Fic -- Drowning in Sunny Skies 8/9
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight
~
It has been a week and two days since he lost something, no, had something ripped away from him, that he had always thought he would give away at a time of his choosing. On his own terms.
Kurt always thought that he would lose his virginity to a boy he loved, to a man who loved him, too, and would show him through the most intimate of sexual acts. Who would make him feel special and loved.
Instead he feels dirty and used; what’s even worse is that so many people know all about it.
Before yesterday, before he encountered Azimio in the mall, he could tell himself that people would all know it was a rape - that they would be decent enough to not mention it. But now he’s not so sure.
He has been away from school for a week, a lenience on his dad’s part that has allowed Kurt to clear his mind with mundane tasks and things that he enjoys. But he has to go back to Dalton on Monday, where he will face all of his classmates for the first time since the video was sent out. Since they all saw him naked and under another man.
Azimio’s words have been haunting him, creeping into his thoughts without warning throughout the evening yesterday and all today. When he walked into the empty living room early in the morning, when he was wiping excess moisturizer from his face in front of his vanity, when he chopped vegetables for a salad at lunch. One moment he will be absorbed by one task or another, the next they are there, echoing in his head; taunting him.
“That looked like one sweet hook-up. You sure enjoyed it.”
It could be nothing - just the cruel words of a high school bully who saw something he didn’t understand. Or it could be something more. There could be something in that video, something that he can’t remember, that all of these people know about and are judging him by.
He doesn’t know if he can do it, doesn’t know if he should. But every time he resolutely decides to stay away from his computer, away from temptation, there is something nagging at the back of his mind. Teasing him with a promise of truth, of closure.
He spends the day doing little things around the house, trying to drag his mind away from what he knows could be disastrous. But every time he starts doing something, gets even a seconds’ reprieve from the all-consuming thought, it will be back.
When he can’t take it any more, can’t take another moment of not knowing what happened, he makes up his mind. He has to watch it, has to find out what is in that stupid video, and he can’t wait much longer.
~
Kurt sits cross-legged on his bed, the perfectly made duvet crinkling under his weight and his cell phone sitting face-up just inches in front of him. The blank screen taunts him, calls to him, and it is almost torture to make up his mind.
To his left on his little desk rests his laptop, the lid closed but the machine powered up - his e-mail inbox is open and ready; all he needs to do is move over there and lift the lid.
It scares him, though, what he might see. What if it is so horrible, so embarrassing, that he will never be able to face anyone who saw it, saw him, again?
There is a big difference between abstractly knowing that there is a video of him being drugged and raped, and seeing it for himself.
Letting out a resolute huff of air, Kurt reaches forward and picks up his phone, thrusting his thumb down onto the ‘send’ button. It only takes two rings before a voice on the other end answers.
“Kurt? What’s going on?”
Kurt smiles as Blaine’s voice washes over him, his smooth timbre a calming balm to his nerves. “Not too much - I just wanted to talk to you about something. Do you - are you busy?”
Blaine’s answer is quick. “No, not at all. Ask away.”
The smile fades from Kurt’s lips fast and he finds himself hesitating.
“Kurt?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Just - please don’t freak out, okay?”
“What’s going on?” There is a new urgency in Blaine’s voice, and Kurt thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have opened the conversation quite like that. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Kurt says insistently. “The question I have, it’s just a little… odd.”
“What is it?”
Worrying at his lip, Kurt asks, “In the video, the one that Ian sent out, did it - did it look like I wanted it?”
Kurt’s heart beats hard as Blaine remains silent, breath sharp on the other end of the line, and he starts to feel a rush of embarrassment take him over. This was so stupid - he should never have tried to get out of watching that stupid video, should have just manned up and hit ‘play’. Now Blaine is going to think he’s some perverted freak, asking for details about his own rape.
“I - um. I don’t know, Kurt,” Blaine says finally. “I didn’t watch it, not more than the first few seconds.”
