Salty Kisses Ch.7

Chapter Seven: The Hole

When one lies, does he lose a bit of himself? With every untruth does a piece of the soul escape through the mouth, forever attached to the white lie he has just told? If this is so, there is nearly nothing left to Eric Cartman. For I have lied more times than I can count.

My life is a constant lie. A string of deceit surrounds me. I feed into it like a drug addict searching for his next fix. Another lie and I will be satisfied; just one more and it will all be okay.

I am sheltered and shielded from the truth, locked away in a shit stained cage high above my filthy existence. It wasn't until I was much older that I found out who my father was. Some ginger freak who fucked my mother on a bar room floor. His agent had paid my mother to keep her mouth shut. She had pushed the town to follow suit. Money and a good season for the Broncos was more important that my knowing the truth behind my paternity.

But the truth is scarier than any lie I have ever told. I would rather die a soulless liar that let anyone know the truth behind this façade. As soon as the curtain is lifted and everyone sees the sad creature sitting behind it running the machine, the secrets of my existence will be revealed and I will be ruined. I will be the Wizard of Oz, stripped of power and forced to resign to a life even more solitary than the one I live now. If death does not find me first…

The truth does not set you free. It traps you in a web of lies.

If Gods the game that you're playing
Well we must get more acquainted
Because it has to be so lonely to be the only one who's holy
It's just my humble opinion but it's one that I believe in
You don't deserve a point of view
If the only thing you see is you
Woah

You don't have to believe me
But the way I, way I see it
Next time you point a finger I might have to bend it back
Or break it, break it off
Next time you point a finger I'll point you to the mirror

Henrietta called.

She told me to dress hot because we were going to The Hole. Blair would be by to pick me up in twenty minutes. She didn't wait for me to reply with whether or not I could go before she hung up. If she decided I was going somewhere, I was damned well going.

I tossed my cell aside and pulled on a slightly tighter pair of black pants with chains and bell bottoms. My clothing was fitting loosely now. I tugged a neon green tee shirt over my head and added a black and gray thick-striped zip-up hoodie. I made sure my make-up was "Gothic" enough and waited for Blair on the front stoop.

Blair was seventeen. He was the oldest Goth and the only one with a license. He owned a shitty little two door red Maxima that was falling apart. The back was covered in bumper stickers that were pealing and faded. His license plate read NONCNFST. He pulled up right on time, The Shroud pouring out of the speakers at top volume. The rest of the Goths were already jammed into the metal junkheap. Henrietta, of course, took precedence over the rest of us and received the front seat. Flippy and Salem were confined to the back.

I didn't want to get in the car.

I knew I would have to literally climb over Henrietta to get back there because she sure as hell wasn't getting out and letting me pull the seat forward and slide in comfortably. I hesitated in getting off my front stoop, but an angry car horn blast from my leading lady set a fire under my ass.

When Henrietta opened her door, I noticed how little she was wearing. A strapless blood red, corset top with a sheer black skirt that barely reached mid thigh greeted me with way more of Henrietta than I ever cared to see. I did my best to raise my leg as high as I could so that there was no possible way that any part of my body would come in contact with hers. I managed to get a knee on the parking brake; my body raised ever-so-slightly above the danger zone when I felt square cut nails grip my package through my pants.

I was so shocked by this sudden intrusion that I fell forward, on top of her. I was mortified. Disgusted. I wanted to cry. The first person to ever touch that area other than myself and it was a woman.

My nose was still centimeters from hers and she whispered, in a deep sultry voice only loud enough for me to hear "Nice."

I turned redder than her corset and scrambled furiously over her into the back seat. I squeezed in between Flippy and Salem, biting back the tears that were begging to come out.

- 0 -

The Hole was an underground scream-o club in Denver. The place was a dive. It smelled like shit and had a maximum capacity of about twenty-five people. However; it also didn't check ID and usually allowed about one hundred or more people to flow in and out during a heavy night.

Henrietta took my hand and led me in. It reminded me of something out of the mind of Jhonen Vasquez. The walls were peeling and the only lighting was strobe lights. The stage was small, but high up enough that the throngs of people could see the bands. There was also the distinct smell of pot and alcohol in the air mixed with the pungent odor of sex. Ah, just like Mama.

