Fifth Prompt Post
Welcome to the Glee Angst Meme again! You know how these things work. You can come here and prompt your most angsty prompts, and write stories filling those angsty prompts to let our characters suffer
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'This is really for the best,' thought Jacob Ben Israel as he settled the DVD into its cheap, plastic sleeve, 'Besides, it's not like I care about the gay boy. I just need to one decent thing in my life to make up for all of the other shitty things I've done.'
Jacob didn't care about Kurt Hummel; merely obsessed over him and slightly stalked him during school hours. It wasn't creepy or gay or anything, considering he wasn't going to do anything to harm the kid or using the recorded video as jerk-off material (those few times didn't count- he hadn't been thinking straight, blinded by sexual frustration for that Berry girl).
He took one last glance at the disc, weighing it within his hands, before nestling it in the cardboard box filled with a million pink, packing peanuts. Scooting backwards on his strangely-odored carpet, he twisted around and searched blindly for the clear duct tape on his desk. Grasping it, he turned back to the medium-sized container, flipping the lid closed. He bit his lip thoughtfully, wondering how he could hold the flaps down and rip off a piece of tape, then lifted his leg so it rested atop the box and gave a satisfied grin. He tore the tape and stuck it precisely down the small line left from where the flaps didn't meet completely.
Last thing he did was slap a sticker on and filled in the address of the Karofsky household.
Standing with his box, Jacob stumbled his way downstairs, his glasses falling askew and he was unable to fix them for he needed two hands to carry the package. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't actually sure why he hadn't gotten a smaller box.
“Hey, Jordan. I need a ride to the post office,” Jacob said, his naturally nasally voice annoying as ever, catching sight of his step-father lounging against the island in the middle of the kitchen.
Always eager to please his stepson, Jordan snapped his newspaper shut, setting it aside. “Sure, Jacob,” he said with a smile, grabbing his keys as they headed out the door.
A couple of miles away, in a car shop called Hummel's Tire and Lube- known around McKinley High as Hummel's Ass and Lube(though that never stopped their parents from visiting with car troubles- they were, after all, the closest mechanic until you hit Westerville), Burt Hummel was giving the place a quick cleanup. The phone hanging against the wooden block that went from floor to ceiling suddenly rang and he gave it a quick glance of annoyance before walking over to pick it up.
“Hello?”
“You're son's a fag.” And the dial tone rang out mere seconds after the horrible words were uttered by an anonymous voice.
“Stop calling here!” he yelled at no one then slammed the phone back onto the receiver, forcing himself not to start shaking from the pure rage that coursed through him. How dare someone call his son that, and not even have the guts to do it to his face? But, when he thought about it, it was better getting it thrown at him, even if it was from a coward over the phone, because he could take it, and his son was more delicate.
Or, at least, in Burt Hummel's eyes his son was delicate- his son would always be delicate to him. But Kurt exuded a confidence that screamed 'If you touch me, I will glare at you so hard that it will burn a hole through your skull then stab you with these Marc Jacobs heels and strangle you with this Gucci scarf'.
Anyways. It really didn't matter whether or not his son could fend for himself. All that mattered was that fact that he shouldn't have to fight this battle- and there was nothing the worried father could do about it except just be there when Kurt came to him.
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It had been one week since the boy had forcibly kissed him; six days since the same jock had threatened to kill him.
Why couldn't he just forget about it, though? He had a boy to crush on- one that wouldn't kick his ass if he were to find out- and plans with said boy two hours from now. The last thing he wanted on his mind right then and there was that stupid, closeted bully.
Two days later, a whole neighborhood from the Hummels' Residence, Dave Karofsky fumbled with the lock on his front door, attempting to juggle his sports bag, his backpack, and his mathematics binder that didn't fit in either. “Mom, Dad! I'm home,” he called out gruffly, exhausted from the rigorous pre-pregame practice Coach Beiste had put them through after such a long day at school.
“David,” his mother's voice was clipped, coming from the living room, “can you come in here for a minute?”
'Uh-oh,” Dave thought, recognizing his mom's tone of voice, immediately thinking over everything he'd done recently that could get him in trouble. He couldn't really think of much, he decided, walking slowly towards the entryway, except that gay porn site he visited for about two seconds last night before freaking out and deleting the browser history.
