Chapter Text
Kris
4:23 am
The glaring red characters sear your eyes, blinding in the navy blue void. You growl, pulling the sheets over your head in weak protest. But still, the afterimage spectres of the numbers 4:23 swim around your vision, burned into your eyes. Taunting you. Mocking you, saying: “Why are you still awake Krissy? It's past your beddyby time! Better go to sleep to wake up bright and ear-”
That's it.
You tear yourself violently from your comfortless shell, whipping the blankets against the wall with a muted *thwap*. You swing your protesting legs over the side of your bed. They probably would feel sore like they always do with that…. that THING controlling you, walking you everywhere aimlessly, but you feel nothing, not even your feet hitting the carpeted floor as you yank on your shoes. Your head is afloat, spinning with colorless, mindless spite. Great.. not even the dissociation you’re supposed to be medicated for will save you from the formless malice aimed back at yourself. You cast your unfocused vision to the corner of shame, where it lay motionless, not even opting to struggle against the rusted bars of its confines upon seeing you do anything of your own volition.
Your vision swims, in a way that it very seldom does as of late. You’re… crying? Why? Why are you crying? What could have possibly made you cry? Was it that not even the unwelcome guest inhabiting your own soul didn't wanna come out and play? Was it REALLY that?? Are you THAT DESPERATE for attention?
You storm out of the room. You make no effort to mask the sound of the slamming door. No one in the house is a light enough sleeper to wake up to the noise. Or they don’t care enough to. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. It isn't enough to ruin everyone’s lives for some stupid promise, you have to LIKE IT TOO?! You have to want to be LOVED TOO?? What the fuck is wrong with you. Fucking pathetic. You don’t deserve this life. This family. These clothes. The stairs approach your feet rapidly. You’re an outsider. A home invader indruding on everyone’s kindness. They don’t love you. They see the scars on your arms and they don’t say anything. Your husk of a body arrives at the bathroom door. You could do it in the bathtub, with the knife you keep concealed on you. Long and painful. but… it would be another inconvenience good people would have to deal with. You feel as if you’re watching yourself march jerkily to the front door, each step taken with unbridled fear and anger. Each step clearing the kitchen. The living room. The front door of which you never intend to return to. You’ve done enough.
Your head feels weightless as your lungs gasp unevenly for the air that feels too hot. too suffocating. Eyes were wiped with the too-large jumper that wasn’t yours. you rip it over your head in rage. How could you take that with you? it’s not yours. It’s just another reminder of how much they loved the worthless backstabbing stain of a person you are. You leave your brother’s jumper on the steps. They’ll all figure out the rest in the morning. Where now? The lake. Just walk out to where you can’t stand. Too far. Your body’s already losing adrenaline. The woods. Just run off into the trees. Just like she-
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO STOP NO STOP STOP PLEASE STOP NO NO NO
Weak knees hit wet grass. It’s all too much. All of it. You want it to all go away. You want to be held. You want to be forgiven for everything you’re doing.
There, on the edge of the woods, you break down entirely, not caring for who hears. You can’t even feel it. You hear the disgusting, broken, hiccuping sobs torn from the mouth of a lost and scared child, but you can’t feel the tears running down your own cheeks. You’re an audience of one before a hunched, mourning figure. Like watching some perverse movie, exposing every detail of the private life you once had.
You stay there for an unknowably long time.
You stay there until you can’t feel anything at all.
You stay there.
You stay there because you can’t.
You can’t do it.
You want to live.
You want to be happy.
You want mama.
You want to be cuddled.
You want to be doted on.
You want to be told to hush your crying.
you want…
you….?
who are you..? why are you here? in front of someone’s house? what are these clothes? why are you crying? why do your arms and legs feel so long? you don't remember getting here. you don’t remember your name. wheres my mama?
...who’s my mama?
you think reeeeally hard.. you feel some kinda warm memory. a memory of a warm hug, soft, white fur. the smell of tea. a school. why school? you can see it in your brain. why? why do you know where it is?
...safe there…
…it has to be safe there. you can get all those things if you go to school.
...
…It’s almost dawn. Kris drags their heaving, weakened frame off the ground. They begin trudging aimlessly towards the school, not knowing what waits there.