WARNING! IS SORTA SAD! I think there will be four parts to this and you'll see why later. If you like me you'll add me on tumblr because you are all nice people :) haha so enjoy and review please. no end note this time so yay! onward! (Im nerdy and i know it!)

I don't know how everything got so bad, all I remember is seeing the crystal tears fall down her pale rosy cheeks and feeling the need to stop them, help the scars heal her. I wish I hadn't. I wish I had just been the typical asshole I was, flip her off, maybe call her a bitch, and walk away laughing. That's what I used to do to people who were upset. It made me feel stronger than them, more powerful. And the more I could feel powerful, the better. All the agonized screams and desperate cries of other people had only filled me with a joy nothing else could.

But once the tears fell from her eyes, once the sobs came from her lips, the stone in me seemed to crack. I wish I could have kept it going, but I'd harbored the feelings so long, I've wanted her for so long! When she came to me, weak and begging for help in her sweet, desperate voice, I couldn't keep up the charade anymore and I let her fall, fall straight into my arms and let her cry and sob and moan. I didn't care that her mascara was ruining my red jacket. I didn't give two fucks that usually I would have been dancing in glee to hide the pain, for once I let someone cry, and I cried with her.

I'm not being fair; I should tell you all the details of that fateful night. God damn she's altered me so much that I actually said I wasn't being fair to people, how one person could change me so completely I hadn't a clue. Anyway, back to the flashback.

I had been home during a stormy winter night, the rain altering occasionally from rain to snow and back indecisively. Just a few moments ago, a fresh powder had been falling from the sky and now miserable tears fell from the sky.

I couldn't care less about the damn weather. Mother Nature could just go fuck herself if she thought she was going to ruin my Terrance and Phillip marathon. I laughed and chortled along with every fart joke, enjoying myself greatly.

Then the doorbell rang.

"MOM! DOORBELL!" I screamed to my mother, who was upstairs in her room. I waited a few seconds, then screamed again "MOM!" but she still refused to come down. Muttering "Stupid whore can't get out the damn bed. Fucking slut." I pulled myself off the couch with a groan of effort, then, still unused to my legs after three hours of couch time, wobbled over to the door and opened it.

There she was, Wendy fucking Testaburger. On my doorstep. Looking miserable as fuck.

I was about to make a forced snide comment when she said "Please Cartman, just hear me out. Please let me in."

I don't even know what the hell possessed me. Maybe it was the TV rays sinking into my brain. Maybe all the years of physical abuse from my mother's 'sex buddies' were beginning to get to my head. Or maybe it was just the hypnotic violet of her eyes, but I actually opened the door wider and allowed her through it.

She slid her back strappy heels, no kind of shoe to be wearing during winter, off to the side neatly, then took her coat and hung it on the coatrack. Wait? When the hell did we get a coat rack? I always threw my jacket over the top of the couch as I was yelling at my lazy bitch of a mother to make me some damn food.

Wendy looked down and I couldn't help the pang that went through me. Only the long haired girl in my living room right now could make me feel things other than anger and joy at misery.

I'd always had a thing for black haired girls. They were the sexiest in my opinion.

"Uh, what's wrong?" I asked, trying to pretend this wasn't the first time I gave a fuck about someone else's feelings.

"Cartman, I know we hate each other but I don't know what to do. Almost every time we make a date, Stan breaks it to go hang out with Kyle. I tried to tell him to make more time for me but he told me to stop complaining and being so clingy and Kyle wasn't near as clingy as me. So I went to Bebe and Red but they told me that I was lucky to be dating someone like Stan and said to stop my bitching. All the girls agree with them, so the only other person I could talk to was you. I need to feel something besides sadness, so go ahead. Yell at me, tell me I'm a whore. Call me a hippie, make me mad, as long as I'm not sad anymore,"

I feel frozen, looking at her tear streaked face, wishing myself to do what I always did and tell the beautiful girl her face was uglier than my cat's asshole or her pussy was so big she could keep her schoolbooks up there, but nothing came to me. I couldn't do it. Not to her.

The girl I'd been in love with since before I can even remember was coming to me for help and dammit it's time I did something.

I reached over and grabbed her arm. I saw her eyes widen in fear and I think she thinks I'm going to hit her, but I do something even more unexpected.

I pull her into a hug.

Wendy just stands there, her head against my plush chest, but then she wraps her arms as far around me as she can, sobbing on me and I move us both over to the couch and I hold her for at least an hour, maybe more. Time seems to have stood still for me thankfully. I'd rather the entire race of Jews fill up South Park than have to face the moment when she'd let go and become my enemy once again. I'd never felt anything so strong for anyone. I'd never felt any sort of compassion and now that I had, it hit me hard and as she clung to me, her misery filling me up, I felt my own tears escape the lids of my brown eyes and they raced down my cheeks and became a part of her rain soaked head.

I wonder if they soaked through her skin. I hoped so. That way a little part of me would be with her always.

Finally after the longest time of watching TV and cocoa, she told me she had to go.

"Thank you so much Cartman. This was actually really nice," she told me

"No problem Wendy," then I said something that even surprised myself "Come back over anytime you want or need me,"

Wendy's violet eyes, the color of Elizabeth Taylor's, widened so I could see the whites around the entire iris and I was close to taking it back with a mean retort when suddenly she smiled.

"I'll do that,"

I should have done it. I should have snapped back at her that she was pathetic and that if she ever stepped one hippie foot in my house I cut her throat out, harsh yes, but it'd save me the eternal sadness awaiting me now.

But if I had, I wouldn't be talking to Wendy right now. Wendy wouldn't trust me and depend on me to lift her spirits no matter how hard mine plummeted. She had always been independent, strong hearted.

