Fic: Mad World, Chapter 6
In here, whatever was left of Kurt's illusions of safety are completely shattered, but things have already begun to change around him . . . he's just not sure how he feels about that anymore.
Warning: There is violence in this chapter, worse than in the previous one: a horrible physical beating coupled with slurs and threats - if this is triggery or too much for anyone, I apologize.
If you still wish to read, but want to skip past the violence, you can read this first bit, up until the first break/change of scene, and then skip the large chunk in the middle until the NEXT break in scene, which picks up after the beating.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Chapter 6: No Expression (Previous: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
In the end, it was so incredibly stupid how it all came about. So very, very stupid.
During the five-minute break just before last period, Kurt had been reading an e-mail from Blaine on his iPhone; it had a link to a fantastic article about the best revivals of La Cages aux Folles, from community theatre to Broadway, and it made him blissfully happy that they shared the same interests. A little too happy, the universe had apparently decided - he should have been paying more attention to his surroundings.
He was putting the phone into the inside pocket of his blazer when he was shoved so hard that he nearly flew off his feet. He barely had a chance to inhale back the air that had been knocked from his lungs when Azimio was pressing him into the lockers, almost completely covering him - Kurt leaned as far away as he could, which wasn't very far at all, considering he couldn't phase through walls.
As per usual, there was no reaction from the surrounding students other than a few 'oh, again?' expressions, and maybe the odd look of pity. Kurt wondered how being shoved and pushed around could magically make a person invisible.
A sudden irrational and panic-stricken thought flitted through his mind: oh God, am I about to be kissed again? The jocks at this school tried to touch him as little as possible despite the various acts of abuse, and Azimio was pressed so close to Kurt that he seriously feared for his virtue - but then again, to have two closeted jocks creepily crushing on him and using him as a vehicle to express their confusion and self-hatred? A little too unlikely, even for his special brand of Murphy's Law type luck. Not to mention that there were people around and therefore no chance that Azimio would act on any gay urges in front of them.
"Heya, Homo Hummel." Azimio grinned nastily. "Heard you got some stones while I was gone - you buy 'em off e-bay?"
"No, I was born with the XY chromosomal combo, which comes with bonus testicles, although the slightest disruption in chromosomes can lead to various mental problems and deformations, such as your low IQ and your face."
Azimio's rage was palpable and scorching at this short distance, but he couldn't care less; he glared at the jock coolly and tried to squirm free.
Then Azimio was reaching under Kurt's blazer and the sexual assault idea came back full force - surely there was no way, not in a crowded school hallway - but even as Kurt panicked, Azimio was letting him go, backing away and waving Kurt's iPhone in his face.
"Try and take it from me, Hummel, and put those freshly bought balls to use. I'll just ditch it where you're gonna have to get down and dirty to get it back!" He turned and strolled down the hall. Kurt watched him go, saw him disappear into the boy's locker room. The hallways were clearing as people started to head into their respective last period classrooms and as the multitude dissipated, Kurt resigned himself to being late for class as he walked towards the locker room.
It was a stupid move what Azimio had done; it was juvenile and about as obvious as a thirty foot sign in blazing, tacky neon lights that screamed 'Danger, danger Kurt Hummel!' But Kurt had been dealing with so much of this moronic bullying behaviour on his own, for what felt like his entire life, that even Mr. Schuester's abrupt transformation into a zero tolerance guru (which Kurt had found truly encouraging, but once he heard that Figgins wasn't backing it, his enthusiasm faded rather quickly) couldn't convince him to go to a teacher - and by that time, who knew what would've happened to his beloved phone? He shoved his bag into his locker, squared his shoulders and marched into the room, hoping that Azimio hadn't tried to flush his phone down a toilet or bury it in the laundry bins with all the jock straps. He shuddered at the mere thought of it.
He had just cleared the lockers when something crashed into his head, and the world went painfully dark in an instant.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
When Kurt opened his eyes, the world was grey and soft around the edges - like an old film, and he remembered discussing the awesomeness of A Philadelphia Story with Mercedes, and they should totally have a Cary Grant and/or Jimmy Stewart marathon that weekend . . .
"Hey, you awake?"
That was not Mercedes, or his dad, or Finn or . . . Oh God, oh no, oh please no. His vision was clearing despite the ringing in his ears. There was bile rising in throat, his head throbbed unbelievably, and his face felt sticky and wet on one side, yet he managed to focus on the owner of that voice, who was standing above him and grinning.
"W-what the hell are you doing, Azimio!" Kurt tried to stand but his hands - he glanced down and realized that they were tied together, with his tie that was now probably wrinkled beyond saving . . . Focus, Kurt, you're in serious shit here! The thought sounded much like something Mercedes would say, and it gave him the strength to at least push himself away from Azimio and sit up - a little too hasty on his part as it made him horribly dizzy. He noticed that his blazer and his vest were gone, which made him mad.
"Where the hell are my clothes, you heathen! You are so -"
He didn't know why, but the foot that struck him across the chest surprised him more than waking up tied up on the floor of the boy's locker room. He was knocked back and he wheezed, gasping in pain, tears springing to his eyes.
"Damn, Hummel, your voice really fucking aggravates me, you know that? Just shut up and take it like a man - or, you know, fake it."
And then he kicked him again, this time in the side. And again. And again. Kurt couldn't cry out, he didn't have enough oxygen in his lungs to do it. All he could do was release little half-gasps, half-sobs, incoherent noises that got caught in his throat. He begged for mercy inside his own head - the words never made it into open air.
"Now this is better, exactly where you should be, down in the dirt. You got anything to say now?"
He thought that he was crying, but he couldn't feel tears on his face. His ribs hurt so badly that he was seriously reconsidering the benefits of breathing, but he opened his eyes - still no tears - and stared at Azimio. There could only be one reason why this was happening. "I think you need some serious therapy, Azimio. And whatever Karofsky said to you, I didn't -"
"Didn't mouth off and act like a little bitch?" Another kick. Kurt breathed out afterwards, and he dimly wondered if maybe he was wrong about his initial assumption that Karofsky had told his friend that Kurt had sexually assaulted him. Azimio wasn't saying anything about it, but then, why? Why the hell was this suddenly - the thought was lost as he cried out. Azimio had bent over, grabbing him by the hair. "You know what might help you, Hummel? A nice bath. Maybe we can wash the gay off you, huh?"
He shoved Kurt face first into the floor, grabbing him by his bound wrists and dragging him over to the showers. Kurt lashed out with his legs, shouting and trying to stand, but Azimio just turned and attacked his already injured side - Kurt was back to struggling for every breath. He was dumped in the middle of the tiled floor, near the large central drain, and Azimio started turning on showers. After a few minutes, the cold water started to pool and Kurt was getting wet. "C'mon, little girl, bath time!"
He was pulled and pushed under a freezing cold spray. Kurt coughed as he inhaled some of the water, turning away. Azimio pulled his head back, the spray hitting him directly in the face, forcing him to take in even more, and he couldn't breathe, oh God, he couldn't breathe . . . Kurt went limp.
He waited until Azimio bent over him, held back any reactions when the clearly insane jock jabbed at him again. Kurt opened his eyes a sliver when he heard Azimio turning away, vaguely hearing him rummaging around for something. He wasn't going to wait to find out what.
He jumped up, ignoring the overpowering wave of nausea, the pain radiating from his torso, the fact that his vision was swimming, and he tried to run, but Azimio just grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt, pulling so hard that the seam ripped. Kurt kicked out - if there was one thing he could do, it was kick - catching Azimio in the knee. The bully's leg folded and Kurt managed to slip free. But he couldn't move fast enough with his bound hands - Azimio was up and running again, this time tripping Kurt, forcing him to turn awkwardly to avoid falling - and then Azimio was grabbing at him again, his shirt ripping open down the front, buttons flying everywhere. Kurt's dizziness was not letting up and when Azimio tugged him, throwing him back down onto the freezing wet tiles, Kurt could only lie there, groaning under his breath, shutting his eyes tight so the world would stop spinning.
Azimio was laughing.
It infuriated Kurt, his wrath sending fresh, pounding adrenaline throughout his veins. His eyes flew open and he was yelling something, he wasn't sure what, but he tried to kick, hit with his hands, anything and everything, but all Azimio did was fall to his knees leisurely, and punch him once, fiercely hard, on the side of his head that was already hurting so badly. The edges of his vision were going dark and someone was tugging on his belt, which had him fighting unconsciousness with everything he had because this was not happening. His belt was pulled in one swift move from him and Kurt braced himself for those hands to return to unfasten jeans . . . but nothing. The relief lasted all of a second.
