Chapter One

= Be karkat

You wake to the sound of glass being broken. Not unusual. You sigh and slowly open your eyes, letting them adjust to the bright sun light streaming through your window. You groan and turn to look at your alarm clock. 6:45. You have to be at school in a hour. Most kids hate school, you are not the exception, you hate it to. But you hate it significantly les than you hate being home. School is like an oasis to you. A mini vacation. Ok, that was going a little to far. You still hated to work and all the people but it was better than getting beat.

You sat up in your bed and the cold instantly hit you. It was the beginning of February and it was freezing outside, but of course you had to have the window open. You rub your eyes and throw your blankets off, escaping the warmness of your bed, and shut the window, blocking more of the cold air from coming in. 'Why the fuck does it have to be so cold in winter?' You think.

You hear another glass break and sobbing. You know your dad is throwing another bitch fit and your mom is crying on the couch. Any normal teenage boy would go down stairs and help his mother but not you. What has she ever done for you? Sit there and watch your dad beat you senseless? You cant exactly fight back. You're a scrawny short kid and your dad is a big two hundred pound guy. He could crush you like you were made of paper. Plus, you know dad wont hit her, at least, not as hard as he hits you.

You look down at yourself. You're wearing black and red pajama pants and no shirt. Your pale skin is doted everywhere with bruises. Some small. Some large. You also have a large and prominent scar slashed across your stomach. You remember what caused it but the memories are to hard to face right now. Almost all of your chest and stomach is black and blue, and in some spots, purple and yellow. Your arms have bruises in the shapes of hand prints, showing where your dad would grab you to fling you across the room like a rag doll.

You sigh and walk over to your closet. You take out a long sleeve, plain gray shirt and a black sweat shirt. You throw them moth on , then a pair of gray jeans. You quietly open your bedroom door as to not alert your dad that you're up just yet. Maybe you can sneak out without getting hit this morning , if you're quiet enough. Luckily, your dad doesn't hear you as you creep across the upstairs hallway to the bathroom.

Once you are safely in the bathroom you stand at the sink and look at your reflection in the mirror. You scowl at your self. You have large bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep. Your hair is a mess and goes in every which direction. You grab a brush and somewhat tame your hair. Its still not to your liking but you don't have time to worry right now.

You make your way silently back to your room, closing the door behind you. You grab your phone from the nightstand next to your bed. Your dad is the owner of the Quartering Bank and brings home a lot of money. Despite him obviously hating you, he gives all the necessary things you need like cloths and food and, of course, a phone. It an iphone, but you don't really like it. You feel its your dads way of making sure nobody suspects what's going on in the house. Like if somebody sees you with an expensive phone they think that you're life at home must be great. This is, obviously, complete bullshit.

You check the clock again. 7:15. 30 minutes before you have to be in your first class. You take a deep breath and scrounge up the courage to go down the hallway and face your tormenter. You don't bother trying to be quite as you walk the length of the hallway though you've become pro at being silent at all times. The way your house is set up is that at the end of the hallway is all open. The kitchen, living room, and dining room are not separated by walls, it just looks like on big room. Unfortunately for you that means the moment you step out you're an open target.

You step out slowly looking for your dad. He's nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Maybe he went to work early of something. You grab your backpack off the chair in the dining room and swing it over your shoulder, heading for the front door. You were almost there. You were so close to freedom. But, of course, your bad luck continues. The door to the basement where your parents bedroom is swung open and slammed shut as your dad came stomping up the stairs. He spotted you right away with your hand on the doorknob. So close.

He smiled wickedly at you. "You almost got away, didn't you?" He took a few steps closer and you pressed back against the door. "But we cant have that, now can we?" You stayed quiet and tried to shrink down. He lunged forward and yanked your bag away and threw it across the room. You gave a tiny squeak in surprise.

He scowled at you. "You're pathetic." He pulled his fist back and punched in the stomach, making you double over in pain. He grabbed your arm harshly and pulled you up so you were looking him in the eyes. His eyes were a deep shade of brown with a tint of red in them while your eyes were a deep shade of red. You hated them. They were just like your fathers when he was younger.

