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her throat was sore after yelling bacon’s name, and her arm ached from having the dishwasher fall on it. sharp pains shot through her ankle from putting so much pressure on it without the support of her crutch. but none of that was why she was choking back tears.
they fell to the ground, staring at the shattered pieces of the mug. they barely caught bacon’s soft “oh no, what’s wrong?” as their breath hitched in their throat, unable to rip their eyes off of the two biggest shards.
she didn’t even hear herself whisper the words “that was a mug vitalasy got me.”, shakily trying to place the two shards back together as bacon kneeled in front of her, frowning at the young teen.
“it’s alright. you still have the other two. we can get you another one.” bacon reassured them, and, sure, the comfort from a person much older than them - comfort they weren't used to - was nice, but it didn’t matter to jumper. hell, they still would’ve cried even if they had another thirty mugs. they broke it - the first ever mug vitalasy bought them.
she didn’t bother trying to explain that to bacon, though. she knew he’d never understand, because when did anyone ever understand her?
the first mug. oh, jumper remembered how happy vitalasy was to get it for them. they remembered finally telling them that they had started listening to mot ö rhead, the band they grew up listening to. at first, they thought they didn’t care.
then the package came, just a few days after her 13th birthday, and that was how she knew they were ecstatic over the shared interest.
sadly, the swimming shorts didn’t fit her, but the two shirts and jacket did. how she cherished them, spending most of her days in them. she refused to wear anything else, abandoning every other jacket she had and refusing to wear anything other than the jacket vitalasy had gotten for her.
but the mug. the mug was what they used the most. washing the shirts took hours, maybe even a day at most, but the mug didn’t. they couldn’t bring themself to drink out of anything but that mug. they loved the feeling of it, often finding their fingers tracing the warpig decal whenever they drank out of it.
and now, here it was. shattered by her own hands, her stupid hands that she pathetically failed to control.
they placed the shards down, watching the smaller one fall out of place. the scratch and clunk of it falling and hitting the other piece was just a painful reminder that snapped them back to reality, watching as bacon swept up the small shards, pouring them in the bin. they picked up a nearby t-shirt (they tried their best not to look at the warpig on it. they tried their hardest not to remember how stupid they were).
“you alright, jumper? did it fall on you?” bacon asked, giving her a sorrowful look of sympathy as jumper picked up her crutch, using it to push herself off of the ground. though she didn’t say anything, jumper thought it was a stupid question considering bacon had seen her struggling to hold up the dishwasher after she accidentally pulled it off the counter.
jumper shakily inhaled, nodding, “yeah- yeah. just.. tried to pull out the dishes and it.. fell on me.” they lazily explained, their free hand coming up to rub their aching arm. it hurt, but the sight of the broken mug hurt more. they tried their hardest not to cry, their fear of being perceived as weak or childish by people older ( better ) than them creeping into their mind.
she started backing up out of the kitchen, her eyes fixing on the shattered mug in the bin. she heard bacon’s feeble attempts to comfort her, her brain unable to process what was actually said. she could only focus on the broken mug (vitalasy would be so disappointed in her, just like every other adult in her life).
they retreated into the other room, their sniffles and clacks of their crutch beside them being the only thing they were able to focus their hearing on, any and all attempts to make out what bacon was saying falling to shit (because when was jumper ever able to do anything right?).
she silently hid herself in the furthest corner of the room, digging her short nails into her shins as she pulled her legs to her chest. of course she chose to wear shorts today, this was the worst possible day she could’ve chosen to wear them on.
seeing those faint scars made them want to rummage through the bin and grab those shards, dragging them across their legs like they used to. they didn’t care if it wasn’t a smart idea. they didn’t fear sepsis after everything else they had been through. they were just so pissed off at themself for breaking the mug.
she just wanted to use the light inside the dishwasher to light up the dark room. all it took was a gentle tug on the rack of the dishwasher to cause it to fall on her, yet the only thing that fell out and hit the ground was the one mug she cared for. it made her want to scream, cry, cut .
the warm memories of their old coping mechanism flooded back into her mind. they knew they shouldn’t have been thinking of it fondly. though, considering it kept them from ending it, they did - and it only made them more disgusted in themself.