“Yes, ma'am?” he inquired, in his most innocent voice, looking guiltily (the combination didn't mix very well) at his mother- then at his father, whom both had looks of great disapproval and disgust upon their faces. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Karofsky, a thin woman with frown lines, snorted. She glanced at her husband.
“Take a seat. We want you to watch something,” Mr. Karofsky, a heavy-set man with a handlebar mustache, commanded, his voice tight. He gestured to the love seat across the room from the couch his parents stood in front of.
“Um... okay,” Dave agreed, hurriedly making his way to the seat. He dropped his stuff onto the floor and plopped down, looking towards the television to find it paused on- surprisingly enough- Kurt Hummel's porcelain face, frozen in terror.
'… the fuck?!' he thought to himself, confused on so many levels. When had the Karofsky's accumulated home videos featuring the kid he 'taught a lesson or two on why he shouldn't be gay' (read: 'crushed upon'). It was surreal to see those beautiful glasz eyes, wide with fright, dressed in a flamboyant outfit and immaculate hair, upon the same flat screen he and his father watched football on.
His mother hit play.
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Zooming in on Kurt, the camera caught just the slightest glimpse of defeat, the slightest slump to his shoulders, before he straightened himself up, checked his reflection and fixed his still-perfect hair. He slammed his locker and joined the crowd.
Dave could remember that happening about a month ago. This god-awful feeling of dread was filling his stomach as he continued to watch a few more times he locker-checked Hummel, threw degrading slurs his way, instilled fear in the boy. Somehow, someway, he just knew that this video would show something that would give everything away- effectively outing him- but he didn't even contemplate standing and trying to do something about it.
On the T.V. Screen, he continued watching as he slushied Kurt, threw him in the dumpster, checked him into lockers, tossed homosexual slurs into his face. The time line was progressing steadily and his heart clenched with anxiety as puzzle-pieces started falling into place. This was a video of Dave harassing Kurt, and one of his abuses was of the sexual nature.
The crappy video flashed into a scene of Kurt smiling down at his cell phone, walking down an almost-deserted hallway. Dave came up behind him and knocked the phone from his hand and kept walking. The screen followed an outraged Hummel as he followed an oblivious Karofsky into the boy's locker room. Stinging words were tossed, insults were flung, and Dave's lips forced themselves upon Kurt's.
The jock couldn't watch anymore for there were too many tears clouding his vision. His parents were going to throw him out; his parents knew he was gay. What was he going to do? Where was he going to go? What was he going to tell everyone?
At that very moment, the only thing he could think to do was get on his knees and beg for his parents' mercy. And that's exactly what Dave Karofsky, muscular, head-bully, macho-jock, did.
He slide off the couch, onto his knees, sobs and almost incoherent words pouring from his mouth which he had intended to be, “Please, please- please don't- I'm so sorry- I-I'll change. Send me to a st-straightening camp- do anything- just don't throw me out. P-p-please, I'm begging you!”
The parents, outraged by what they had seen on the video and surprised by their son's reaction, remained silent for a bit as they watched him weep on the floor. Finally, Mr. Karofsky stood and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Son... get off the floor. We don't have a problem with you... liking men... but we do have a problem with this harassing you've been doing to that poor boy.”
This made Dave somber up real fast and he practically fell over in his rush to stand up, his cheeks flooded red with embarrassment. “W-What?” he stuttered, surprise clear in his voice.
“Do you not realize what a horrible thing you've done to this boy?” Mrs. Karofsky asked, standing up beside her husband. “Surely you've got him scared shitless. What you've done here is sexual harassment- and look at that!” She pointed at the screen where her son was threatening death upon the boy he'd been bullying. “I know that we've raised you better than to do something like this.”
He almost gave a sigh of relief, grateful that he wasn't being kicked out anyways. What was the most his parents would do? Ground him? Take away his cell phone? It had happened so many times before, it didn't really matter- besides, he hadn't even done that much wrong.