He stared into your eyes. "You're nothing. You will always be nothing. Nobody will ever want you." You grimaced because you knew it was true. Nobody would love trash like you. He punched one more time in the stomach, in the same spot, making you collapse to your knees in pain.

He scoffed at you and walked away, back down the stairs to do whatever it is he does down there. You struggled to get to your feet. Your stomach hurt like a bitch and your arm was stinging from where he grabbed you.

Slowly you lifted up your shirt to find a nice big black bruise forming in the middle of your abdomen. "great" You sighed quietly. You winched as you walked to pick up your bag, swinging it back over your shoulder and finally making your way out of the door.

You checked your phone. 7:25. 20 minutes. It took about ten or so minuets to get to the school by walking so that would give you ten minutes to get your stuff from your locker and get to English. You started your trek to the school. You lived pretty close so instead of taking the bus filled with loud and obnoxious teenagers who only add to your daily amount of suffering, you usually walk. Its peaceful. The only real peace you get all day.

You arrive at the school ten minutes later, surrounded by teenagers bumping into you. The school wasn't that big so it was easy to find your way around. The letters on the school spelled "Shady High". The letters were rusted and peeling, making the school look old and worn out.

You walked into the building, keeping your head down, trying to be invisible. It worked for the most part, most people walked right past you without a second glance. That's the way you like it, when nobody even knows you exist.

You walked to your locker and threw your bag in, grabbing your English book, then walking up stairs to your English class. Today was going to be a long ass day.

In English class you took your seat in the back of the room. You sat in the back corner with an empty seat in front of you and an empty seat next to you. Nobody really ever cared to talk to you and you didn't blame them. You looked like the lonely emo with your black and gray cloths and how you never talk to anyone or participate in class

Your teacher droned on about some stupid project you guys would have to do next week. You tuned her out to look out the window you were sitting by. You caught bits and pieces of what she was saying. Some thing about partners, animals and a due date. You continued to space out until the bell rang. You jumped up and walked out of the room before anybody else.

Nothing really interesting happened the rest of the day. You made it through your morning classes, barley saying anything unless a teacher asked you to answer. You sat alone at lunch in the corner, not eating anything since eating would make you even more fat then you already are. Instead you took out your sketch book and started to draw a little boy sitting in a corner of a room, alone. He had a surprising resemblance to you. Your afternoon classes dragged on and on. The only class you actually like is Art, the last class of the day.

You walked into the Art room and took your seat, again, in the back of the class. You listened to the teacher talk about some of the paintings you guys had done earlier in the year. What really caught your attention though, was when she said that your next project would to be to draw your deepest desires.

You were to start next week and it was due in three weeks. You smile subconsciously at this but you easily smother it with your usual frown. This is the one class project you're really going to enjoy.

…

When the bell signals the end of school you hurriedly put your paint away and rush down stairs to your locker, grabbing your bag and rushing out the school doors. You walk home in silence hoping and praying that your father is still at work. If he works late he's usually to tired to beat you. Most times he just comes into your room and yells about how disgusting you are and how you'll die alone.

These thoughts stay with you at all times. You know he's telling the truth. Why would he say it if it wasn't? He's been telling you theses things since before you can remember. You know he hates you, he makes that very clear. But you don't blame him. You hate yourself too.

You see your house in the distance and thankfully the only car in the driveway is your mothers. You walk into the house and your mother is in the kitchen. When she hears the door open she turns around. She has big bags under her eyes, much like yours and she smiles warmly at you. "Hello hunny, how was your day?" She asks sweetly like she actually cares. You glare at her as you walk past to go to your room. "Fucking perfect" you mutter. You walk into your room and close the door and throw yourself on your bed.

You hate Fridays for one reason. it's the end of the week and signals the start of the weekend. Your dad works weekends but he usually gets out early. Early enough to throw a few punches at you, sling some insults, them leave to go out to the bar with his friends.

You sigh and cover your face with you hands. Its going to be a fun weekend for sure.