"You know, maybe you need a good old-fashioned whipping - maybe if your daddy had actually treated you more like a man, you'd be one today."
The belt hitting his bare skin shocked him so badly he let out a scream. He tried to slide back, roll over, but all Azimio did was follow him, whipping at him periodically. "We're supposed to just . . . accept people like you, Hummel? Supposed to pretend that it's normal, that it isn't freakish? That you're not wrong? We're supposed to tolerate you?"
Kurt didn't scream at every impact of the belt, as Azimio just went at it every once in a while, not always catching his bare skin, but he couldn't help the odd high-pitched yelp when it snapped against his injuries, forcing him to twist and slide, thrashing in the water that was almost an inch high. And this, more than anything that had happened so far, was what hurt the most - burning tears were escaping from his eyes at last.
That belt was one of his favourites - Mercedes had picked it out for him because of the gorgeous silver treble cleft on the buckle . . . the buckle that was clutched in Azimio's large and sweaty hand.
"Feeling any manlier, Hummel?" Azimio asked casually, barely loud enough to be heard over the still-going showers, tossing the belt into some distant corner.
Kurt swallowed down any sobs and met his attacker's eyes, taking a deep breath and speaking in a trembling but firm tone, "I am more of a man in my silver dress and ten inch heels than you will ever be."
Azimio's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he bent over Kurt, teeth grinding together . . . then a malicious grin was twisting his lips out of nowhere. "Maybe you can't be taught, but what if I go visit your dad, huh? What if I go teach him a lesson for bringing such a fag into the world -"
That was it - Kurt lashed out with his legs again, this time the aim and power of his kick had a specific target in mind. Azimio managed to duck and catch his foot before it could make an impact with his groin.
"That's a cheap shot, gay-boy."
"And lying in wait, threatening my father, attacking me with my hands tied - none of that is cheap, you asshole?" Kurt gasped out.
"Shut up."
It was after the third or fourth kick to his ribs that Kurt realized something - he could actually die here. He could die here and be left on the floor of this locker room, half-naked and bloody and oh God, dad - for this father to come and identify his body, for him to lose his son . . .
Kurt's mind broke, and so he did something that he felt ashamed to do, but not at the same time because his father needed him. He wouldn't die here, he would not.
"Please!" It escaped him as a loud shout after one brutal kick caught his shoulder, and Azimio actually paused in his attack.
"Please, please, just stop . . . just stop it, please - don't kill me, let me go," he begged, not sure if Azimio could hear him above the sounds of the showers. Or if he would even care to hear. He kept his eyes shut, trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears. "Please . . . Azimio, please."
Kurt didn't know how long he lay there, breathing unevenly, waiting for further abuse. He heard Azimio splashing away for a moment, and then splashing back. He nudged Kurt's aching side, hard, prompting a moan from Kurt, but he didn't have the energy or the willpower to move away, at least not yet. His body was starting to shiver from the cold since he was absolutely drenched.
After some long minutes had passed, Kurt managed to open his eyes, seeing that Azimio had been spray painting the back wall of the showers - he was just finishing off the 'f' in what was likely going to be 'fags.' Kurt managed to scoff inside his own head: original as always, these neanderthals. It seemed, based on the other words that followed, that Azimio was sending a message not just to Kurt, but also to Mr. Schue.
Kurt had to try and get out of here. The meaning behind this was irrelevant - survival was all that mattered.
He rolled over onto his stomach, his fingers trying to seek purchase on the wet tiles. Azimio had tied his wrists tightly, but not so much as to cut off circulation. He shifted forward. One inch. He grit his teeth. Not good enough, Hummel. He gathered all his energy and tried again. Two inches, and his ribs were screaming at him to stop.
"Where are you goin', Hummel?"
No, no, no, Kurt screamed in his own head and he tried to move again, tried to stand - a big foot came down onto the middle of his back, shoving him and pressing him into the floor, old bruises and new ones flaring up.
Maybe Azimio didn't intend to kill him, but Kurt did not trust the sick bastard to know when enough was enough. Kurt was already sure that he couldn't handle another round of kicks, and maybe he was internally bleeding already.
"L-l-leave me alone! S-stop this! Please!" He would do anything at this point to end it, to get back to his father and stop being in pain - stop being so cold and scared.
He cried out as Azimio pulled hard on his legs, his precious few inches of headway gone in a matter of seconds.
"You're bleedin' all over your fancy clothes, princess. Lemme help you with that!"
He was pulled and tossed directly under another shower, the shock of cold even more powerful and he couldn't breathe again, hacking up a lung as he tried to clear the water from it.
"Can't swim, fairy?"
Kurt didn't want to give up, couldn't give up, for his father's sake, but it was going dark again, and he could feel himself sagging downwards . . . "C'mon, Hummel, wakey wakey." His foot connected with Kurt hard and fast, and Kurt couldn't cry out too loudly due to the water he was breathing in. He just wanted to pass out now - maybe Azimio would back off once he was unconscious.
Then something happened - something marvelous. A deafening scream overpowered the pouring water, and Kurt leaned back from the spray as Azimio almost fell on his ass in shock. Through blurry, waterlogged eyes Kurt could make out the form of a girl, standing just beyond the showers, straight and glaring, and her screamed words still echoing:
"Leave him the fuck alone!"
He had no clue who she was, but Kurt was willing to build an entire religion around her and be her chief priest for the rest of his life.
His gratitude and surge of protectiveness for a girl, who was risking everything to save someone she didn't even know, got him through the rest of this horror, and kept him sane and conscious as Karofsky dropped in and uncharacteristically saved them both. Kurt could actually think, through the haze of his semi-conscious mind, that maybe he had overestimated Karofsky's denial of his true nature . . . or maybe the other boy simply wasn't as insane as his friend. But that didn't change or forgive the years of torment - of associating willingly with someone crazy enough to do what Azimio had just done.
It was a start, though. Maybe. God, everything hurt and even though his stomach was empty, he felt another round of heaving creeping up on him.
Despite all that, he stared into Karofsky's eyes, unwilling to bend, unwilling to show Karofsky any hint of weakness beyond his outward appearance. He silently tried to make him see that he was still himself despite Azimio's attempt terrorize him into submission; even covered in his bodily fluids, bruises, and torn clothing, he was still not willing to apologize for being who he was. But there was something new and shifting inside of him - a sharp fear and shame that he couldn't . . . He was seeing double - things were grey again and there was cotton in his ears . . . but he wouldn't let this particular jerk think anything different of him.
He won the staring contest. The other boy dropped his eyes and that had used up the last of Kurt's remaining energy. He slumped, only vaguely hearing Karofsky telling the girl to get help or something - then he was doing down, down, down into blessedly warm and cozy blackness.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
It was the beeping that woke Kurt up at first. It was permeating his unconscious mind, disrupting his quiet, his peace, and it was verging on Rachel Berry in terms of annoyance levels. Kurt was going to kill the beeping sound because wasn't it evident that he was trying to sleep here? Stupid beep.
"Kurt? Kurt, hey. Hey, kiddo, c'mon, open your eyes for me."
That was his dad, and Kurt could never refuse him . . . Well, he could and had in the past, but not when he was pleading, sounding so tired, so broken. What if he needed Kurt's help? Oh God, what if he really needed Kurt's help?
His lids lifted slowly. Once he had them open, he didn't register the white walls, the uncomfortable not-really-cotton sheets or anything else. He just zeroed in on his father, who was white-faced and had dark circles under his eyes, and what had happened? He tried to sit up, trying to reach for him, but the pain in what felt like his whole body stopped him before his father could stand and place gentle hands on his shoulders. "God, Kurt, stop, slow down, you're s-safe." He choked around the last word. Kurt stared up at him, at the tears rolling down his father's face. Safe? Safe from what?
"That asshole who did this to you . . . Azimio . . . he can't hurt you anymore."
It took Kurt a moment to gather himself and his memories: he'd been walking to class, and reading something on his phone . . . and Azimio had slammed him into . . . Kurt gasped wetly, a hand coming up to his mouth - every single horrifying moment of his time in the locker room came to him like a blow to the head. It actually made him dizzy, half reclined in a hospital bed and so his eyes shut, trying to block out the rush of the showers ringing in his ears, the sounds of his own gasps and cries.
