Oh god. Oh fuck. Why is this happening?
It feels like someone has set the inside of your bones on fire, and now they're standing there watching you burn or something. That's what you see, trapped in this world of heat and pain and darkness, a strange dark figure hunched over you, smiling and laughing as you writhe on the ground and the sky turns pitch black and blood red in turns. Oh fuck. Oh god.
Why is this happening...?
You sense a presence hovering over you, but this time, it's not smiling. You still feel like you're burning, burning, burning from the inside out, trapped in a red and orange maelstrom of pain and heat. The air is sucked straight out of your mouth as you try to breath and oh fuck why is this happening? What have you done to deserve this, this torment, this - this cool hand, the soft fingers on your forehead, such a change from the burning pain that rules you from inside out. It breaks through the madness for a moment, pulling you away from what you pray are just nightmares. Is this Gamzee leaning over you? You can't tell, it's either dark, or your vision is clouded over from this fucking fever, or both...Oh god, his cool hand on your forehead feels like heaven right now. But then the hand disappears, and you cry out and beg him to put it back, only nothing comes out of your mouth, nothing happens when you try to move, nothing happens when you try to speak, nothing happens, you can't do anything. Why, why, fucking why! You want to scream and cry and collapse on the ground. You want to be cradled and comforted, you want someone to let you cry into their shoulder, you want someone to come and make the pain stop NOW but no one comes, and you can't move a muscle. You're alone, and you're scared, and everything fucking hurts make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP and the coolness is back, this time pressed against your cheek, stroking. And you can just barely hear a voice, gently purring out in a comforting, if worried, tone. You can't even begin to understand the words, so muddled are your thoughts, but fuck it, at least you're not alone.
You feel like everything is on fire, your bones, your skin, your lungs - especially your fucking lungs, god why does breathing hurt so fucking much. You somehow manage to lean into Gamzee's touch, even though the action causes you muscles to ache, because right now that one spot of coolness is all that's holding your sanity together.
You keep expecting that hand to disappear again, but it doesn't. Or if it does, it does so after you slip back into sleep. And at first you're okay, at first it's an almost pleasant, dreamless sleep, but then things start changing again. And the demons start crawling out of the fucking woodwork, and there's snow everywhere, but it's hot, hot, and everything is red and burning and the snow burns as it touches your skin. You're crying and screaming, and you can sense someone nearby, someone kind, but when you reach out for that person, for him, for the one constant in your life, the demons pull you away from him, their claws scratching at you, burning you. Why is this happening to you? You fight with all of your fucking everything, and you can see him struggling too, but nothing works, and you just slip further and further away and you wake up gasping, your lungs screaming. You weakly force yourself into a sitting position, clutching at your chest, where your heart is screaming away like a fucking banshee.
You're sweating all over, and you vaguely recognize that you're in Gamzee's room instead of your own. It hurts to breath, hurts to think, and god if you don't find a way to cool yourself down you think you're going to burn to a fucking crisp.
Gamzee is asleep next to you, a hand resting gently on your pillow.
You want him to leave you the fuck alone. Because you finally remember why you were so pissed at him - the fucking asshole promised that he'd sober up, but he didn't even get rid of the fucking drugs. He lied to you! After everything you've been through, he lied!
And yet...
At the same time, you want him to pick up that hand and cradle your head in it with those cool fingers you're only half sure you felt earlier, to comfort you and promise everything's going to be okay. And fuck if you know why you want that.
You quietly sit for a moment, looking at him, before shaking your head and moving to slowly, painfully, almost fucking literally roll out of bed. The clock on the dresser says it's about 3 in the morning. You curse under your breath and, wobbling like a fucking chair with one leg fucking longer than the others, manage to make your way over to the bathroom, fingers stumbling for the light switch as you enter, too worn down to bother with closing the door all the way.
Leaning heavily against the counter, you roll up the sleeves of the ridiculously fucking massive sweatshirt you're wearing, and somehow manage to turn the sink on. You test the water with a finger to make sure it's cold, and fill your cupped, trembling hands with it. You stare at your shaking reflection for a moment, zoning out a little, before shaking it off and splashing the cold water on your face.
Fuck that feels so good right now. The water quells some of the fire that's playing across your skin.
But the pain that wracks the rest of your body is still paralyzing, and the fire still torches you inside, outside, all over.
You stare at yourself in the mirror and oh god you are a fucking mess. You look even more exhausted than usual, your cheeks are flushed, the ever constant dark circles under your eyes almost look painted on, and everywhere that's not flushed or black, you're white as a sheet.
You look like death.
You feel like death.
Why is this happening to you? Why you, why now, why...
Just...Why?
You groan and lean forward, letting your forehead rest against the mirror. You kind of fall into a half sleep there for a moment, because the mirror is cool and feels good against your skin.
"Karkat?"
Fuck. Gamzee's awake.
You don't move as the door gently swings open. You just ignore him, just hoping he'll leave you alone here in your misery. You want him to go the fuck away, the lying ass. You want him to hold you close and make all the pain go away.
You can't deal with him right now.
The betrayal is too fresh.
But you can't bear to be alone.
Barely stifling a pained groan, you peel yourself away from the mirror and the counter, shoving away the hand he starts to move toward you, even though part of you really, really wants him to comfort you. Because you're strong, and you don't need anyone's fucking help, and you definitely don't want help from a fucking liar. You push past him, stumbling for a few paces out of the bathroom before your legs apparently decide that they can't go any fucking farther and just give way right beneath you.
He catches you before you hit the ground. And as much as you want to push him away again, you're just so fucking tired, you give in and let him help you half-stumble, half-drag yourself back under the covers. He pulls them up around you, and crawls into the bed on the other side. You carefully make sure to be looking in the opposite direction, because you're still fucking pissed at him.
But as you drift back into a fitful slumber, you quietly admit, somewhere deep down inside, where no one but you can hear, that you're glad he's there.
Whatever the reason, this is happening. It's real. But you're not alone, and just knowing that makes it maybe just a little more bearable.
FANFICTION STOP SCREWING UP MY BOLDS AND ITALICS
FIXING THEM IS A PAIN AND I DON'T LIKE IT
RAGE RAGE RAGE