Chapter 11: To the moment
Two days to go.
'THE HEADACHES WHERE GETTING MOTHERFUCKING WORSE'
Gamzee was getting used to this. Waking up with a groan of protest at the suns rising, making a quick survey of the wreck his body was in today, and then getting out of bed to another day of skulking around like it was nobody's business.
Which, for another motherfucking reason, it really wasn't.
His head felt… like it was splitting in two all over again, his body hurt and he didn't know which way was up from down.
Each day he woke up to the realisation that he didn't have much time left.
He wasn't keen on getting up and going downstairs, humouring the thought that maybe if he concentrated hard enough he wouldn't feel the urge to eat as badly as he did and he would be able to stay in bed? Fat chance. His traitorous body let its intentions be known that he wasn't going to be skipping another meal as his stomach growled threateningly at him to get up and feed, Gamzee was almost inclined to growl back.
Motherfucking bodies man.
Rolling out of bed and stumbling towards the bathroom only to encounter his unpainted face in the smudged mirror like every other morning. He didn't go anywhere without his facepaint anymore, hardly saw his own face without the paint, and there was a pretty good motherfucking reason for that as well.
Those three perfect lines, the new mirthful smile that swept back to his jaw. He almost smirked at cruel irony for healing him after their game session was won just to have the proof of how much of a hazard he really was torn into his face all over again.
He hated this, having it mock him, having it remind him of memories he wanted to let go. But it served as a reminder. A confirmation every morning that things weren't the same. He needed to be careful.
Carefully brushing on his paint with the extra caution it took to apply it without highlighting the faint scars underneath and generally taking his time with it as he bitterly thought of how he was going to avoid the world today.
Maybe he would all up and hide in his room again, OR MAYBE he might hide outside, OH BETTER IDEA maybe lets go stow away at Karkat's again. WOULDN'T THAT BE A MOTHERFUCKING BITCHTITS WAY TO SPEND THE MORN- shit no. Breath this isn't you
He could tell he was growing to hate this stage of the month. The few days left were he found himself getting angrier and slipping up more often, Losing himself to these unnatural fits of anger and on more than one occasion actual bloodlust.
Losing what made him feel like Gamzee.
But honestly it wasn't like he wasn't being given enough reason for wanting to smash a couple of heads together till their blood ran from their ey- No he hated this, this wasn't him. But he had a LOT of reasons for being frustrated, school for one.
Motherfuckers at school knew not to mess with him, he wasn't going to try and deny that he could be a bit motherfucking intimidating, but apparently the same didn't apply to Tavros.
Rumours it seemed, spread through the human caste system faster than wildfire in a field of dry grass. And since his and Vriska's little shout-off a few weeks ago, Tavros and him had been the new talk of the school.
He wasn't blind, he saw the way the other humans treated Tavros. Pushed him around for their own sick enjoyment, saw how they often kicked his feet out from under him, not knowing that each time they would be jarring metal and bone together instead of just bruising him or humiliating him. And what did he do? Absolutely nothing.
He just stood there day after day and watched each time those motherfucking HUMANS touched him because he was supposedly MOTHERFUCKING DIFFERENT, oh how he wanted to just reach into his strife deck and pull out his trusty clubs, let loose a wave of chucklevoodoo's and paint the walls a glorious unearthly red-
He hadn't been aware of how hard he'd been gripping the sink basin until he heard the cracking of porcelain under his tightly clenched and white knuckled hands. Huffing as he extracted his fingers from the now cracked porcelain as his attention was drawn down to his free swaying tail as it knocked over a shampoo bottle.
Gamzee had 99 problems, but surprisingly a tail wasn't one of them.
He was getting used to the daily routine of binding it up every morning, the new skin was no longer being scratched and chafed by the binding, and the moment of bliss where he could unwrap it and just let it sway, It was oddly pleasant. And it certainly made up for any discomfort he put up with, like accidently sitting on it more than once. He was still trying to get the hang of not knocking over every other precariously balanced ornament in his apartment whenever it was out, but surprisingly it had been the least of his troubles so far… plus he didn't want to admit how good it felt whenever Karkat would play with the ends when he dozed off on the couch with his tail in Karkat's lap. Whenever there was a peaceful moment that is.
But no time to dwell on the past…or rather the future, there was shit to do and morails to quail behind.
Gamzee sighed; it was going to be a long LONG day.