Chapter Text
Your name is KARKAT FUCK OFF BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO TELL YOU MY LAST NAME, and you are currently in your stepmothers WARM EMBRACE in your TWO STORY HOUSE. Your house has been very neat and tidy since your stepmother got here about 3 years ago. Your real mom… Well you don’t want to talk about it right now. Long story short, your stepmother (who insists on you just calling her mom instead of Ms. Paint, like you used to) is hugging you tight and trying to calm you down. You are coming down from one of your…
Moments, as you like to refer to them.
A panic attack that really comes out of seemingly nowhere. But it’s always something, something gives you anxiety. Even if it is little and you don’t understand why you freaked out over it.
You’re clinging to the back of her shirt for dear life and sobbing into her shoulder. She has you in her arms and is petting your hair softly. She hums into your ear, and god is it comforting but she hates you doesn’t she? She hates the 17 year old you who is still having panic attacks and crying like a child in her arms, doesn’t she? She just doesn’t tell you, right? You’re worthless and childish and stupid and you have to take stupid medication because of it.
“You hate, r-right, bec-cause I’m dumb,” you say into her shoulder. She’s silent for a moment then pulls away.
You knew it.
She looks concerned, “No, I don’t hate you, I would never hate you,” her lips are pressed to your forehead and she wipes tears that are still falling from your cheeks. “Wait right here, okay Karkat?” nod nod nod. She leaves with the knife you had in your hand and you are left sitting on the floor in sweatpants and no shirt. You only cut yourself a couple of times before she found you doing so.
God, it’s cold in here.
“Mother” comes back in a few minutes with pills and tea. God, pills. You hate these things, but you take them anyway and wash them out with tea. A blanket is placed around your shoulders when you both hear the door open and close. Your mother pats your back, “I’ll go get your dad,” she says.
Your dad is… something else. He’s a little rough around the edges, yes. He seems mean but he spoils you rotten. Heavy footsteps are heard coming up the stairs, then your bedroom door opens. You huddle closer in your blanket, the tea cup being mostly empty, but you need something to distract you. You stare down at the cup in your hands, It’s lost most of it’s heat, now it’s the temperature of your hands.
Your father is kneeling in front of you, you can’t make eye contact with him. His hand rests on your shoulder, “Karkat,” his voice is rough and deep, but still soft. His voice draws you to look at him slowly, “Let me see,” he says. You sit for a second, but take off your blanket and he gets a better look. The cuts are on your chest, they aren’t bleeding anymore, “Please don’t be mad,” you say. He looks at you, “I’m not mad,” he says, “but I thought we had an agreement, if I’m not home you go to ‘Mom’ right?” Nod nod.
Ten minutes later you’re in bed with your mom sitting on the edge of the bed singing softly to you. You feel pathetic and childish. 17 years old and this is still going on. 17 years old in 11th grade, half way through the year and you still have to have your mom sing you to sleep sometimes.
You hope tomorrow will be better.
~
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday go by without much of anything happening.
Part way there. You can do it.
Your first couple of class periods go by without much of anything, sure a couple of looks from Eridan, the kid who bothers you a lot. Not much else.
Lunch break is welcomed with open arms, not because you’re hungry, but because you have no classes with your best friend Gamzee. You haven’t seen him in the cafeteria with his other friends, so you duck out of there and head outside.
God that place is crowded. Every grade eats at once and you hate it. You’re almost safely outside when there’s a shove behind you, you are face first on a locker, “Heeeeeyyyy Panic-y,” shit it’s Eridan. “Leave me alone,” you say and attempt to leave. He grabs you by the wrist and shoves you back first against a locker, his arm is against your chest right on the cuts. You cry out and try to wiggle out from beneath him.
No luck.
“How are you and you boooyfriend?” His smile is venom. “Gamzee isn’t my boyfriend! GODAMMIT GET OFF OF ME,” You bring your knee up and he is off of you in a split second. Vriska is suddenly there, god it’s scary how cat like she can be at times, and touches Eridan’s shoulder and sneers at you, “Get lost,” she says. “That was all I wanted,” you say with a smirk and head out the door.
You can smell the smoke as soon as you walk outside and walk towards the smell. You notice a boy on the benches as you walk by. He looks at you and you look at him. He is odd looking, but not ugly. Very attractive actually-- for a boy.
Not that you’d date a boy or anything.
You’re not gay.
He has a bright red hoodie on with grey pants. You nod at him and he smiles a little. He’s all alone out here…. You wonder why. You walk on by all the same.
You picked up the scent of smoke again and followed it behind a portable, low and behold. Gamzee Makara everyone. Crazy ass juggalo.
Sitting next to him feels like home, even if you are sitting on woodchips. He turns to you, “Hey, Karbro. Wanna light?” you have refused his offer so many times you don’t know why he even asks anymore. You throw a woodchip at him as a response. All he does is smile and put his arm around you, and you do not object to that. You scoot closer to him and rest your head on his chest.
You can kind of see why everyone think’s you two are a thing. To be honest, he was sort of a… Skinny love sort of thing for a while. Then he went out with a girl you had a crush on for the longest time and you both fell away from that. You were mad at him for a while, but missed him too much to keep avoiding him.
Now you both are friends again.
He rests his painted face on your head and you feel almost okay.
Almost.