"at the same time, i still want to be caught in that childhood memory forever, of running across the canadian border, my older brother at my heels, us laughing and him telling me to slow down before i slipped and fell on the icy roads. but, what can you do? nothing lasts forever, i suppose."
yes yes hello my name is john this is my fucked up fan-fiction i hope you enjoy it.
a story about two boys who fall in love and lose their minds
The chopsticks snapped cleanly into two halves, the cheap birch wood offering an even eating utensil only just this once.
His hands curled around them, forming into a position and picking up a piece of sushi. He placed it delicately in his mouth, chewing slowly, the seaweed wrapping the rice and fish together tough and chewy. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.
“Is the sushi good?” His parental figure was facing him from the other side of the table, pausing while picking up his piece of sashimi style salmon. His sterling gray eyes were inquiring, while the boy's ocean blue eyes remained emotionless, and just a tad bit uncertain.
“It could be better.” He replied, putting down his chopsticks and taking a sip of the ice-water. He swished it around in his mouth a bit before swallowing, getting the remnants of the sticky rice out of the tightest corners of his teeth and gums. For extra cleaning purposes, he stuck a finger in his mouth, searching around the cracks between his separate teeth and scratching at half-chewed pieces of fish that remained hidden secretly in the nooks. The truth was, he didn't like sushi at all. He hated sushi.
Accidentally, his finger scraped too hard against the gum line, rupturing the fragile surface and capillaries and causing minor bleeding. He flinched and withdrew his finger, noticing watery blood on the tip. He could taste the scarlet liquid inside his mouth, and he licked his tongue around the sore area to hopefully quell the minor throbbing that ensued.
He then proceeded to wipe his finger on a napkin but stopped and instead decided to stare at the half-blood half-saliva mixture on his fingernail. He hated the fact that it wasn't pure. It wasn't the actual, noticeable bright red that he found pleasing to the human eye. With a look of slight disgust, he brushed his finger on his pants and picked up the book he was reading before the food arrived. His fingers slipped against the paper uncomfortably and he recoiled, looking at his finger to notice a slight papercut.
It bled slowly and raggedly, and he was slightly pleased to notice it was the pure substance he was looking for. Red, bright, somewhat enticing. He kept staring at it, staring into the color. His lips turned dry. He licked them.
What if this red was everywhere? What if it was all over the room? What if he was the one that caused red to be all over the room? He shivered, but out of pleasure or fear? The blood dripped from his finger, in a drop to the ground below. It was so intriguing. He wanted the red to be everywhere.
“Are you alright?” The parental figure's voice snapped him out of his daydream. He was now shivering in fear.
“I'm going to go to the restroom.” He changed the subject and sat up abruptly, hurrying along to the back of the restaurant. He was relieved to find it was only a single restroom and not one with multiple stalls. He went to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He had bags under his dull blue eyes. They were no longer oceans, just shells amongst the bed of the sea. He looked back at his finger and put it in his mouth, sucking on the metallic and salty tang that blood offered. It felt... Good. He didn't no why. The shaking didn't cease. He felt like he was about to throw up.
He dropped to his knees, the cold tile floor hardening his fall. There would be bruising. He thought about those bruises, coming in colors of purples, blues, and yellows. His stomach lurched.
His hands curled around the porcelain rim of the toilet and he began to retch into the bowl. The bile stung against the sides of his throat, adding a sour taste to his mouth and lips. He screwed up his face after the vomiting ceased, shaking even harder than when he started. He let out a choked sob and fell to the floor, grabbing his jet-black hair in his hands and pulling and pulling.
Every night was just like this. He didn't want this night be a night like the others. He wanted to stop. He wanted to be done. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to be a rotting corpse in the ground, his organs strewn across the grass and blood everywhere, his eyes blank and glazed and staring up at the sky. Flies would dance around his ripped skin and lay their eggs which would hatch into maggots that would wriggle around and burrow deep, eating his dead flesh and- no, no, no. No, he couldn't think about that. His stomach twisted again. He didn't want to throw up the rest of today's meals. The Existentialist opened his mouth in a silent scream and prayed quietly for death.
Karkat Vantas awoke in his bed, the daylight from his window already fading. His eyes were dead. His feet and hands dangled on either side of his bed. He stared at the cracks in the ceiling with dulling boredom. Another wasted day. Another wasted fraction of his life.
But today was different from the other days. Today was Karkat Vantas's lucky day. It was his last day on Earth. And he knew the above statement was true.
That was his first mistake. The thing was, the above statement was not true. Today wasn't going to be Karkat Vantas's last day on Earth. That day would wait. He was still lucky, however, because that day wasn't far along ahead.
His limbs seemed to move on their own, while his head remained on the single pillow, unwilling to get up. He had to get up at some point. His last day on Earth wouldn't go out without a bang. He hoisted himself up, laying his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. He drew in his toes and sighed. For a second he thought he would have smiled, being comforted by the thought that this was his last day on Earth. But he didn't. There wasn't a reason to smile, the numbness covered up everything he wanted to show.
