Oneshot book 3..... Jesus Christ.

(Darker idea) Mania~Candy (South park)

So Cartman's POV.

I'm aware steps can be a dance but nothing like how she's doing it, in my sweatpants and her bra, listening to the microwave hymn a song not known to anybody but her, it sounds so unruly and the opposite of rhythmic but in her fake happiness I can almost buy it, I can almost believe having my bland shirt around her hips is something to be happy about, not something I ruined with my dumb ego—I can almost imagine she's happy like this, like the paycheque previously going to buying books or experiences isn't slowly fading away into savings to get away from me and my stupid mistakes, that her dance to the sound of popcorn isn't for the cheapest food so she doesn't owe me, I pretend a lot, she's not as convincing.

I can almost understand the smile on her lips as something other than her desperate hatred of me—I can almost pretend those eyes aren't darker in the wrong way and I can almost feel like my existence isn't a plague of mistakes on her—I can almost pretend it's cold enough for me to shiver again. I can almost pretend this isn't a plea for help, a plea for me to get away now and for her to be able to leave. But I read people well and know when it's an actress.

I stand up; she covers, her eyes go pick in fear, her eyes widen, the popcorn pops the top of its time, around 1 and a half minutes, her eyes keeping themselves on me as I take a step back, looking at her in the appropriate embarrassment while my eyes look down to her bruised stomach, her flinching just with my eyes trailing it. She's stronger than to do this, I know that much from school, but effectively she's powerless in the room with me closer to the door, me blocking her route, me standing there taller than her with the ability to squish her if I wanted to right now judging by the way she's moving with the bruised stomach. I'm powerful.

And somehow it's almost enjoyable to be in power, to listen to the popcorn slowly ride down though it's obvious it's just seconds, to watch time slow down in the shitty apartment with this girl with a part time job and university just down the street, knowing I'm a predator she wouldn't be able to escape appeals to some power fantasy in my head I can't quite rid of if I decide to, to see her walk to the popcorn avoiding bending down when taking it out of the shitty microwave on the floor, watching her thighs go against her legs and watching her go down is strangely erotic the same way her playfully waving it around while doing the same action. I can't even say almost, I'm enjoying watching her get up with the popcorn and look at me with that small blush that shows some lingering feeling—probably seeing how I'm feeling about her right now. Maybe wondering if the thing I did was as bad as she thinks she was, I know those eyes by now.

Bad habits were never something I could shake, truthfully shown by what I just did. From the ideal standpoint for humanity her screaming red and me being too driven to stop—whipping her like that to tell her I disapprove on a body part that can't take it—is something horrible. I know what a good citizen is like, non-violent, kind, pays their taxes on time and dies uneventful—dies something unspecialised. But objectively, sociopaths are meant for power. You need to have a certain charm, calculation, to get there and I know I can get those qualities to work for me.

She's effectively beautiful, she has pillowy lips and long black hair, long lashes, not much tit but a bit of a waistline, she's subjectively also very annoying and objectively not a great match for me—she's a liberal bitch, always debating and walking away when she doesn't objectively win, she thinks of herself above being quiet and letting the expert speak, she's an egotistical girl with what feels like OCD, she's into a soft hippie who can stand her woman empowerment marching—she was fucking made for my high school best friend but I was better at acting than they assumed.

And now she's here, in love with the beta cuck I have pretended to be. I wanted to live in the 1950's—40's even, I didn't want an education orientated woman to outsmart me in anything short game but this is where a dare in high school took me. I'm still smarter for the long run, I know where the steps lead.

She should've known where it'd go, she saw me with my ex girlfriend, you saw her eat out my palm but you fell for it. It seems even the smartest girls are stupid against a man with an agenda, though this took me quite a while it's still easy to get someone to sink when I put in the trigger and pull at it. It's easy to make her isolated by pulling strings behind the scenes, it's easy to sink her into her issues and be oh so comforting. It's easy to 'break' in front of her—doesn't have to mean I'm actually mean I have to be sorry.

Her eyes soften as I cry, muttering about not meaning it and getting an ice pack for her and understanding her leaving me—it's worked on people I've done worse to, people who haven't been this far gone into isolation.

It's easy to have her saying she'll 'think' about forgiving me in the tone that says you forgave already. It's funny, really, how she's acting like this is a hard question for her when we all know one thing.

Being with me gives you a high, a mania.