Homestuck and its characters all belong to Andrew Hussie.

Dread filled every ounce of him as he made his way up the stairs. The best thing he could possibly do right now was try not to think about whatever lay waiting for him beyond the security of his front porch. But there was no denying the imminent doom that would soon cross his path. He carefully twisted the door knob and quietly stepped inside, shutting the door with the slightest creak. Still remaining as silent as humanly achievable, he attempted to abscond up the stairs and into his room, but not before a voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Where have you been?" the voice said dryly. It was the voice of his mother to be precise, which was as flat and numb as usual, yet now tinged with the slightest hint of anger.

He turned around to face her. She stood there with her arms folded tightly across her chest and her expression locked in a deep glare that was made only more prominent by years' worth of frown lines.

"School. Where the fuck else?" he said sarcastically.

"You might as well not have been," she retorted

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"You know perfectly damn well what it means," She snapped, "It means that you've been cutting class and now I have to take the time out of my day to tell you to get your act together before you have to repeat the twelfth grade." Now she was nearly screaming. "What the fuck is your problem? Are you trying to fail at every single thing you do?"

Karkat rolled his eyes out of sheer annoyance, for he knew the real reason she was so worked up. Today wasn't going to be the day his mother finally started caring about what went on in her his life, that's for sure. It would've taken much more than a phone call from a guidance counselor to make that miracle occur. He understood that the only reason she was so furious was that she had to go out of her way to do something for him, even though she had completely brought the burden on herself since the issue could've definitely waited until four.

Karkat though, wasn't about to tell his mother that since she was already in such hysterics. Instead, he simply avoided the question by asking, "Since when did you care?"

However, what he replied with wasn't exactly the best choice of words either. Now she was furious.

"Since when have I cared? Since when have I cared?" she fumed.

"Yeah. I'd like to fucking know since when you cared," he demanded.

"Would you like to be reminded of how I single handedly raised your ungrateful ass? Or how I worked as hard as I could without a single 'Gee thanks mom'?"

That remark pushed Karkat off the deep end.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you remember all those times I'd wake up in the morning only to find you passed on the couch completely hung over and refusing to get up? Do you remember how the first time it happened was when I was only six years old? Do you remember how I had to figure out how to make myself dinner when I was seven years old because you stopped coming home from work? Do you fucking remember how I practically raised myself because you were too busy getting drunk off your ass to even care? No, you don't because you're too goddamn self centered to even acknowledge all the shit you pull. So don't call me 'ungrateful' because if anything, you should be grateful that I'm still alive after all the shit you put me through."

Smack. The sound rang through the house as her palm collided with his cheek. This wasn't anything he wasn't used to. These sort of physical outbursts were nearly a weekly event. As she retreated, Karkat lifted his hand to the raw spot on his cheek, wincing as he touched it. He slowly looked up to face his mother, her eyes shooting daggers and her mouth pursed tightly shut.

"I fucking hate you," he hissed.

Karkat had never once told his mother to her face he hated her. He had felt it in him for countless years but never had the audacity to say it. Now, after eighteen years of pent up resentment, he had finally snapped.

Her eye twitched as she comprehended her son's words, shaking with rage as she glowered at him. As she opened her mouth to speak, Karkat had already sprinted halfway up the stairs on his way to the protection of his room. However, not before he felt a blunt object crash with the back of his head.

He fell forward, losing his balance and falling into the stairs. As he attempted to regain his footing, he watched as his vision doubled and swerved, making his surroundings appear as though he were in a room filled with mirrors. He finally stood up, yet still hobbling around slightly, not daring to turn around, out of fear of having another object strike his face. With uncoordinated strides, he used what little strength he had left to travel to the sanctuary of his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. He stumbled onto his bed; wrapping his fingers around the spot he had been hit. His warm blood seeped between his appendages as he lied there motionless in an effort to make the pulsating pain in his skull cease.

Approximately ten minutes later, he summoned enough strength to rise once again, still feeling an intense throbbing sensation shoot through his head. He then walked over to the mirror in his room to assess the damage. His pale freckled cheek was an obnoxious shade of red with the edges of the afflicted area beginning to purple slightly, as well as it being still quite swollen. His head however, was in much worse condition. The hair near the wounded area was now matted and bloody in addition to the bloody streaks running down his neck in drastic contrast to his skin. He moved some his hair aside to reveal the severest of his injuries, an inch long gash that ran across his head about three inches above his nape. It was deep, but not enough to need stitches. Thank god; he thought to himself. His mother had already taken him to the hospital enough times; she wouldn't have been too keen on bringing him in once more.