“We are so very disappointed with you, David Elliot Karofsky. You're grounded until we say otherwise, which means: no television, no cellphone, no going out with your friends, no football, and no hockey.” Mr. Karofsky held up his hand to stop his son's protest. “You will apologize personally to that boy and, if we catch wind that you are bullying him anymore then we will send you to a boot camp.”
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“David!” Mrs. Karofsky shouted and, without thinking, her hand shot out to connect sharply with the boy's cheek. “You do not speak that way in this house!” Her voice clearly portrayed her disgust. “I really don't know who you are any more, David. I really don't.” Tears started filling her eyes. “Why would you do something like this, David? I just don't understand! Help me understand!”
His mom, in all honesty, was beginning to freak him out. Tears never set well with him- period. But tears on his mom's face was purely disturbing. He awkwardly shuffled from foot to foot as he searched for the correct answer, rubbing his sore cheek- but he wasn't about to start crying like a baby because his mom slapped him.
"Now, honey-"
Mrs. Karofsky cut her husband off, her eyes flashing with anger. "Don't 'now, honey' me, Paul! Didn't you watch the same video I did?! How can you expect me to be calm!" she ranted.
"Linda," he put his hands on her upper arms in a soothing manner, "I know that you're upset and, yes, I am too, but Dave is just a kid and kids sometimes do things that they don't know are wrong." He paused. "We never did really teach him to accept homosexuality, sweetheart."
Mrs. Karofsky gaped at her husband for a minute, growing angrier by the second and Dave wasn't sure if he wanted to stick around and find out what was about to happen. “Do not make me out to be the bad guy, Paul Dan Karofsky,” she seethed, poking a finger into the larger man's chest. “Are son has committed a crime and you're taking his side?!” Disbelief colored her tone.
“No-”
“Wait- what? I haven't committed a crime!” Dave intervened, confused and defiant. He hadn't done anything wrong and he was certain of it!
“Go to your room!” his mother shouted, pointing in the general direction of David's room. “I really don't want to see you right now,” she said, her voice tight to keep herself from yelling anymore.
Still confused and becoming increasingly angry and a little bit sad, Dave did as he was told, rushing into his room. He paused before shutting his door completely and pressed his ear to the crack in an attempt to catch what his parents were talking about. It ended up not being that difficult, considering how loud his mom was being and, since she was being so loud, his dad had to make his voice louder in order to be heard.
Glass shattered and Dave winced before shutting the door.
On his bed, lying face down, deciding that he really didn't mind the fact that it was difficult to breath, he pondered if all that he'd done was really wrong- wrong enough to be called a crime, anyways. No, he didn't think so, but his parents seemed to think it was.
And they wanted him to apologize to the fag's face. That was completely unfair! Being grounded, he could deal with, but he shouldn't have to talk civilized with the gay kid. It was that girl's fault for infecting him with his gayness.
In all actuality, Dave knew that Kurt hadn't infected him with anything, it just felt good to blame it on someone. Why did that stupid kid have to be so attractive?!
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Neither man was certain as to where the woman of the house was. Linda had walked out last night, saying she needed a break, and yet to have returned.
“Do I have to do this?” the teenager whined when the car was parked in the Hudmel's driveway.
“Yes, David,” his dad snapped, not looking at him. He exited the car.
He groaned, exiting the car more slowly and following behind him, looking oddly like a kicked puppy. He hung back as his dad rung the doorbell.
Burt, who had just about to doze off during a rerun of Deadliest Catch, was startled awake. He glanced around then grumbled as the doorbell went off again and stood up; he assumed that Kurt had forgotten his keys at home again. Opening the door, he was surprised to see two men he'd never seen before in his life.
“Erm, hello.” His expression showed his confused. “Can I help you?” He carefully examined the short, older man and what might be the man's son, both looked like they'd rather be anywhere other than the Hudmel's front door.
“Hello, are you Kurt Hummel's father?” the older man asked, scratching his head uncomfortably.
“Yes, but-”
“Burt, honey?” Carole called, walking towards her fiance from upstairs. “Who's at the door?” She paused beside him, glancing at the two men.
“I'm Paul Karofsky and this is my son, David,” he explained, gesturing to the kid behind him. “Dave would like to apologize to your son.”