as quickly as the harmful thoughts came to her, she shoved the memories down. as devastated as she was over her stupidity, she was not going to allow herself to throw away five months of work over a mug (that was what she told herself, but in reality, she was just too lazy to do it).
a mug.
how pathetic was she? it was just a mug. a fucking mug. a mug that her dead best friend got her. that vitalasy got her. vitalasy…
fuck, they missed them so much (there was nothing to miss, jumper didn’t remember them anymore). or, did they? as much as they said the words ‘i miss them’ , they never could bring themself to actually feel that. how were they supposed to miss someone they couldn’t remember? someone that their brain had blocked out all memories of? that thought made them hate themself even more.
she sobbed quietly, trying her hardest to be quiet only so bacon wouldn’t be alerted. she didn’t know where exactly in the base he was, but bacon had good hearing, she knew that. she refused to be vulnerable in front of him. bacon was so cool, and so talented at everything he did. he was the coolest person she knew (she mentally punched herself for that one, muttering countless apologies to zam as if they could hear her).
jumper didn’t want to be seen as weak by someone as awesome as bacon, and if they had to prohibit themself from being a sensitive, whiny little bitch in front of him, then they would. and, besides, they were fourteen now. they shouldn’t be crying over a mug, of all things. so, what was wrong with them? why were they crying over a simple mug? hell, they had another mug which was the exact same, so why were they so upset over it?
she found herself raising up her hand again, almost hitting at her legs like a toddler having a tantrum, but the piercing ding of her communicator brought her back to her senses. she hated the feeling of suddenly being aware that she was real, the cold sting of air hitting her wet cheeks.
PrinceZam whispers to you: bacon told me about the dishwasher, you ok? i'll stick the dishwasher down and we'll buy you a new cup to replace
oh . oh .
of course he told her. because why wouldn’t he tell her?
jumper stared at the message. they didn’t want to ignore zam, but they didn’t have the energy to respond (though, they had the energy to get up and put on one of the three motörhead jumpers that vitalasy had gotten them).
“bacon told me”
they hated how bacon actually cared. why couldn’t he just be disappointed in them like everyone else? why did his words in the kitchen have to be so soft? why did he have to be good at comforting? why did bacon have to be so nice? after everything they did, why? he wasn’t this nice to everyone else, he usually wasn’t even that nice to them. so why did he choose to be nice now?
jumper was not a good person. she knew that. she betrayed bacon and the rest of her team last season. she was weird and cringe, and usually only spoke to him if she needed something. she was mean to him at times, cold and barely ever spoke to him. he was just someone she happened to live with, and she hated that she struggled to care for him (or anyone, really. they were too numb to give a fuck about anything anymore).
and it was even worse, knowing how much he cared for them. fuck, they hated how his care for them was genuinely unconditional. it sickened them, knowing that they struggled to make that feeling mutual (what they didn’t realise was that they, too, cared for him, because just like all other emotions, jumper failed to recognise and understand what it felt like).
she struggled to acknowledge just how much her friends really cared for her, and she hated it. she could never believe it. but here she was, having the proof shoved directly in her face, and she hated it. she hated it because she couldn’t understand why they would care for a whiny piece of shit like her.
jumper looked down at the message from zam, reading it over and over again god-knows-how-many times. they hated ignoring messages they were sent, especially from zam.
she closed her communicator, tucking her legs into her knees and sobbing silently (she didn’t remember the last time she felt safe crying loudly, she was always too scared to). the guilt ate away at her, but she was fourteen years old now. she didn’t need to be comforted and coddled by every adult in her life. she was a big girl.
they were mature. they were mature enough to take care of themself. they always had been. they didn’t need zam, or bacon. hell, they didn’t need vitalasy either. they didn’t have an adult to rely on as a child, so they didn’t need one now.
besides, she was used to being failed by the adults in her life. she wasn’t going to put her faith in them now. they would either die, or eventually hate her. everyone did. that’s why she hated vitalasy. she hated them for leaving her alone in this cruel world.
she choked, barely able to bring her hands together as she prayed under her breath, “please, god,”
“i know they’ll hate me, but please, please bring vitalasy back,”
“i need them. amen.”