She still was, but that fight left her every time Stan fucked up.

Stan Marsh. The athletic jock, the pretty boy of the 10th grade, Mr. Perfect.

To everyone else, not me.

If you ask me, Stanley Randall Marsh, number 38 on the football team as their star quarterback, was just an asshole.

Who else would leave his absolutely stunning girlfriend to be with the most aggravating, irrational, irritating person in the world, Kyle Broflovski.

I think he's had one too many concussions because something fucked up his brain enough to make him want to spend more time with the stupid, skinny Jew than his flawless . . .

Girlfriend.

I hated the way it sounded when I wasn't intended for me.

Wendy gave Stan the best time of his life, but he was running off with Kyle every damn second like he was his life line. Honestly, can't the two 'Super Best Friends' spend a single moment without their head rammed up each other's asses?

They fucking MADE ME SICK.

Their friendship had only increased over the years and now no one said one name without the other. They sounded good together. Stan and Kyle. Kyle and Stan. A sentence seemed incomplete if only one was mentioned.

I personally think they're so gay for each other I'd associate them with Siegfried and Roy.

Which is why I was with Wendy nearly every single night, letting her weep into my chest as I help her and made her my special cocoa, since that was the only damn thing I could make without burning it.

She'd giggle adorably every time I handed her a mug full of it, with a shit load of marshmallows and a spoon dipped into it.

Every single sound, every single tear and smile and touch made me fall deeper for her, and yet all she wanted was Stan.

Stan Stan Stan Stan STAN!

I couldn't take it much longer; I'm surprised I haven't screamed at her about the inconsiderate bastard by now.

I couldn't scream at her now, I was physically incapable of it. I was done, I was already falling over the edge, Wendy clutched closely to my side to help comfort her. Soon enough we would both crash and her precious little boyfriend would scamper along and shove his dick up Kyle's ass like he probably dreamt about doing every night. He probably jerked off at the thought of Kyle, not Wendy.

Again, Fucking SICK.

I tried to convince her every time to leave him but she would just stutter out "I love him, and he loves me," and I'd bite my tongue so hard it would draw blood as to not tell her he didn't love her and the only person who would ever love her the most was me.

Me, I'd be perfect for her, Stan tames the fire in her. He throws water on her to simmer her brilliant flames, but it would leave her cold and empty. What she needed was a person who could match her fire, help her burn brighter than she already did. And I knew that person was me, but I couldn't. She depended on me too much to help her and if she didn't want me that way, my contact with her would be over.

She'd leave me and find someone else to help her problems. She was my wound; my injury placed as though a plate broken by Stan. The shard entered me and even though it caused me pain, I couldn't pull it out, I couldn't get rid of it or else I would surely die.

That's a perfect analogy.

So after school, approximately six months later, I sat in my room, waiting for the inevitable. For once, I decided not to wait for the call and grabbed a thermos, filled it up with cocoa, even though it was summer (She still loved it "Calms my nerves. That shits better than tea") and walked to her house. I rang the doorbell and her mother let me in politely. People in town looked at me differently now. They had begun to see the soft Eric Theodore Cartman. I was losing everything I once had, but I was gaining something so much more important, the beautiful, onyx haired, violet eyed girl who I could only hope would eventually fall in love with me.

Until then, I'd walk up to her room and do the norm.

As expected, she was on her phone, screaming at the person on the other side. The voice on the other side sounded twice as angry as they shouted twice as loud. I just stood there until she said "FINE! FUCK YOU STAN!" and stabbed her phone and threw it at a wall.

"Good thing you have an Otterbox," I try to make the air lighter.

Wendy looks at me with tear brimmed eyes "Oh, hi Cartman, why are you here?" she asks me, her voice hiccupping.

I smile "Just hanging around. Cocoa?"

She grins and holds her hand out as I hand her the thermos "Thanks. You always make my day better," she says bring the thermos to her lips and taking a long sip, ending with an "Ahhh,"

I inwardly shudder at the noise. "Stan problems?" I guess.

Her eyes well up again, in anger and sadness "Yeah, I just don't know what to do anymore,"

I sigh and sit right next to her. I force her to look me in the eyes and say what I've said almost every day for the past half year "Dump him,"

She sighs as well "I can't, I still love him. He's annoying and stupid and an asshole but I still love him,"

I timidly put an arm around her and to my relief she doesn't pull away. Actually I think she leans in closer "Wendy we all love people but this is getting unacceptable. He needs to go NOW,"

I see a fire burn in her eyes and I'm joyful I put it there "Next time I promise,"

I tear up. She's said that every time I told her this. 'I'll do it next time' or 'He won't get away with this again' but he always does and they always stay together through thick and fucking thin.

I know because Stan's head is thick and Wendy's patience is thin, rightfully so.

I wipe away the tears hoping she didn't notice and we just talk. Inside I'm breaking. I'm falling farther apart and there isn't enough duct tape in the world that can put me back together.

So this will most likely be my routine for the rest of my life, me picking Wendy back up every single time she falls and she'll just run back into his arms even though he's done this so many times before.

I'll keep doing this too. I can't let her out of my grasp now. She had her head against my shoulder, taking to me in that lovely pitched sleepy voice, her eyelids fluttering and her nose twitching slightly at an itch. She was too much for me to let go of now. As much as she needed me, I needed her too.

So the next day and the next I'd put myself back through this endless cycle of brutality on my emotions and hope one day the sequence will break and she'll realize I was the one who was always there for her, not him.

Maybe one day, not likely, but that small maybe was all I needed to get back up and get back to being her support while my heart was slowly plummeting to its shattering point.

I wish I could say I hated doing this to myself, but with Wendy lying against me, I know this is all for a hopeless cause.