"Damn, Hummel, your voice really fucking aggravates me, you know that? Just shut up and take it like man - or, you know, fake it."
"Now this is better, exactly where you should be, down in the dirt. You got anything to say now?"
He opened his eyes and stared at his father, mouth gaping. Someone nearly killed me. Azimio almost killed me, may have tried to kill me, and I was cold and wet and alone and it hurt - his breath started coming out in pants, his chest aching, his eyes wide and burning from lack of blinking.
His dad grabbed his hand, squeezing. "Listen, you're at St. Anne's right now. The doctors said you might experience some memory loss or -"
"No such luck," Kurt croaked out. He squeezed his eyes shut and then popped them open again, looking around, staring at the plain hospital room. The only colours were coming from the flowers on the windowsill and the table against the wall. And those balloons so big that they touched the ceiling. And were those more flowers on the extra chair?
"Your friends were all here yesterday, but most of those came in just this morning. Those balloons are from your French teacher. Carole baked you some low-fat cookie type things - she said you really liked those the last time she made them for Friday night dinner. And I think there's some candy and things from -"
"How long?" Kurt asked, quiet and trembling. Did that really just happen? That someone hates me enough to nearly kill me, just for being who I am?
His father squeezed him again before letting go and wiping his own face clean of tears. Kurt studied the bags under his red-rimmed eyes again, and through his own confusion he felt a stab of concern. His father really couldn't afford to be like this right now; he needed sleep, and he'd likely not eaten anything either in the past . . . however long he'd been here.
"Ah, just under a day. You came in yesterday afternoon and it's" - he glanced down at his watch - "half past eleven in the morning. Damn, I should get a doctor."
"No, no." Kurt would have shouted if he had the ability. The panic that seized him was shocking in its urgency and power. He snatched up his father's arm. "You need to stay, you have to stay with me."
His father put a hand on Kurt's thigh. "I wasn't planning on leaving, kiddo. Here, look, I'll just push the call button." He did so and Kurt calmed down almost instantly. Now he was mostly just tired, though a slight undercurrent of fear ran beneath his exhaustion.
"Dad -"
A nurse poked her head into the room, stepping in fully when she saw that Kurt was awake.
"Oh thank goodness." She smiled, pushing back a wavy strand of black hair. "It's nice to see you awake, Kurt! You sure are making a lot of people of very happy opening those pretty blue eyes. Let me go get your doctor, okay?"
Kurt hardly glanced at her as she left. "Dad - dad - tell me -"
"Kurt, I-I . . ." His father scrubbed at his face. "I know you have questions, and so do I - so just wait 'til after the doctor checks you over, and then we'll talk."
Kurt settled back onto his pillows, right as the doctor showed up, also all smiles. She was tall and redheaded . . .
"Leave him the fuck alone!"
Like that girl. She'd tried to help - her intervention may have even saved his life and she almost got herself seriously hurt as a result. What had happened to her?
He waited until the examinations were all over with. According to Dr. Macaulay, he had been 'lucky'. He'd escaped with a few cracked ribs, minimal internal damage, a very mild case of hypothermia, and while his concussion had been serious, his waking up and retention of his memories were both signs of an imminent full recovery. Most of this went over Kurt's head - he heard the words, but they held no real meaning to him. He was still wavering between a frigid locker room and this too-soft, too-kind reality. His dad thanked the doctor and as she was leaving, she promised that Kurt could head home maybe as early as the next morning.
The two sat in silence for a time before Kurt began tentatively, "There, there was a girl in there with me . . ."
"Yeah." His father smiled a bit. "I met her - her name is . . . oh, crap, I can't - it's something short though. Eva? Ede? Anyway, she's fine. Her ankle's going to be messed up for a couple of weeks, and she's a little jumpy, but what she did for you, son - that was somethin' else. I'm gonna be grateful to her for the rest of my life. I feel lousy for not remembering her name." His smile turned rueful and he was gripping Kurt's hand again. "I asked her to try and come by today to see you, or to call us and come over to the house once we get you home. Either way, you'll see her again real soon."
Kurt nodded, glancing down at his sheets, then at the monitors and their wretched beeping, at the IV in his other hand, (there was light bruising around his wrist, around both his wrists - he resisted the urge to hide both hands beneath the blankets) and then back up at his father, who appeared to have been waiting for him to make eye contact.
"The police are going to come by and talk to you later -"
"The police?" Kurt interrupted, surprised. When had they come into this?
His father stared at him. "Yeah, Kurt, the police. You best believe we're going to press charges against that - that -"
"Wait a minute, when did - dad, the last thing I remember is laying on the floor." So cold, shivering. "Could you maybe rewind things for me? Who called the police?"
His dad leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes before he spoke, "Well, first off, it was that Eva girl who called the cops. I'm not too clear on what happened after that. Finn and Mercedes tried to explain it to me, but they're not too sure themselves. It sounds like there was something like a riot that broke out when that girl started shouting at some jocks, and Finn almost murdered that Karofsky jackass right there in the hallway as they were wheeling you out."
Kurt listened, feeling his eyes widening. Chaos and rioting? How had he missed this? And where was Azimio in all that?
"And then a bunch of the guys from your Glee club got in on it, and that Latina cheerleader almost bit the ear off of -"
"Santana? But -"
"Lemme finish, kiddo. Anyway, they had to call in more police to get everyone to calm down. Schuester took a few good knocks himself trying to keep things from getting too bloody - 'bout half of your friends were in the hospital yesterday, getting looked at. And the rest were just here, waiting for news on you."
Kurt tried to absorb all of this, but it was too much and for some reason he was feeling cold - his body was starting to shiver. Cold, wet, can't breathe. He tugged on his blankets as his father pulled an extra one from the foot of the bed, unfolding and covering Kurt with it, tucking it in tenderly around his body.
"What happened after that?" Kurt asked, his shivers subsiding somewhat.
"Kurt, I don't know. Eva told the cops everything that happened, but I wasn't . . . She talked to me after . . . They tracked down that Azimio asshole - he was hiding out in his own basement. He really thought that he was going to get away with it, the little prick. And as for the rest, you'll have to talk to Mercedes when she gets here." His dad raised a shaky hand to his face. "Before the cops come by to take your statement . . . did you want to talk about what happened with me?"
Kurt swallowed hard at the sight of that trembling limb, sitting up again, leaning in close to his father. He knew it - no sleep, no food. It was a miracle the man hadn't collapsed already and Kurt was not going to let that happen. He grabbed his dad's hand in both of his, unobtrusively trying to take his pulse. "Dad, are you okay? Do you want to lie down and I can call a nurse and -"
His father let loose a harsh sound, something between a sob and a laugh. "Quit acting like I'm the one in the hospital bed. I'm fine."
"Oh God." Kurt held on tightly to his dad. Ceaseless kicks to his torso, realizing he could die, and his father . . . "When they called you, you must've - I could have given you another heart attack and all because I was stupid, so stupid -"
"Hey!" His father shifted onto the bed quickly, two hands on Kurt's shoulders again, but this time Kurt flinched backwards hard at the sudden movement. His dad must have seen it, must have felt it, but he didn't drop his hands; he pulled him into an embrace so gentle Kurt could barely feel it . . . except that he did, and it was warm. His dad smelled a bit like Old Spice and he breathed in deeply, shutting his eyes and trying to focus on the sound of his dad's voice. "You are not stupid. None of this is your fault, it's all that sonuvabitch who did this to you, and your useless principal and his staff and there's a million and one people to blame, none of them you."
Kurt nodded, trying to appease his father, but he didn't believe it. How could he have been so oblivious, so naive to think that something like this wouldn't happen to him? He inhaled sharply - there was that faint smell of engine oil, grease, beneath the Old Spice. I like musicals, I fix cars with my dad, I can kick a football between two metal poles and walk in ten-inch heels . . . This doesn't change any of that. It doesn't.
"You know, someone else came by yesterday to see you," his father said as he pulled away slowly.
"Who?" Kurt was tugging the blankets back up - why couldn't he get warm?
"Some kid from that Dalton place you were telling me about - Blaine?"
"Blaine was here?" Kurt completely forgot about the blankets, staring at his father in amazement.
"Well, yeah, Mercedes called him for you. The kid showed up, freaking out almost as bad as she was and he kept apologizing to me, trying to tell me that this was all his fault."
