Your name is Karkat Vantas and the first time Kazkia was kidnapped, you two weren't as close. Your reaction was immediate. You were angry. You had thrown things, you had blamed The Signless and you had blamed yourself. Especially yourself. You were, after all, her twin. And after she had been found, when you saw her shaking and shying away from The Signless' touch, you saw that her eyes were different. Not only did they flick around suspiciously, as if expecting an attack, but something was missing from them. Rather, something had been stolen and replaced. Her irises had been rimmed with a venetian red, sparked with sarcasm that could sting; though the same color, the spark had obviously been distinguished, replaced with an intense seriousness. Her irises had before the Incident been swimming lava, the intelligence and clarity startling those who dared interpret it. When she had looked at you after her four day stay with The Grand Highblood, the cautious aspect of her intelligence was acute, blinding out the quick wit you had come to admire. The ring of magenta around her pupils bled into her clarity. That is when you had decided to be her protector.
This time around, anger eludes you. As does sadness. And awareness. You are filled with an airy emptiness, floating outside of yourself. You feel as though your skin has been lazily draped over you, capturing the emotions that you should be feeling and filtering it through without ever letting you grasp it. Kankri's insufferable rants and spiels about Kazkia don't affect you; the nipping hunger in your stomach from two days without eating is separate of you. In actuality, you're only a ghost, stalking the body that claims to be you. But it's not doing the right things; it doesn't complain as much, or demand to know exactly what happens at the meetings The Signless goes to everyday. It hasn't watched a single romcom or even thought about one. Its eyes are glazed over.
It's time to stop making excuses. You think this lightly, timidly, not very seriously, as you walk down the hall. For the first time, you actively recognize that you're in school. Alright, what the fuck. You are in absolutely no condition to be around blistering assholes with no concern about anything than making people like them. Without a reaction to your inner epiphany, you slide out your cellphone. Kankri would be glad to have another opportunity to "comfort" you. He agrees to stop whatever stupid thing he's doing and pick you up in half an hour. That's not too bad; you'll only have to deal with fifteen minutes or so of absolute douche baggery. With your hands shoved into your jacket pockets, you start your stroll down the packed hallway and are stopped by Kanaya, who hands you a wrapped present.
"Happy Wriggling Day, Karkat," She says with a thin smile. You want to feel something. Whether that be sadness at the absence of sharing your Wriggling Day with your sister, or gratitude at the gesture, love for your moirail; but you look down at the present like she just let you borrow a pencil.
"Thanks. I really appreciate it," you say without enthusiasm, smiling up at her.
"Do you want Porrim to take you home...? She wouldn't mind," You shake your head.
"Kankri's picking me up in half an hour," She nods, rubbing her arm. She opens her mouth to say something but is cut off when Gamzee pulls you into an embrace.
"Happy Wriggling Day, motherfucker! I got'cha something," He shoves a large box in your hand covered in pink striped wrapping paper. You can hear the sloshing of Faygo and roll your eyes internally. Another interruption before you can thank him; Tavros sets a small box, two birthday bags and three other boxes on top of Gamzee's present.
"Uh… sorry. They're not all from me. Some of those are for…" Tavros' eyes flick to Gamzee quickly. "Kazkia," He says her name like it's a sin. You nod at him once in thanks and turn your back on them starkly.
Once inside your respiteblock, alone with only yourself as company, you stop breathing. Around you is a scattered array of romcoms, video games, dirty clothes and books. The overhead fan clicks and rattles. "What the hell is wrong with me…" You mutter with a sigh, looking around with tainted clarity. Everything is so normal. An average respiteblock with an average troll inhabiting it. You used to think, even after the first Incident, that the world was normal. Actually, you thought it was bland and bleak. Look between the trees and there could be a werewolf lurking, but you know there isn't. Only a crazed jugglator with a broken mind and big hands. As you stumble to your bed, you feel like the camera in a movie. Your respiteblock tips around you, showing the unknown audience that you're in distress. You look at the plain black bedspread, scrutinizing its every fiber, feeling every pathetic tremor of your stupid god damn heart that pumps a disgusting shade of red, staining your veins with inevitable sickness and harassment and promises of superpowers that you'll never actually discover because you're you and that is just about the worst thing anyone could ever admit.
