The car feels like it is traveling at a supersonic speed. Blood rushes through your ears and you close your eyes to try to block it out, to lose all sensation. The voices were becoming too much for you, especially with the mood swings and migraines.
Parents realized this. It wasn't like they didn't care or didn't love you, because they did. You loved them, but your mental state was something you preferred not to talk about, especially with your parents. You didn't want them to see how truly delicate and pathetic you were.
The car rounds a corner, and you take off your glasses to press your fingers into your eyes. Mom looks back at you from the rearview mirror as Dad drives with a pained expression on his face. You know that this was not what any of you wanted, but you all know just as deeply that it is for the best.
Headaches, migraines, noise in your head have all been getting steadily worse. You had stopped going to school the week before it ended. You were medically exempt from finals as you lay on your back in bed popping aspirin and blasting music through your earbuds in a desperate effort to calm the noise. Shades down, room dark, you stayed there, only emerging for the weekly psychiatrist appointment and bathroom visits. Mom tried to get you to eat in the kitchen. She tried to get you to shower more than once a week. It was a valiant, yet hopeless effort.
The last appointment with the psychiatrist was somewhere in the second week of July. Dad forced you to get out of bed, shower, put some real clothes on, eat something decent. You ended up on your knees in front of the toilet, coughing and sputtering vomit into the bowl. Due to this unforseen complication, you were late for the appointment.
Parents never used to go in Psychiatrist's office with you, but recently they had been sitting in. You didn't speak much. You sat there tonguing your braces that hadn't been tightened in months, eyes clenched shut to block out the noise. Mostly the present parent talked, while Psychiatrist "mhmm"ed and noted things and asked questions.
Your eyes snapped open when you heard the phrase "rehabilitation clinic". They were considering sending you to a loony bin? No, no thanks, nope. You were doing just fine here. In your gut, though, you knew your dad was right to agree and inquire about local mental hospitals. You agreed, even though you didn't actually have any say in the matter as a sixteen-year-old.
The car finally pulls into a small lot in front of a white building, labelled "SKAIA CENTER FOR MENTAL REHABILITATION". You pull up your hood and grab your drawstring bag, a sort of carry-on for today. Mom and Dad go to get the luggage in the trunk, a suitcase and a backpack. A nurse greets you, but you just stare at the ground, not catching any details of her save the shrill tone and bubbliness of her voice.
"Sollux Captor?"
You nod, clenching your hands into fists inside the kangaroo pocket of your sweatshirt. Nails dig into your palms, begging for relief. Nurse leads you inside, where you and your parents check you in at a desk, like some hotel for the insane. Upstairs, teen wing, here's your room. Deposit belongings on a white, sterile bed, sit down. Mom puts clothes in the spartan wooden wardrobe. Dad hugs you in a rare moment of blatant affection.
"I love you."
You try to nod but merely grunt in what you hope is an affectionate manner. Mom does the same thing, only hugging tighter and longer. They leave reluctantly, and Nurse explains things to you. You wonder if she knows how little attention you're capable of, and why she would bother talking to you at all.
"Your roommate," you don't catch his name, "... group therapy... meet him later... doctor every few days... activities and... meals are served at..."
She blabbers on and on. "Oh, and I'm Nurse Harley, but you can call me Nurse Jade if you want."
You lift your head, glasses askew over squinting eyes, and stare at her with what you hope conveys that you probably won't be calling her anything at all.
"Okay, well, you can just rest for a bit, and Karkat will be back soon."
You sink back onto the hard mattress as she leaves the room, and pull the pillow over your eyes, trying to block it all out. Somehow, miraculously, you sleep for the first time in days.
"WHO IS THIS IDIOT IN MY BED?" you bellow.
New roommate thinks he can just waltz in here and take a nap in YOUR bed? Harley comes over and tries to calm you.
"Karkat, did you take your meds today? You cannot bully the morning nurse like that, she's new."
"I'm not taking any bullshit meds for a problem that I DON'T HAVE!" you scream.
"Well, you wouldn't be here if there wasn't a problem. Now stop screaming. Sollux is trying to sleep. You need to show more respect for others."
"Why the fuck should I show any respect for this sorry excuse for a human being? Here he is, passed out like a stupid bony piece of shit, IN MY BED. Tell me there is something to respect there, because I can't seem to locate it."
"Karkat, calm down. I have to go see other patients. Stop making such a fuss or you'll be disciplined."
She strides out of the room and you huff an enormous, somewhat dramatic sigh. Sollux opens his eyes, squinting behind oval-shaped lenses.
"Hey JERKOFF. WAKE UP," you spit.
He pulls himself up wearily and staggers to the other bed.
"So what's wrong with you?" you ask, crossing your arms.