Kurt tried to organize his thoughts, but things were getting jumbled in his head. He looked down at the IV - did they have him on painkillers or something? It didn't feel like it since everything ached. And Blaine had been here?
"Mercedes called him?" he repeated.
"Yeah, but that's not the point, kiddo." Was that a smile on his father's face?
"You didn't mention him to me when you were talkin' 'bout that place. And you've been buddies for a week now or somethin'?"
Kurt was suddenly itching for his phone; he need to text Blaine and . . . but wait, he'd never gotten his phone back from Azimio, had he? It was probably long gone - smashed, or tossed or flushed. And it's replaceable. Stop it.
He cleared his throat. "Blaine was the friend I went to for help, after the whole thing with Karofsky. He's . . . he's gay and he understood some of what I was going through - he volunteered to drive down and try to talk to Karofsky with me . . . It didn't work. He took me out for lunch. At Breadstix. And we've been talking a lot since then, and um, we were supposed to meet up this weekend . . . I was going to tell you, dad!"
His father just chuckled and he looked less tired as he did so. It relaxed Kurt to see it, albeit marginally.
"I know - that Blaine kid can go a mile a minute when he's nervous. When the doctors told us you were going to be fine, I told him he could come by and see you today too. Actually, I think he and Mercedes are coming in together."
Kurt didn't know whether to be thrilled or frightened by that prospect. He settled for a smile, since his dad seemed to be amused.
Then the amusement faded. "Kurt? Did you want to talk to me? Tell me what happened before the police get here?"
Kurt burrowed down under his blankets, ignoring a brief, sharp flare of pain from his already aching ribs. He reached up to brush his bangs away from his forehead, inwardly bemoaning the lack of hairspray, feeling a large bandage across his temple from where Azimio had hit him the first time, knocking him unconscious.
"We're supposed to just . . . accept people like you, Hummel? Supposed to pretend that it's normal, that it isn't freakish? That you're not wrong? We're supposed to tolerate you?"
Kurt shook his head. "No. I'd rather just . . . say it once and then leave it behind me."
"Okay, but you need to know that later on, you're gonna have to talk about it with -"
"No, I won't!" Kurt cracked, angry at the tears surging from his eyes - no more tears, he wasn't going to give that bastard anymore tears. "I mean, maybe, dad, but for now, can we just . . ." Kurt sucked in a quick, rasping breath. His father watched him without saying anything, but Kurt could feel how hurt, how scared he was. "Dad, I don't want you in here when I tell the police."
"Not happening." Instant response, stern and brooking no argument.
Kurt tried anyway. "But dad -"
"Are you kidding me? Kurt, you're a minor, so I have every right to be here when you're talking to them. I am going to be with you every single step of the way. I'm going to stick by you, and maybe one day I'll get used to you leaving my sight again, but until then, you are mine twenty four seven. You have no idea what that phone call from Schuester did to me - I, I . . ." There were tears carving tracks down his dad's face again, and that made Kurt's own tears fight for release. No, he didn't want this for his father.
"That's exactly why! Oh, God, dad, when I was lying there, I was so scared that you would, would have another heart attack or -"
"Kurt, I'm fine now," his father insisted, not bothering to wipe away the wet streaks on his cheeks this time. "Listen to me, as much as it killed me to hear what happened - the fact that you were alive . . . Jesus, kiddo, that was more than enough to keep me going, you don't have to worry about that. I need you to worry about yourself for a change. Tell me if you really need something. You have no problems askin' me for a raised credit card limit or some new rims for your SUV, or ranting about Glee, but stuff like this, stuff that matters, you keep your mouth shut. And no more, Kurt. From now on you tell me. You tell your friends. You tell your teachers - whatever you need to keep you safe and comfortable, because if there is ever a next time . . . it won't be a heart attack you'll have to worry about. It'll be visiting me in jail because I will kill the next son of a bitch who thinks he can lay a hand on you."
Kurt had to press the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep from crying. It was over, it was over, so why couldn't he just be grateful for being alive? Why couldn't things just go back to . . . But he didn't want things to go back normal. Not really. Going back to being locker slammed and taunted in the hallways - it filled him with a terror he'd never felt before. And shame - there was this lingering shame he couldn't shake. And what if Azimio's friends wanted revenge or . . .
"Schue's already put in for the school board to expel the creep, filed a compliant for your safety. And he and the cops talked to me about pursuing assault charges, and I said yes. And I told him to bring in that Karofsky boy while they were at it -"
"Dad!" Kurt exclaimed. "Why? He didn't -"
"That girl told me - told the cops - that he was there. But she said he stopped the other bastard. That he gave her a phone to call the police with. But Schue wants to bring him up anyway, since he -"
"I'm not pressing charges against Karofsky," Kurt said, surprising himself with that announcement.
His father scrubbed at his face again. "Why? You could out the son of bitch, you could -"
"He's messed up and he's a jerk, but he's not Azimio. He stopped Azimio. I'm not going to speak up on his behalf, but I'm not going to press charges against him for something he had no part in."
"Schuester says Karofsky's probably going to just get suspended or something if we don't press charges," Burt warned. "But if you don't want to kiddo, that's fine. I'll call Schue up and let him know. And I'll tell the cops too."
"Good," Kurt said, sighing. "I don't think it's going to be fun facing him when he gets back from being suspended, but -"
"What are you talking about?" His dad was looking at him incredulously. "Are you already talkin' 'bout going back to school? To McKinley?"
Kurt nodded, ignoring the flicker of fear that just would not go away, trying to keep his face expressionless. "I have to go back sometime."
His father barked out a laugh. "Are you crazy? Like you are ever setting foot in there again. I've already got an application to Dalton sitting on my desk at home. That Blaine kid gave me the number for their admissions office and told me there's a good chance for you getting admitted under special circumstances - and maybe a couple of scholarships, which won't kick in 'til next year, but still, there's that help."
"You're sending me to Dalton?" Kurt squeaked, a hand coming up to his chest, clutching at his hospital gown.
"Kurt, I am not letting you go back there. I don't care if Schuester's actually likely to get some zero tolerance justice going on, I don't care if they hire you armed body guards and ninjas, you are not going back to McKinley."
Kurt thought something like that would thrill him to no end: no more jock abuse, no more taunts and no more feeling horribly alone every time he was slammed into walls and lockers. But mostly he was just tired. He realized that he would be leaving behind Mercedes and New Directions . . . and slushies and dumpster tosses. It was a mixed bag, more complicated than he thought it would be. A part of him - the stubborn, diva part - was balking, annoyed at having endured so much, for such a long time, and suddenly just turning tail and running. Then again, he wasn't stupid, or at least he wasn't going to be stupid this time. He'd been assaulted, viciously, and Azimio wasn't the only person to trip and slam him around hallways in that school.
"Okay, dad, okay." Kurt exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so, so tired. Maybe whatever crappy meds they had him on were finally kicking in.
"You should have seen the look on Blaine's face when I asked him for this stuff," Burt said softly, and Kurt could hear the smile. "Like I just made his year. I think you might have a fan, Kurt."
Kurt felt tingling warmth at that, from far away, but it was nice all the same.
"He seems like a good guy. Mercedes told me you two are just friends but . . . I think you could do a lot worse, for a first boyfriend, I mean. If you think you might want try for something with him, when you're ready."
And really, his father approving a boyfriend for Kurt should've made him wake up and react, in some way, but . . . He yawned.
"Yeah, they said you wouldn't be able to stay awake for long at first. You sleep, kiddo, everything else can wait. And I ain't goin' no where."
"Where are you goin', Hummel?"
Kurt shuddered and whimpered, but a rough, familiar hand was on his forehead, another hand clutching his own, stroking the back of it. "No, no, Kurt, no nightmares. Enough is enough. I'm here, okay? Nothing's going to get you, not anymore."
If there was anyone in the world Kurt trusted, it was his dad. If he said the monsters in the closet and under his bed weren't real, he believed him. If he said that his mom loved him, for always, even after she was gone, Kurt believed him even if he didn't believe in God or in heaven. And if his father said that he was safe, that he was okay now, and things were going to get better? Whether or not he believed it himself, he let the weight of words settle in his mind and pull him towards a peaceful slumber.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Author's Note: The violence may have been over much . . . *worries* But I really needed to establish Kurt's view of the events, so some of his later reactions to things make sense . . . I really hope that this wasn't overkill, because I felt it was important to write it from Kurt's POV.