Kurt nods, even though he knows Blaine can’t see him.
“Why would you want to know that, Kurt? I mean, why would you even think -?”
“How did you know?” Kurt interrupts. “How did you know that it wasn’t something that I agreed to?”
Kurt hears Blaine sigh softly. “Because I know you, Kurt, and I know that you wouldn’t do something like that. You wouldn’t send something so private to anyone.”
Tears are starting to build in Kurt’s eyes and he wishes he could just stop crying, stop feeling so much all of the time. “Okay. Thank you, Blaine.”
“Are you okay? I can come over, if you want.”
A spark of something warm ignites in Kurt chest at Blaine offer. “No, that’s fine. I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
“It’s seriously no problem, Kurt. I can be there in two hours, one and a half if I leave now.”
Smiling, Kurt says, “No, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m fine - don’t worry, okay? I just wanted to know; it’s been bothering me.”
“Okay - but you know I’m going to worry anyway, right?” Blaine sounds uncertain, like he wants to press, but doesn’t want to at the same time.
“Heh,” Kurt huffs out, “I figured.” His eyes keep falling toward his laptop, and Kurt almost literally has to rip them away before they can become fixated. “Why don’t we meet up tomorrow,” he says suddenly. “We can watch movies and look over the recent issues of Vogue.”
“I’d like that.” Kurt can hear the smile in Blaine’s voice.
“Great. I’ll text you later about, okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Then I guess I’ll talk to you later,” Kurt says. “Good night, Blaine.”
“Good night, Kurt.”
Kurt pulls his cell from his ear slowly and ends the call. He then rubs a hand roughly over his face, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him that he should be careful with his skin, especially because he’s so stressed, and looks at his laptop again.
That didn’t answer anything for him. Not what he needs to know, anyway, and Kurt doesn’t know of any other options.
Sliding from the bed slowly, like any movement too fast or too sharp could disturb some sleeping beast, Kurt approaches the chair at his computer desk and sits. The closed lid of his laptop taunts him, and his hand shakes as he reaches forward and opens it.
It doesn’t take long to find the e-mail, the one Ian had sent him last week with the video attachment, and when he sees it he almost can’t do it. But he has to; he has to know. So he opens the link quickly before he can change his mind.
The video flicks on to reveal Ian’s dorm room, and Kurt immediately finds his eyes drawn to the figure on the bed; it’s obviously him, devoid of any clothing and lying languidly against the pillows. A dark shadow appears to the right of the screen, and it is revealed to be Ian, naked and hard. Kurt almost has to physically stop his head from jerking away from the screen.
Kurt’s fingers hover over his mouse, the pointer already highlighting the red ‘X’ in the top right corner, but he doesn’t click it. Not yet. He has to know first.
Kurt sees the him from the video say something, his lips moving silently on the screen. Reaching over to his iPod, Kurt disconnects his ear buds and plugs them into his laptop, pressing the small speakers into his ears as he turns the volume up.
The sound quality is poor, so Kurt turns the volume up a little more and watches his mouth carefully. He doesn’t feel anything right now, seeing this, and he wonders if it’s because he can’t remember, if it is because it really doesn’t feel like it’s him on that bed.
“I- I’m tired.” The voice of his past self is slurred, like he is trying to keep himself from falling asleep. The way that his head is nodding, the way he laid out on the bed, makes Kurt think that he must have been close to falling unconscious.
Ian climbs on the bed and lies out behind him, pulling Kurt to his chest in a hold that Kurt can remember being in several times with Ian. The way his back almost tingles from the remembered feeling makes his skin crawl, makes him want to claw at the skin of his back to remove the lingering sensation.
“It’s okay, baby,” whispers Ian’s voice in his ears, and Kurt sees the older man place a kiss on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine; I’ll take care of you.”