The moment we entered the club, the Goths spread out, save for Henrietta, who stayed stuck to my side as if by super glue. I was lead to a table and forced to sit. Henrietta was talking to me, but I wasn't paying attention. I didn't want to, not after what happened in the car. I nodded every so often but allowed my eyes to drift around the place.

There was glow in the dark splatter paint on the walls, it was peeling. Most of it was neon purple and an odd reddish-pink color that made it look as if an alien had been slaughtered in the place. The tables were small, high, and round with high barstools with small little backs. They had these ghoulish iron-looking centerpieces that looked like crawling ivory wrapped around a glass candle holder. Though instead of candles, the holder was filled with straws and sugar for coffee. No one seemed to use the sugar. The Goth thing to do was pour alcohol into black coffee.

A small bar sat along the back wall. It was equipped with only about four stools and a nymphet bartender. There was a sign above it that said they carded, but it didn't seem to apply since everything seemed to be BYOB anyway.

The stage was on the complete other side. There weren't even speakers attached to the front since the whole place was so small the band could just use their own amps and be heard just fine. Hell, they could play acoustic and it would probably sound like they were in a fucking stadium. There was a tiny blackboard easel next to the stage that they wrote the names of the bands on. Tonight, the glow in the dark neon markers scribbled out, Coffee for Killers. I had to wonder about that one. What the hell kind of band calls themselves that?

Henrietta decided to go take a piss really quick and grab an (irish) coffee before the show started. When she left, I closed my eyes. I wanted to rest, erase every second of my life that had lead up to this one. Every bad memory and every horrible event. I was beginning to reach a zen like state of total forgetfulness, most likely facilitated by a contact high, when I heard a voice I recognized. My eyelids shot up and my gaze was drawn to the table adjacent to mine.

"Kenny?"

"Cartman!" Kenny turned, surprised. I glanced at his company. He was chatting up some unsavory looking black guy with his dreads pulled up into a pony-tail on top of his head that made him look like a pineapple and far too many piercings in his face. Kenny looked shocked, no horrified, to see me. "What are you doing here?"

"My friends and I came to see the band." I told him, raising a brow skeptically. He was jittery again. I felt like I had interrupted an important conversation between him and Mr. Pineapple but I didn't care.  Men who look like fruit and their feelings have never really been on the top of my priorities list.

"O—oh" Kenny stuttered. He kept looking back at Pineapple Guy, who was looking more and more impatient with each passing second, "I'm—I'm just here to hang out with Julius." He indicated the man-fruit, who I could only assume was Mr. Julius. "We're just um…chilling I guess." He dropped his voice suddenly and started to speak very cautiously. His eyes weren't meeting mine, he was eyeing Julius, "Look, I'll talk to you later. I have some shit to handle. Kyle's here with that girlfriend of his, talk to him."

"Kyle's here!?" I exclaimed, my voice cracking.

"Whoa, don't freak out so much, fatass." He shook his head, before he and Julius stepped out the back door to talk in the alley behind the club. A pang shot through my stomach. He called me fat without even a second thought; it was as if the word was so ingrained in his system it slipped out before he thought about it. I was truly doomed to being fat forever, no matter how skinny I got. I looked down at the table. However; the thought didn't stay with me long as the weight of Kenny's words hit me. Kyle was here. I began to look around, wondering, Why?

"Why was he here? Where was he? What was he doing?" Questions whirled through my head faster than I could quash them. I wanted to see him. I wanted to see Kyle.

My thoughts were cut short as a voice began to scream into the mic, "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Please welcome, Coffee for Killers!" another all too familiar voice drew my attention to the stage. If I had been drinking anything, I would've spit it out.

Craig Tucker. Craig motherfucking Tucker, stood in the middle of the stage, dressed in black skinny jeans and a tight blue and black plaid hoodie. I thought I had seen it all, but that was until the rest of the band walked out onto the stage. Tweek Tweak, the little blonde spazoid ambled out with a guitar strapped around his frail body. Butters Stoch, who was now insisting everyone call himLeo was positioned behind the drums. And Token Black was on bass. I told that black motherfucker he knew how to play bass.

No wonder Kyle was here, he was friends with the band.

Craig cued the band and they started their first song. An explosion of sound washed over me and to my utter surprise, they were good. They reminded me of The Used. Craig was an unexpectedly good singer. He had a tenor voice with a gravelly undertone, perfect for emo and gothic style music. Their songs were very loud. It wasn't long before people were on the dance floor.