Carole frowned suddenly, glancing at her lover.
“Apologize?” Burt frowned as well, but a glint of a murderous look entered his eyes as he stared down this 'David' kid. “What did you do to my son?”
“It's nothing really, my dad's-”
“Hush, David,” Paul commanded, glancing warningly at his son. “He wants to apologize personally for the bullying he has done.”
Burt suddenly looked prepared to kill. “Really now? Well, I'm sure Kurt doesn't want to see you if you're one of the assholes that puts him through hell every day. So, we can say apology not accepted.” He was breathing heavier than usual and his vision was tinted red. “Now, if you'd be so kind as to get off my property before I call the cops- and you'd better stay the hell away from my son or I'll bring the school into this and get you into some deep shit.”
“Honey, remember your heart,” his fiance murmured warningly, placing a soft hand on his forearm and the other around the front of his waist.
“We just want-”
“Get off of my property.” His voice was only slightly calmer as he switched his glare to the father.
With that the Karofskys left, Dave feeling triumphant and his dad just feeling rather put out.
Later that night, when Kurt came home from his shopping trip with Mercedes, loaded down with five bags on one arm and the girl hanging onto his other, Burt requested that he speak to his son alone. Kurt, curious, requested the Mercedes go on downstairs and try on her first outfit that they would model for Carole and sat down on the end of the couch nearest to his dad.
“What's up, Dad? Is something wrong?” he asked, looking over his father's face apprehensively, trying to figure out if he'd done something wrong before going out with Mercedes. “Did I do something?” He hated having his father upset with him and tried to do everything exactly right.
“No, you haven't done anything,” Burt immediately replied, shaking his head. “Do you know a Dave Karofsky?” he inquired.
Eyes widening, the teenage boy glanced nervously at the muted television. “Hey, is this a new 'Pickers'?” he abruptly changed the subject, his mind frantically searching through reasons as to why his dad would even know of the name Dave Karofsky.
“Kurt...” Burt said warningly, switching off the television all-together. “What are you keeping from me?”
He sighed, forcing his icy facade out to cover up the tears he felt inside. “Nothing, dad. He's just a kid from my school,” he explained, sounding exasperated. “Can I go?”
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Suddenly angered, Kurt jumped to his feet and spun around to face his dad. “Were you not just having an honest conversation when you had that heart attack?! An honest conversation almost killed you! It doesn't matter what's going on, you just need a little stress put on your heart to make it stop- and you don't even have the slightest idea how-” he was beginning to choke on the sobs he was trying to keep down, “-how scared I was, thinking I had lost you forever...” the energy in his voice was dying down from a semi-scream to a small whimper. “I c-can't live through that again.” He turned away from his dad, ashamed that he was crying.
“I'm... sorry,” he finally managed in a semi-calm voice. “Dave Karofsky is a jock at my school. He occasionally... bullies the Glee Club... but it's nothing worse than a slushie to the face or a locker-check.” He still didn't look at his dad.
Burt, trying to compose himself from what his son had just revealed, cleared his throat and reached out to grab the boy's hand. “Kurt... please sit down and look at me.”
Reluctantly, Kurt did so, plopping down on the end of the couch and looking at him with watery eyes.
“Tell me the truth, kiddo. I need to know what he's done to you...”
Swallowing with much difficulty, he looked down at the floor, shame written on his face. “He... he k-kissed me then threatened to kill me,” he mumbled, his voice just high enough for Burt to catch every word.
“What the hell!” Burt yelled suddenly, disappointed that he'd missed a perfect chance to kick that son of a bitch's ass. “Why-” He cut himself off when he realized his son was cowering away from him, muttering repetitive “I'm sorry”s, tears running down his face.
“K-Kurt... kiddo,” his voice had softened and he sank slowly down onto the couch by him. “I'm... I'm not mad at you... I'm mad at that Karofsky kid. You don't have anything to be sorry for.” He placed a soothing hand on his son's head and suddenly had an armful of his clinging boy. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around him, but his hold was tight and he muttered reassuringly it's okay, it's okay, everything's going to be okay, I'll make it okay, you have Carole and me and Finn and all of your friends to help you through this, we'll get that kid expelled, it's going to be okay.
