A/N: Nothing to say, other than the fact that this is the last chapter. Sad face.

Chapter Eleven – This Is How It Goes Down

I'm so confused – so, Cartman gets a low amount of pussy, but attracts cock, even though he's not sure if he likes it? It's hurting my head, all of it.

A few weeks have passed; nothing remotely interesting has happened, so I didn't bother writing anything down. All I can say is that Craig and I (without the assistance of Cartman) successfully made an erupting volcano for our science project.

It took us a while, due to procrastination and pure not botheredness, but we completed it in the end. It turned out pretty good, and it worked well, too. Even though Craig went through how it erupted, I still didn't get it, and wondered if it was all a conspiracy, which it probably was.

Fucking baking soda and vinegar.

Our teacher was pretty impressed too.

"Well, boys, it wasn't an all too original idea, but still, you made a good effort," our teacher had said, and then she turned to me. "And Clyde, you're making good progress. Hmm...B minus. I'm being modest here, so don't argue with it."

We didn't – B minus is probably the best grade I've had in five years. And I base this on absolutely nothing.

X (o) X –

"Right, class, I hope you are all aware that next week is indeed exams week. All exams you take make a full contribution to your final grade."

I'm barely listening as Mrs. Roberts drones on about some dumb test. I'm gonna do badly on it, anyway. Nothing can beat last year's score of an E.

"For your homework tonight I would like you to revise for the tests. Being a Math's teacher, I do wish you'd revise for the Maths one," she continues. "Oh, and to the people I've assigned tutors to" - she's talking about me – "your tutoring sessions will come to an end after the exams week. If told otherwise, they'll continue."

I hope she means my tutoring sessions. I want to get a lot of things out of the way before continuing my life. I want to be an explorer, cuz that'd be cool, and I'd meet Dora, and we'd travel around singing gay songs with a gay little monkey and then some stuff will happen and then I'll grow old and retire and die.

She writes some stuff down on the board whilst I totally zone out, ignoring everything she says, and the most inevitable thing happens – I fall asleep.

She doesn't notice.

X (o) X –

I'm actually revising for once.

This time, grades are important to me. I must sound like a nerd, but these grades really mean something this time.

And I want to make it seem like Cartman's been tutoring me. If he tutored me as well as he kissed me, I'd have an A******. Then that'd be the new and improved Clyde Donovan grade, not that lame Z, which has no purpose.

Very much like the white crayon. The only thing 'Z' is useful for is for zebras. I really like zebras. And zoos. They're cool.

I'm getting into the revising thingy when my phone suddenly vibrates next to me.

For some reason, I always leave my phone on silent. It's probably because Craig once set my ringtone to 'Clyyyde, pick up the phone you piece of shit, da la la la' and then he did some screamo, which he's actually very good at. I never got around to changing it so I just put it on silent.

And vibrate, because I'm actually very smart when I need to be.

Without looking at the number, I pick it up. "Go away I'm studying."

"...Why are you studying, Clyde?"

Ah shit, it's Cartman. Should've known. "Because, if you didn't know, we have exams next week, and I want a good grade."

"You're not gonna get a good grade, Clyde, stop lying to yourself."

"I know, and it's thanks to you," I solemnly say, and there's silence down the other end.

Score one for me. I am so drab.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Cartman says finally after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"That doesn't even make sense," I laugh, flipping the pages to get to something interesting. Algebra's very interesting. 2b + 3b is easy. 89k + x (7 + 4b) is not.

"Yes, it does, Clyde," he answers, seriously believing he's right. "You're just not as smart as me to figure that out yet. You will someday, Clyde."

I scowl a little. He's such a dumbass sometimes, truly believing he's the one who's right, and I'm wrong. I probably am, and I'm too busy reading about algebra and finding said X to argue with him.

"Shh, Cartman, as I said, I'm revising," I inform him again.

"Yeah, and hippies aren't planning to blow up the earth with all of their gay, totally pointless campaigns," he remarks sarcastically. I have absolutely no idea what the hell he's on about, but I roll with it.

"They probably are," I say without thinking – which isn't one of my good points. I'm too engrossed in this fricking book. Wow, algebra is so cool...super cool...

"Mhmm," he agrees. "You're right, Clyde, they probably are. Stop revising. Get your ass round my house now or I may have to kill you when I next see you."

"But I'm revising..." I whine, as if I haven't told him about thirty two million times that I'm revising. He's so silly.

"I don't give two shits what you're doing!" he pretty much yells at me. It's hurting my ears, owie, owie. "Just get over here and, you know, play some video games with me. Clyde? Clyde, you listening to me? Ay!"

I've hung up on him.

X (o) X –

"Thanks for hanging up on me last night, you black asshole."

I turn from my locker to see Cartman standing there sternly, his arms folded across his chest, pouting slightly.

"I told you, I was revising," I say. The word 'revising' is such a drag to say now (or more than ever), and it doesn't even seem like a real word anymore. I hate it when that happens, honestly.

He scoffs. "I bet you were, Clyde."