Kurt slams his finger down on the mouse, exiting from the window on his computer as he watches Ian’s hand caress over his hip and start to turn Kurt onto his stomach and roll on top.
As the background wallpaper of his computer fills his vision, Kurt stands from his chair and just breathes. He can’t do it. There is no way he can watch any more of that, not without screaming.
Numb, Kurt’s eyes flick to his door, evaluating the solid barricade separating him from the rest of the house. He doesn’t want to stay in his room, can’t stand the thought of spending the rest of the night locked inside, so he makes his way out the door and into the hall.
Kurt walks down the stairs woodenly, eyes wide and unblinking. The images, grainy and stark, are frozen in his mind, a sickening glance at something so horrible that he can barely comprehend the reality of it.
He feels relief and shame warring within him; he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go through with watching the video. He wonders if his inability to do so makes him weak.
At the bottom of the stairs a single streak of light cuts across the floor, bisecting the hallway between the entry hall and the kitchen. His feet hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and his bare toes are chilled by the change from carpet to hardwood.
The faint sound of the TV is overlapped by two voices talking, his dad and Carole, and Kurt looks in the direction of the kitchen, through which is the living room, and hesitates. He then pivots in the other direction, shoves his bare feet into a pair of shoes, and quietly opens the front door.
The last time he had done this, yesterday on the way to the mall, it had been light and spotted with people on the street. This time, as he gently shuts the door behind him, there is no one in sight and the world is cloaked in darkness.
Kurt doesn’t know where he’s going; he doesn’t know when or where his is going to stop; only that he has to keep moving. He feels like he’s running from something, and maybe he is.
He walks for blocks and blocks, the dark houses of Lima’s inhabitants passing by in a blur of siding and stucco. He sees a park ahead, one that he’s only ever visited by the light of day, and turns that way, eyes locking on a bench.
Kurt sits on the bench and leans back, slouching so that his neck rests on the top slat of wood, and stares into the night sky. The stars above shine and wink at him, wavering in what he can only describe as a ‘twinkling’ pattern.
He wishes that he didn’t know that stars don’t actually twinkle; wishes that he’d never read about atmospheric disturbance and its effect on visibility in the night sky. Maybe if he didn’t know, didn’t understand, he could believe in the presence of magic or miracles.
Maybe if he believed that there was a cure, sudden and one hundred percent guaranteed to work, he wouldn’t feel like he’s at the bottom of a pit, unable to ever rise from it again.
As his eyes trace along Orion’s Belt, Kurt hears footsteps approaching along with the sound of bottles clinking together. He rolls his head to the side and sees a familiar figure lit by a streetlight in the distance. He turns back to the stars.
A single shooting star streaks overhead, its bright path quickly extinguished, fading into nothing. It reminds Kurt that he should Google the next meteor shower, see when it is; they really are a beautiful spectacle to witness. He watched one with his mother once.
There is a heavy ‘whump’ as Puck sprawls on the bench beside him, setting his six-pack of beer down between them.
“Hummel,” acknowledges Puck as he reaches for a bottle and pops the cap off with his belt buckle.
Rolling his eyes, Kurt replies, “Puckerman.”
Taking a long pull from the bottle, Puck swallows and asks, “What’re you doing out here?”
Kurt shrugs, continuing to look up. “Needed to get away.”
Puck merely nods in response, in understanding, and takes another drink of beer.
There is only an occasional wisp of cloud to obscure the night sky, floating a slow path across the heavens, and Kurt lets his eyes drift lazily with one.
They sit in silence for close to half an hour, Puck draining his first beer and quickly working his way through a second and then sipping on a third. Kurt, neck stiff from the awkward position, sits up, leaning his elbows on his thighs.
“Did you watch it?” Kurt’s question hangs between them, quiet and calm.
Puck takes a sip of beer. “Yeah.”
“The whole thing?” This time his voice is coloured by a hint of anxiety. And curiosity.
Puck shrugs, eyes facing forward and beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “Most of it.”