You are all marvellous - thank you so much for reading, and for your comments on the previous chapter. *hugs*
Next: Chapter 7: Drown My Sorrow
Warning: There is violence in this chapter, worse than in the previous one: a horrible physical beating coupled with slurs and threats - if this is triggery or too much for anyone, I apologize.
If you still wish to read, but want to skip past the violence, you can read this first bit, up until the first break/change of scene, and then skip the large chunk in the middle until the NEXT break in scene, which picks up after the beating.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Chapter 6: No Expression (Previous: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
In the end, it was so incredibly stupid how it all came about. So very, very stupid.
During the five-minute break just before last period, Kurt had been reading an e-mail from Blaine on his iPhone; it had a link to a fantastic article about the best revivals of La Cages aux Folles, from community theatre to Broadway, and it made him blissfully happy that they shared the same interests. A little too happy, the universe had apparently decided - he should have been paying more attention to his surroundings.
He was putting the phone into the inside pocket of his blazer when he was shoved so hard that he nearly flew off his feet. He barely had a chance to inhale back the air that had been knocked from his lungs when Azimio was pressing him into the lockers, almost completely covering him - Kurt leaned as far away as he could, which wasn't very far at all, considering he couldn't phase through walls.
As per usual, there was no reaction from the surrounding students other than a few 'oh, again?' expressions, and maybe the odd look of pity. Kurt wondered how being shoved and pushed around could magically make a person invisible.
A sudden irrational and panic-stricken thought flitted through his mind: oh God, am I about to be kissed again? The jocks at this school tried to touch him as little as possible despite the various acts of abuse, and Azimio was pressed so close to Kurt that he seriously feared for his virtue - but then again, to have two closeted jocks creepily crushing on him and using him as a vehicle to express their confusion and self-hatred? A little too unlikely, even for his special brand of Murphy's Law type luck. Not to mention that there were people around and therefore no chance that Azimio would act on any gay urges in front of them.
"Heya, Homo Hummel." Azimio grinned nastily. "Heard you got some stones while I was gone - you buy 'em off e-bay?"
"No, I was born with the XY chromosomal combo, which comes with bonus testicles, although the slightest disruption in chromosomes can lead to various mental problems and deformations, such as your low IQ and your face."
Azimio's rage was palpable and scorching at this short distance, but he couldn't care less; he glared at the jock coolly and tried to squirm free.
Then Azimio was reaching under Kurt's blazer and the sexual assault idea came back full force - surely there was no way, not in a crowded school hallway - but even as Kurt panicked, Azimio was letting him go, backing away and waving Kurt's iPhone in his face.
"Try and take it from me, Hummel, and put those freshly bought balls to use. I'll just ditch it where you're gonna have to get down and dirty to get it back!" He turned and strolled down the hall. Kurt watched him go, saw him disappear into the boy's locker room. The hallways were clearing as people started to head into their respective last period classrooms and as the multitude dissipated, Kurt resigned himself to being late for class as he walked towards the locker room.
It was a stupid move what Azimio had done; it was juvenile and about as obvious as a thirty foot sign in blazing, tacky neon lights that screamed 'Danger, danger Kurt Hummel!' But Kurt had been dealing with so much of this moronic bullying behaviour on his own, for what felt like his entire life, that even Mr. Schuester's abrupt transformation into a zero tolerance guru (which Kurt had found truly encouraging, but once he heard that Figgins wasn't backing it, his enthusiasm faded rather quickly) couldn't convince him to go to a teacher - and by that time, who knew what would've happened to his beloved phone? He shoved his bag into his locker, squared his shoulders and marched into the room, hoping that Azimio hadn't tried to flush his phone down a toilet or bury it in the laundry bins with all the jock straps. He shuddered at the mere thought of it.
He had just cleared the lockers when something crashed into his head, and the world went painfully dark in an instant.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
When Kurt opened his eyes, the world was grey and soft around the edges - like an old film, and he remembered discussing the awesomeness of A Philadelphia Story with Mercedes, and they should totally have a Cary Grant and/or Jimmy Stewart marathon that weekend . . .
"Hey, you awake?"
That was not Mercedes, or his dad, or Finn or . . . Oh God, oh no, oh please no. His vision was clearing despite the ringing in his ears. There was bile rising in throat, his head throbbed unbelievably, and his face felt sticky and wet on one side, yet he managed to focus on the owner of that voice, who was standing above him and grinning.
"W-what the hell are you doing, Azimio!" Kurt tried to stand but his hands - he glanced down and realized that they were tied together, with his tie that was now probably wrinkled beyond saving . . . Focus, Kurt, you're in serious shit here! The thought sounded much like something Mercedes would say, and it gave him the strength to at least push himself away from Azimio and sit up - a little too hasty on his part as it made him horribly dizzy. He noticed that his blazer and his vest were gone, which made him mad.
"Where the hell are my clothes, you heathen! You are so -"
He didn't know why, but the foot that struck him across the chest surprised him more than waking up tied up on the floor of the boy's locker room. He was knocked back and he wheezed, gasping in pain, tears springing to his eyes.
"Damn, Hummel, your voice really fucking aggravates me, you know that? Just shut up and take it like a man - or, you know, fake it."
And then he kicked him again, this time in the side. And again. And again. Kurt couldn't cry out, he didn't have enough oxygen in his lungs to do it. All he could do was release little half-gasps, half-sobs, incoherent noises that got caught in his throat. He begged for mercy inside his own head - the words never made it into open air.
"Now this is better, exactly where you should be, down in the dirt. You got anything to say now?"
He thought that he was crying, but he couldn't feel tears on his face. His ribs hurt so badly that he was seriously reconsidering the benefits of breathing, but he opened his eyes - still no tears - and stared at Azimio. There could only be one reason why this was happening. "I think you need some serious therapy, Azimio. And whatever Karofsky said to you, I didn't -"
"Didn't mouth off and act like a little bitch?" Another kick. Kurt breathed out afterwards, and he dimly wondered if maybe he was wrong about his initial assumption that Karofsky had told his friend that Kurt had sexually assaulted him. Azimio wasn't saying anything about it, but then, why? Why the hell was this suddenly - the thought was lost as he cried out. Azimio had bent over, grabbing him by the hair. "You know what might help you, Hummel? A nice bath. Maybe we can wash the gay off you, huh?"
He shoved Kurt face first into the floor, grabbing him by his bound wrists and dragging him over to the showers. Kurt lashed out with his legs, shouting and trying to stand, but Azimio just turned and attacked his already injured side - Kurt was back to struggling for every breath. He was dumped in the middle of the tiled floor, near the large central drain, and Azimio started turning on showers. After a few minutes, the cold water started to pool and Kurt was getting wet. "C'mon, little girl, bath time!"
He was pulled and pushed under a freezing cold spray. Kurt coughed as he inhaled some of the water, turning away. Azimio pulled his head back, the spray hitting him directly in the face, forcing him to take in even more, and he couldn't breathe, oh God, he couldn't breathe . . . Kurt went limp.
He waited until Azimio bent over him, held back any reactions when the clearly insane jock jabbed at him again. Kurt opened his eyes a sliver when he heard Azimio turning away, vaguely hearing him rummaging around for something. He wasn't going to wait to find out what.
He jumped up, ignoring the overpowering wave of nausea, the pain radiating from his torso, the fact that his vision was swimming, and he tried to run, but Azimio just grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt, pulling so hard that the seam ripped. Kurt kicked out - if there was one thing he could do, it was kick - catching Azimio in the knee. The bully's leg folded and Kurt managed to slip free. But he couldn't move fast enough with his bound hands - Azimio was up and running again, this time tripping Kurt, forcing him to turn awkwardly to avoid falling - and then Azimio was grabbing at him again, his shirt ripping open down the front, buttons flying everywhere. Kurt's dizziness was not letting up and when Azimio tugged him, throwing him back down onto the freezing wet tiles, Kurt could only lie there, groaning under his breath, shutting his eyes tight so the world would stop spinning.
Azimio was laughing.
It infuriated Kurt, his wrath sending fresh, pounding adrenaline throughout his veins. His eyes flew open and he was yelling something, he wasn't sure what, but he tried to kick, hit with his hands, anything and everything, but all Azimio did was fall to his knees leisurely, and punch him once, fiercely hard, on the side of his head that was already hurting so badly. The edges of his vision were going dark and someone was tugging on his belt, which had him fighting unconsciousness with everything he had because this was not happening. His belt was pulled in one swift move from him and Kurt braced himself for those hands to return to unfasten jeans . . . but nothing. The relief lasted all of a second.