His bed squeaked as he stood. He didn't bother to stretch and yawn and walked right out of his room to the kitchen of his tiny apartment that he shared with his father.
His stomach growled noisily, and he opened the fridge, shoving his hands around the compartments, scrounging around for anything and everything to quell his hunger. He scarfed down the leftovers from today's lunch: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple. There was a frozen pizza in the freezer, so he brought that out and placed it in the oven, pacing around the small, two-person sized kitchen and anticipating his death like a child's first visit to a theme park. He stared at the ticking clock on the microwave, situated beside the oven on the counter. It was six o'clock in the evening. It wouldn't be long before his life would end and he'd be content, floating along in nothingness, or whatever came afterwards.
Karkat Vantas wasn't afraid of death. He relished in the idea of it. He didn't believe in Heaven or Hell, and felt no need he had to to have a good afterlife. He believed he'd become nothing, which was exactly what he wished for.
After an hour, the oven dinged, signaling his pizza was ready. He dragged it out and wolfed it down, not waiting for it to cool. He didn't care. He was going to puke it all up anyway. It was his last day on Earth, he deserved to pig out.
There was shuffling in his father's room, and some mumbling. Karkat cursed silently to himself, he must've woken up his father during his nap. He finished his pizza and quickly cleaned the pan he put it on, leaving it in the sink. Hurriedly, he walked into his bedroom and shut the door quietly, hoping he hadn't really woken up his father. If he did, there would be hell to pay, and Karkat didn't want this last day to end badly. He wanted to feel good about dying. He wasn't going to cry today. Today wouldn't end the same as the others. He knew it wouldn't. He'd be dead by next morning, and that was all that mattered.
Karkat sat back down on the bed, staring at his feet. He closed his eyes. He could almost taste death on his tongue. It was sweet and it was the only thing left for him now that his whole life had gone down the drain.
Clattering was heard in the kitchen as he heard his father prepare dinner. It wouldn't be much, but Karkat didn't care. He was going to be a dead man. His fingers curled and he couldn't stop anticipating death.
This was Karkat's second mistake. It wasn't a great idea to expect these kinds of things so highly. He hated getting his expectations down, and boy, was he prepared for some disappointment.
He sat there in his room, not noticing that the sky was getting darker until he was enveloped in the dim light of night. The moon, a full moon, shined down into the window. An array of light was splayed across the small space Karkat's room consisting of a twin-sized bed, a small closet filled with three sweaters and two pairs of jeans, and some clothes to sleep in, and small desk with an ancient looking laptop atop it.
It was true Karkat didn't live in the best of homes. His father had quit his job a long time ago, causing them to lose more and more money everyday. Now he chose to remain a lazy ass, sitting on the couch all day, watching golf or waking up at some ungodly hour in the morning and then napping for the rest of the day. They rarely had any contact with each other because Karkat had started to sleep in, even if he went to bed early. Any time they did talk to each other, it was usually over dinner, and the conversations were brief until his father would accuse Karkat of doing something he didn't do just for an excuse to start drama and hit him if he back-talked.
It was also true Karkat had stopped caring for himself a long time ago. He dropped out of high school when he was sixteen and remained home, sleeping until the sun set and regretting everything he had ever done. Most of the time he would stand in front of his bathroom mirror and shout obscenities at his reflection, or he would talk to his past self late at night, saying how much of an idiot he was, even after he just stopped being his past self. Then he'd think about the future and how much of his life he wasted, and how much a waste of space he was himself.
And this continued until this very day, but today Karkat was going to get rid of all of that. Of all the self-hatred inside of him. Of this whole stupid game of life. People would call him selfish, but he'd just call it a war. Life had stabbed him down. But that's okay, sometimes being a loser can grant you good things. Like death.
His father yelled his name, shattering Karkat of his thoughts. He grimaced, angry about the fact he had to face his bastard father again. But this was the last day he'd ever see him.
The above statement is actually true. Though Karkat wouldn't die now, he would certainly not see his father again after this day.
He opened the door hesitantly and walked through the kitchen to the small dining room consisting of a plastic table and two folding chairs. A single light bulb hung over the table, and Karkat snorted. He always thought this whole set-up was stupid, but what can you do? They were dirt poor and Karkat was even surprised they were able to pay rent for the apartment at all, as well as buy food.
He sat down stiffly, his movements like a robot. A steaming plate of spaghetti was in front of him. His father sat in front of him, staring him down. Karkat sighed in his mind, for he knew where this was going. He prepared to get yelled at and cautiously began eating his spaghetti in small nibbles.
A few minutes passed by in silence. His father hadn't touched his food yet and continued to glower at his son in front of him.
“You woke me up from my nap.” He started. Karkat held back a groan.