Henrietta reappeared. I could tell she had something to drink on her way back from the toilet. Her movements were a little swayed. She grabbed my arm, her nails clawing into it. I winced. "We're going to dance, Eric." She told me. It was another order. Henrietta never asked me anything, only commanded.

"Every time I think back/to the way you treated me"

Craig's voice filled my ears. Before I knew what had happened I was dragged onto the dance floor and being used as a stripper pole for Henrietta's lewd dancing. I was not enjoying it, trying to move a little to keep her happy. While attempting to back away from Henrietta's ever gyrating behind, I managed to back into another couple on the dance floor.

"I get furious/I get pissed enough to something I might regret"

Turning around I found myself face to face with the two people I wanted to see least that night.  My stomach shot to my throat and I froze. I thought I might vomit onto the floor, if I ever found the ability to move again. I was certain in that moment that God did indeed hate fags because he was certainly punishing me.  

"I get so mad/I wanna kick your ass"

Kyle and Rebecca stared at me. I hadn't seen Kyle face-to-face since our fist fight. While it had only been a few weeks, felt like years now that I was confronted with those devastating green eyes. Even in the dark, they shone like tiny emeralds, lodged into his sockets; piercing my soul. I shuddered.

"I wanna smash your face/I wanna pick a fight"

God, he looked good. Dressed in yet another pair of dark jeans that caressed his ass and a button down blue shirt. He had decided not to wear his hat. Instead, he had gelled his auburn hair into curls. It took every ounce of power I had not to attack him right there on the dance floor and run my fingers through his gorgeous hair. Damn him. Damn him to hell.

Henrietta looked around me at Kyle and Rebecca, raising an eyebrow, "Do you know these conformists, Eric?" Henrietta sneered, venom in her voice. She obviously recognized Kyle from the basketball team. She hated sports, in her opinion anything that required the tiniest trace of organization, dedication, or (god forbid) uniforms was conformist on par with Nazism. Kyle shot her a look of contempt.

"Just some Jew," I spat. The words came easily enough, but they didn't feel natural anymore. I knew that if Kyle looked into my eyes he would see I was longing for him. He would be able to see my entire soul, stripped naked and spread out for his viewing. Hopefully, he wasn't looking that close. I was begging to turn back towards Henrietta when Kyle spoke.

"But the worst part is I can't get you out of my head!/Waoh!"

"Come on, Rebecca." Kyle sniffed loudly, "It's crowded over here. It must be those two fat asses taking up the floor." His eyes locked with mine when he said the word fat and I felt my blood boil. I took a step forward but Henrietta placed an authoritative hand on my shoulder. In one move she spun me around and into her body. The song was heating up and so was she. This time, I performed. I could feel Kyle's eyes on me and I wanted him to watch. I was out to prove something. Prove I wasn't gay. Prove I didn't need his skinny ass.

Henrietta grinded her body into me and I peeked over at Kyle. He locked eyes with me. Rebecca had taken our cue and was practically giving him a fucking lap dance on the dance floor. She pushed her tiny tits into his chest, and he ran his hands down her backside, giving her cheeks a noticeable squeeze. He smirked at me.

It's on, mother fucker.

"Fuck you/Why can't you/Can't you just get out of my head?"

Henrietta turned her back to me and gyrated her ass into my crotch. I almost froze as I was reminded of earlier in the car, but trying to show up Kyle pushed me forward. I pressed my face into her neck. I moved my hand along her thigh riding up her ridiculously short skirt. I heard her moan but I didn't care. She wasn't the one I was interested in. I wasn't thinking about the consequences of my actions. I just wanted Kyle's reactions.

And I was getting them.

With every move I made I could see him get angrier. I had never in my life seen him more focused on me. It was the closest thing to drugs I had ever done. It was like I was getting high on Kyle's concentration, on his attentions. It was the closest thing to happy I had ever been.

Then he won.

"Why can't you/Can't you just leave me alone?"

Kyle was competitive. He hated to lose, and he had the edge.

He pulled Rebecca into a long, romantic kiss. Wrapping his fingers into her flyaway birch curls, he guided her mouth open and she invited in his tongue. She swooned, tossing her arms around his shoulders she pulled him down to her. I felt sickened.

