You shove him away from you. "What the fuck are you doing?!"
What the fuck are you doing?
He furrows his brow slightly and grimaces a little bit, "Was I reading the wrong signs?"
"For someone who tries to be fucking cool all the time you sure have a shit sense around me you son of a bitch." No, no you're a liar. You secretly felt thrilled, but you don't want to feel.
He keeps his face calm and collected, you can't tell what's going on in his mind because you can't read his damn eyes. Those fucking glasses completely block off your view of his eyes. "So what do you want to do?" He's still so fucking cool.
What are you gonna fucking do? Pretend it never happened? Or dwell on it? "Well I don't fucking have anything besides a piece of shit computer. And it's my fucking computer." Yep, pretend it never happened. Ease up the awkward for once.
"No TV?"
"TV is for nerds like that shitbiscuit Egbert."
He laughs a little bit at your insult of his best friend. "Strider," you start, "I'm fucking exhausted. Let me go to sleep." You're not really tired, you just want an excuse to be alone.
You stand up and start to walk to your room when he pipes up from behind you, "Have you eaten lately?"
"Of course," you wave him off. Blatant lies, Vantas! How many lies are you gonna tell his guy? You make it to your room without him following or asking any more dumb questions. After plopping your fat ass down on the bed, you take off your sweatshirt. You don't have anything on underneath, you don't usually have to deal with people being around you. You reach into the pocket and pull out the tiny razor, then you place it on the windowsill. It shouldn't be very noticeable. You switch out your jeans for some softer shorts and climb into the bed. You pull the blanket around your shoulders and just lie there on your side, unable to sleep. You miss your trollian bed, this human bed is awkward and uncomfortable. How can anyone sleep so exposed? You rest your head on the pillow and exhale angrily. So fucking stupid.
You lie there on your stomach with your eyes closed and the light on for a little while. You want to turn the light off but that involves getting up, and you are simply too fucking exhausted to get up. You growl a little bit in anger and grab one of the pillows before slamming it down on the back of your head.
Now it's too fucking hot. With a very heavy sigh you chuck the pillow to the other side of the room. It hits the wall with a plush thwump and falls to the floor is a soft heap. Fucking pillows goddamn! You lie back on your stomach with your head turned to one side and close your eyes again.
You hear footsteps near your door. God fucking dammit. Probably Strider being a fucking dumbass and 'checking up on you' even though you really have absolutely no need for it.
"Karkat?" his voice is a little louder than a whisper, as if for some reason he thinks you may be asleep.
You're gonna let him believe you are.
You close your eyes and try to slow your breathing. You listen intently to where his footsteps sound from, and get a feeling that he is beside the bed. He pokes you a little bit on your shoulder and you don't do anything. His footsteps fade a little and the light in your room turns off. So, that fucker can do something right for once. You expect to hear the door open and close to signify that he's leaving, but instead the footsteps get a little louder and the part of the bed near your side dips a little bit.
Fuck he's sitting beside you. You are very tempted to open your eyes and jump up to scare him, but you're done with the fucking stunts you've been doing. No more absconding, no more stunts. Just cooperate until they think you're okay, then never make the mistake of letting someone into your house again. He lightly pulls the blanket from over your shoulders down so your back is exposed. You must look scrawny and bony, but if he's got a problem then he'd better confront you about it now. His hand makes contact with your back, and he's very warm. Extremely warm, in fact, almost burning. Must be some human thing. His hand leaves your back enough so just his fingertips are brushing your grey skin, and he traces his fingertips up to your neck, and he scruffs your hair a little bit. You're feeling uncomfortable but at the same time it feels very comforting. Maybe if it wasn't Dave? He rubs your back a little bit before giving you a gentle pat, getting up, and leaving the room.
What the everliving fuck just happened? Is Dave flushed for you? What do you mean 'is he', he definitely is. Or perhaps he's just messing with you because every one of these fuckers absolutely love to mess with you and see you lose your shit. You really have no idea, nor do you have time or energy for this.
