seven for a secret (never to be told) - chapter 5 (6/7)
Pairing: Blaine/Kurt, OC/Kurt, eventual Puck/Kurt
Rating: R
Spoilers: none
Warnings: domestic abuse (physical, sexual, emotional), noncon, dubcon, eating disorder, violence, infidelity, homophobic language
Wordcount: 2,037
Summary: Rick and Kurt were perfect together. Now they're not, because Kurt isn't good enough anymore.
In this chapter: Rick comes for a visit.
A/N: this is an ancient (almost) fill for this prompt over at the angst meme.
Chapter 5
Kurt was home alone for the first time in a few weeks. Not for many hours, this time, either, but just for long enough for Puck to pick Blaine up from the airport and bring him home; the others were working. Burt in Columbus, Finn at the garage, Carole in the kindergarten she taught at. Kurt was alone with only a few bottles of soda and some cut vegetables with a dip to keep his company. And the TV. He shouldn’t forget the TV.
All in all, it was a rather wonderful evening. The clock was nearing six; Puck and Blaine wouldn’t be back until seven, eight at tops. Kurt had been granted his first moment alone in ages.
With a sigh he burrowed deeper into the cozy nest of blankets and pillows he had formed on the sofa. A marathon of Runaway Project’s latest season had all his attention.
He still couldn’t bear to watch the more violent series.
Not that it mattered. Kurt was quite happy with his fashion shows with fabulous clothes (or not-so fabulous; he couldn’t understand what went on inside that one woman’s head) and long-legged models who wore them with pride.
Plus, Tim Gunn was kind of hot.
The doorbell ringing startled Kurt. He looked at the clock; could it be Puck and Blaine already? Curiosity got better of the brunet and he stood up, shrugging the blankets down. He felt cold immediately. The doorbell rang again, irritating Kurt.
“Coming, coming," he hollered back, straightening his shirt on the way. “Honestly, I’m--”
The second Kurt saw the face behind the door, his instincts took control and tried to pull the door in. The man on the other side was faster, though, grabbing the knob with enough strength to cause a slight stumble on Kurt’s part. The door flew open, the man stepped in, and Kurt couldn’t think anymore.
“Hello there, slut.”
Rick wasn’t supposed to be here. Kurt sobbed in his throat, terrified, and tried to scramble back. He somehow managed to throw an old vase at the man and find his way into the living room and his phone before Rick caught up, the smirk from earlier replaced by a furious frown. Kurt had succeeded during this brief moment of clarity and courage, though; the phone was calling someone, hidden under countless pillows and blankets.
Knowing that, Kurt didn’t allow the numbness to take over.
“You bitch," Rick growled, grabbing Kurt harshly. He pinned the small brunet against the wall and pressed close. “Who do you think you are, running away like that? Huh? Who the fuck gave you a permission to leave, boy?”
“My human rights did," Kurt spat back, wincing when the hand in his hair tightened it’s hold. “I’m not a--”
“You’re everything I say you fucking are, slut," Rick ground between glanced teeth. “And right now you’re a damned failure. I give you everything and you reward me by ditching me?”
Kurt cried out when he was thrown to the floor. Before he could act and stand up, Rick took him by his hair and began pulling, reminding him of a scene that happened months ago. Terror took over and Kurt spread his arms, catching the doorframe. A swift kick from Rick and he was doubled over on the floor.
“Where’s your room?”
“Let - let me go.”
“I asked you a question, slut. Where - is - your - room?”
Kurt glared, hissing, but kept his mouth shut. Soon Rick was on him again, pressing his shoe against the bony fingers trembling on the floor. He kept on pushing, grinding, mutilating the fingers until something crunched.
Kurt screamed.
“Answer the question, slut.”
“No.”
The shoe slipped upwards and pressed on Kurt’s wrist.
“Answer.”
“No - oh, stop, stop it, please stop - oh god! Downstairs! Down - stop it, please!”
One more snap and Kurt’s mind was flooded by the pain. He sobbed loudly and tried to curl up on the floor, only to be picked up by Rick. His hand cradled awkwardly between their bodies and despite the sweetness of the moment, Kurt could only whimper and struggle futilely.
When strong hands threw Kurt on the bed, the numbness crept in.
This time he didn’t fight it. Right now it was a welcome feeling, something to distract him from the hands on his body, the hot breath reeking of alcohol against his neck, the coldness when his clothes were torn into shreds. Kurt closed his eyes and felt nothing.
He felt nothing.
He - felt - nothing!
Why didn’t it work? He’d been so numb, so emotionless for ages, for the past months, ever since his dad and Finn broke him free of his chains, so why couldn’t he go back now? Kurt cried out in pain when fingers fumbled against his bottom, pushing in with nothing resembling gentleness.
“You think you were in a bad state last time?” Rick whispered against his ear. “Honey, that won’t be nothing compared to when I’m finished with you.”
Helplessness filled Kurt’s veins when cold metal touched his wrists. The handcuffs cut into the skin, drawing red lines, rubbing everything raw, but when Rick rammed in with one harsh thrust, it became a dull ache, barely noticeable.
Kurt had forgotten how much sex hurt.
He didn’t bother trying to hide his tears when Rick continued slamming into his unwilling body. Kurt rattled the short chains of the handcuffs, tugging half-heartedly at them, with no avail. His body arched every time Rick lunched forward. Something tore. The blood didn’t make it any easier. Maybe. There was a lot of it. The pain was too much.
Suddenly there was nothing.
Kurt froze. He stopped breathing, listening, waiting, wondering what Rick had planned; his body tensed in anticipation. When a hand landed on his shoulder, surprisingly gentle, Kurt tried rolling away.
It worked.
“Kurt?”
