right now was to visualize himself kissing his wife.
"Sweetie, your mom and I just aren't like that." He responded, figuring it was the simplest answer to give her.
"Really?" She asked incredulously.
"Really!" He declared while tucking one of his daughter's loose curls behind her ear.
Ayala smiled and thanked her father. Kyle kissed his daughter good night, being very careful not to stumble and fall over her. He tucked her in and turned off her light before he made his way to the bedroom door, glancing one last time at Ayala as she turned to her side, facing her father once more.
"I wouldn't be angry at you." She said staring at her father in the eye.
"I beg your pardon?" Kyle asked, both surprised and confused by his daughter's declaration. 'What does she mean by that?'
"If you and mom got a divorce, I wouldn't be angry at either of you." She specified, as Kyle stared blankly at her. "I love you and mommy very much and if one day the two of you don't love each other anymore, it wouldn't be right to stay together." She continued.
Kyle was shocked by his daughter's maturity: he recalled when Stan's parents briefly split up, many years ago. The first time, back when they were eight years old, Stan was devastated and devised a plan to get Sharon and Randy back together. The second time, Stan was being a cynical ass hole about it, but eventually realized how it could be a positive thing for all involved, but just as he was beginning to embrace the notion of change, Randy and Sharon got back together.
"Thanks sweetheart, but I think your mother and I will be just fine. Good night now."
"Good night daddy." Ayala wished him as she yawned.
Kyle closed the door behind him and went back downstairs, heading for his Study. He was three steps away from the door when he noticed that Rebecca was glaring at him, but looked away immediately and kept going until his hand was on the doorknob.
"Haven't you had enough for tonight? Don't you ever consider your own children and what you're teaching them by behaving like this?" She resentfully asked him, more rhetorically than honestly.
Kyle just shrugged, trying his best to ignore her and turned the doorknob. He was completely taken by surprise when in a swift move, his wife held the door closed by pushing on it as he pulled to get it opened.
"Go to bed, Kyle. You're drunk. You stink so much of alcohol that it's all I could smell when you opened this door earlier."
Kyle glanced at his wife's face: she looked tired, helpless and desperate. Yet, he could tell that she was determined to keep him from his study, and that was unacceptable in his books. His eyes narrowed on hers as he removed his hand from the door knob and rested it on Rebecca's shoulder instead. Thinking that her husband had listened to her for once, Rebecca smiled at him as she lifted her hand from the door, and small tears of joy started to form in her eyes as she somehow thought that Kyle would bring her in for a hug. She should have known better; without saying a word, Kyle gently shoved her out of his way, rapidly entered his study and promptly locked the door behind him. He heard his wife knocking on the door and begging him to come out. He heard her voice crack as she started to cry but despite his wife's wails, he nonchalantly walked to his liquor cabinet and pulled out another bottle, bourbon this time. Not wanting to wake her children up, Rebecca finally gave up and left.
"Thank God!" He muttered as he poured himself a drink and promptly gulped it down. The fire was dying out and the wind was howling. Kyle picked up the yearbook and the album he had dropped earlier and put them back in the drawer they belonged in before he went and sat on his armchair to stare at the last few flames. 'A storm is coming, no doubt about it.'
Kyle woke up in his armchair to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He had fallen asleep in his study and ended up sleeping in an awkward position. That explained why his body was aching: his neck was stiff, his head was pounding, his mouth was as dry as the desert and he felt nauseous beyond belief. He groggily pulled the device out of his robe's pocket and saw that the office was calling him. Panicked, he looked at the time and saw it was already ten thirty and that he was to meet an important client half an hour later. He promptly picked up the call as he jumped to his feet and ran out of his study.
"Donna! I know I'm late, I'm on my way." He said as he ran up the stairs, heading for his bedroom and temporarily forgetting about how sick and stiff he felt.
"Calm down, Mr. Broflovski; your eleven o'clock just cancelled because of the weather. He wants to reschedule for next Tuesday at noon and take you out for lunch to make it up to you. Do I add it to your agenda?"
