If I Don't Die
January, 1996
In a warehouse deep in the woods of Alternia, there was bloodshed. It had lasted a week, a full seven days, and there were only two survivors. There are three gurneys, lined side by side. Three faded blue sheets rest over the faces of unknown trolls. They had breathed in fear and blood as their lives fled them. Pain had wrapped around them. As they lie on their beds unmoving, they still bear their marks. One has a hook in each of her nipples, sharp and crusted with blood. The troll beside her has a face that moves on its own regard, little larvae of life hidden beneath. And the last has patches of skin missing from his stomach, a glistening hieroglyph of a religious type; :o)
One of the survivors is only 6 sweeps old. She has crooked fangs and a mutant's blood. She sits on the back of an ambulance, naked and rocking, as she is cared for. Her eyes are sparked with something less than sanity, flicking around with her head down. Every time the doctor attending her reaches for her, she flinches. Nearby, the other survivor, a sweep and a half older, is unconscious. His brain is exposed and throbbing, most likely with permanent brain damage. Yellow blood oozes from his skull and between his double fangs, sticks to the curly hair that masks his eyes.
The one in handcuffs, sobbing loudly with purple tears streaking his heavy clown makeup, is The Grand Highblood. He does not apologize and he does not beg. He says nothing, is unable to say anything, for his lips are sewn closed. Like each of his victims, his lips are held together by seams. He was sent to the largest insane asylum on the planet, funded by the government. He was never to be released.
Two Sweeps Later
Your name is Kazkia Vantas and you are the only troll in all of Alternia with a twin, Karkat. You two are extremely close. He is your best friend. The only reason you are not moirails is because you are related and while that in itself is weird, it would be even weirder if you were to go out, even in a platonic quadrant. He's an angry little elf, and you're the only one that can calm his outbursts. In return, he hugs you silently and makes jokes to make you laugh when you have panic attacks. Along with many assorted anxiety disorders and insomnia, you are bipolar. This is because two sweeps ago you were kidnapped by your best friend's mentor; The Grand Highblood. With a face painted white and lips sewn closed, he prayed loudly and angrily inside your head. He had stripped you of your clothes and instead dressed you in vulnerability. There were other trolls along side you, bloodied and pierced with hooks, of various ages. All of your mouths were sewn shut. To this day, you bear scars, five tiny white slashes on your upper and bottom lips. Among the five victims, you and another were the only ones who survived. Mituna endured more than you and is in a much worse condition. He now wears a body suit and helmet to protect himself. His mood swings are severe and aplenty, far more critical than your own bipolar disorder. Most find it difficult to be around him but you admire the older troll; he's interesting and intelligent. You're only able to utter anything about the Incident when you're in his company.
Prior to the Incident, you were the troll that everyone deemed "quiet." You rarely spoke before because you were awkward and would stumble over your words. And you almost never talk now because you're afraid of your own voice. You don't like it when others touch you; it makes you uneasy and tense. However, when you get attached to a person, you cling to them to make up for your struggles with expressing yourself. And because you're good at knowing who to trust (the only part of you still intact), those that you cling to, cling right back. Currently, you are in the hallway of Gamzee's hive, which is barren of any and all clown propaganda. The Makara boys are both ashamed of The Grand Highblood and while they still hold fast to their religion, wearing clown makeup and honking constantly, they hold back on their radical tendencies. You and your matesprit Rufioh watch Gamzee and his matesprit. They sit in the living room playing video games. In Gamzee's hand is an Xbox controller.
"Ah, shoot, mother fucker," he drawls, his voice gravelly, "you win again." He speaks to Tavros, who is sitting on the floor, his robot legs sticking straight out in front of him. He beams pure, innocent joy.
"Thanks, Gamzee. But, uh, you're not… letting me win. Are you?" he asks in his meek voice.
"Mother fuck, no! You're the bitches tits at this game, Tavbro!" They grin at each other for a long while, slowly drawing closer to each other.
"They're so cute!" Rufioh exclaims, smiling at you and moving away to give them privacy. You nod in agreement with a small chuckle, your purple bangs falling in your face. You remember saying that the very first time you saw the mismatched couple sharing spit, almost half a sweep ago.
You, Gamzee, Tavros and Mituna had been at a club. Gamzee and Tavros had taken off as soon as you arrived, leaving the two that were screwed up in the head to fend for themselves. You hit the dance floor, LSD already dissolving on your tongue. After a good hour of stroking your hips and teasing troll's with your bright eyes, you hung back with your damaged friend, exhausted. That's when you saw your best friend and Tavros glued together by the lips and you burst into laughter. But as you reminisce, you frown. Mituna had been hiding behind you, his back pressed tightly against a wall and he had been muttering about the fibers in your jacket being hacked by the government. You had to call The Ψiioniic to pick him up and assure you that there weren't dragons trying to eat the car. There were, but you distinctly remember creating a noose out of thin air and choking them to death, saving millions. This is one of your most prideful moments, but from this memory stems another, less pleasant one.