Going back to lay on his bed, he thought once more. He tried to think about what he was going to say once he had to face his mother again, but no amount of apologizing was going to do him any good. Once his mother got into one of her tizzies, it was hard to get her out. His mother. He really hated her now. After the preceding events he was absolutely fed up. He could feel himself getting more and more agitated as he thought about her and what she had told him. Why are you so ungrateful? Those five words made him want to scream. Why should he have been grateful for a mother who could barely provide for him? Why should he have been grateful for a mother who didn't care about him and simultaneously lied about it as well? Why should he have been grateful for a mother who he didn't even need?

That's when it hit him. He didn't need her, and he never would. Before he could even plot what he was going to do he retrieved a black duffle bag from his closet and began tossing clothes into it. He rifled through his drawers, going over the pill bottles and clothing articles, obtaining only the essentials; which consisted of clean pairs of underwear and whatever wasn't going to take up too much space. As he sorted through his shirts he uncovered an envelope and looked inside. 1200 dollars. I guess shoveling snow for the past 8 years finally paid off. Karkat had never been very frivolous with his money, even when he wanted something, but maybe the only reason he had bothered to save so much was that he was subconsciously preparing for this moment all along. He then stuffed forty dollars in his wallet and shoved the envelope and its remaining contents into his bag.

Glancing around his room to see if he had forgotten anything, he noticed the 3x4 inch photograph lodged in the corner of his desk. It was old and worn at the corners, in addition to being quite faded. It was of him and his father. The only picture of him and his father. He picked it up and examined the two almost unknown people depicted. Karkat had to have been no more than five when it was taken, since his father left the January before he turned six. The little red haired boy was sitting on the much older man's shoulders, gripping his darker and grayer hair. Both were smiling with the most happy and lighthearted grins. They didn't appear to have a care in the world.

The picture had always made him feel sort of melancholy because it was strange to see his father in such a state of elatedness and joy. He figured his father would've been much grimmer and more detached. He abandoned him after all; at least the picture would've made sense if he looked as though he could've cared less about the boy in the photograph.

Karkat sighed heavily as he folded the picture in half and slid it into his pocket. He may have hated his father for leaving, but he still wanted to keep at least one good memory his childhood.

1:00 am. Time to go.

He cracked open his door to analyze his surroundings. The hallway was pitch black. Good; he thought. She's asleep. He slipped out the door and quietly padded his way down the hall. However, he stopped once he reached his mothers room. The door was open, yet barely, just enough to peer inside. She lay sleeping, her face overwhelmed by an unusual peacefulness. She didn't look so worn down, so felt a dim pang of nostalgia as he watched her sleep, confused whether or not he should leave just yet. He stepped further into the room, the pale moonlight illuminating it just enough so he could tell where he was stepping. He stopped once he reached the edge of her bed. He took pity on her as he observed her in such a serene state. This was his mother; he didn't think he could just leave her. However, no matter how hard or challenging her life had been, it didn't make up for the fact that she had put him through years and years of anguish and suffering.

He looked over the note he had written, it read:

Mom,

I'm leaving and I'm leaving for good. I'm eighteen years old and I don't need you anymore. But I guess I never really did in the first place. Don't bother looking for me because you won't find me. You'll never hear from me again and I think that it should stay that way for the best. I'm leaving the drop out forms on the kitchen table; they're all filled out and ready to be turned in. All you have to do is bring them to the school and I'll be out of your life for good. That's about all I have to say to you. Goodbye.

-Karkat

It seemed good to go; however, he added one last thing.

Ps: I don't hate you.

He may not have meant it, but what kind of son would he have been if he left his wayward mother thinking he hated her? Placing the note on the nightstand, he looked at his mother one last time. "Bye Mom," he whispered into the darkness. He quietly exited the room without another word.

Several minutes later he was heading down his street, bag in hand. He didn't once turn back.

AN: So that was chapter two. I'm not really fond of this one all that much, but whatever. . You may be asking where is Sollux, but trust me, he will be introduced eventually. I might have chapter three posted tomorrow since I will have a lot of writing time due to the fact that I am trapped in my home due to a blizzard, but if I don't, expect it sometime within next week. Also, thank you to all the people who have given me reviews! I really love getting feedback about my writing, so don't hesitate to review. ^u^