“Sorry.” He mumbled and continued to eat.
A pause, then, “You're a piece of shit, you know that?”
Again, Karkat held back a groan. He was doing his particular way of starting a fight with him. Accusing him for some stupid reason, then insulting him until Karkat would fight back and then his father would hit him or abuse him in some way for talking back.
Karkat, hoping he could avoid a quarrel, stayed quiet, continuing to eat even though his stomach was hurting and even though the spaghetti tasted more unappetizing with every bite.
“You're never going to get anywhere in life, you fucking drop-out. No college would want you, no job would want you... You're going to be a pathetic bum on a street, begging for money.”
Karkat chewed his spaghetti slowly, swallowing with the slightest bit of hesitation, and then twirling the noodles around his fork in a bored manner. He never unlocked his gaze from the half-eaten plate in front of him.
“You'll never have a woman. Or, you'll fall in love with a whore, bang her, have children and then be unable to take care of the children because the both of you can't pay for child support. She'll dump your ass, take the kids, and leave you to rot. You'll die alone.”
Karkat glanced at the clock. It was close to nine o'clock. He knew he wouldn't have to hear anymore of this soon, so it was best to hold all his snark in, but he couldn't help it, “Kinda like you?”
“What did you just say to me?” There was a pause before his father said this. Karkat continued twirling the noodles, acting as if he hadn't said anything. Silence passed between the two and tension crackled above their heads like lightning during a summer storm.
“I said, what the fuck did you just say to me?”
The snark level was rising. Karkat was having too much fun, maybe it was best to start a fight with his father. Give him the anger he had long since held in. He put down his fork and faced his father, resting his elbows on the table and staring him in the eyes. They both had the same eyes, bright red ones, as they were an albino family.
Karkat paused a little bit more before continuing, clearing his throat, and enunciating every word as obnoxiously as he could, “I said, kind. Of. Like. You.”
His father stood abruptly, the chair screeching as it was pushed back. He looked down on his son as he shrugged and continued to eat.
“You son of a bitch.” He said. Karkat said nothing again.
“I hope you fucking rot in a hole alone, you piece of shit. You're nothing compared to me. Absolutely nothing. I wish you were never born. You were a goddamn accident. I can't believe you're my son, I should have kicked you out a long time ago.”
Karkat could feel the anger bubbling inside him, but he remained silent. He stopped eating his spaghetti, staring intently at his plate as if it was a piece of famous artwork. His father leaned down. He got so close to Karkat's head, that he could feel his father's whiskey smelling breath rustle his white hair.
“You should be dead already. Your life is a lie, so you might as well just give up.”
That was it. That was the breaker right there. Karkat glanced quickly at the clock and knew now was the time to get up and get ready to die. He stood up, looking his father dead in the eyes. With absolutely no expression of anger or sadness, he bravely said, “Alright. If that's what you want for your little boy, I'll give you that.” He then turned his back on his father and walked to his bedroom.
“Where the fuck do you think you're going?” His dad yelled behind him and Karkat turned to face him, glaring.
“To die. You're welcome in advance, Dad.” And that was that. He left his father in silence and walked into his room, closing the door behind him and being enveloped in darkness again. As calmly as possible he gathered a length of rope from the back of his closet and tied it into noose. He had practiced tying them many times just for this night. And now his efforts were finally coming to fruition.
He pulled his desk chair, which was just a regular dining chair, out from under his desk and put it underneath his ceiling light. He tied the end of the noose around his ceiling. He tied the knot tight to make sure it wouldn't slip and would hold his weight. He stood on top of his chair, satisfied with his work and proud. This was it. This was his final few moments. It felt good. He was sure no one would disturb him and he would go unnoticed.
This was his third mistake. Karkat had forgotten his older brother Kankri would be coming to visit that evening. Kankri had arrived right on time, saying hello to his father in the dining room while Karkat did his work in tying his noose and preparing his death.
Karkat grabbed the noose, feeling the rough and sandpaper texture of the rope before slipping it over his head. Kankri was walking towards his bedroom to say a greeting. Karkat positioned himself and was about to kick the chair from underneath him. Kankri opened his unlocked door.
“Karkat, I've arriv- oh my goodness, Karkat what do you think you are doing!?” Karkat stumbled, slipping from the noose and crashing down to the floor. He screamed, attempting to drag himself up again only to find Kankri wrapping his arms around him and restraining him from doing anything.
Karkat yelled, cursed, and flailed wildly, but his brother's grip was like iron. Through all the noises he was making, he could make out Kankri talking aloud to him in fragments.
“How could you do this to our family-”
“What would mother and father think-”
“This is awful-”
“Didn't you even care to think about your family-”
“People love you-”
“You should have gotten help-”
And then finally, he finished, “Karkat, why, oh why on Earth would you choose to do this?”