You have just woken up. Your legs are folded beneath you, blackness nearly enveloping you. You grasp around and find that you are in a cage, the bars close together and warm. You try to scream but when you attempt to open your mouth, there is a tug. Panicked, you put your fingers to your lips and pull back as if they were burned. Yarn winds through your upper and bottom lip, spaced unevenly. Your vision jiggles with terror and you immediately start hyperventilating. A fountain of tears pours down your face as you scramble to stand, your nubby horns just touching the top of the cage. Your mouth is numb. Your chest is burning. Your head is throbbing. Your throat is swallowing your tongue. You are going to die a terrible death, one full of blood and torture. If you don't die from a heart attack first. Minutes pass by and you tug at your hair in a frenzy, trying to ignore the garments in your lips. Harsh cries burn in your throat and tickle your nose, making you strain against the seams. You bump clumsily into the bars of your prison, which have become teeth. The cage is shrinking, pressing into your skin, biting you. You realize that you've been poisoned! With each thump of your heart, an acidic pain courses through your veins. It eats away at your heart; you can feel the organ crumbling away inside the hole that is being conceived. You forget which way is up. No, you're just hanging upside down. The cage is alive and moving. You can feel the thrumming of life under your bare feet. The blackness is alive. It pulses, reaches for you. Its claws twirl your hair and its tongue peels away what little comfort you have managed to cling to. It changes- the humming blackness transitions to a piercing whiteness. It's blinding. It hurts. But the cage has released you enough to allow you to slide down. Your teeth chatter together, every muscle in your body is tensed. You squeeze your eyes closed and press your forehead to your knees. The air pushing the limits of your nostrils gradually slow. Eventually, you calm down, sitting on the dusty floor of your personal hell in absolute exhaustion. You swallow hard and take a deep breath, finally looking between the bars of your cage. The darkness hadn't transitioned but been broken by a spotlight that showcases a single being. About ten feet away, a troll hangs from the ceiling by two large hooks poking through his shoulders. The flesh puckers in yellow gel around the intruding objects. Tears the color of rotten apple meat stream down his face, but he is still, gaze directed at you. His dark brows are cinched in pain and empathy. He nods once and smiles, the bloody crust around his own seams flaking away. You stare at his double fangs and horns then smile back, relaxing for the first time since awakening, but very slightly. Time does not allow you to think of a next move. There is the honk of a horn from nearby and you think once again to yourself; if I don't die from a heart attack my fate will be much worse.
Now, sitting in the hallway with the love of your life, you shake your head. Mituna was the weight that kept you rooted while in captivity but you're fine now, free. Things like that don't happen often and most certainly do not happen again. You don't want to remember The Incident, and why not? It was traumatizing. Thinking about it, the wings of anxiety flutter in your stomach and a rush of adrenaline surges to your brain. "Almost as cute as you." Rufioh says. You're pulled out of the room that smelled of paint and back into reality, which is sweet and staring at your body hungrily. Rufioh crawls over to you. His wings encircle you and you grin at the lust in his eyes, excitement ripping the pinions from your anxiety. He slides his large hands under the hem of your shirt, stroking your unimpressive hips and kissing your neck. Your heart responds, picking up pleasurably. If he were anyone else, you would have long before shoved him away and quite possibly been crying. As it is, you've been touching each other for almost two and a half sweeps. You rest your hands on his own bony hips, but you still blush as if you don't know the boundaries. His hands explore your body more, smoothing up your sides and cupping your breasts, leaving trails of heat. He saps away your breath with each kiss and you giggle with nervousness and excitement. You awkwardly run your hands up his shirt and trace his shoulder blades, biting your lip and then finally giving in. You close your eyes and wrap your legs around his waist. He continues to smooth his hands down your large thighs and back up to the small of your back. Pulling you towards him, he places the tip of his tongue on your lower lip. His wings tighten around you, pressing lightly on your back, sending shimmering orange into your eyes as you open them to see him staring at you.
A breath escapes you as you open your mouth, once again closing your eyes, your hands snaking into his hair. You grin widely against the kiss and you grasp the base of one of his large horns. The reaction is immediate; a gasp and shudder that heats through his body. His wings draw back and his eyes squeeze shut. Before you can excite him any further, your phone rings and you release him. He collapses onto his back, panting, as you answer. "Hello?" you smile as you speak lowly. Gradually, the smile drifts away. The news you are hearing sends streaks of terror that freeze the heated pleasure you felt only a second ago. It seems that justice is indeed nowhere to be found. "Oh. Well... okay. Bye." With your usual outro, you hang up and lean your head against the wall behind you, eyes glassy. Rufioh rests on his elbows and looks at you in concern but you have been completely deflated. You're numb as you say, "The Grand Highblood has been released."
