"KARKAT! GET DOWN YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW OR ELSE NO BREAKFAST FOR YOU!" I jerked forward, driven out of my sleep by the screaming sounds of my mother. She sounded upset…as always. There's never a fucking day when I got some love out of her. Never.
I sat up in my bed, breaking into a huge yawn while raising my arms to stretch. I checked my clock—6 a.m. Confused, I blinked and rubbed my eyes, then checked my calendar. Yes…it was Sunday…why the hell would I need to get up so freaking early? Couldn't I enjoy my last day of summer before school started back up?
Well, to heck with what my mother thought. I deserved some sleep everyone once in a while. I plopped back down against my soft pillow and closed my eyes, drifting back into a wonderful, comfortable slumber. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.
"KARKAT. FUCKING. VANTAS. GET DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE YOU DISOBEDIENT PIECE OF SHIT!" I sat up again, groaning. I might as well get up…it gets really crazy when my mom has to yell more than twice. I slipped out of bed and dragged my feet all the way to my closet so I could, obviously, get dressed for the day.
I picked out my best outfit—an old black hoodie and a worn pair of pants—and put them on. Okay, so they clearly weren't my literal best pair of clothing, but they were the only adequate pair. I stared at my numerous amounts of suits and name-brand clothes. I hated being so fucking rich. It was ridiculous.
See, I guess not having to worry about when or what I was going to eat for supper was nice, but the world had a full-of-shit idea. The decade I lived in considered "the money spectrum" to be one of the most important fucking things ever. If you had lots of money, you were important and popular and amazing, but if you didn't, well…you were basically a nobody. The only thing that was more frowned upon than poor people were the rich-ass people who were once poor. Nobody liked it when the money spectrum was messed up by the overachieving peasants who decided to actually make a living. You're only liked if your money-line is pure, as long as you come from a chain of rich people who just merely hand down the fortune. But, shit, if your parents actually WORKED to get their status? Well, fuck you then. And that's where I'm at. My spot on the money spectrum is so looked down upon, so abnormal, that I could never bear to let anyone know.
I ran downstairs after changing before my mom can start another stream of profanities and angry yelling. I reached the bottom of the stairs just as my mom let out the first syllable of my name.
"KAR—oh there you are! Well, it's about time you got off your lazy ass and came downstairs," my mom grumbled, looking very mad…as always.
"Well excuse me for wanting to enjoy my fucking Sunday by sleeping in. Who the hell gets up this early anyways?" I mumbled back, sitting down at the breakfast room table to eat my poorly-prepared oatmeal. My little baby sister Katree was eating some Cheerio's and looking smugly at me. I gave her a glare in return.
"Karkat, DON'T MUMBLE. I can't hear a word you're saying! Speak the hell up!" My mom yelled at me, violently slapping pancakes for herself onto a plate. She turned to me, crossing her arms. "Now what the shit did you say young man?"
"I SAID," I raised my voice to match her loud tone. You'd think I'd be used to this by now, but I wasn't. It still pissed me off. "THAT I WANT TO ENJOY MY FUCKING SUNDAY!"
"You're such a rebellious idiot," complained my mom, "So fucking disrespectful. I can't wait to send you off."
"WELL you're—"her words dawned on me. "Wait what? Send me off where?"
She didn't reply, instead slathered butter onto her pancakes.
"WHERE THE FUCK AM I GOING?!" I screamed, getting up from my chair. Shit, if she didn't tell me now, I'd be even more pissed.
My mom shoved something into my hand abruptly, making me recoil for a moment. I expected her to slap me or some shit, but instead she gave me…
What did she give me? I looked at the item in my hands with, well, curiosity, obviously.
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