"You know, maybe you need a good old-fashioned whipping - maybe if your daddy had actually treated you more like a man, you'd be one today."
The belt hitting his bare skin shocked him so badly he let out a scream. He tried to slide back, roll over, but all Azimio did was follow him, whipping at him periodically. "We're supposed to just . . . accept people like you, Hummel? Supposed to pretend that it's normal, that it isn't freakish? That you're not wrong? We're supposed to tolerate you?"
Kurt didn't scream at every impact of the belt, as Azimio just went at it every once in a while, not always catching his bare skin, but he couldn't help the odd high-pitched yelp when it snapped against his injuries, forcing him to twist and slide, thrashing in the water that was almost an inch high. And this, more than anything that had happened so far, was what hurt the most - burning tears were escaping from his eyes at last.
That belt was one of his favourites - Mercedes had picked it out for him because of the gorgeous silver treble cleft on the buckle . . . the buckle that was clutched in Azimio's large and sweaty hand.
"Feeling any manlier, Hummel?" Azimio asked casually, barely loud enough to be heard over the still-going showers, tossing the belt into some distant corner.
Kurt swallowed down any sobs and met his attacker's eyes, taking a deep breath and speaking in a trembling but firm tone, "I am more of a man in my silver dress and ten inch heels than you will ever be."
Azimio's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he bent over Kurt, teeth grinding together . . . then a malicious grin was twisting his lips out of nowhere. "Maybe you can't be taught, but what if I go visit your dad, huh? What if I go teach him a lesson for bringing such a fag into the world -"
That was it - Kurt lashed out with his legs again, this time the aim and power of his kick had a specific target in mind. Azimio managed to duck and catch his foot before it could make an impact with his groin.
"That's a cheap shot, gay-boy."
"And lying in wait, threatening my father, attacking me with my hands tied - none of that is cheap, you asshole?" Kurt gasped out.
"Shut up."
It was after the third or fourth kick to his ribs that Kurt realized something - he could actually die here. He could die here and be left on the floor of this locker room, half-naked and bloody and oh God, dad - for this father to come and identify his body, for him to lose his son . . .
Kurt's mind broke, and so he did something that he felt ashamed to do, but not at the same time because his father needed him. He wouldn't die here, he would not.
"Please!" It escaped him as a loud shout after one brutal kick caught his shoulder, and Azimio actually paused in his attack.
"Please, please, just stop . . . just stop it, please - don't kill me, let me go," he begged, not sure if Azimio could hear him above the sounds of the showers. Or if he would even care to hear. He kept his eyes shut, trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears. "Please . . . Azimio, please."
Kurt didn't know how long he lay there, breathing unevenly, waiting for further abuse. He heard Azimio splashing away for a moment, and then splashing back. He nudged Kurt's aching side, hard, prompting a moan from Kurt, but he didn't have the energy or the willpower to move away, at least not yet. His body was starting to shiver from the cold since he was absolutely drenched.
After some long minutes had passed, Kurt managed to open his eyes, seeing that Azimio had been spray painting the back wall of the showers - he was just finishing off the 'f' in what was likely going to be 'fags.' Kurt managed to scoff inside his own head: original as always, these neanderthals. It seemed, based on the other words that followed, that Azimio was sending a message not just to Kurt, but also to Mr. Schue.
Kurt had to try and get out of here. The meaning behind this was irrelevant - survival was all that mattered.
He rolled over onto his stomach, his fingers trying to seek purchase on the wet tiles. Azimio had tied his wrists tightly, but not so much as to cut off circulation. He shifted forward. One inch. He grit his teeth. Not good enough, Hummel. He gathered all his energy and tried again. Two inches, and his ribs were screaming at him to stop.
"Where are you goin', Hummel?"
No, no, no, Kurt screamed in his own head and he tried to move again, tried to stand - a big foot came down onto the middle of his back, shoving him and pressing him into the floor, old bruises and new ones flaring up.
Maybe Azimio didn't intend to kill him, but Kurt did not trust the sick bastard to know when enough was enough. Kurt was already sure that he couldn't handle another round of kicks, and maybe he was internally bleeding already.
"L-l-leave me alone! S-stop this! Please!" He would do anything at this point to end it, to get back to his father and stop being in pain - stop being so cold and scared.
He cried out as Azimio pulled hard on his legs, his precious few inches of headway gone in a matter of seconds.
"You're bleedin' all over your fancy clothes, princess. Lemme help you with that!"
He was pulled and tossed directly under another shower, the shock of cold even more powerful and he couldn't breathe again, hacking up a lung as he tried to clear the water from it.
"Can't swim, fairy?"
Kurt didn't want to give up, couldn't give up, for his father's sake, but it was going dark again, and he could feel himself sagging downwards . . . "C'mon, Hummel, wakey wakey." His foot connected with Kurt hard and fast, and Kurt couldn't cry out too loudly due to the water he was breathing in. He just wanted to pass out now - maybe Azimio would back off once he was unconscious.
Then something happened - something marvelous. A deafening scream overpowered the pouring water, and Kurt leaned back from the spray as Azimio almost fell on his ass in shock. Through blurry, waterlogged eyes Kurt could make out the form of a girl, standing just beyond the showers, straight and glaring, and her screamed words still echoing:
"Leave him the fuck alone!"
He had no clue who she was, but Kurt was willing to build an entire religion around her and be her chief priest for the rest of his life.
His gratitude and surge of protectiveness for a girl, who was risking everything to save someone she didn't even know, got him through the rest of this horror, and kept him sane and conscious as Karofsky dropped in and uncharacteristically saved them both. Kurt could actually think, through the haze of his semi-conscious mind, that maybe he had overestimated Karofsky's denial of his true nature . . . or maybe the other boy simply wasn't as insane as his friend. But that didn't change or forgive the years of torment - of associating willingly with someone crazy enough to do what Azimio had just done.
It was a start, though. Maybe. God, everything hurt and even though his stomach was empty, he felt another round of heaving creeping up on him.
Despite all that, he stared into Karofsky's eyes, unwilling to bend, unwilling to show Karofsky any hint of weakness beyond his outward appearance. He silently tried to make him see that he was still himself despite Azimio's attempt terrorize him into submission; even covered in his bodily fluids, bruises, and torn clothing, he was still not willing to apologize for being who he was. But there was something new and shifting inside of him - a sharp fear and shame that he couldn't . . . He was seeing double - things were grey again and there was cotton in his ears . . . but he wouldn't let this particular jerk think anything different of him.
He won the staring contest. The other boy dropped his eyes and that had used up the last of Kurt's remaining energy. He slumped, only vaguely hearing Karofsky telling the girl to get help or something - then he was doing down, down, down into blessedly warm and cozy blackness.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
It was the beeping that woke Kurt up at first. It was permeating his unconscious mind, disrupting his quiet, his peace, and it was verging on Rachel Berry in terms of annoyance levels. Kurt was going to kill the beeping sound because wasn't it evident that he was trying to sleep here? Stupid beep.
"Kurt? Kurt, hey. Hey, kiddo, c'mon, open your eyes for me."
That was his dad, and Kurt could never refuse him . . . Well, he could and had in the past, but not when he was pleading, sounding so tired, so broken. What if he needed Kurt's help? Oh God, what if he really needed Kurt's help?
His lids lifted slowly. Once he had them open, he didn't register the white walls, the uncomfortable not-really-cotton sheets or anything else. He just zeroed in on his father, who was white-faced and had dark circles under his eyes, and what had happened? He tried to sit up, trying to reach for him, but the pain in what felt like his whole body stopped him before his father could stand and place gentle hands on his shoulders. "God, Kurt, stop, slow down, you're s-safe." He choked around the last word. Kurt stared up at him, at the tears rolling down his father's face. Safe? Safe from what?
"That asshole who did this to you . . . Azimio . . . he can't hurt you anymore."
It took Kurt a moment to gather himself and his memories: he'd been walking to class, and reading something on his phone . . . and Azimio had slammed him into . . . Kurt gasped wetly, a hand coming up to his mouth - every single horrifying moment of his time in the locker room came to him like a blow to the head. It actually made him dizzy, half reclined in a hospital bed and so his eyes shut, trying to block out the rush of the showers ringing in his ears, the sounds of his own gasps and cries.