Karkat had gained enough control of his voice to speak normally, “Because... Because I can't do it anymore, Kankri. I just can't do it anymore! I'm done, I'm so done. Please, just fucking take me out of my misery already, let me go, let me die. Let me die, I want to die. I don't deserve anything, I'm such a fucking failure. You can move on, you don't need me in your life. I'm just another waste of space. Please... Please.” He continued to curse as he realized warm tears were trailing down his cheeks. Eventually he managed to wriggle out of Kankri's grasp as it loosened and when he turned around to look at his brother, there was deep hurt in his own bright red eyes.
“Karkat...” He started. Tears were running down his face as well. Karkat didn't want that. He wanted everyone to be glad he was gone. He didn't want people to have to worry about him anymore, especially his own brother. Kankri worried about him more than he gave him credit for. He always talked to Karkat online, either on Facebook or Skype. Some nights, when Karkat would rant and complain to him about how much he hated himself, Kankri would stay up and try his hardest to help him calm down. Most of the time it was unsuccessful, but he tried so hard to make Karkat feel better. He didn't care if it was a school night for him, or if he had college classes early in the morning, or even if he had to get work done. He would sacrifice all of this just for the sake of the wellbeing of his younger brother.
There were many times Karkat would complain about his brother. As a matter of fact, he hated him because he always found him such a nuisance to talk to and only used him as a person to rant to just because he had no one else besides his father, who would most likely give two shits about how he felt, and call him a weak pussy or faggot for complaining about his life in the first place.
This night was different. Karkat looked at Kankri's face, watery-eyed and streaked with tears, “Karkat, please listen to me. I don't want to lose my only brother.” He couldn't take it anymore, he fell right into Kankri's arms and sobbed as loud and hard as he could. He stained his brother's red sweater with tears and he wrapped his arms tightly around him, knowing that this person was the only one that offered a crutch. In that brink moment, drinking in the sharp scent of his brother, he realized how much he didn't want to die. He wasn't brave. He was a coward. He was afraid of death. By God, was he afraid. But he was still disappointed that he couldn't do it. That he ran away from it.
“It's alright, it'll be alright. Hush.” Kankri rubbed his hands on Karkat's back, trying his best to comfort him and make him stop crying.
At that moment his father walked in, “I heard shouting, what the hell is going on in here?” He stopped when he noticed the two brothers on the floor, Karkat weeping his heart out. He then noticed the noose swinging just slightly from its hanging position. His bushy eyebrows scrunched together.
Kankri said nothing for a while, just continued to rub Karkat's back, but then, “I'm going to take Karkat to the hospital. I've decided he can't continue any longer like this. He needs professional help.” With that, Kankri hoisted Karkat up. His legs wobbled underneath him and Kankri took hold of his shoulder, helping him walk past his father and to his car he had parked in the guest parking lot. Karkat lived on the first floor, so it was easy to get out. His steps were slow while Kankri hurried, trying to get Karkat help as soon as possible. There were many times Kankri was dragging Karkat, urging in hushed tones to keep moving.
Karkat had stopped crying by the time they were in the parking lot, searching for his brother's car. He was now staring ahead of him, his eyes glazed. He didn't know where he was or where he was going. He was still back in his bedroom, tying the noose around his neck. His stomach began to hurt and he felt bile rise in his throat. He stopped abruptly and vomited right where he stood.
Kankri had gotten out of the way just in time, supporting Karkat as his knees grew even more wobbly, the vomiting continuing until Karkat had gotten everything out of his stomach.
“Take it easy Karkat, come on.” Kankri said, continuing to move Karkat once he was finished. He didn't cry or anything afterwards and remained blank.
They got to Kankri's car and he helped him into the passenger seat, putting on his seat belt for him and closing the door. Once he got into the driver's seat, they were off, Kankri going slightly above the speed limit, something he never did.
The hospital wasn't far away, around five minutes at least, but Kankri rushed anyway. He was afraid Karkat would do something dangerous, such as unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out the car door. But Karkat remained in his position, staring at nothing in particular, his arms like jelly beside him. Kankri took one hand off the wheel and reached it over. He held Karkat's hand, and silently, he prayed for him.
Kankri knew his brother wasn't religious at all, and he got angry whenever Kankri mentioned praying for his safety and health, but he did it generally in secret. He prayed for Karkat during his nightly prayers. He prayed for Karkat at church. He prayed for him while blessing his food for dinner, he prayed for him whenever he felt like he had to. He wanted Karkat to be safe, and he knew of his father's horrid ways. He knew his father was a terrible man, but he respected and loved him anyway because he was family.
Once they got to the hospital Kankri quickly found a parking spot in front of the emergency entrance and got out to the passenger side, helping Karkat get out of the car. Again, he hoisted him along to the shortly distanced entrance, a neon side above the sliding doors spelling out “emergency” in big, bulky letters.
Kankri went to the front desk right when they entered, and talked to a blond haired nurse behind the counter. She showed concern, seeing how distant Karkat looked.