"I uh..." He's clearly in a lot of pain. "I, um, bipolar and the uh..." He stops again, pressing his fingers to his temples. "I have uh, voiceth and migraineth, like, in my head."
"Huh, well, I hope you're interesting. My last roommate was a crybaby fuckface who was as sensitive as a goddamn twelve-year-old girl. And nice lisp, asshole." You sit down at the single desk in the room as he gives you a pathetic attempt at a glare.
"So what do these voices say? You some schizo?"
"I uh, thtopped lithening. Nothing interethting, just shit about people dying."
"How cliché," you say. "What the fuck is wrong with you then?"
"They're still, uh, working on the diagnothith. Formally, um, only bipolar dithord-" He stops short and shoves a pillow over his head. You wonder how he can talk through all this alleged pain.
"Jegus fucking christ. You sound like Tavros with all those fucking insecure "um"s and "uh"s.
He peeks out from under the pillow. "Who'th Tavroth?"
Chritht, that lisp is going to get annoying.
"He's this depressed crippled kid. You'll meet him later."
"You're jutht..." he grits his metal-covered teeth. "A ball of thunshine..."
You laugh dryly. "Welcome to Skaia."
You mostly stay in your room over the next couple of days, incapacitated and adjusting to new medications. You still don't know what Karkat is in here for. You asked once, but he just laughed and asked, "What do you think, shitrag?"
You notice that Karkat always wears long sleeves, and wondered if it was an anxiety thing. You're almost afraid to ask after the way he has reacted to any question you've asked (profanity, glaring, et cetera). You don't worry about it too much. After all, he's under supervision here, so he's probably fine.
You adjust to Skaia relatively quickly. The other kids, while a lot of them are quiet, seem okay. You meet Tavros first. He doesn't seem to be as much of a loser as Karkat made him out to be, though he has an air about him like a kicked puppy. You talk to him a little, but he seems shy.
You meet Vriska second. She is a wild animal (and probably sociopath) with long, tangled blue-black hair, fiercely blue eyes behind big glasses, and a smile that could scare any small child. She oozes next to you at group therapy on your second day, and proceeds to flirt with you. You merely stare at her through your drug-induced haze, eyes half shut. She sees that she isn't getting anywhee with you and pouts. Unfazed, you just keep trying desperately not to fall asleep.
Nepeta is perhaps one of the strangest people you've ever met. She pounces on you at lunch. She literally pounces, hands curled like claws, legs springing into a jump. She lands on the back of your chair, which makes you wobble, get ketchup on your shirt, and knocks your glasses askew. When you have collected yourself, she grins and introduces herself.
"Hi! I'm Nepeta! Who are you, new kitty?"
"Th-tholluckth," you stammer.
"I'm purrfectly pleased to meet you, Sollux!" she exclaims, putting emphasis on the "purr" in perfect.
She sits down across from you, brushing a dark curl out of her vivid green eyes. She wears a bright blue hat with a cat face and ears on it, and for the first time, you really doubt the sanity of a Skaia peer. You see her grab a carton of milk, pour it onto her tray, and lap it up. You raise an eyebrow, perplexed. Nepeta just bares her teeth in a smile and licks the rest of the milk off her face.
Eridan is the resident snob and hipster. He doesn't speak to you, merely wrinkling his nose and tossing his rather pretentious scarf as he passes you. It's summer, you think. Why is he wearing a scarf? You ask Karkat about him, but the shorter boy just groans and shakes his head.
"Don't even ask."
You meet several others within the next few days. Feferi, the hyperactive girl somehow attracts you. Equius, the muscular freak, terrifies you. Terezi, the psychotic blind synesthete, somewhat repulses you as she chases you, tongue and clawed hands outstretched. Kanaya, the calm and seemingly normal one, is a breath of fresh air as you have a sane conversation one morning. Aradia, the nearly catatonic one, intrigues you. You feel your heart break as you catch her empty brown eyes, looking but not seeing.
You finally find out what Karkat's been hiding one night when you're both getting changed into pajamas. He lifts up his shirt, and you don't mean to look, honestly, you're not gay, but you catch a glimpse of something that frightens you. His torso and arms are covered in scars and healing gashes. He notices you gaping and shoots you a scowl.
"Quit staring at me, fucking nosy ass."
"Kk," you begin, using your nickname for him (which he hates), "are you... did you?"
"It's not a big deal, Jegus. I'm here for a reason and so are you. Mine's just more visible, okay, fuckbag?"
Karkat finishes dressing and gets into bed.
"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Tholluckth. I'm under constant supervision and on fuckton dosages of meds."
"Sure, kk. If you thay tho."
Yet as you lean back onto the mattress, concern grows in you, poking its roots through your queasy stomach.