The Blood I Spill for You

There Is No Peace When It's Quiet

The sleeping boy across the room stirred, probably his subconscious getting nervous over hearing such a threatening sound in a vulnerable state. Regardless, he stayed asleep. He slept all hours of the day, but was taken out of the room every night, not to return until morning, exhausted. The nurse always had to carry him out: he had no legs.

Karkat loomed over him, cursing at how young he looked. He looked a year, maybe two years, younger than himself, but he could just be a late bloomer. He looked peaceful in his sleep. Fear, submission, and acceptance—it was so odd to see on a face only in consciousness.

Karkat bit his lip and returned to his side of the room. The floor was cool against his warm skin, especially since there was nothing covering him except for thin, blue pyjamas. His feet were left bare, so he sat on the bed and warmed them with his hands.

  There was nothing to do, but wait. Wait for what? For Dave to come get him? Someone else? Would he stay here, and end up with no legs too? He shook his head, as if expelling his irrational thoughts, and stood up. He had to get out of the white room with the quiet ticking. Karkat took hold of the doorknob and twisted.

   "Karkat, where are you going?" Ms. Paint seemed to be everywhere when he wasn't where he was supposed to be, and nowhere when he needed her.

  "Just going to the bathroom." She nodded affirmatively and he carried on. The hallway was much brighter. He passed a few closed doors keeping other trolls, until he reached the bathroom. He went there a lot, just to be in another room. It's walls were cream and always smelled like lemon. It was just too damn cold, colder than the ticking room. At least now, it was quiet.

No more than a few minutes later, a hard knock on the door made Karkat's ears twitch. He growled, but stood anyways. Pretending to have been using the bathroom for its intended purpose, he flushed and let the tap run. Another knock, this time harder, and another twitch. Karkat yanked the door open, startling the troll on the other side.

  "S-sorry," they tried, but Karkat already brushed past. Down the hall, he saw Caliborn walking out of a room, and tried his best not to make eye contact. Not that it mattered, his dark features were immediately noticed against the white walls.

"God damn it, again? Can you not stay in one place for more than a minute?"

Karkat didn't respond, didn't walk any closer. Long, black bangs covered most of his eyes and and his fangs peaked over his bottom lip.

He sighed, clenching his fists. "You know, I'm getting really sick of you thinking you're better than me. No, I get it," he let his arms drape at his side, "you think I'm not worth your time."

Karkat blinked, slowly, hitching his ears up, and the skin on his neck prickled as he forced a growl back.

"But I'm warning you, troll. Keep ignoring me, and I'll paint the walls with your mutant blood. Got it?"

  Despite the attempt at threatening him, Karkat rolled his eyes. "Fuck off, would you?" He snatched the paper cup of pills off the tray, and walked back to the room.

  The door was left open. He tossed the cup into the trash, and flopped onto the bed, springs squealing under his weight. The ticking was drowned out by the buzzing in his ears. Flat, short claws dragged down dry skin from shoulder to elbow, leaving a trail of bright red behind it. He would wait for Dave, for he had no other choice.

   The warm, Texas sun hid behind the dark clouds that hung in the sky. "It's going to rain soon," Dave mumbled. He wished for a response, anything really. Even a curt nod. A short, soft laugh was more than enough to convince him this was pathetic.