Kyle breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing those words. Donna was Kyle's assistant, and he deemed himself lucky to have her. She was Gerald's assistant before Kyle took over the firm and she was on first name basis with most of the clients. Kyle was very thankful to have such a competent and understanding assistant who was always looking out for him. She knew about Kyle's bad habits and regularly covered it up for him. She saved his reputation more than once and in return, Kyle paid her a lot more than his father ever did. The fact that she was going to retire at the end of the year made him extremely anxious.
"Yes Donna, please do."
"Oh, and I may suggest that you take a look outside?"
Kyle complied with his assistant's request, suddenly feeling a rush of nausea coming back to him as he went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. He was shocked to see how much snow had accumulated outside; there must have been three feet of snow on the road at the very least. 'No wonder he cancelled! I would have done the same thing!' He thought. Worst yet, it was still snowing and the driving conditions must have been absolutely dreadful. There was no way on Earth Kyle was going to even attempt to drive in this mess, not with the crazy hang over he had.
"Donna, how about you shut down the office for today and send everyone home?"
"I think it's an excellent idea sir. I'll make the necessary arrangements immediately."
"Thank you Donna. I'll see you tomorrow."
After he hung up, he turned around and saw his wife standing in the bedroom's doorway. She looked exhausted, her eyes were a little puffy and her face was paler than usual, but boy did she look furious! Rebecca rarely lost her temper, but the few times she did, Kyle was genuinely scared of her. She looked her husband in the eye and crossed her arms. Kyle vaguely remembered being unpleasant to her the night before, but didn't remember specifics. He knew he said something to her after saying something to Ayala, but he couldn't remember what. The last thing Kyle remembered clearly doing was pleasuring himself while thinking of Eric Cartman, or more specifically the memory he had of Eric Cartman, and throwing an empty scotch bottle against the family portrait. And broken glass: lots and lots of broken glass that he may or may have not picked up. He took a deep breath and swallowed dryly: with Rebecca in the doorway, he was trapped in that room and had nowhere left to go, unless he jumped out the window. Oddly enough, Kyle did actually consider that alternative, but decided against it.
"You never came up last night." Rebecca stated, her voice dripping with bitterness and resentment.
'You figured that one out on your own? See, you're not just another pretty face.' Kyle thought, wisely deciding to bite his tongue rather than open his mouth. Never ceasing to make eye contact with his wife, Kyle remained silent and focused on his breathing. Kyle hated when Rebecca nagged him, but what he found really annoying was the fact that she'd do it either when he was drunk or really hung over. The silent staring contest lasted a few minutes before Rebecca's facial expression went from angry and stern to angry and sad. He noticed her eyes were starting to tear up. 'Fuck my life! She's going start the waterworks now.'
"You're just going to stand there and look at me? You're not going to say anything?" She managed to say as her voice crackled and two tears streamed down her face.
"I have nothing to say."
"Honey, we really need to talk, but you never want-"Something snapped in Kyle's head, suddenly making his head pound even harder. He just had to cut off that bitch he married.
"What do you want me to say? That I'm a bad father? That I'm a terrible husband? I already know that!" He yelled. All the nagging and the guilt were too much for Kyle to bear. He couldn't take it; he wouldn't take it, not while feeling ill beyond belief. Rebecca immediately signaled him to lower his voice.
"The kids are home; school got canceled." She whispered to him. Not wanting to put unnecessary stress on his children, Kyle calmed down immediately by drawing in a deep breath. "I want to help you, Kyle. I want to fix this. I've sacrificed too much to just give up on us." Rebecca calmly said.
Kyle burst into laughter despite his throbbing head ache. He laughed so hard, so maniacally, that for a moment he thought he was going to throw up. He laughed so hysterically that Rebecca's gut momentarily filled with fear.
"You don't even know what sacrifice means! You spend your days in a beautiful house and never had to work a single day since we had Ayala. You wear designer clothes and designer shoes; you get your hair done every ten days. You focus all of your attention on Adam, and barely give your daughter the time of day." He said, carefully enunciating each one of his words, walking over to her and grabbing her by the shoulders.
"Neither do you. You ignore all of us then you spend your nights in the study either working or drinking like you did last night."
"I had a chat with Ayala last night-"
"Yes, while you were piss drunk!"
