thanks for all the nice feedback you guys! here's the next chapter of detached.
he looked at you expectantly and you wondered what to say, where to begin, and the idea of not speaking at all was becoming more and more desirable. But you had to do this. You had to say SOMETHING, if only one word. It was the only way you'd be able to go back to the hall with out feeling like a coward.
Inhale. Exhale. You've got this. God he was still staring at you, smiling, but it wasn't as unnerving as you had expected it to be. He had understanding in his eyes, as if he'd been where you had been maybe at one point. That maybe he was still hurting. "alright." you speak up, surprising him a bit. "i don't really know where to start...but I think it started around the time I was seven, I guess? I just started realizing my life was kind of a lie, if that makes sense. Like my dad is some sort of mobster and that's why he was always leaving, and my brother has OCD but I didn't really understand that at the time. It just kinda seemed like he was persnickety about shit in a really outlandish ridiculous emotionally devastating kind of way. And I found out my mom hadn't really died she just kind of ran away because my dad was an asshole and she wasn't ready to have kids."
he nods as you speak, not doing the "oh's" that some counselors did that made them sound like they were watching a sad movie on bullying. Non of that pity shit. If he did that even once you wouldn't speak at all the rest of the sessions, or any sessions after that. "do you have a hard time trusting people, then?" he asks, looking at you. But you shake your head. "i think maybe the thing is I trust people too much. Or at least I used too. I trust everyone except myself and when people pull shit on me it's like i'm breaking."
you have no idea where this is all coming from. You guess you've had a lot of time to psychoanalyze yourself, considering how much time you spent alone, pent up in your room. Or sleeping. It was all you did in your final days before coming here. You slept because it was warm and quiet and nothing hurt and it was the most lovely thing you had ever experienced. You think about telling him that but decide against it. That would be off topic.
"so then, do you not trust yourself to make good decisions, or do things right?" he questions again, and you notice he's scribbling something down in a black notebook. You hate that. What is he writing. You don't know and the sound of his pen running over paper is like someone grazing unintelligible words into your brain where you can't even read them. You stare at his pen for a solid five minutes before he snaps his fingers, snapping you back to reality as well. "well chap? Did you hear my question?" he doesn't look angry or annoyed and your grateful because the school counselor would have, she had more important things to attend to then a teen boy staring at her pen. But Mr. English wasn't like that and it was pretty fucking cool.
"i...i don't think I can really decide anything. Or do anything right. I have proof, I mean, I'm here aren't I? This is where people who fuck up go." you look at him and you think he may be a little surprised by your honesty but he doesn't say anything, as he continues to listen. "I'm just a dirt bag teenager who couldn't even live. That's literally the easiest thing you can do. Breath in, breath out, keep walking, and live. But I couldn't do that. Or more so, I didn't want to. I didn't want to do it anymore because I was lazy and tired and didn't want to deal with it anymore because I'm a piece of shit." he looks at you, sympathetically. "life is hard Karkat. There has to be something in your life that makes you want to keep going and by golly, it sounds as though you didn't really have that. It's okay Karkat. You're not a piece of shit" and it was only then you realized you had started crying.
God you promised yourself this wasn't going to happen.
Looks as though there's another mistake that you've made.
He hands you a box of tissues and you take it, wiping your eyes and blowing your nose."Karkat, I'm going to tell you something that you need to know okay?" you look at him, expectantly, waiting for him to continue. "it's not your fault." and he says it in earnest and you don't remember the last time someone had said that for you. You nod, looking at him with eyes full of appreciation. There's a knock on the door and you hear that one southern guys voice droll "times up. Next patient in 5." you can almost see visibly sadden and you wonder if he has history with the other man. You don't have time to finish your thought though, as your counselor escorts you out kindly, shaking your hand and saying he was looking forward to the next visit.
You decide against going back to the recreation hall, you wanted to lye down for a bit. Talking about all your issues had really sucked a lot out of you. When you get to your room, you see Kankri bookmarking his page and setting it on the bedside table, carefully adjusting it so it lined up straightly. "Oh! Hello Karkat. How was your first session?" you sigh, sitting next to him. He seemed less antsy then he was before you saw him last, which for some reason made you less antsy as well. His calmness was contagious, it always had been. "it was emotionally exhausting, is what it was." you reply, leaning your head back to look at the perfect white ceiling.
"ah." he says, understandingly before he continues. "the first time always is." you feel him pat your shoulder gently, the motion soothing. "you gonna go to your session now?" you ask, curious. He nods and hands you the book he had been reading. "in the time I will be gone, I suggest you give this book at try. I think you would find it to your liking." you look at the very large book he had placed in your hand, titled "Les Miserable". You didn't really have anything else to do in the rest of your free time until dinner, so you decide, what the hell, it was worth a shot.
"alright, well I'll be off then." Kankri spoke as you continued to look at the cover. He ruffled your hair a little bit before leaving, shutting the door softly. Your gaze snaps away from the book and you lift a hand up to touch your hair gently. That sure did feel...different. It made your heart jump a little when did it, such a very simple yet loving gesture, and you weren't sure why. Perhaps you had missed him? Well, of course you had. Three years without seeing your older brother would be an obvious strain.
Yet still, you were confused. Kankri had always been a pretty big nervous wreck before he came you, and he never dared touch anyone, or else he would royally flip his shit. So why now, was he being so brotherly and nice, ruffling your hair like that? Did he really miss you so much? Maybe he had, and the idea made your heart flutter manically in your chest again. Maybe he had really gotten better in the time he had been here. But you looked around at the all white walls, and remembered his raw reddish hands that had became that way from excessive hand washing. And you doubt he's gotten much better at all in the three years he's been here.
So it had to be something else. But what? And why?