“Why?”
Puck turns and looks at Kurt for the first time in their conversation, eyes hazed with alcohol, but still intense. “I had to know.” The answer is simple, to the point.
Kurt nods and licks his lips, looking upward to try and stem any tears from falling from his eyes.
Puck watches him for a minute, eyes trailing over what Kurt knows to be a sloppily picked outfit and dark rings around his eyes, and then turns away. “Anyone who watched it the whole way through knows it wasn’t -” He cuts off, like he can’t think of the right word to use.
“Consensual,” Kurt offers.
“Yeah.”
Kurt uses the tips of his fingers to sooth the lines of his eyebrows, massaging his temples when he finishes. “I couldn’t do it.”
“What?” Puck asks, looking over. Kurt meets his eyes briefly, then tears away to focus on the ground. “Don’t be stupid, princess. You don’t need to.”
Kurt huffs out a little laugh and nods even as a tear slips from his left eye. “Thanks, Noah.”
Kurt notices, as Puck brings his third beer to his lips once again, that this is the first time since they joined Glee that Puck hasn’t offered him some type of drink. Puck’s always been the kind to share at least some of his illegally-procured wares, and Kurt has always said ‘no’. This time he never even had to.
Watching the other boy lean back against the bench and look upward, Kurt is grateful. In his own way, Puck can be very caring and thoughtful - it just takes some time to see it.
“You gonna be okay Hummel?”
Kurt leans back and looks into the sky again, the single wet tear track drying on his cheek. “I don’t know.”
Sniffing, Kurt lets his eyes wander to the side, watching the side of Puck’s face. “I have to get a bunch of blood tests, just in case - in case he gave me something. I just - there is so much that could go wrong. Even more than it already has.”
Kurt doesn’t know why he confessed that to Puck - they aren’t that close, and this is so intensely personal. But out of all of the people he knows, other than maybe Santana, Puck is the only one he thinks will get it. Will understand how big of a concern it is to know that you may have caught something from a sexual partner.
Puck sighs and Kurt watches as he twirls the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers. “That’s rough.”
Puck doesn’t say anything more, just sits with Kurt in silence for a little while, and for that Kurt is relived. He doesn’t need some big reaction; he doesn’t need someone to lie to him about how okay it will be. Sometimes you just need someone who will listen.
A little while passes, and Kurt can feel Puck staring at him, watching him, and he closes his eyes. He wants to erase all of this from everyone’s memories, turn back time and never take Ian’s number, never be stupid enough to believe in the goodness of people. Because if this has taught him anything, it’s that even people you think you can trust, who you think you know, can ruin you if they want to.
“Come on, Hummel,” Puck says suddenly as he sits up and grabs his six-pack. “I’ll walk you home.”
Together they walk away from the bench, the dark night sky scattered with billions of stars overhead, and turn toward Kurt’s house. As they walk Kurt studies Puck, sees the tension in his shoulders and the hard clench of his jaw. He looks angry and determined, something that Kurt has only ever seen on the rare occasion, something that Puck tends to exude when he’s feeling vindictive.
“You won’t find him, you know,” Kurt says, watching Puck for a reaction.
Puck’s brows pull downward and his lips purse together a little harder. “And why is that?”
“He’s in custody. We’re - my dad and I - we’re pressing charges.”
Puck looks over, his face hard and unreadable except for the small spark of surprise, and his knuckles whiten from gripping the handle of his six-pack too hard. “Good.”
Kurt knows that in one word, Puck has managed to express his conflicted feelings about what Kurt has told him. Puck has always been the one to try and solve problems by fighting, by using his physicality to get what he wants, and Kurt can tell that the other boy regrets not being able to handle this himself.
Since glee club came together under Mr. Schuester and Puck joined alongside Mike and Matt, Kurt has experienced the slow fall into camaraderie with him. It wasn’t something that came suddenly, and they weren’t trading secrets and having videogame marathons, but it was an understanding.