"God damn it Rebecca! She's scared we're going to divorce!" Rebecca gently chuckled upon hearing those words.
"Geez, I wonder why she would think that?" She replied sarcastically while her husband glared at her then sighed. He knew she was right: he barely spent time with his family and it was hypocritical to give her grief over something he barely did himself. He loved his kids, but he was just too broken to show it properly.
"I'll be in the shower. Tell the kids that I closed up the office because of the bad weather. I'll be down for lunch at noon." He said, lowering his gaze to the floor, unable to look at his wife any longer.
Rebecca stood there and watched her husband remove his clothes and entering the private washroom that was annexed to their bedroom. She was unsure whether she got through to him or not. Once her husband shut the door, she stared at it for a few moments, lost in her thoughts. Many times she had looked back these past ten years and wondered what went wrong. Often, she had regretted saying 'I do' and many times she had been tempted by the idea of leaving him, but that would mean that she'd be a disappointment to her very conservative family; the Cotswolds didn't divorce. She forced herself to snap out of it and remembered that there was shattered glass all over her husband's study that needed to be picked up. She sighed, went downstairs where she armed herself with a broom and a dust pan before tackling the mess Kyle had made the previous night. Kyle's coping mechanism was to drink himself stupid; hers was to clean everything until it shone and sparkled. As she picked up the shards off the floor, she noticed that the frame that contained the family portrait was broken, but that her husband put it back on top of the fireplace rather to leave it on the floor. 'Maybe he does care about us after all!' She thought. 'I'll go out and buy a new frame tomorrow.' Hope is all she had left to cling to.
While Rebecca picked up his mess, Kyle turned on the water and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt very nice against his skin. He had taken two tabs for his headache as soon as he had walked into the washroom and he couldn't wait until the sweet pain killing effect kicked in. He knew his wife was right and he had to do something to get better, at least for the sake of his children. His main problem is that he still had no idea how he would cope with the chronic pain that had been afflicting his soul for so long. 'Maybe I need to get away and just be by myself for a few days.' As he shut off the water and grabbed his towel, he suddenly, he remembered the wedding invitation that he had received the day before and he figured that maybe the whole family needed a change of scenery. He would need to call Kenny or Butters and find out whether he could bring his kids or not. If he could, He could take that opportunity to spend time with Ayala and bond with Adam but if he couldn't, he would just go alone and take some time off by himself: there's no way on Earth that he was going to Hawaii alone with his wife since that would make his problem worst. Kyle got out of the shower and diligently dried himself. He felt something in his core that he hadn't felt in a very long time, a decade to be more precise. It was the warm, fuzzy feeling that made a shitty situation seem less grim. For the first time in a decade, Kyle felt hope.
After Kyle had lunch with his family, he excused himself and retreated to his study, much to his wife's displeasure. Kyle was tempted to pour himself some scotch, but he decided he would make the phone call first. Thanks to Facebook, Kyle knew that Butters and Kenny had both been living in Hawaii for the past eight years. Butters was now the manager of Coco Palms Resort, the place where the wedding would take place, and that Kenny, who had always shown a great affinity for dance and music, was an instructor in both disciplines on the site. He pulled out his cell and dialed the number for the Resort.
"Aloha, and welcome to the Coco Palms Resort. If you know the extension of the person you wish to speak it, enter it now or press pound for the directory. If not, please stay -BEEP- Welcome to Coco Palms Resort's employee directory. Please use the keypad to enter the person's last name." Kyle promptly dialed 786824. "Leopold Stotch. Press star to confirm or pound to start over – BEEP – Please hold while I connect your call."
As the phone rang, Kyle realized how much he hated automated messages. He hated talking to and dealing with machines.
"Leopold Stotch's office, Marlene speaking, how can I help you today?" A female voice said.
"Hi, I would like to speak with Mr. Stotch if he's available?"
"May I ask who is calling and what it pertains to?"
"Certainly: My name is Kyle Broflovski and I am a guest at Mr. Stotch's wedding, and I had a question for him."
"Please allow me to put you on hold. I'll verify that Mr. Stotch is available."