As soon as the front door to your hive opens, Kankri latches his hands to your upper arms and peers down at you critically. You glance awkwardly beside you at Rufioh. He kisses your cheek and gets into his car with a small smile. You pick at the pockets of your jeans as your ancestor inspects you through squinted eyes. They suddenly widen and he puts a hand on his forehead dramatically. "She's triggered!" he cries, pulling you deeper into the living room and swinging you down onto the couch. He explains to you that you need cold water and eleven hours of sleep and he tries to reassure you that The Grand Highblood won't be able to get into the hive, only spiking your anxiety. "He has a parole officer and the lady who called assured us there is no way he'd be able to get over here. That restraining order is still in use, Kazkia. You're safe, I promise you. And if you don't believe me you're welcome to sleep in my bed." Uncomfortable with his proposition, you nod with your hands folded in your lap, gaze flicking between his eyes, which glimmer with red liquid. He hides his hands in the sleeves of his alarmingly red sweater as he often does when he himself is 'triggered.' You smile at him numbly.
"I'm fine. Wh-" You mean to ask about your twin, but you know Kankri needs more of a reassurance. You open your mouth to tell him that you're only a bit uneasy and not actually fully triggered, but you're not sure you can say that in less than five words... You finally bite your lip and look at his anxious posture. If you don't say something quickly he'll go into another rant and you'll never get away from him. "Where's Karkat?" He pulls his hands deeper into his sleeves. You wish he wouldn't worry about you so much. You wish everyone didn't worry about you so much. Don't they know this only makes you feel guilty?
"I don't know, Kazkia. Why can't... I mean don't you..." He struggles through his words and you sigh through your nose, standing up and wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder. He tightens his grip on you, stroking one hand through your hair. Hopefully this hug will offer some sort of consolation that you simply can't give verbally. Before he can start a lecture about his love for you, you step back and pull his hands out of his sleeves, patting them and strolling to the kitchen without looking behind you. There, you find The Signless.
He is silent as he looks at you, a brow raised in question and concern. You avoid eye contact with him, instead staring out the window. Reflected in it, you can see yourself. Your arms are folded across your nearly-flat chest and your hair is unruly, encasing your neck like a canopy, not quite to your shoulders. You've never had body image issues and have in fact been quite confident in your figure. But after the Incident, modesty became a necessary habit. In your naked form, you can feel the hot breath of The Grand Highblood on your bellybutton. You frown, but only at the defeated slump in your shoulders. "Where's Karkat?" you ask, trying to sound lively. Silence. Finally, you look at The Signless and crack the smallest of amused smiles. He wears only an off-white nightgown, brushing his knees. His beard is sculpted with swirls on both cheeks and he has a towel wrapped around his head like a turban. If his eyes weren't boring into yours with an intense seriousness, you might laugh.
"Kankri is right; you're triggered. I would suggest you let Karkat take care of you but he's out with Terezi-"
"Terezi? I thought they hated each oth- oh. Oh I see," you smile wickedly, wanting to keep away from the subject of your emotions. Those you liked to keep to yourself, or at least away from nosy Sufferers. Adrenaline blurs your vision as you talk quickly, desperately and try to seem casual. "Him and Terezi are making it official, aren't they? Good, they make a great-"
"Enough," his voice is loud. This startles you; usually his voice is soft and wise. This was harsh and assertive. You look him directly in the eyes, your mouth sealed shut. "I don't understand why you find it so hard to talk to me, Kazkia. You know I'll accept you any way you are. You know that, don't you?" You nod, and you mean it. "There is nothing you can't talk to me about. Will you ever trust me?" you look away, shifting from foot to foot. You're shutting down, just like after the Incident. You drift away, your mind huddling in its back corners. Of course you trust him and of course you're not going to tell him how you feel; you can't. When he sees that you aren't going to answer, he sighs, raking a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I know it's hard for you. I'm sorry it had to happen to you. I'm sorry that I… that I can't help you. That you won't let me help you," he looks at you again. "If there is anything, anything at all, that I can assist you with, come to me. Please?" he pleads with you, leaning close. Even though you both know that you don't ask anyone except Karkat for emotional support, you nod and he seems satisfied enough. "Good. Now give me a hug, kiddo. I've been worried about you," you smile genuinely, hugging him with one arm. "Nope, that won't be acceptable. I want a real hug." He crushes you to him and you pull up your other arm to hook around him. He smells like aftershave, some kind of fruity shampoo and fatherly comfort. You suddenly bury your face in his chest, your own inflating with repressed emotions. You start to cry a little and because you don't have to look at him directly, you let some of those emotions crack through.
"Thank you. For everything. I mean that," you pull away and look at him to find tears, red and fat, streaming down his face. You frown. "Everything is going to be fine." And in a strange way, having to recite words of comfort to someone else roots you, reminds you that you can't afford to think of yourself, even when it comes to your own feelings. You smile at him reassuringly before walking to the other side of the hive. When in your respiteblock, you lean against the closed door.
There is a few moments of nothing. The room sings with silence. Everything inside you is completely still. Anxiety nestles its mandibles in every muscle of your body and cinches your windpipe. Everything around you blurs with redness. You can't breathe and there are pains stabbing into your chest. The same thought that came to you while in the cage sneaks it's way back; if I don't die from a heart attack, my fate will be much worse.
It gets a lot more interesting farther into the story, I promise. It's also pretty gory, maybe slightly disturbing? I was watching the movie Strangeland when the plot came to me and all the pieces fell together, so if you find that too disturbing, run away now. Advice, tips, criticism etc. are all welcome!