As they climb the pathway to his front door, Kurt looks over at Puck, at the way his head is tilted just a little downward, and is glad to call him a friend. Even if, right now, it’s only in his mind.
When they reach Kurt’s front door, they stop and stand in silence, a quiet understanding and companionship that neither needs to speak about or explain.
Kurt looks over at Puck and gives him a little smile. “Thank you, Noah.”
Puck smirks and lets one of his hands rest on Kurt shoulder in a move Kurt has seen him express with other members of the glee club. “Not a problem, Hummel. Let me know if there’s anyone you need me to beat into a pulp.”
The offer is larger then it sounds, and Kurt smiles a littler harder in result before reaching out a hand to grab the door knob so he can go inside.
The door flings open before Kurt can even touch the handle, and the large figure of his father stands framed by the doorway, the light of the front entry haloing him. The hand Puck had placed on Kurt’s shoulder slides away slowly as Kurt turns toward the deeply scowling face of his dad.
Burt left hand is clenched tight on the doorframe, while his right hand curls around a familiar object: Kurt’s cell phone.
Kurt’s eyes take in his phone, and he winces internally; he hadn’t even realized that he had forgotten it.
“Kurt,” Burt starts, but then he sees Puck and he says, “Puckerman?”
“Hey Mr. Hummel, what’s up?”
Kurt doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cringe more, so he settles with staying silent.
“What are you doing, Kurt? You leave in the middle of the night, don’t tell anybody where you’re goin’, and don’t even take your cell phone.” His dad sounds angry and worried, just like he had on the phone last week, and Kurt feels a familiar pit of guilt dig deeper into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just needed to get out. I didn’t even think - I’m sorry.”
Burt reaches forward and pulls Kurt into a hug, and Kurt, cheek pressed into his dad’s shoulder, can see Puck watching them. There is something akin to jealousy in his eyes, but it is gone the second he realizes Kurt is watching him.
“Well. I’ll catch ya later, Hummel. Bye Mr. Hummel,” Puck says, conveniently keeping his six-pack out of sight, and starts walking away.
His dad grunts roughly in response to Puck, and Kurt lifts a hand and waves.
“You scared me again, kid,” his dad says, disengaging from the hug. “You need to tell me next time you do something like this, okay? Or at least take your cell phone.”
Kurt nods and steps into the house behind his dad and lets the older man shut and lock the door. “I know,” Kurt says. “I really just didn’t think. I won’t do it again.”
His dad looks at him as though evaluating him and Kurt notices the red around his eyes, the way his lashes are spiked together a little, and feels a sting of pain pierce his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
~
Kurt goes up to his room feeling miserable, knowing that his little trip has caused his family, his dad, to suffer.
What makes it even worse is that he knows, if he had the chance, he would do it all again.
Turning to look behind him as he reaches his door, Kurt sees Carole breaching the top of the staircase, a small bowl and spoon in her hands.
Carole hands Kurt the bowl of ice-cream with a slight smile and kind eyes. “Here,” she says, “I figured that you would like some before Finn inhales the rest of the carton.”
Kurt gives a breathy laugh and takes the bowl. “Thank you.” Looking more closely, he sees that it is mint chocolate chip, his favourite kind. And instantly knows that Finn would never eat any of this; Finn, for some reason Kurt cannot even fathom, refuses to eat green ice cream.
This is Carole’s way of sneaking him a treat when she knows, or thinks, he needs a little something. It is gestures like these that make Kurt realize how hard she tries to take care of him and Finn, because even though it is a small offering, it means a lot.
Carole turns away and starts to walk out of the room, her hair swirling around her neck. “Oh,” she says as she reaches the doorway, turning back, “I almost forgot: Mercedes called.”
Surprise and apprehension fill Kurt as he asks, “Oh?”