Where was Rick? And why was he imagining things? What was going on? Kurt kept his eyes tightly shut, as if trying to ward off the bad things. The hand came back, even more gentle. The touch was barely a whisper on aching muscles.
“Kurt, open your eyes, please," Blaine’s voice begged and why was--
Oh. Oh.
“Blaine?”
“I’m here, baby. Open your eyes. Look at me. We called an ambulance and the cops. Rick won’t touch you anymore. Just open your eyes for me, okay?”
Kurt did as told, slowly lifting his eyelids. True enough, Blaine kneeled on the floor next to the bed, looking worried, terrified, and Kurt wanted to cry because he had put that expression there once again.
“Hush, Kurt, I’m not going to hurt you," Blaine spoke quietly as he stood up. “I’m not going anywhere, either. I’ll just cover you a bit, okay?”
Kurt was about to nod when a quiet noise from behind his back startled him. He tried to spun around, screaming when the movement jostled his hand. Blaine’s hand pressed him down.
“It’s just Noah, baby. Don’t move, okay? I’ll--”
“Don’t let him see me," Kurt whispered desperately, struggling to see Puck. “Don’t let, don’t let, just please don’t--”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got you. Noah won’t look.”
The soft sheets of his bed were wrapped around Kurt’s body. He didn’t fight them.
“We’re going to a hospital?” he asked, searching Blaine’s eyes. A hand grasped his.
“Yes. We will go there, Kurt. And this time you will get the kit done.”
Blaine’s voice was stern when he spoke. Kurt nodded his head, flinching when pain spiked on his neck; he hadn’t noticed Rick’s hands choking him until now. The feeling was too familiar.
“I wasn’t going to say no this time," Kurt whispered, voice quieter than ever before. “I really wasn’t. I just… don’t let go of me, please? Please, Blaine?”
“I won’t, baby, I won’t. Noah won’t, eith--”
“No!” Kurt cried out. “No, I don’t want him, please don’t, Blaine, no…”
The bed shifted and if Kurt had paid his surroundings any attention, he’d noticed Blaine turn around to share a wordless conversation with Puck. He didn’t, though, lost in his feelings as he was.
“Shh, he won’t be there if you don’t want to, Kurt," Blaine soothed, leaning in. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be there - oh, hear that? The ambulance is here.”
The men came, Puck and an unconscious figure left, and Kurt just laid on the bed with his hands tied to the headboard. Blaine was there, though, holding his fingers when he could, so it was okay.
It would be okay.
Kurt tensed when the doctor told him to lift his legs to the stirrups. The woman - Madeleine something, he hadn’t really caught the rest - had been nice and gentle and understanding so far, but knowing what was ahead, Kurt couldn’t fight the panic threatening to swallow him whole. A strangled sob left his throat.
“Shh, Kurt, there’s nothing to fear," Blaine assured him, fingers rubbing circles on Kurt’s palm. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll stop if you want me to," the doctor put in patiently, “but it’s better to do this as soon as possible... Do you think we can continue?”
Kurt drew in a long breath, gathering his courage, and nodded. With the help of Madeleine he bent his knees and placed his feet on the stirrups, shivering at the touch of cold air on his privates. Blaine leaned over him, holding his hand, and wiped a tear from his face.
“I’ll see how bad the tearing is," Madeleine explained. Latex gloves snapped and a weight settled on Kurt’s leg. “This will feel rather uncomfortable. May I proceed?”
“Yes.”
Kurt did his best to think of something else when the fingers poked at places that should have been untouched. Blaine was doing a good job distracting him, thankfully; the longer the examination took, the worse Kurt felt.
“Well, the tearing is very slight. It won’t need sutures at all. I’ll start on the rape kit now. Is that okay?”
The ‘yes’ was wavering and breathy. Kurt closed his eyes and dug his nails into Blaine’s palm when the first Q-tip touched him.
“You’re doing good, baby Blue Eyes, so good," Blaine cooed, ignoring the pain. “I’m so proud of you, Kurt.”
The soothing words made the intrusive tests that much bearable.
The hospital bed was hidden behind green curtains. It was the first thing Kurt realized when he came to. He didn’t know at what point he’d fallen asleep, or blacked out, or whatever - but he was in a single room, apparently. One that was filled with people talking on the other side of the curtains.
Not filled. There were only two.
Puck and Blaine.
“No, you listen to me, Noah Puckerman," Blaine spat out. “You will keep your mouth shut and let me finish before saying another word, got it?”
Kurt hadn’t heard Blaine this angry in ages. Nervousness and fear settled in inside him; what was going on? Why was Blaine so mad at Puck? Kurt couldn’t understand. Puck made soft noise of protest but didn’t say a word.
“Yes, Kurt wanted me in the examination room, not you," Blaine hissed furiously. “Yes, you’re the guy he’s crushing on and who’s crushing back on him and I’m the ex who turned into the gay BFF. Guess what? That doesn’t mean a fucking thing!”
Blaine was cursing. Despite the wrongness of the situation, the dull ache in his body, Kurt’s interest was piqued. Blaine never cursed.
“No - shut up, Puckerman. Did you ever think that maybe Kurt had a good reason for this, huh? That maybe there was something he didn’t want you to see? That maybe he wanted to keep the guy he fucking loves from seeing him at his worst? Yes, Noah, you heard me right - Kurt loves you. It shouldn’t take a fool to see it but apparently you are too thick-headed to see through the jealousness blinding you!”
A few seconds of silence followed. Footfalls marched to the door and it was slammed shut, bringing a soft whimper through Kurt’s lips. The brunet waited a few moments, thinking, wondering, but when Puck didn’t move on the other side, Kurt spoke up.
“Noah.”
>>epilogue