“Hello. My brother here tried to kill himself. He's suffered from depression in the past but has never gotten help. Is there anyone I can speak to, like right now?” He spoke with urgency, trying hard to act as calm as he could.
“Is he badly hurt from his suicide attempt?” She asked, glancing at Karkat up and down. Other than the rope burn he had received from the noose, he was alright physically.
“No. He appears to be unharmed. I just really need some help for him, I'm very frightened.” Kankri said, adding the last part as quickly as he could. If Karkat wasn't stunned at that particular moment, he would have noticed how Kankri openly announced his fear for his brother. He was terrified Karkat would run off to kill himself again, or at least be unable to be helped.
“Yes, we'll call for someone from our mental ward right away to talk to him. He might be able to be admitted if his condition is severe enough.”
“Alright, thank you so much, God bless you.” Kankri said, his voice breathy from relief. He would have broken down and cried right there, and almost did, if he wasn't holding Karkat.
“Did you hear that, Karkat? You're going to get help. You're going to be just fine.” Kankri said, looking at his brother and hoping for some kind of reaction. Karkat remained transfixed on the fake marble counter in front of him, staring at the tiny white dots that littered the black surface.
He ushered Karkat over to the waiting area after telling the nurse his name and sat him down in a chair. The place was packed with people, even though it was late at night, some wailing in pain, others silent and probably wishing to not be here. He looked at Karkat to make sure he wasn't going to get up and go anywhere. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed a policeman at the counter. The nurse was gesturing towards the both of them and the policeman moved closer to them, not close enough to be uncomfortale, but far away enough to know he was watching them both. Kankri knew it was a safety precaution for Karkat and that the people here were just as scared of him running off to kill himself. Feeling reassured someone else was looking after his younger brother, he closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, and continued to pray for Karkat.
On the other hand, Karkat sat praying to have anything drastic happen to him, a heart attack, a stroke, a blood clot, anything. He was still back in his room and anticipating death with expecting hands wide open.
They waited for the whole night. The nurses kept coming to reassure them they'd be receiving assistance soon, it was just the emergency room was busy. Eventually, Kankri had fallen asleep waiting for them while Karkat remained awake.
Sooner or later, at around six-thirty in the morning, a nurse called for them and Kankri helped Karkat up. He was just starting to get a feel for where he was, but still wasn't quite sure if this was home or not. The only question was why. Why was he here?
They were taken to a totally different set of rooms isolated from the other areas of the hospital. They looked like prison doors, all held under lock and key. They were led by the nurse to one room where people sat around a table, chatting quietly. They all appeared to be young adults. Most seemed to look normal, others appeared to look downright crazy.
The nurse urged Karkat to sit somewhere and then left the two alone. Kankri took Karkat to the table and sat him down. Kankri looked around at the others. They stared back at him. Karkat stared at nothing in particular. There was one young man in the group that wasn't looking at the others as well. He was rocking back and forth, his hair matted and dirty. He scratched incessantly at his head. Pitying him, Kankri sent a quick prayer for him and remained next to Karkat, watching him intently. Police officers paced around the halls, sometimes standing around and making sure no one would run away.
They remained silent as they waited. People shuffled in their seats and coughed seldomly. Nurses came and went inside the rooms, taking people with them. A man in another room was wailing loudly before someone shut him up. The police officer's continued to shuffle their feet as they observed everyone.
After what seemed like forever, or at least an hour, a nurse arrived to take Karkat and Kankri to yet another room, this one also under lock and key, but with a single stretcher. It looked like a regular examination room. A man arrived in a white coat shortly after. He shook Kankri's hand, introducing himself as Dr. Wilkerson. Then, he looked expectantly over at Karkat who sat expressionless on the edge of the stretcher. Outside, through the squared glass window, you could see the head of a police man as he stood beside the door, making the already secure area even more secure. It made Karkat feel slightly imprisoned, even if his emotions so far were still out of whack.
“I heard that your brother here tried to commit suicide. He's alright physically, am I correct?”
Kankri nodded, “Yes you are correct on both terms.”
Dr. Wilkerson sat down on the circular swivel chair beside the stretcher, looking at Karkat from eye level. Karkat seemed to not notice him, and he left no comments on the glazed look in his eyes.
“Do you mind if I ask how he tried to kill himself?” Dr. Wilkerson suddenly spoke.
“Not at all. He tried to hang himself.”
“I see.” Dr. Wilkerson was now looking at the red mark around Karkat's neck. After a while of analyzing him, he spoke up again, “What's his name again? Carl?”
“Karkat.” Kankri corrected.
He nodded and reached out a hand, touching Karkat's shoulder, “Karkat?” He started.
As if by some miracle, he responded. He sat up a little bit straighter, blinking, and then said in a low and husky voice, “Where am I?”