God, you hate yourself. Why are you so selfish? Here you are, wondering how this movie will end, when the protagonist is dealing with the real plot. She could have lashes of wounds on her back from whips made of troll scales. She could be insane like The Grand Highblood, cackling and not knowing why. She could have maggots festering in her empty eye sockets by now! Someone dies every three seconds and the odds are that she's next.
And yet, here you still are, staring blankly at a bed in a puddle of self-deprecation. Stop worrying about your blood; you can't control it. The Signless will protect you. And so will The Disciple. The Dolorosa. The Fucking Psiionic himself for Christ's sake! So what if you're going to die sixty years before your friends? You don't want to live that long anyways. Or at all. There's no reason to.
You realize that your thoughts have momentarily strayed from your sister and, in a fit of guilt, rip the black comforter off of your bed. You dig your teeth into it and shred it, yanking it away from your mouth, spitting out the filling. You pounce on the damn thing, slamming your head into the floor. Thoughts elude you. Blackness encases your vision. You can feel only the tug of your fangs as you tear fabric, and the throb of your horns when they smash against the floor. Anger burns in your chest. It laps at your throat in growls and seething grunts. You stop when the blanket is shapeless. But you pant, scowling harder at the pile of harmless fluff than you've ever scowled at anything in your entire life. Your talons dig into your palms. You're not done. You won't be done until The Grand Highblood's body is in worse condition than the innocent bedspread. You absolutely swear to it. That foaming spring-loaded weasley bastard will roll in hell with the horrorterrors. You swear. The door opens, interrupting your dramatic, binding vow to the universe.
"You seem triggered so I took the liberty-"
"Get the fuck out!" You scream at Kankri, throwing yourself at him, batting the glass of water out of his hand and shoving him into the hallway. He blinks up at you from the ground. "I am not... fucking... triggered," and with that, you slam the door hard enough to make the walls shiver. Triggered your ass… you're not triggered. What absolute, pure bullshit. You imagine Kazkia sitting on your bed, shaking her head. If she had seen that, she'd be frowning.
"Deep breaths, Karkat. Close your eyes," you do as your imaginary sister advises, inhaling through your nose. Holding it for a second. Exhaling through your mouth. You do this several times, your fists slowly unfurling. "You okay now?" You nod, tearing up as you imagine her timid voice, always gentle when it comes to emotions. "Beautiful. I know you're angry, and he should have knocked, but he was trying to help you, you know that. You should apologize. It looked like you scared the hell out of him," she'd smile at you and you'd roll your eyes, grateful to have her by your side.
You attempt a smile at the empty space by your side now. She always said she liked you best when you smiled. You should have smiled more. But as you try, it gets increasingly harder. It's too fake. It hurts your teeth. It's awkward. Your mouth droops again and you're left with teardrops on your shirt. Still standing, unable to move by some force or another, you stare at the two cubes of ice on the floor. It was never hot in the house because it sometimes would remind Kazkia of the Incident. As you watch the webs of white inside the ice crackle, you think. Rumor has it that twins can communicate telepathically.
"I miss you, Kazkia. Real fucking bad. We'll get you out this shitty situation," You think it hard, imagining the words sneaking into her mind through her ears. There. If that powerful bout of concentrated words didn't make it to her, nothing ever will. You start to think about how lucky you are that twins can't actually feel each other's physical pain. Pain that you wish you felt instead of her. And that she has to feel it on- "Oh! Happy Wriggling Day!" You shout at her mentally, once again forcing that into her mind. Then, out loud, futilely, "Hope it's a good one…"