“I'm going to go up to your school Monday morning, okay?” Kurt nodded. “Now, I don't want you to be afraid to come to me about something as serious as this, alright?” He nodded again. “Please look at me, Kurt.”
Slowly, Kurt raised his head and looked at Burt, tears drying on his cheeks.
“Promise me that you won't keep anymore secrets to yourself. I'm your dad. I'm here to help you through anything and everything and love you no matter what.”
“I p-promise.”
That night, after the teenager had pulled himself together and gone down to put on a quasi-fashion show with Mercedes, Kurt found himself sucked into a terrible nightmare.
(My apologies, but I think I must intrude here. Now, what was seen by Dave Karofsky and his parents was not the extent of the sexual harassment caught on camera. It is directly after the kiss that Jacob Ben Israel came across a few technical difficulties when trying to put the footage on disc- his computer shut down completely and this extra footage was lost. So, you must be warned that what you are about to read goes beyond a forceful kiss.)
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“You promised daddy no more secrets,” a voice whispered in his ear, a sweaty hand clasped firmly over his mouth. The side of his face smashed against the rough locker, silent sobs shaking his body.
Pain... pain everywhere. He felt like he was being ripped open as Dave continued to thrust and thrust and thrust...
“You'd better keep this a secret or I will kill you... Daddy can't protect you from everything...” He was panting and groaning and moaning and biting into his shoulder and sucking and sucking and he took his hand away and muttered, “I wanna hear you beg for me to stop- beg me to stop fucking your little ass, you cock slut.”
Kurt wouldn't give him that satisfaction. He'd taken too much already and he was not about to give up his strength. He was strong. He would get through this. His body may be too weak for him to fight off his attacker, but his mind won't allow him access.
“You'll be sorry,” Karofsky whispered harshly as his voice faded away and Kurt awoke with a start.
He gripped his sheets, trying to calm his breathing, as he looked around the too-dark room. When he had calmed down a little, he turned on the lamp sitting upon his bedside table and sighed with relief when he saw that Karofsky wasn't actually there.
One last tear fell down his cheek and he finally decided that it was time to take hold of his strength and tell. Obviously he wasn't strong enough to deal with this on his own like he'd hoped. But he was still a little scared of Karofsky
Kurt slipped out of bed and tip-toed up the stairs. He walked down the hallway past the living room and down another that led to his dad's room. Deep breath in, slow exhale, and open the door. He peered inside, glancing around in the darkness, his eyes landing on his father's snoozing body, butterflies erupting in his stomach.
“Dad?” he whispered, hesitant, knowing it wasn't nearly loud enough to wake Burt, still unsure if he should actually do this. His resolve soon settle and, “Dad?” he asked, a little louder, stepping inside of the room and up to his bed. “Dad? Wake up, please.” He set a soft hand on his shoulder, so as not to frighten him.
Burt gave one final snort before jerking awake. “Huh?” he mumbled sleepily, blinking up at his son through the darkness. “Kurt, what's going on?” he grumbled, still half-asleep.
His resolve shook a little and he stumbled through the next sentence. “Um, w-well... I had a really, really bad dream.” He knew he would sound childish, but he was getting tired of always being the strong one, even when he had every reason to break down.
“You had a bad dream?” This was something new coming from his baby boy, which sparked an alarm signal inside of Burt. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and turned on the lamp sitting on his bedside table. Kurt blinked at the sudden light, hurriedly looking down at his bare feet to avoid his dad's searching eyes. “Uh, yeah...” he felt a little silly now. What had he expected his father to do?
“Want some warm milk?” he asked, reaching out to put a hand on Kurt's shoulder.
The thought of warm milk suddenly brought an intense feeling of comfort, which he could not explain, so he nodded, glancing shyly up to meet his dad's eyes.
A few minutes later, sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of warm milk sat careful between two hands. Kurt stared into the white liquid, hoping for answers, and Burt gazed curiously at his son.
“You ready to tell me what's got you so scared?”
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Glad to see you are updating this again!
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Glad that I'm updating too! Hopefully will have more soon.
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