This chapter contains dark themes! If you are sensitive to gore, or suicidal themes, do NOT read this chapter!
(Dib's P.O.V)
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I pace my room for a few minutes, though it's so small that I'm basically just walking around in circles. It gets tiring after awhile, so I plop down at my computer, sighing as I click- probably too hard- into my message inbox, mouse hovering over the anonymous message I'd seen just a month ago. It feels like forever, though.
Still nearly blinded with rage, I click into the message, not thinking much of it. Probably some sort of marketer trying to sell me a useless product, but at least it'll give me background noise. I let it play and turn to the journal, deciding to read the entries with the titles I'd already translated. No reason why I can't just learn more about the Irkens, right?
I pretty much ignore the message entirely as I flip to a random page: Control Brains. One of the entries that hadn't been so crystal clear with it's title.
After translation, I read: Control Brains are at the top of the hierarchy (see pg 1) of the Irken empire. The Tallest (see pg 5) run the day-to-day business, yes, but Control Brains are the true rulers. They can reprogram Irkens by connecting wires to their Paks (see pg 12) and altering the data inside to switch their objectives and duties. This power also allows them to access and display an Irkens memories if needed for a trial (see pg 7). Control Brains see everything.
The last sentence sends a small chill down my spine, but something else catches my attention: the numbers. See page this and see page that. No one would need that for their own journal. This was meant to be read by someone else. Maybe it was even intended to be read by an alien species. Well, alien to the Irkens of course. It should've occurred to me earlier; who needs a journal about it's own species? Much less a species whose memories are installed in them at birth?
I push the thought away, instead turning back to the computer, where the message is still playing. The shadows of the creatures seem very familiar, though...
Wait. I'd definitely seen them before. Zim's leaders! The Tallest! I recognize them from when I'd followed Gir into Zim's base to watch a call. But why did they send a message to my computer? Unless... This was the anonymous message that Zim had received, and they had merely sent it to all the devices in the base. But how could Zim not know it was them?
The obvious answer? He... probably did.
The realization hits me in the chest, even though I knew he was after something. It said so in the journal; Irkens would kill for their goals. And now I know that Zim is still after Earth. Ugh, how could I be so stupid?
Shutting off the message, I stand up, my chair rolling behind me as I storm out the door and into the chute. With luck, Zim is still upstairs. And when I reach the top, my thought is confirmed; he's right on the couch.
"Zim," I growl, and he looks up, looking kind of helpless, maybe a bit scared. I ignore it. "I just saw the 'anonymous message' from awhile ago." I use the air quotes around the words, of course knowing that he knew well what the message was about.
"What?" he asks, pushing himself up a little bit. "I... you sound... mad," he says, flinching a bit, almost like he expects me to hit him. To be honest, I'm not that far off.
"No shit I'm mad," I yell. Zim recoils. Gir, who is sitting next to Zim, hops off the couch and runs to the kitchen chute. "You fucking lied to me, even more than I thought!"
"I've..." Zim stutters, then looks me square in the face. "I've told you nothing but the truth."
"Bullshit. You knew exactly what that message was, and you went back there because they're more important to you than I am. I-"
"I did nothing wrong," Zim growls, the light draining from his eyes, leaving those solid magenta orbs in their place. "The only liar here is you, accusing me of nothing!" The last word is a screech, and Zim reaches out a clawed hand and slashes me across the face, his abnormally sharp fingers drawing blood. I hold my face in surprise. Zim seems shocked as well, and the highlights return to his eyes, staring in awe at the gashes on my cheek. He takes a step back.
"Dib... I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I-" Zim hits the wall, tears welling up in his eyes. "That wasn't... I didn't mean to," he mumbles. He crumples to the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest. Over and over again, he mumbles, "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to," and squeezing his eyes shut all the while. He looks so scared. His antennae twitch, and he digs his fingers into his legs.
The first thought I'd had when he returned from that trip comes rushing back into my mind: what if his mind was wiped? What if he knows just as little as I do about what's going on? I've been jumping to conclusions, assuming that Zim just did what he wanted. But what if it isn't him that's doing this? I take a step forward, reaching out to him.
He rears up and hisses. "Don't," he screams. "Don't touch me. I've hurt you enough." Tears run down his cheeks.
"Zim, I... I want to help. I want to find out how to-"
"I said, stay away from me!" Zim jumps up, shrieking at me. Before I can react, he runs to one of the chutes, presumably to lock himself in his room. For a few minutes, I just stand there, arm still extended slightly from when I tried to comfort him. The room is deafeningly quiet, and I watch the chute, waiting for something to happen. My legs start to get tired after awhile though, and I follow down the chute, knowing full well that I can't exactly follow him to where he went, because he definitely went somewhere that I can't get into.
It's a good thing I'm persistent.
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(Zim's P.O.V)
Once I'm in my room, I begin to scream. The walls are soundproofed in a special way that let the quieter sounds escape, but anything louder than 75 decibels is cancelled out. So I scream. What is wrong with me? How many times have I hurt him? How many times has he thought I was a liar? I pull at my antennae in frustration, glaring at myself in a mirror. My skin is too perfect. I've hurt Dib so much. Where the fuck is karma, coming in and hurting me back? If the universe won't do it, I'll do it myself.