As he listened to mellow Hawaiian music, Kyle realized that he wasn't what he found most annoying: talking to machines or the crappy music one is forced to listen to while they're on hold. When he heard the ring tone again, he was hoping to God he wasn't going to get an answering machine.
"Well, hello there, Kyle! How's it going?" Butters finally replied in his signature cheerful voice.
"Hi Butters! I'm good, and you?"
"I'm fine, just a little nervous about the wedding, I guess."
"Don't worry about it; it's totally normal. Speaking of your big day, I had a question: can I bring my kids along?"
"Well, of course! I have a section with games and activities for the little ones during the reception as well as a special buffet table just for them. I'm sure your kids will have lots of fun!"
"My son is three years old, is he too young for that section?"
"It's preferably for children six years and up, but if you or your wife is there to supervise him, I'm sure your little fellow will be fine."
"Gee, thanks a lot Butters! I'm looking forward to seeing you and Kenny!"
"Same here, buddy! It's been way too long since last time! I can't wait to see y'all!"
"Well, it was nice talking to you! I'll see you in a couple of months. Don't stress out too much!"
After hanging up with Butters, Kyle felt relief: He could bond with his kids during the day without his wife around by sending her to the hair salon or the spa, and then have her watch over the kids at the wedding reception while he'd mingle with his long lost friends and acquaintances. For the first time in what seemed in forever, Kyle actually smiled and deemed it was time to inform his family about the invitation. He walked out of his office and headed to the living room where his kids were quietly watching television while his wife was busy ironing laundry. Upon seeing him, Rebecca was shocked when she realized that Kyle was still sober and watched him walk up to the couch and take the remote out of Ayala's hand before turning off the television, which triggered Adam to cry. Intrigued by her father's actions, Ayala just stared at him while she rubbed her little brother's arm and shushed him, trying to soothe him the best she could.
"What's the meaning of this Kyle? Adam was watching his favorite show!" Rebecca asked, perplexed.
"I'm sorry Adam, I have something to tell everyone and then, you can go back to watch your show." Kyle said, casually stroking his son's raven hair. "On May fifth, two of my childhood friends are getting married in Hawaii and we will be going. I'll make arrangements so that the four of us spend a week on a gorgeous resort by the sea. It seems to me that we are due for a family vacation anyway." Kyle finally announced with a smile on his face.
His wife and his daughter had trouble containing their surprise and excitement. Adam, on the other hand, didn't give a damn about the announcement and just screamed as loud as he could because he wanted to watch television. Fearing for the safety of his eardrums, Kyle immediately turned the television back on. As expected, Adam immediately stopped crying and went back to watching what Kyle qualified as a show for brain dead children. Despite Adam being a spoiled little selfish brat, Kyle was very satisfied by the eagerness shown by the two women in his life, particularly Ayala's: she was all starry eyed and even started to do a little hula dance as she imagined the prospect of being on one of the most sought out beaches in the world. He was looking forward to spend time with her, and notwithstanding his lack of emotional attachment towards his wife, seeing Rebecca smile and laugh in contrast to the gloominess she was displaying that morning helped him breathe a sigh of relief. And so, he informed his family that the soon to be married couple were two gay friends of his that he grew up with and that had moved to Hawaii eight years prior.
"I remember them! They were at your ten years reunion! Do you know if Stan and Bebe have been invited as well?" Rebecca asked, triggering unease to settle in Kyle's guts.
Kyle and his former best friend had drifted apart about a year and a half after he came back to South Park. Kyle didn't like how Stan behaved around his wife and how he constantly defended her whenever Kyle complained for something she had said or done. He didn't understand why Stan never took his side whenever Rebecca was involved and he soon started to feel betrayed by his supposed best friend. The two of them had some heated arguments, often while Kyle was under the influence, and had started falling out, slowly but surely. The straw that broke the camel's back was the day he found out his wife was expecting a second child: Rebecca was sixteen weeks pregnant and had known she was expecting for a while, but hadn't said anything to her husband. Kyle found out a night he was out at Skeeter's bar: he was already passed the tipsy stage and was beginning to flirt with a blond woman that was passing through town. Next thing he knew, he was on the floor and his nose was bleeding; Stan had just punched him across the face and was yelling all sorts of things that made no sense whatsoever. 'What are you doing at a bar, let alone what the fuck are you doing flirting with another woman while your wife is pregnant and home alone?' After a brief, but heated exchange between the two former best friends, Kyle left the bar and went home to his bitter wife to confront her. He demanded to know how she could be pregnant since they hadn't been intimate in years, and why Stan knew about it before him. 'You'd remember both things, had you been sober' was her reply. He took her word for it since he did have a tendency to blackout while drunk and he must have been really out of it to successfully manage to fuck his wife. Although he welcomed the little boy, Stan and Kyle's friendship never recovered.