Kankri gasped as he heard his brother talk, and Dr. Wilkerson answered him, “You're in the hospital, son. Do you know why you're here?”
Karkat shook his head no, and he answered him, “You tried to kill yourself. Is there a reason why?”
His eyes widened as he seemed to remember, “I hate myself.”
Dr. Wilkerson had grabbed a clipboard from on the small desk beside Karkat and began to jot down some notes while asking more questions, “Why do you hate yourself?”
Karkat spouted out a list, his voice becoming more audible, “I'm a failure, I'm no good, I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm alone, Dad hates me, everyone hates me, I dropped out of high school because I couldn't face the stress, I'm a goddamn fucking coward who's afraid of everything. I hate myself. I hate myself!” He yelled his last sentence, but the expression on his face remained blank. However, he had a grip on the sides of the cot.
Kankri started for him, concerned, but Dr. Wilkerson stopped him as he put down some more notes.
“Karkat, have you ever participated in self-harm of any kind?”
He paused for a moment, silent as he sat there, dull eyes showing no emotion of any kind. Kankri held his breath. Suddenly, there was movement, and Karkat's left hand went for his right sleeve of the black turtleneck sweater he was wearing. Slowly, he pulled it up to reveal deep slashes on his wrists and upper arms.
“There's more.” He said, pointing towards his other arm, his stomach, his thighs, and then he pulled back the collar of his turtleneck to reveal small scars. Kankri covered his hand with his mouth, “Karkat.” He gasped, obviously shocked. Karkat paid no attention to him and continued staring ahead.
“When did you start doing this?” Dr. Wilkerson asked.
“Two years ago, and I haven't stopped.”
“What about your suicidal thoughts? When did those begin, or was this your first time?”
“Those started two years ago as well, and I've attempted it several times before.” He answered them as if they were no trouble. He was offered questions, he might as well answer them. It didn't matter in the long run. Karkat Vantas was still certain that he'd be sent home and he'd do it then. His fear of death mixed with his desire, however, and he felt conflicted. What was he even doing anymore?
“Have you ever received or thought about help over this time period?”
He sighed, “Because I don't need it, and my dad never cared anyway.”
“Is your father a major factor in why you feel you're suicidal?”
“Definitely. He's given me shit for the longest time. There was never a day I went without being insulted or physically beaten.”
Kankri spoke up again, “Karkat, you should have told someone about this. The police, me, your neighbors, someone. They would have been able to take care of him for you. He would have gotten into a lot of trouble.”
Karkat would have gritted his teeth, but his face felt numb. Everything inside him felt like Jello. He didn't deserve help. He didn't deserve this. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go somewhere, anywhere but here.
“I don't care.” Karkat said. He watched his older brother sigh and hang his head.
“Alright, I think I've gathered all I need for you, Karkat, I'm going to speak with your brother now. Just sit tight and relax for a while, we'll be back shortly.” Dr. Wilkerson stood and ushered Kankri outside. Karkat remained there thinking. He thought about death. He thought about the idea often but now he was as intrigued as ever, hoping and wishing by some miracle he would die right that instant. By his own hand, by someone else's hand, by a force of nature. It didn't matter, just as long as he wouldn't remain living afterwards.
It was a while before they came back, this time Dr. Wilkerson had some paperwork in his hands, and Kankri seemed a tad distressed, but hopeful. Maybe they were going to put him out of his misery at last.
The doctor sat down on the swivel chair again, once more facing Karkat in the eyes, “Karkat, would you like to get help?” He asked.
Karkat blinked. He swallowed. He licked his lips. He cleared his throat, but didn't say anything. Ever so slightly, he nodded yes, but only because he knew if he said no they would force him into this thing he probably didn't want. And maybe the help was actually dying. Maybe they would overdose him on some sort of drug. It was a painless way to go and Karkat supported the idea of morphine overhaul.
Kankri reacted immediately, “Oh, thank goodness, Karkat!” He wrapped his arms around his brother, crying tears of joy. Karkat wished he could do the same thing, but he just sat there, emotionless and wanting the whole world to go away.
Dr. Wilkerson handed him a paper to sign, which he did so, all the while Kankri hugging him and blabbering nonsense, “Karkat, you're going to be alright. You're going to get help, I promise. They'll look after you well.” He then continued to babble to God, thanking Him for answering his prayers and looking after his brother. Dr. Wilkerson said a nurse was coming by to get Karkat immediately, and asked Kankri to get a change of clothes for him. Kankri did as he was told and said to Karkat that he would be back soon with a suitcase.
Karkat didn't understand what he needed clothes for. Was he going to be staying here for a couple nights? What for? What did he get himself into? Anxiety bubbled up in his stomach and he cursed his past self for being an idiot and not saying no. Feeling the anxiety made Karkat notice his numbness was gradually going away. Although he still wanted to be back in his room, it wasn't as bad as before.