Around six in the morning you sit up, deciding to 'wake up'. You spent the rest of last night pondering over whether Strider is red or black flushed for you, deciding on red by the time you 'woke up'. You get up and toss the pillow on the floor back onto your bed. Since you don't know if Strider left last night or stayed (unwelcome) on the couch, you decide to put on a black turtleneck and a different pair of black jeans. You're still uncomfortable with the idea of 'embracing' your blood colour.
You go out into the living room, and lo and behold, guess who's passed out on your couch? Fucking Strider. You're gonna fucking kill him. You stiffly stomp your way over and roll him off the bed and onto the floor, "Rise and shine, douchebag."
He wakes up with a start that is evident in the way he jerks around, but he immediately replaces it with the cool front. He's really fucking committed to this deal, isn't he? "Wh- What time is it?"
"Six in the fucking morning. Regardless of the oh so necessary time announcement, I've noticed that this is my fucking house, not yours, buckethead, now get the fuck out."
He stands up and casually dusts himself off with one hand, "Alright, see you later lover."
"I fucking hate you."
He clicks his tongue against his teeth and points at you before leaving your apartment. Holy shit if this is how things are going to be from now on you might have to move and not tell anyone where you're going.
You sit down on the couch and lean back, closing your eyes. You're fucking exhausted, but you can't sleep. Sleeping is for normal people. You reach down underneath the couch and grab your computer, then you pull it out and turn it on. You've got some pesterchum messages, but you don't feel like doing anything with them. You don't care who's fucking bothering you right now. Everyone can get the fuck out of your way and stay there. You surf the web for a bit, then you check the date. It's Saturday.
This is all very boring. Might as well go through your messages. Just some from a few people from your old friend group, asking how you are doing. You'd respond but they've never shown any interest in you before, so why not treat them the exact same fucking way? A new message pops up from none other than fucking Strider. Man is that kid that obsessed with you? Or maybe he simply has no life?
[ turntechGodhead began pestering carcinoGeneticist ]
TG: hey there
CG: YOU JUST FUCKING LEFT
CG: GIVE ME SOME TIME AWAY FROM THE FREAKSHOW
TG: i want to know why you're pretending you don't have feelings for me
Fuck this.
CG: I AM NOT PRETENDING
CG: I DO NOT CARE AT ALL FOR YOU, SHITBAG.
TG: come on!
TG: don't be a liar
TG: nobody likes liars
TG: liars start fires
TG: do you want to start fires, karkat?
CG: I DO NOT CARE FOR FUCKING FIRES
TG: firefucker
CG: LISTEN
CG: YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY I DENIED YOUR ADVANCES?
CG: BESIDES THE FACT THAT YOU'RE A FUCKING DOUCHEBAG?
TG: yes
CG: I CAN'T REDROM RIGHT NOW BECAUSE FEELING ANYTHING MAKES ME
CG: YOU KNOW
TG: what
CG: YOU FUCKING KNOW DON'T GIVE ME THAT BULLSHIT
TG: explain
CG: FEELINGS MAKE ME CUT
Maybe that will stop him for a bit.
It does, you don't get a response from him. You sit and wait in front of your computer for a few minutes before just deciding to quit out of the program. You go back to your browser and begin to look stuff up online. The day passes uneventfully, with no response from Strider.
You begin to feel concerned about him before dismissing that feeling. You're fucking obsessing over this guy now, and that's creepy. Around the time the sun goes down, you're feeling anxious.
No, you're feeling. You do not want to feel. You pull up your sleeves and look at your wrists. Still bandaged. Who the fuck cares about the bandage. You tear it off of your wrists and once the stupid reminder is gone, you look down at your arms. The skin is tinged red around the cluster of cuts on each arm and a thick scab has formed over the cuts. They itch a lot, and you have to desperately hold back the desire to scratch it, because if anyone sees that these scabs have been torn off, they'll think you're trying to hurt yourself again. You wonder how big of a scar these are going to leave. The largest cut is about three inches in length, and the smallest is one and a half inches, with all the other cuts being some length in between. Yep, you will be discoloured. But that is your business, and no-one has the right to judge you. It is your body and you will do whatever you want with it.