"Earth to Kyle, come in Kyle!" Rebecca said, snapping Kyle out of his thoughts.
"Oh, sorry honey, I was thinking of something. I have no idea whether the Marshes will attend or not."
Rebecca was not dumb: she knew exactly what her husband was thinking about and she mentally kicked herself for bringing Stan up. She was usually careful about mentioning him, but the enthusiasm she felt for this trip made her slip. She immediately calmed down and quietly went back to her ironing, hoping Kyle wouldn't bring up the past again. To her dismay, Kyle excused himself once more and headed to his study, where he poured himself a glass from the bourbon bottle he had just opened the previous night. He took the time to lock himself in and switched on his computer so he could purchase the tickets for the flight to Hawaii and then something caught his attention.
Young Billionaire Entrepreneur Acquires Nearly Bankrupt Hotel Chain in Hawaii.
His jaw dropped and his heart skipped a beat upon reading the headline. He immediately clicked on the article and surely enough, there was a picture of Eric Cartman in one of his high end suits shaking hands with some old guy, the previous owner most likely, while a crowd of hotel staffers cheered in the background. Unlike him, Eric had aged gracefully and looked even more handsome than he did the last time he saw him a decade ago: a few expression lines gave his face character, some white hairs were sparingly scattered all over his thick light brown mane and that aura of self confidence that he exuded so naturally seemed stronger than ever. Kyle felt a jolt going from his groin to the nape of his neck as his pants tightened. He also felt a lump forming in his throat and chest; the emotional pain was too intense to take. He quickly grabbed the glass of bourbon he intended to savour slowly and instead swallowed it in one big gulp, almost chocking on the liquor. His teary eyes still resting on the picture, he went to grab the bottle, nearly knocking it down, and brought it directly to his mouth, and took several large gulps. Kyle hated himself at that moment: he wanted to change and he wished to be better for his family's sake, but every time he saw a dim light of hope in the darkness of his life, whenever he felt like he had the strength to overcome his dependence, something unexpected would remind him of Eric Cartman, and how he threw his life away because he was young and dumb. He set the bottle back onto his desk and closed his eyes. Unlike the previous day, Kyle recalled the day his parents barged into his dorm room, eager to surprise him and found him furiously masturbating to gay porn. He even remembered what he was watching: a large brown haired man brutally pounding a scrawny little redhead boy. The skinny boy was tied up and could do little more than endure, moan and scream as the man's enormous penis was being rammed in and out of his gaping entrance. Kyle took a few more swigs out of his bottle as more tears streamed down his face. He wished he could have told his parents the truth, but he was so scared of their reactions, particularly his mother's, that lying seemed to be the only way out of that hot mess. At that time, Kyle was already obsessed by Cartman, but he just shrugged it off as a meaningless and irrational crush. 'What is done is done' He thought, sighing. He took a look at the bottle: more than half of it was missing, and although he should have felt terrible about it, he no longer felt anything other than a hole where his heart should be.
Hi everyone!
I hope you're all doing well. I got so much love from writing Pleasing Falsetto that as soon as I got a bit of inspiration, I starting drafting this story. It'll be very different from what I've written in the past and it's basically a literary experiment. Feedback is welcomed with open arms. I am unsure as to how often I'll be posting new chapters: I work full time, I'm starting my own company on the side and writing this story is how I relax.
I hope you enjoy this creation, and as usual, keep being awesome 3
Much love,
xoxoxo Clotgirl xoxoxo
PS: Don't forget to review