“About two hours ago when you were gone.” Carole gives him one last smile, one that is motherly and caring. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Goodnight, Carole.”
Kurt shuts his door and sits on his bed with the bowl of ice-cream cradled in one hand, absently swirling the thick substance with the spoon. He isn’t really hungry, but as he takes a small scoop into his mouth, he decides that it doesn’t really matter. The treat is delicious.
Kurt hasn’t heard from Mercedes since Friday the week before last, when she tried to call him after the video was sent out. He knows she cares for him, knows that she is still one of his best friends, but he can’t understand why she never called again. Or texted, or e-mailed.
Rachel has told everyone to give him space, he knows this because he sent her a text asking her to, but he didn’t think Mercedes would listen to that. She’s far too sassy and independent to follow Rachel blindly.
But he can’t only blame her. He didn’t try to call her, didn’t text or e-mail her. But he had hoped he wouldn’t have to be the one to do so.
And though she called first, he wishes it hadn’t taken over a week for it to happen.
~
Blaine shows up at the door just before lunch, stripping his scarf from his neck and hanging his coat in the front hall closet. Kurt smiles at him and they hug; the easy closeness is almost more than Kurt can handle, even if he is grateful for it.
They have watched a couple of movies on Kurt’s laptop and Carole has started dinner downstairs, the warm smells wafting upward, when Kurt looks over at Blaine. The question that bubbles from his chest is something that he hasn’t defined, not in his head or out loud, and the simplicity of it shocks Kurt.
“Is there something wrong with me?”
Blaine’s mouth falls open and he just looks at Kurt, comprehension missing from his eyes. “What?”
Kurt shrugs and repeats, “Is there something wrong with me? Is there something about me that screams ‘victim, come and get it!’”
“Why would you -” Blaine cuts himself off and shakes his head, as though to dislodge something from his mind. “You can’t control other people, Kurt, and none of this has anything to do with you.”
“Oh yeah?” challenges Kurt, but without any passion or anger. “Then why did these things happen to me? First Karofsky kisses me out of nowhere - well, out of some repressed attraction, I suppose - and then Ian drugs me so he can - he can have his way with me. It can’t be a coincidence.”
Blaine licks his lips and opens his mouth a few times without speaking. He finally sighs and closes his eyes as though trying to compose himself. “It’s not about something being wrong with you, Kurt,” he finally says.
“Then what is it?” Kurt feels sort of desperate, like he needs some kind of answer.
“It’s because there are so many things right with you.” Blaine is smiling at him, but his eyes are sad. “You are so amazing, Kurt, inside and out. And people see that - they see it because it practically radiates from you. They want that. They want you.”
Disbelief is the first emotion to hit Kurt. It must show on his face, because Blaine reaches forward and grabs Kurt’s hand in his own. It takes him a moment, one where nervousness and uncertainty reign supreme, before he manages to whisper, “Then why didn’t you want me?”
Kurt instantly regrets saying it, feels a flush of shame blaze across his face, and he wishes he could take it back. Blaine is looking at him with a pained expression, his eyes pits of distress. “I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Blaine shakes his head, but pulls his hand away. “No. It’s okay.”
The loss of contact hits Kurt in the chest like a physical blow and he wants to curl into himself and pretend this had never happened. “It’s not. It’s not the same thing.”
“But it is,” Blaine says, eyes locking with Kurt’s. “I’m sorry if I made you think that you were… unwanted. But - I mean - I’m not good with this stuff, Kurt. You know, relationships, and I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing what we had if it didn’t work, of misinterpreting what I was feeling. I didn’t want to mess us up.” Blaine’s shoulders droop. “And then you met Ian, and -”
“Yeah.” Kurt doesn’t know what to feel. Just a few weeks ago he would have been trying to keep his heart from exploding out of his chest from excitement, from the knowledge that Blaine didn’t just think of him as a friend. But right now, after what happened, all he feels is sad.
Part Nine