A nurse came, asking him if he was ready, and he just replied that his brother was still getting his clothes. She nodded and waited with him. Twenty minutes passed and he arrived, a tad breathless, but carrying a suitcase. He said he'd carry his stuff for him and the nurse then guided the both of them to an elevator, where she pushed the button for the third floor.
Once they got there, and the doors to the elevator opened, Karkat saw a circular counter in the middle, with two wings on either side and one behind. Behind them, the elevator closed with a click and he turned around to see a card slot was positioned below the up and down buttons. A hidden stairwell was beside the elevator, bolted heavily. Another policeman stood by it, eying Karkat. When Karkat faced forward and looked around, he noticed security cameras littered nearly every corner of the walls. He felt watched and uncomfortable, his freedom stripped from him.
She stopped the two in front of the counter and turned to face them. She briefly talked to Kankri about this place, which Karkat paid no mind too as he was looking at his surroundings. There appeared to be rooms down the right and left wings, and even more rooms in the hallway in front of him, but they were sparse and avid chatter was coming from the ones there. There were many nurses walking around, talking to people who seemed to not have a clue as to what was going on. There was one man that sat slouched against the wall, talking to a nurse about how he can see God in patterns on tile floors and Satan in the hearts of everyone in the hospital.
A light bulb went off in Karkat's head, and he realized he had been placed in a mental ward. His hands began to shake as he was shocked with this revelation. He wasn't crazy, he just wanted to die. Why was he here? How could this place help him? It just might make him hate his life even more, just to realize that he was crazy enough to be placed here with the schizophrenics and psychotically deranged.
Kankri and the nurse finished talking and he handed Karkat his suitcase, “You be well, Karkat. I know you'll receive help and feel better in no time.” He hugged him tightly while Karkat stood there with his arms side by side, one holding the suitcase, “The Lord and I will be looking after you, and I'll pray for you everyday, even though I know you don't want me too. I really feel it helps. I'll be checking up on you whenever I can, alright? Maybe I can make Father pitch in as well.” He stopped hugging him and kissed his forehead in a friendly manner. Finally, he stepped back, sighed, and waved farewell before the policeman helped him open the elevator door with his own card, and he disappeared behind the elevator doors.
The nurse ushered Karkat along as she showed him around the place. She first told him where everything was in the north wing, which was where the cafeteria and activity room were located. She explained that in the activity room, you could read, draw, write, play music-as there was musical instruments in there-, do arts and crafts, and pretty much other sedentary hobbies. It was also where most people hung out to talk to one another and make friends.
While she explained all this, Karkat stared at two teenagers, the first ones he had seen here besides himself, talk together. There was a short blond boy wearing aviator sunglasses and a tall and very skinny black-haired boy with dichromatic eyes and oval framed glasses. They spoke in hushed tones, the blond boy sometimes making quick glances and slight gestures of his shoulders at Karkat. He narrowed his eyes. The nurse then urged him onwards towards the west wing, where she told him his room would be.
As they stopped by his room, the nurse explained to him the rules of his room, which were no electronics, which he was searched for before he came here, no locked doors, lights off at ten, and to always answer the door if it is knocked on.
Karkat was barely listening, as he was looking straight past the nurse to a boy with messy black hair and large square glasses, possibly younger than him, hiding half his face behind the wall that connected the north wing to the west wing, and staring intently at Karkat. His eyes were the most striking feature and contrasted greatly with his pale skin. His eyes were literally oceans, and Karkat found himself swimming in their depths as they locked gazes. They burned into him, piercing. The nurse turned when she figured out Karkat wasn't listening to her and the boy looked like he was about to disappear, when she noticed him.
“Ah, there he is!” She smiled and ushered him over and he slowly walked with stiff legs towards them. Though he was younger than Karkat, he was certainly taller than him. At least by three inches. The nurse placed a hand on his shoulder as she introduced him, “Karkat, this is John Egbert! He'll be your roommate during your stay here. John, this is Karkat Vantas. Say hello you two!” She stepped back and John immediately grinned the widest and toothiest smile Karkat had ever seen. His eyes instantly brightened, and he grabbed Karkat's hand, shaking fiercely in an iron grip, “Hi Karkat! I'm John, but I guess you already know that because the nurse told you.” He then proceeded to laugh the most obnoxious giggle ever. Karkat would have plugged his ears, if John had let go of his hand.
Karkat didn't know why, but that smile was, quite frankly, disturbing. It was such an odd and out of place thing to see, especially in a place like this. Finally, he let go of Karkat's hand, and stood there bouncing on his heels and just being overly excited. Karkat looked at him, wondering why the fuck he was dancing around and being happy. He looked like an idiot. Either that, or he was so crazy, that he had snapped and turned into... This. Karkat hoped he would never get that far into insanity because of this dump.