"Honestly, I was," I argue. "And could you not call me a black asshole? K thanks, bye." I slam my locker shut and stand in front of him, returning the pout.

We look like twins. It's kinda uncanny. Except he's way larger than me, and a little bit taller.

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I wanna call you," he hisses, but this time, it's not meant in a malevolent way, surprisingly enough. "You're my slave now."

...

That's the only thing that can describe my expression right now.

"Since when was I your slave, Cartman?" I ask, an eyebrow raised, so confused its killing me. Not literally, but I might explode.

I might.

"Since I bought you from Craig for a cheap fee," he rubbed his hands together, an evil smirk on his face. "He's such a Jew sometimes. I asked if he owned you, and he said yeah he did, so I bought him off of you."

Fuck, that's true.

This one time, Craig and I got super high (not just high, super high – there is a difference, honestly) and he bought me for twenty dollars. He forgot about it after that, as did I, but obviously when Cartman asked him about it, it suddenly jogged his memory.

"For how much?" I ask curiously, not sure if I wanna know or not.

"How much do you think you're worth?" he inquires, and I shrug slightly.

"I dunno...my mom said I'm priceless," I mutter, just loud enough so he can hear.

He smiles at me. Or at least, I think he does. "Exactly. He gave you up for two dollars. You were pretty much a bargain. Or on sale."

I scowl. Friends don't sell other friends for two dollars. That's it; Craig owes me sevent-sixt-fift-fourt-EIGHTEEN. EIGHTEEN DOLLARS. Took me a while to work that out, but I did it.

"Sonovabitch," I curse to no one, not even Cartman, even though he's standing right there, and it's pretty obvious that he heard me.

"So, basically, you're mine now," he smirks. I can only wonder what's running through his mind right now, but I can't say them. "Now, what should we do first?"

I shrug, not really caring. However, all the while I'm wondering what he's planning. I seriously think I just threw up in my mouth.

"What do you want to do?"

My curiosity gets the best of me sometimes.

"Something cheap," he shrugs. "Something fun."

Cartman rubs his chin again, deep in thought, looking like an evil scientist. Or a rapist. Again. He's too fat to be a rapist.

Once again I have no idea what the fuck I'm on about.

I can practically see the light bulb shining above his head as his eyes light up. "I know! We could skip school again, cuz that was kewl."

I shake my head. "No, Cartman, I don't want to today..."

"What's the matter? You chicken?" he asks, imitating a chicken. I laugh a little – he looks so ridiculous it's unbelievable.

I roll my eyes. Anything to stop him from doing that. "Fine, we'll skip. Where we gonna go, though? Hopefully not behind our gay bush..."

He chuckles. "No, Clyde, I've got a better place."

I raise an eyebrow yet again, still curious and now a little bemused. "Oh, and where might that be, Cartman?"

Another evil smirk. "How 'bout my bedroom? That's fun, and free."

I have a bad feeling, but I gesture for him to continue.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, Clyde?"

I look away from him, blushing slightly, and knowing me, I give that all too predictable answer.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!"

He smirks again.

X (o) X –

"And then, I was like, no way! And then he said..."

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see who it is and, to my surprise, it's Mrs. Roberts.

"Clyde, may I speak to you, privately?" she asks sweetly, emphasising the 'privately' part. Before I know it, I'm dragged away from Token and Jimmy, who I was having a very interesting conversation with about this one time where I was like, no way, and then this dude said, yah way, and I was like, no way shut up!

Then some stuff happened, my pet spider died, and I ate breakfast one morning.

Mrs. Roberts smiles at me as soon as we enter her classroom.

"You did pretty well on the test," she tells me, and I can't help but smile at her too.

At the same time, I'm in disbelief.

"I did?" I ask, and she nods.

"Maybe not the best in the class, but you still did well," she adds. "I'm guessing the tutoring really paid off. Looks like someone won't be needing it anymore; keep this up and you'll soon be at the top of the class! Who knows, maybe you'll be the tutor?"

I highly doubt that, but still, I applaud her enthusiasm and wild theories.

"Yeah," I pine. "I guess I just had a good tutor."

She smiles, and I smile, too. Her smile is pretty contagious.

"His scores were OK," she continues. "But you were better."

I didn't want to tell her that Cartman had cheated in the first place, but she was smart enough to have figured that out by herself.

"Well, are you going to miss being tutored?" she asks, even though she knows what I'd say.

So I go for the less obvious answer. "Not really."

And I leave, a huge smile on my face, because that tutoring made me realize that maybe Cartman isn't such a bad guy after all.

And maybe a relationship with him could work.

Hi, I'm Clyde Donovan, I'm probably gay/bi curious, and I love my boyfriend, Eric Cartman.

Oh, and...The End.

A/N: :O OMG. It's over. Dun dun dun. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, read or put on alert/favourites. Wow, can't believe it's complete :/ And I updated it quickly so you didn't have to suffer! Aren't I just the best? :) I'm contemplating another full length story, and maybe a short sequal because I just loved writing this (and writing in Clyde's POV). Well, that's all, folks!