"Damn, Hummel, your voice really fucking aggravates me, you know that? Just shut up and take it like man - or, you know, fake it."
"Now this is better, exactly where you should be, down in the dirt. You got anything to say now?"
He opened his eyes and stared at his father, mouth gaping. Someone nearly killed me. Azimio almost killed me, may have tried to kill me, and I was cold and wet and alone and it hurt - his breath started coming out in pants, his chest aching, his eyes wide and burning from lack of blinking.
His dad grabbed his hand, squeezing. "Listen, you're at St. Anne's right now. The doctors said you might experience some memory loss or -"
"No such luck," Kurt croaked out. He squeezed his eyes shut and then popped them open again, looking around, staring at the plain hospital room. The only colours were coming from the flowers on the windowsill and the table against the wall. And those balloons so big that they touched the ceiling. And were those more flowers on the extra chair?
"Your friends were all here yesterday, but most of those came in just this morning. Those balloons are from your French teacher. Carole baked you some low-fat cookie type things - she said you really liked those the last time she made them for Friday night dinner. And I think there's some candy and things from -"
"How long?" Kurt asked, quiet and trembling. Did that really just happen? That someone hates me enough to nearly kill me, just for being who I am?
His father squeezed him again before letting go and wiping his own face clean of tears. Kurt studied the bags under his red-rimmed eyes again, and through his own confusion he felt a stab of concern. His father really couldn't afford to be like this right now; he needed sleep, and he'd likely not eaten anything either in the past . . . however long he'd been here.
"Ah, just under a day. You came in yesterday afternoon and it's" - he glanced down at his watch - "half past eleven in the morning. Damn, I should get a doctor."
"No, no." Kurt would have shouted if he had the ability. The panic that seized him was shocking in its urgency and power. He snatched up his father's arm. "You need to stay, you have to stay with me."
His father put a hand on Kurt's thigh. "I wasn't planning on leaving, kiddo. Here, look, I'll just push the call button." He did so and Kurt calmed down almost instantly. Now he was mostly just tired, though a slight undercurrent of fear ran beneath his exhaustion.
"Dad -"
A nurse poked her head into the room, stepping in fully when she saw that Kurt was awake.
"Oh thank goodness." She smiled, pushing back a wavy strand of black hair. "It's nice to see you awake, Kurt! You sure are making a lot of people of very happy opening those pretty blue eyes. Let me go get your doctor, okay?"
Kurt hardly glanced at her as she left. "Dad - dad - tell me -"
"Kurt, I-I . . ." His father scrubbed at his face. "I know you have questions, and so do I - so just wait 'til after the doctor checks you over, and then we'll talk."
Kurt settled back onto his pillows, right as the doctor showed up, also all smiles. She was tall and redheaded . . .
"Leave him the fuck alone!"
Like that girl. She'd tried to help - her intervention may have even saved his life and she almost got herself seriously hurt as a result. What had happened to her?
He waited until the examinations were all over with. According to Dr. Macaulay, he had been 'lucky'. He'd escaped with a few cracked ribs, minimal internal damage, a very mild case of hypothermia, and while his concussion had been serious, his waking up and retention of his memories were both signs of an imminent full recovery. Most of this went over Kurt's head - he heard the words, but they held no real meaning to him. He was still wavering between a frigid locker room and this too-soft, too-kind reality. His dad thanked the doctor and as she was leaving, she promised that Kurt could head home maybe as early as the next morning.
The two sat in silence for a time before Kurt began tentatively, "There, there was a girl in there with me . . ."
"Yeah." His father smiled a bit. "I met her - her name is . . . oh, crap, I can't - it's something short though. Eva? Ede? Anyway, she's fine. Her ankle's going to be messed up for a couple of weeks, and she's a little jumpy, but what she did for you, son - that was somethin' else. I'm gonna be grateful to her for the rest of my life. I feel lousy for not remembering her name." His smile turned rueful and he was gripping Kurt's hand again. "I asked her to try and come by today to see you, or to call us and come over to the house once we get you home. Either way, you'll see her again real soon."
Kurt nodded, glancing down at his sheets, then at the monitors and their wretched beeping, at the IV in his other hand, (there was light bruising around his wrist, around both his wrists - he resisted the urge to hide both hands beneath the blankets) and then back up at his father, who appeared to have been waiting for him to make eye contact.
"The police are going to come by and talk to you later -"
"The police?" Kurt interrupted, surprised. When had they come into this?
His father stared at him. "Yeah, Kurt, the police. You best believe we're going to press charges against that - that -"
"Wait a minute, when did - dad, the last thing I remember is laying on the floor." So cold, shivering. "Could you maybe rewind things for me? Who called the police?"
His dad leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes before he spoke, "Well, first off, it was that Eva girl who called the cops. I'm not too clear on what happened after that. Finn and Mercedes tried to explain it to me, but they're not too sure themselves. It sounds like there was something like a riot that broke out when that girl started shouting at some jocks, and Finn almost murdered that Karofsky jackass right there in the hallway as they were wheeling you out."
Kurt listened, feeling his eyes widening. Chaos and rioting? How had he missed this? And where was Azimio in all that?
"And then a bunch of the guys from your Glee club got in on it, and that Latina cheerleader almost bit the ear off of -"
"Santana? But -"
"Lemme finish, kiddo. Anyway, they had to call in more police to get everyone to calm down. Schuester took a few good knocks himself trying to keep things from getting too bloody - 'bout half of your friends were in the hospital yesterday, getting looked at. And the rest were just here, waiting for news on you."
Kurt tried to absorb all of this, but it was too much and for some reason he was feeling cold - his body was starting to shiver. Cold, wet, can't breathe. He tugged on his blankets as his father pulled an extra one from the foot of the bed, unfolding and covering Kurt with it, tucking it in tenderly around his body.
"What happened after that?" Kurt asked, his shivers subsiding somewhat.
"Kurt, I don't know. Eva told the cops everything that happened, but I wasn't . . . She talked to me after . . . They tracked down that Azimio asshole - he was hiding out in his own basement. He really thought that he was going to get away with it, the little prick. And as for the rest, you'll have to talk to Mercedes when she gets here." His dad raised a shaky hand to his face. "Before the cops come by to take your statement . . . did you want to talk about what happened with me?"
Kurt swallowed hard at the sight of that trembling limb, sitting up again, leaning in close to his father. He knew it - no sleep, no food. It was a miracle the man hadn't collapsed already and Kurt was not going to let that happen. He grabbed his dad's hand in both of his, unobtrusively trying to take his pulse. "Dad, are you okay? Do you want to lie down and I can call a nurse and -"
His father let loose a harsh sound, something between a sob and a laugh. "Quit acting like I'm the one in the hospital bed. I'm fine."
"Oh God." Kurt held on tightly to his dad. Ceaseless kicks to his torso, realizing he could die, and his father . . . "When they called you, you must've - I could have given you another heart attack and all because I was stupid, so stupid -"
"Hey!" His father shifted onto the bed quickly, two hands on Kurt's shoulders again, but this time Kurt flinched backwards hard at the sudden movement. His dad must have seen it, must have felt it, but he didn't drop his hands; he pulled him into an embrace so gentle Kurt could barely feel it . . . except that he did, and it was warm. His dad smelled a bit like Old Spice and he breathed in deeply, shutting his eyes and trying to focus on the sound of his dad's voice. "You are not stupid. None of this is your fault, it's all that sonuvabitch who did this to you, and your useless principal and his staff and there's a million and one people to blame, none of them you."
Kurt nodded, trying to appease his father, but he didn't believe it. How could he have been so oblivious, so naive to think that something like this wouldn't happen to him? He inhaled sharply - there was that faint smell of engine oil, grease, beneath the Old Spice. I like musicals, I fix cars with my dad, I can kick a football between two metal poles and walk in ten-inch heels . . . This doesn't change any of that. It doesn't.
"You know, someone else came by yesterday to see you," his father said as he pulled away slowly.
"Who?" Kurt was tugging the blankets back up - why couldn't he get warm?
"Some kid from that Dalton place you were telling me about - Blaine?"
"Blaine was here?" Kurt completely forgot about the blankets, staring at his father in amazement.
"Well, yeah, Mercedes called him for you. The kid showed up, freaking out almost as bad as she was and he kept apologizing to me, trying to tell me that this was all his fault."
Kurt tried to organize his thoughts, but things were getting jumbled in his head. He looked down at the IV - did they have him on painkillers or something? It didn't feel like it since everything ached. And Blaine had been here?
