Hey, this is my first fanfic. This is only chapter one, but I hope you enjoy it!
~Karkat POV~
Purples, blacks, reds, blues, and finally tan are littered around your rib cage. Candy red lines run up and down your arms, straight lines that still sting slightly upon contact. This is just from lifting off your shirt. You sigh and throw the soaked bandages into the bath, letting the water run red. As you take off your sweats you double over in pain briefly, gasping as you accidentally hit one of the newer wounds. Possibly one from last night.
You look up into the bathroom mirror. Brown eyes stare back at you, dark bags hanging under them. Atop your head is your signature messy rat's nest, raven black strands sticking out every which way. The only thing that seems even relatively neat about your hair is the red streak running through the black just above your eyebrow. You make a half hearted attempt to comb it out with your fingers, succeeding a look that is at least slightly more presentable.
Reaching into the swinging cabinet behind the mirror, pulling out two rolls of fresh ace bandages and a bottle of concealer to match your white but slightly tanned skin tone. First you take the time to expertly wrap the wounds on your arms as you've done many times before. The binds you make end up slightly tighter than usual, but it doesn't hurt and it's better than loose, so you go with it. You slowly spread the makeup over your cheek, hiding the swelling bruise that has been slowly darkening during the night. There is still the slight, shadowy outline of the mark, but unless you look especially close or with care it isn't noticeable. No one has looked at you in such a way in years, anyways. After shutting off the water in the tub, you creep over to your room across the hall being careful to open and close each door as quietly as possible lest you wake him.
In your closet is mostly the colors black and grey with splashes of red. The choice that has to be made concerning clothing today is in the same light that is has been for the past week; to cover up the arms and legs. You decide to go with a turtleneck, simply a solid grey made with some sort of thick, yarnish material perfect for the freezing late November weather. You pair this along with a pair of tight black skinny jeans.
Once again, you survey your appearance in the mirror on your wall. The turtleneck is extremely large on your too skinny figure, but it hides all of your currently existing wounds and scars, so it's fine. Some might say that a guy wearing skinny jeans is gay, but your'e pan anyways so fuck that.
You check the red striped, black bag sitting next to your bedroom door. You shuffle through the contents, hoping that everything you needed was there as it should have been, saving you from facing the man possibly downstairs. Extra bandages, some food, water, books. Damn it you still needed your gym shoes. They must have fallen out of your bag somewhere downstairs, as they are no where to be seen anywhere in your room. Fuck it, you can just run in your converse. Speaking of them, you grab the bright red shoes and slip them on, lacing them tight.
You look at the clock on your phone. Around 45 min. have passed, and it's already 6:00. School is about an hour away and starts at 7:15. You need to leave, but you also have to get past your adoptive father.
Opening the door as silently as you can, you walk across the hallway. You're only 5'9, so your footsteps aren't loud, but you still creep across the boards with care. In your situation, you can never be too careful.
When you reach the end of the stairs you peek around the corner to see a fully awake Drew (your adoptive father), drink in hand. You think that maybe you can slip out the back door, but as you turn to run he sees you and yells, "KARKAT YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"
You already knew you were worthless.
You already knew no one cared.
You already knew no one liked you, wanted you, appreciated, respected or loved you.
He didn't have to remind you.
Every.
Single.
Day.
You try to make a break for it, but before you can even take another step towards escape, his meaty hand grasped your bony one and pulled you back with such force you had to hold your mouth closed to suppress a scream. He holds you by the high collar of your shirt, shaking you before pinning you against the wall so forcefully it causes the back of your skull to slam painfully on the hard structure. You could only hope that the neighboring apartment had heard, as he takes you by the shoulders and slams you to the ground.
"LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TALK MOTHERFUCKER!"
He looks at you in the eyes.
"DON'T FORGET WHO GOT YOU OUT OF THAT GOD DAMNED ORPHAN EDGE."
Drew turns away and staggers up the stairs, stumbling and mumbling slurred curses.
For a while you simply lay there on the ground, curled around yourself. After a moment you get up and walk to the bathroom, surveying the damage. You can feel a bump forming on the back of your head, but no blood. Good. More bruises will surely follow in multiple areas, but nothing now that is visible.
Satisfied with your recovery, you skip breakfast and open the door, grab your bag and walk into the world. You don't look back to the hell hole that you are forced to call home. You never do.