No One Really Understands

Realizations.

Who even does that? Karkat thought spitefully. He was crouched in the pain relief aisle of the drug store near his house. He was trying to decide which sleeping pills to get--the generic or the name brand--while at the same time chastising himself for being so painfully awkward around Dave. Particularly for falling asleep on his goddamn bed. The warmth of him and the sweet smell of him and the softness of the sheets had been too much then. He'd only closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again Dave was looking down at him with confusion and a bit of amusement.

Karkat cringed and pressed his fingers against his forehead. God, what the hell is wrong with you? You're such a fucking freak.

He sighed and finally settled with the generic pills, taking several packages. Before he left, he also got a pack of razor blades. His old ones were getting dull.

When he got home, Kankri was waiting for him at the kitchen table. For once, he wasn't wearing his usual bright red sweater; today it was grey.

He threaded his fingers together. "Where were you?"

"Out," Karkat said flatly.

"Kar, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do, and I know that it doesn't matter. That's not what you want to talk about. Not really."

Kankri sighed and stood. "...Yeah. It's just... we need to talk about yesterday. I--"

"What's there to talk about?" Karkat muttered coldly. He turned his back to his brother and started pulling the pills and razor blades from his backpack. "You already saw everything last night."

"This is a serious problem, Karkat, and I need to know what--"

Karkat threw down his bag, making a loud bang that resonated through the air. He was almost trembling with anger and irritation.

"Kankri, if you even think about mentioning any of your fucking triggers, I swear to God, I will kill myself. Right. Fucking. Now," he growled through gritted teeth.

Kankri was silent. When Karkat turned back around, he looked deflated. Punctured by his brother's words. He took a step back and slowly sat back down. Karkat picked up his backpack and left without another word.

He locked himself in the bathroom. He pressed his forehead against the door, trying to calm down. He hated talking about anything with Kankri, and talking about that made him absolutely livid. Karkat closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He went over to his backpack, and pulled out the razor blades first. He cracked open the package and marveled at the blades and how beautiful they looked.

Karkat wiggled out of his sweater and forced himself to look at his reflection in the mirror. It was painful, like looking into a bright light.

Ugh... The wave of contempt and hatred that washed over him was almost too much to bear. His stomach and chest were almost a full shade lighter than the rest of him, so pale it was almost grey. His disinterest in food lately was starting to show; he could almost count all of his ribs.

Not to mention the scars.

There were around fifty or so, mostly faded, scattered across his torso. They were from when he first started cutting, back when he was afraid of someone finding out about his habit. It didn't last very long though, because he quickly realized that no one gave a damn about anything about him, much less where he was cutting, so he migrated to his wrists and arms. He'd been there ever since.

Karkat unwrapped one of his new blades, in awe of how clean and shiny they were compared to his old ones. He stretched taut a section of skin on his stomach and pressed the tip of the blade into it. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He exhaled. He slid it across.