"Mercedes called him?" he repeated.
"Yeah, but that's not the point, kiddo." Was that a smile on his father's face?
"You didn't mention him to me when you were talkin' 'bout that place. And you've been buddies for a week now or somethin'?"
Kurt was suddenly itching for his phone; he need to text Blaine and . . . but wait, he'd never gotten his phone back from Azimio, had he? It was probably long gone - smashed, or tossed or flushed. And it's replaceable. Stop it.
He cleared his throat. "Blaine was the friend I went to for help, after the whole thing with Karofsky. He's . . . he's gay and he understood some of what I was going through - he volunteered to drive down and try to talk to Karofsky with me . . . It didn't work. He took me out for lunch. At Breadstix. And we've been talking a lot since then, and um, we were supposed to meet up this weekend . . . I was going to tell you, dad!"
His father just chuckled and he looked less tired as he did so. It relaxed Kurt to see it, albeit marginally.
"I know - that Blaine kid can go a mile a minute when he's nervous. When the doctors told us you were going to be fine, I told him he could come by and see you today too. Actually, I think he and Mercedes are coming in together."
Kurt didn't know whether to be thrilled or frightened by that prospect. He settled for a smile, since his dad seemed to be amused.
Then the amusement faded. "Kurt? Did you want to talk to me? Tell me what happened before the police get here?"
Kurt burrowed down under his blankets, ignoring a brief, sharp flare of pain from his already aching ribs. He reached up to brush his bangs away from his forehead, inwardly bemoaning the lack of hairspray, feeling a large bandage across his temple from where Azimio had hit him the first time, knocking him unconscious.
"We're supposed to just . . . accept people like you, Hummel? Supposed to pretend that it's normal, that it isn't freakish? That you're not wrong? We're supposed to tolerate you?"
Kurt shook his head. "No. I'd rather just . . . say it once and then leave it behind me."
"Okay, but you need to know that later on, you're gonna have to talk about it with -"
"No, I won't!" Kurt cracked, angry at the tears surging from his eyes - no more tears, he wasn't going to give that bastard anymore tears. "I mean, maybe, dad, but for now, can we just . . ." Kurt sucked in a quick, rasping breath. His father watched him without saying anything, but Kurt could feel how hurt, how scared he was. "Dad, I don't want you in here when I tell the police."
"Not happening." Instant response, stern and brooking no argument.
Kurt tried anyway. "But dad -"
"Are you kidding me? Kurt, you're a minor, so I have every right to be here when you're talking to them. I am going to be with you every single step of the way. I'm going to stick by you, and maybe one day I'll get used to you leaving my sight again, but until then, you are mine twenty four seven. You have no idea what that phone call from Schuester did to me - I, I . . ." There were tears carving tracks down his dad's face again, and that made Kurt's own tears fight for release. No, he didn't want this for his father.
"That's exactly why! Oh, God, dad, when I was lying there, I was so scared that you would, would have another heart attack or -"
"Kurt, I'm fine now," his father insisted, not bothering to wipe away the wet streaks on his cheeks this time. "Listen to me, as much as it killed me to hear what happened - the fact that you were alive . . . Jesus, kiddo, that was more than enough to keep me going, you don't have to worry about that. I need you to worry about yourself for a change. Tell me if you really need something. You have no problems askin' me for a raised credit card limit or some new rims for your SUV, or ranting about Glee, but stuff like this, stuff that matters, you keep your mouth shut. And no more, Kurt. From now on you tell me. You tell your friends. You tell your teachers - whatever you need to keep you safe and comfortable, because if there is ever a next time . . . it won't be a heart attack you'll have to worry about. It'll be visiting me in jail because I will kill the next son of a bitch who thinks he can lay a hand on you."
Kurt had to press the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep from crying. It was over, it was over, so why couldn't he just be grateful for being alive? Why couldn't things just go back to . . . But he didn't want things to go back normal. Not really. Going back to being locker slammed and taunted in the hallways - it filled him with a terror he'd never felt before. And shame - there was this lingering shame he couldn't shake. And what if Azimio's friends wanted revenge or . . .
"Schue's already put in for the school board to expel the creep, filed a compliant for your safety. And he and the cops talked to me about pursuing assault charges, and I said yes. And I told him to bring in that Karofsky boy while they were at it -"
"Dad!" Kurt exclaimed. "Why? He didn't -"
"That girl told me - told the cops - that he was there. But she said he stopped the other bastard. That he gave her a phone to call the police with. But Schue wants to bring him up anyway, since he -"
"I'm not pressing charges against Karofsky," Kurt said, surprising himself with that announcement.
His father scrubbed at his face again. "Why? You could out the son of bitch, you could -"
"He's messed up and he's a jerk, but he's not Azimio. He stopped Azimio. I'm not going to speak up on his behalf, but I'm not going to press charges against him for something he had no part in."
"Schuester says Karofsky's probably going to just get suspended or something if we don't press charges," Burt warned. "But if you don't want to kiddo, that's fine. I'll call Schue up and let him know. And I'll tell the cops too."
"Good," Kurt said, sighing. "I don't think it's going to be fun facing him when he gets back from being suspended, but -"
"What are you talking about?" His dad was looking at him incredulously. "Are you already talkin' 'bout going back to school? To McKinley?"
Kurt nodded, ignoring the flicker of fear that just would not go away, trying to keep his face expressionless. "I have to go back sometime."
His father barked out a laugh. "Are you crazy? Like you are ever setting foot in there again. I've already got an application to Dalton sitting on my desk at home. That Blaine kid gave me the number for their admissions office and told me there's a good chance for you getting admitted under special circumstances - and maybe a couple of scholarships, which won't kick in 'til next year, but still, there's that help."
"You're sending me to Dalton?" Kurt squeaked, a hand coming up to his chest, clutching at his hospital gown.
"Kurt, I am not letting you go back there. I don't care if Schuester's actually likely to get some zero tolerance justice going on, I don't care if they hire you armed body guards and ninjas, you are not going back to McKinley."
Kurt thought something like that would thrill him to no end: no more jock abuse, no more taunts and no more feeling horribly alone every time he was slammed into walls and lockers. But mostly he was just tired. He realized that he would be leaving behind Mercedes and New Directions . . . and slushies and dumpster tosses. It was a mixed bag, more complicated than he thought it would be. A part of him - the stubborn, diva part - was balking, annoyed at having endured so much, for such a long time, and suddenly just turning tail and running. Then again, he wasn't stupid, or at least he wasn't going to be stupid this time. He'd been assaulted, viciously, and Azimio wasn't the only person to trip and slam him around hallways in that school.
"Okay, dad, okay." Kurt exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so, so tired. Maybe whatever crappy meds they had him on were finally kicking in.
"You should have seen the look on Blaine's face when I asked him for this stuff," Burt said softly, and Kurt could hear the smile. "Like I just made his year. I think you might have a fan, Kurt."
Kurt felt tingling warmth at that, from far away, but it was nice all the same.
"He seems like a good guy. Mercedes told me you two are just friends but . . . I think you could do a lot worse, for a first boyfriend, I mean. If you think you might want try for something with him, when you're ready."
And really, his father approving a boyfriend for Kurt should've made him wake up and react, in some way, but . . . He yawned.
"Yeah, they said you wouldn't be able to stay awake for long at first. You sleep, kiddo, everything else can wait. And I ain't goin' no where."
"Where are you goin', Hummel?"
Kurt shuddered and whimpered, but a rough, familiar hand was on his forehead, another hand clutching his own, stroking the back of it. "No, no, Kurt, no nightmares. Enough is enough. I'm here, okay? Nothing's going to get you, not anymore."
If there was anyone in the world Kurt trusted, it was his dad. If he said the monsters in the closet and under his bed weren't real, he believed him. If he said that his mom loved him, for always, even after she was gone, Kurt believed him even if he didn't believe in God or in heaven. And if his father said that he was safe, that he was okay now, and things were going to get better? Whether or not he believed it himself, he let the weight of words settle in his mind and pull him towards a peaceful slumber.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Author's Note: The violence may have been over much . . . *worries* But I really needed to establish Kurt's view of the events, so some of his later reactions to things make sense . . . I really hope that this wasn't overkill, because I felt it was important to write it from Kurt's POV.
You are all marvellous - thank you so much for reading, and for your comments on the previous chapter. *hugs*
Next: Chapter 7: Drown My Sorrow