There's a knock at the door. You quickly yank your sleeves down over your wrists and feel a sharp burst of pain. Yep, you tore a scab. God fucking dammit. Great going, Vantas. You are tempted to pretend that you are asleep, but you know if you deny these fuckers from knowing what's going on with you they'll send you away. After standing up and exhaling loudly, you walk over to the door and open it.
"The fuck do you want, Strider?"
"Just checking up on you, bro."
You glare, "What, that fucking dumbass chat we had online wasn't fucking good enough?"
His face stays calm and collected, giving absolutely no emotion away, "No."
"Well it was enough for me, so if I could get back to my fucking dandy life without you bothering the shit outta me that'd be more than fucking perfect." You have no acceptance for his bullshit today. You are genuinely offended by his mere presence.
"Let me in. If you don't I'll say you were being uncooperative."
You tense up and bare your teeth before opening the door enough for him to waltz in. Fucking blackmail is what this is. He goes over and sits on the couch right where you were sitting. "Move," you're not asking him, you're fucking demanding him.
"Make me."
You growl and drag Strider off the couch, he's laughing the entire time. Does he think you're a joke? Before he can get up you jump onto the couch and sit in your fucking spot. He's not taking it from you.
He stands up and the smile from his laugh is gone. "You realize this means war."
"Bring it on, faggot," your mouth twitches in a smile for a little moment as you grip the couch tightly.
You pull your legs up to your chest as he grabs your ankles and begins to pull you off. You dig your nails into the couch and hold onto the arm of the couch, managing to cling there for a little bit, but he grabs you by your waist and yanks you off onto the floor. You hit your chest on the carpet with a thump, and as you're getting your breath back he slides into your seat, sitting in the fucking most ridiculous pose ever, mocking that 'paint me like one of your french girls' pose. "I win."
You bare your teeth again, "No you don't!" You climb on the back of the couch and press your feet to his back, then start to shove him off the couch while slowly moving down into your fucking spot. He presses himself back against you and you press one of your feet to the back of his head, messing up his slick blond hair, "Eugh how much fucking hair gel do you use, I swear I just stepped in a shitload of grub sauce."
"You've hit a new low," he laughs and ducks his head so you lose your grip on his head and he smushes you back into the couch.
"AH! I can't breathe!" you practically yell, and he immediately gets off the couch and looks at you in concern. You lie on your back in the spot, a vicious smirk on your face, "HA fooled you, fucker."
His brow furrows and his mouth opens a little in protest, but he follows it up with a laugh, "Oh shit I can't believe I fell for that." He wraps his arms around your upper body and drags you, kicking and screaming, to the ground. He presses his hands on your arms just above your elbows and pins you down on the carpet. "Let's go for a car ride," he laughs.
You glare at him and bare your teeth, "Sounds like a fucking shotgun wedding. I'm fucking swooning."
"I'm serious!"
"AUGH fine if it'll get you off my fucking back."
He smiles a little, "I'm not on your back. Yet."
"OH MY GOD."
He stands up and offers a hand to you to help you up. You begrudgingly accept it, and once you're on your feet you stand back a little bit, dusting yourself off. You cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to collect himself. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and walk over to the door, "Come on, let's go."
You start to walk but then you stop, "Oh, hold on." You hurry into your room and grab the tiny razor off of the windowsill, and then you shove it into your pocket. That way if anyone decides they want to come in, they won't be able to find it. You don't want to risk losing it. You make your way back out and he's waiting for you.
"Ready now?"
"Yeah," you say.
A/N: Sorry for the inactivity, I was on vacation, but I did a bit of writing! I've got a twisted story planned out, so I hope you stay along for the ride! Things will pick up soon, I promise