“I'll leave you two alone. Karkat, if you need anything, don't be afraid to come to the main counter and ask for help.” She left them to talk and Karkat silently wished she would come back and save him from this weirdo. His head began to hurt at the thought of him being his roommate. Hopefully he wouldn't be this ecstatic during the night.
“Well, I gotta put my stuff up.” Karkat said, opening the door to a white-walled room with two twin-sized beds on either side. A window was in the middle of the two beds, a small wooden desk beneath it. A bathroom was situated on the other side, providing a toilet, a sink with a mirror, and a shower. It was rather cozy for a mental ward, except for the fact that there were prison bars over the window, and a security camera hidden in the corner of one one of the walls.
“That's alright, I'll just hang around while you're doing that!” John said, following Karkat inside, and then flopping on the bed on the right, bouncing up and down before sitting still and dangling his legs over the edge. Karkat rolled his eyes, wished he would go and do something else, and placed his suitcase on the bed on the left, guessing it was his if John had taken the other one.
He unpacked his other three black sweaters and two pairs of jeans. He only had one pair of shoes, which were the ones he was currently wearing.
“You can put your clothes underneath the bed to store!” John suggested just as Karkat was doing the same thing. He glared annoyingly at John, “Don't you see me fucking bending down and reaching underneath the bed? You should get stronger glasses.”
Instead of getting offended, he seemed totally oblivious to the fact that Karkat had made fun of him, and he laughed that same obnoxious, loud laugh. Karkat grumbled, closing his empty suitcase and placing it on the floor beside his bed.
Once John had gotten a hold of himself he spoke up, “Hey Karkat, do you arm wrestle?” He cracked his knuckles as Karkat faced him to answer. Every crack made him flinch, and slightly annoyed him to the point where he wanted to ask John to stop.
“Does it look like I fucking arm wrestle? I'm a fat piece of shit.” He motioned towards his body, pointing out the obvious chubbiness he possessed.
“Oh, want to arm wrestle with me anyway? It's fun even if you don't have skill. Who knows, maybe you have a hidden talent for it!” He giggled, thankfully not as loud as the ones before, and looked at Karkat pleadingly.
Karkat sighed, “Fine. Just one time, though, okay?” Truth was, Karkat hated arm wrestling just because his father would arm wrestle with him all the time and laugh in his face and make him feel bad whenever he lost. It brought bad memories generally and Karkat didn't want to embarrass himself in front of this person he just met.
“Yay!” John said and motioned for Karkat to sit across from him and lay his arm of choice on the bedside table. John laid his left hand on the table, Karkat laid his right one. They grasped hands, John's palms surprisingly very cold. Though he was pale, it contrasted against Karkat's even paler skin. John seemed to notice this and smiled, “Oh cool! You're an albino!”
Karkat sighed, “Yes, wow, I'm so incredible. I get sunburns easier than you and sometimes have to wear sunglasses outside to protect my sensitive as fuck eyes. It's a very nice life, I must admit.”
“It's so awesome, I think! My friend here wears sunglasses, but I don't think he's an albino. He just wears them because he thinks he's cool.” Karkat raised an eyebrow, wondering if John was talking about the guy he had seen on the tour.
“Anyway! I'm going to count to three and then we're both gonna start, okay?” John instructed. Karkat nodded.
“Okay... One, two-” John didn't even say three before he pushed down with all his strength on Karkat's unsuspecting hand and it was immediately slammed down on the table before Karkat could even utter an expletive of some sort.
“Yes! I won! I am the champion of arm wrestling, it is me!” John congratulated himself, throwing his hands up in the air and smirking slyly. Karkat wanted to rip that look off of his face. His boiling rage spilled out and he began to scream at John.
“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT, JOHN. YOU CHEATED, I CALL A GODDAMN RE-MATCH YOU SON OF A BITCH.” He was red in the face from humiliation and John only started to laugh, his obnoxious howls bouncing off the walls of the room. He was having some sort of laughing fit on the bed, rolling around and trying to breathe in a gulp of air.
“Oh my God, I can't breathe! I can't breathe! Ah, my stomach hurts!” He continued to laugh anyway, no matter how much pain he was in.
“Goddammit, Egbert! I'm being fucking serious! You better stop laughing before I shove my foot up your ass!”
John wiped his tears of laughter away and began to waggle his eyebrows at him, “Oh, Karkat, I'm not really into that kind of stuff.” He smirked and Karkat was so close to actually physically punching him.
Karkat sighed, wondering how on Earth this stupid, dorky kid would land himself in such a serious place as this mental ward. He looked completely normal, at least a little bit. As Karkat watched him try to gain back his breath, he couldn't help but feel... Odd. About this guy. There was just something off about him, and it made Karkat uneasy. It also made him wonder what the fuck must have happened to him to make him arrive here.
However much he thought about him, Karkat was oblivious to the fact that this kid would eventually destroy his life for good.
it gets more interesting i promis e
chapters will be updated weekly usually on weekends