Chapter Text
Clementine knew she was in the wrong. She knew she shouldn't have dyed her hair, she knew she shouldn't have snapped at Niki, she knew she shouldn't have panicked and ghosted everyone. Nonetheless, she did. She had bright fucking pink hair, far more regrets, and a discord message history that hurt more than anything ever hurt before.
Why the hell did she choose pink anyways?
To look like Niki. Fucking Niki. She loved Niki, but god, could she just not be so fucking pretty for once? Niki was so beautiful. So goddamn beautiful. So of course, Clem decided to dye her hair pink like Niki's impulsively at 2 am. What else would one do when they had so much gender envy for one pretty girl?
Niki was nice. She was really nice and she really, really, didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve Clem freaking out at her for seemingly no reason, she didn't deserve having to deal with Wilbur being pissed at Clem, she didn't deserve to be ghosted by Clem.
It stung. Clementine's computer open to her DMs with Niki and her status set to offline, she stared at the screen; at the bright white letters glaring at her from the dark background. Her computer brightness was set just a little too bright, so whenever she looked away she could see the image of the screen for just a bit too long and her head hurt just a bit too much, however it was fitting for how she felt.
She was so tired. So tired and so regretful. She looked down at her phone one last time, scanning through the unopened notifications from Wilbur, and damn he was fucking pissed. She did hurt Niki though, so she deserved it. But it stung like a bitch despite that. Babyproofed rectangles with rounded corners as if to make it hurt less, but the words were just as sharp and just as painful. Wilbur was a great brother, and Clem always went to him when she was struggling. He was good at comforting her, but damn he really knew how to hit where it hurt.
He was just a little too tall.
He was just a little too lanky.
His voice was just a little too low.
His hair was just a little too short.
He thought he was better than anyone else.
He.
He.
He.
She wasn't a he, goddamnit. She was a she, and her name was Clementine. Not Tommy, never Tommy. Not for a long time, at least. Her name was Clementine, goddamnit.
But she would never be as perfect as Niki, and Wilbur just couldn't stop fucking rubbing it in. Her hair would never be as long, and would never look nearly as pretty dyed pink. She would never be even half as good as makeup, especially if she didn't get her shit together and just buy it already; no one would see her in it for a long time, but what if they knew? She would never have as pretty of a voice; Nikis was so beautiful, and Clem would never be able to sing as nice as her. she was just that; inferior in every way, and she was sure Wilbur would agree.
She didn't realize she was crying, didn't hear the shattering of glass, didn't see her phone hit the ground, didn't feel herself move to the mirror, didn't notice herself grab the biggest shard of reflective glass, didn't feel the blood on her hand from squeezing too tight, didn't see her tears mixing with her blood contrasting sharply against the light wood-panelled floor.
Well, fuck. Now she was panicking, and she had no one to go to. She couldn't go to her parents, they would be pissed she broke the mirror; she couldn't go to Wilbur, he hated her; she couldn't go to Tubbo, he must have been told too, along with everyone else on the SMP for that matter; she couldn't talk to her other streaming friends, they wouldn't know jack shit about this and she didn't think they could help; she couldn't talk to her school friends, she doubted they even knew what being trans is in the first place.
She sat back at her keyboard and, after staring regretfully at the screen for a few seconds, regretfully opened a new Reddit tab, and logged back into her alt to head back over to her old friend, r/advice. She slowly started typing, ignoring the pain shooting through her forearm and the blood soaking her already red shirt sleeve.
"I'm a fully closeted trans girl. Last night I impulsively dyed my hair bright pink to match my friend, and when I woke up promptly panicked and freaked out on her with no explanation. Our other friend found out and got really pissed at me, sent me some really painful messages and targeted everything I'm insecure about, and (accidentally) misgendered me. I spiralled and accidentally shattered my phone and mirror and hurt my hand. What should I do?"
She read over it a few times, double-checked that she was on the right account, and decided to just get it over with and post it after about 10 minutes of checking everything. With nothing left to do but wait for responses, she sat back in her chair, when a sharp wave of pain and the uncomfortable feeling of a damp sleeve reminded her what happened.
Rushing to the bathroom, she stuck her hand under the sink, hissing in pain when the cold water hit the wound. She pulled a smaller shard of glass out of her skin and started to bandage it, struggling to wrap the gauze with her non-dominant hand whilst attempting to prevent the blood from dripping on the ground. She turned on the tap to let the cold water wash the blood in the sink down the drain and threw out the shard of bloody glass on her way back to her room.
Clem checked for responses on the Reddit thread and, seeing none, changed her shirt and started cleaning the blood and shattered glass off the floor, reminding herself to get a new phone later. She vaguely remembered puffy mentioning soaking clothes in cold water to get rid of bloodstains, so she tossed the dirty shirt in the sink on her way to get a mop and hoped her wound isn't hospital-worthy. God, she did not want to have to explain the situation to a doctor. Streaming with a fucked up hand could be figured out later, and maybe Wilbur and Niki needed answers, but that was all on the back burner. For now, Clementine desperately needed a break.