I bring out one of my Pak legs, holding the end in my hand like a knife. I hold it out to my arm. I'd torn both of his wrists to shreds on that first night. So I replicate the pain I'd inflicted, carving three slices down my wrists, where my claws would have been had I used my hands. I wince at the pain, watching my translucent pink blood run down my arms and to the floor. But I don't stop. That would be unfair.
The next time I'd hurt him was at the dance. I don't have the strength to throw myself into the wall hard enough to inflict something such as a skull fracture- which makes me angrier than I already was- but I do remember that I ripped at his arms and legs with my Pak legs, one slice on each limb. I begin carving down my thigh, bringing the sharp tip to below my knee before stopping and doing the same to the other side, then copying the motion with both of my arms.
Now comes the recent one, the one probably still dripping from his face. I'd slashed his cheek. So close to his eye, so close to blinding him. I dig the Pak leg into my cheek, deeper than I probably should, dragging it to the outside of my head, making a clean slice across my face. Lowering the leg, I repeat the slice twice, replicating the cuts I'd made on Dib's cheek.That seems to be it, right? Every single injury I'd inflicted on him since we became close. Then why do I feel like something is missing? Not just that... it feels too important. Too big to forget. And then it hits me.
I've broken Dib's heart more times than I can count.
When I believed he'd sold me out to his father unit and refused to let him save me. He'd sat beside me, waiting to get caught. When I insisted on leaving to answer that message and left him alone, when he so strongly begged me to stay. When I hurt him and Keef at the dance. He'd tried to stop me, tried to reason with me, and I had just thrown him away. It's not the physical damage that hurts the most. His heart has been broken more than anything. That's what I'm missing.
Breathing heavily, I grab the Pak leg with both hands, positioning it above the heart section of my spooch, ready to stab through my chest. I can only imagine my knuckles are paling under my gloves from how hard I'm gripping the leg. I bring my arms in slowly, feeling the pierce of metal on my torso, pushing through, tearing at the skin, causing drops of blood to start soaking through my shirt.
Suddenly, I'm against the wall. I look around frantically to see Dib, one hand holding the Pak leg I'd been using as a knife, the other hand pressing me into the wall, keeping me from continuing. I squirm, trying to grab for the leg.
"Zim, what the hell are you doing?" Dib asks, his voice strangled and panicked.
"I need to make things fair," I whine, wiggling my arm around to try and get it free, upsetting the multiple cuts as I do, causing more blood to squeeze out of them and drip to the floor.
"How the fuck is this fair?" Dib says, his voice breaking. "This isn't fair to anyone. You're hurting yourself, Zim! That isn't fair to either of us."
I finally give, falling to the floor for the second time that day, crying hysterically into my arms, mixing blood and tears in a puddle below me. "I've hurt you so much," I mumble, my voice cracking with the tears clogging my throat. "I've hurt you so much, and you've just taken it, and you've done nothing to hurt me. I'm so horrible. I don't deserve you, and you don't deserve to be treated like this. I needed to make things fair," I cry, wiping at my eyes and looking up at him.
Dib shakes his head. "No. No no no, Zim, you're so wrong. Oh god, I'm sorry, I... Nothing you did was your fault... I think I know that now... but what you're doing, hurting yourself, there's no good reason for that. If you care so much about me, why don't you think I care just as much about you?"
"Because you got mad at me. You got mad at me for all the reasons I didn't see before. I'm such an asshole, I hurt you so much," I repeat. "And you do nothing about it, so I did it myself."
"Zim, I don't do anything about it because they're mistakes. You're not meaning to hurt me. Really, a couple of scrapes is nothing. You didn't mean them. This," Dib says, grabbing one of my arms gently and bringing it to my face, "this is intentional, and it hurts both of us." He places my arm back to my side. "Don't hurt yourself Zim. You didn't do anything wrong; not on purpose. There's no excuse for hurting yourself."
Ignoring the fact that I'm covered in blood, I lean forward and wrap my arms around Dib, burying my face into his shoulder. I don't say anything, just sniffle into his shirt, trying to calm myself down. In a few moments, I'm sitting in his lap, curled up against him, taking in everything he just said. I've hurt him, yes. But not on purpose; not as much as I've hurt him when I hurt myself. The mistakes can be written off as just that: mistakes. And we can work together to fix the bigger problems.
Once my breathing has calmed down, I lift my head from Dib's shoulder, wiping my eyes. The part of his shirt I'd been laying on his damp from my tears, but that doesn't seem to matter right now.
"We'll fix you," Dib whispers, rubbing my antennae softly. "I promise."
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I don't usually put author's notes at the end of chapters, but I think that it's really important to emphasize that you always have people who care about you. If you think that no one would notice you were gone, you couldn't be more wrong. You are loved, even if you might not think so. And if you truly believe that no one believes in you, I do. It may not seem like a lot. You don't know me in real life. But it hurts me to know that someone out there has to go through that, even if I don't know them. Especially if I don't know them, actually, because there isn't much I can do to help except to tell you that I hope you can fight through whatever it is you might be going through. There is always someone who cares, and there is nothing more important than reaching out when you need help. Don't feel ashamed. It doesn't make you weak. It lets other people know that you are in a bad place, so they can help you to become stronger. Everything will get better. Maybe not today, but eventually. I promise you. I've been in a similar state before, and I can promise you that things can get better if you look for help.