"It's been so long/You've taken over my brain"

My Gothic dance partner snatched the front of my hoodie and tugged me towards her into a lip lock I would not soon forget. My eyes did not close. I did not wrap my arms around her. A tongue was forced into my mouth. It felt as if I had swallowed an ash tray soaked in Jack and Coke.

She pushed her body against me; it was squishy like a bean bag chair. She used her free hand to shove my head down so that she could press her tongue further into my mouth until I was gagging. Her nails dug into the back of my head, ripping at the skin.

Lightning cracked through my brain; angry static electrifying my senses back into life, dragging me back into the reality of the situation. A slimy, ashy tongue was probing the depths of my mouth. I push Henrietta away and to the bathroom.

"I hate you/I hate you"

Kyle caught my eye as I was pushing my way off the dance floor. His eyes were huge, nearly glowing in dim light. He looked shocked. I could feel the tears coming. I needed to get out of there.

"I love you…"

- 0 -

I ran into the men's room.

It was disgusting. The ground was covered in piss and vomit and god knows what else. Used toilet paper and condoms littered the floor and doors were missing from some of the stalls. I went into the last stall and forced the lock shut. I slammed my back into the wall, sinking to the ground without noticing, or caring, how vile the concrete floor was.

It was as if the entire world came crashing down on me in that moment. Static buzzed through my ears. My stomach churned angrily, trying to force bile up my throat. My brain began to pound against my skull, attempting to break through. I could feel every vein pulsating, every artery throbbing. My hands shook and began to sweat.

I wanted to die. I had been so consumed with showing up Kyle I had led Henrietta on and I punished for it. My first kiss was stolen away. In public.

They say karma is a bitch, but I'm hers. She uses and misuses me and throws me to the wolves whenever she feels like it. It was my own fault. It was always my own fault. I hate myself. I hate myself so much.

I clenched my eyes shut, squeezing my head. I wanted to shut down. I wanted to pretend I was somewhere else. Suddenly, I remembered the feeling of the compass against my skin. The sweet sting of my skin as it was cleansed. I needed that. I needed to be released from my pain. Digging vigorously through my pockets I found my wallet. I disconnected the chain, the edge was not as pointy as my compass but it would do.

I unhooked the curved edge of the chain so the pointed part of the clasp was pointed upward. I dug it into the soft underbelly of my arm. The tender skin proved resistant. I pushed harder, forcing the spiked edge into one layer, two layers of skin. I used the tiny clasp like a shovel and began to burrow into my arm. Minutes went by, the pain intensified but I was not satisfied. I needed blood. I needed to see that crimson liquid seeping through an opening in my body. I was not truly purified until I released my inner toxins.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, I was rewarded. No smooth lines, just a divot in my skin. A deep cave, cherry red and filled with my evils. It took but moments before the blood reached the surface and began to drip.

I grabbed some of the toilet paper from the dispenser and pressed it against the hole, stemming the flow of blood. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, feeling my anxieties drain from me like blood through my fingers.

I know when it's getting rough
All the times we spend
When we try to make
This love something better than
Just making love again

It's not like you to turn away
All the bullshit I can't take
Just when I think I can walk away,

I'm so addicted to all the things
You do when you're going on me
In between the sheets
Or the sound you make
With every breathe
It's not like anything…

I missed the next day of school.

I couldn't face Henrietta or Kyle. I knew I had dug my own grave. I was as good as the Goth Queen's boyfriend by now. For some reason, I didn't want to even see Kyle if it meant I might have to explain my new "relationship" to him. I was terrified. I knew it was irrational, he most likely wouldn't even talk to me.

I spent the day in bed, my arms wrapped around Mr. Kitty face buried in her fur. I binged on so much chocolate that I wasted the latter half of the day barfing it all up. I spent a lot of time staring at the fresh gouge in my arm. It was deep. I could press my pink into it. It hurt, but I liked the pain. The temporary bite distracted me from the reality of what was Eric Cartman.

I had started to wear long sleeves. I didn't want anyone to know what I was doing to my body. I was conscious enough to know that most people would not accept my method of release. I didn't even want the Goths to know. Even if they romanticized cutting, it was too important to me to let anyone in on my secret. No one could take my sweet liberation away from me. Not even my mother.

I was finally free…