Fanfic - Fool's Paradise (part five)
The room was quiet. Too quiet. And Kurt couldn’t get his mind to shut off.
His eyes tracked over to the bright red numbers of the alarm clock on his desk. Three thirty-four. Francis had said that Kurt’s alarm was better than the one he’d brought along-it was far more likely to wake the both of them up at the proper time as it hadn’t failed once in the two years Kurt had owned it-but right now the small victory of using his clock over his roommate’s felt more like a massive failure. Kurt was pretty sure that right now he hated it more than he’d hated anything in his life thus far.
He blinked and tried to will the numbers to change. It was still three thirty-four.
The clock was mocking him; it just had to be. There was no other explanation for it. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, hoping that sleep would catch up with him this time. When he opened his eyes next, he would see the light of day spilling in from the window, Francis would grumble about how early it was and how he didn’t want to go to his classes, Kurt could get up and wander the halls without reprimand, and he could carry on about his day like everything was normal. Like he was normal.
Like everything was okay.
But that wasn’t going to happen. He’d likely just lay there until his body became too exhausted to care anymore and shut itself down, or he’d be locked in this eternal hell of drawn-out time, where it would forever be three thirty-four a.m. The latter option seemed far more likely.
He dragged his eyes open and refocused them back on the clock, back on the little red numbers that had to be conspiring against him because it couldn’t still be three-fucking-thirty-four in the morning. His eyes burned with a dull sort of ache as he stared, and he knew it would disappear if only he could get his brain to shut down, forget the damn clock and let him sleep.
It had begun to rain outside a few hours ago. Kurt could still hear the soft pattering of water against the window panes through the drawn curtain blocking the room’s view of the grounds. Francis had told him that he was anything but a morning person and that he’d be much easier to be around if the curtains were drawn in the mornings. Kurt had no reason to object. It was such a little thing to want, after all.
The numbers were the same as ever, still three thirty-four, and he found himself itching to go and match the time up with his phone. Perhaps they’d had some sort of power outage that had stopped his alarm dead in its tracks, and the numbers had simply forgotten how to blink to let him know that such a thing had happened. Perhaps it was really much closer to six o’ clock than the clock was willing to tell him. That had to be it.
He shut his eyes once more and studied the darkness behind his eyelids. He could see little splashes of color, some of it faint hints of what he’d seen of the room but most of it vague shapes that twisted and turned with every passing second. Maybe this would help him drift off.
Normally when he couldn’t sleep it was due to his racing thoughts, a horrible stream of constant motion rushing through his brain that jolted him from one anxious thought to the next, but now there was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but more of a cloud, like he was wading through a ball of cotton. He wasn’t sure which feeling was worse. Kurt squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, trying desperately to block out the snowy static playing on endless repeat at the forefront of his mind.
What are you doing?
“I’m trying to sleep,” he mumbled to no one in particular, his words half muffled by the fabric of his pillow pressing up against his cheek. “S’hard.”
Why?
Kurt opened his eyes and sought out his roommate’s bed. He’d been so sure that Francis was asleep, but perhaps he’d been mistaken. The boy had been so adamant about getting a good night’s sleep before that Kurt never would have guessed him to be an insomniac too. But when he sought out his roommate, all he found was the boy’s sleeping form, the soft lump of blankets that covered his body rising and falling in time to the even breaths that swept throughout the room, a gentle sighing undertone to the harsh beating of the rain outside. Kurt was alone save for the clock and the shadows that threatened to swallow the room into total darkness. Which meant he was hearing things. Again.
He ground his cheek more firmly into his pillow, screwed his eyes shut once more and twisted his lower lip between his teeth. His medications were too new and not built up enough in his system to block out the voices just yet. His doctor had warned him that something like this might happen. Kurt just hadn’t expected two episodes in three days. It was probably because of all the stress of move-in and the start of classes, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
You never answered my question.
Go away, go away, go away, he thought feverishly, refusing to speak aloud. He wasn’t supposed to acknowledge the voices. They weren’t there. He’d been told to ignore them as much as possible, deny them if the urge to talk back became too overwhelming. They aren’t there, Kurt. They don’t really exist.
Are you thinking about Blaine?
Oh god, shut up. His hands inched up toward his face. The fingers of his left hand picked at the skin of his ear. The slight twinges of pain were distracting, bringing him back to reality.
This has to be about Blaine. That’s why you won’t talk to us. Because he thinks you’re insane. That’s why he wanted to keep an eye on you, you know. So you don’t embarrass him with how crazy you are. You’d do that, wouldn’t you, Kurt? Break down in the middle of class? Strip naked and shimmy across the stage during a performance with the Warblers? That’s what he thinks you’re going to do, you know. That’s why he wants to keep an eye on you 24/7. Because you’re crazy.
Kurt desperately fought back the urge to hum. Sound, like singing and music usually drowned out the voices. Silence was his enemy, but he couldn’t do anything. Not now. Not without waking Francis. Not without revealing the voices in his head and risking the chance of showing everyone just how crazy he really was. He screwed his eyes as tight as they could go and fought the urge to cry. This couldn’t be happening again. It was supposed to have stopped.
It’s Blaine’s fault you’re in this mess. He’s the one who got you committed in the first place. And now he wants to make amends, fix his mistakes. He blames himself for this, you know.
That was news to Kurt. But he couldn’t trust them. They’d lied to him before. Why should they tell him the truth now? “Go away,” he pleaded softly. “Please just go away. I need to sleep.”
You should talk to him before he finds out about your little adventure with Jeff the other night.
Oh god, just shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” he whispered through clenched teeth,. His body was wound tighter than a drum, his back curving with the tension built up in his frame. His nails gouged little red crescents into his earlobe and the skin of his temple, and his breath burned hot in his lungs. He just needed to focus. If he focused hard enough they’d listen to him and go away. The beat of the rain on the window echoed loudly in his ears.
There was no reply.
He slowly unwound as the silence wore on, the tension slowly escaping his body like water through a sieve. He dared to open his eyes.
Three thirty-six a.m. He let out the deep breath that had built up in his chest and tried to convince himself that it wasn’t a sob. They’re not real. They’re not real. He just had to keep telling himself that.
We’re as real as you want us to be. Fuck. He must have said that aloud. His eyes felt wet, but he was too tired to move, too tired to respond. What did it matter? It was all useless in the end. The voices were never going away, were they? He turned over onto his stomach and buried his face in his folded arms, finally giving into the tears he couldn’t hold back anymore. The voices just kept up their whispering, telling him soothing words that meant nothing, nothing at all.
Sleep, Kurt. You need your rest. Tomorrow’s a new day.
---
Kurt focused his attention on the pale blue tiles of the shower stall as the water beat down around his shoulders and neck, trying not to let the shower lull him to sleep. He couldn’t afford a slip-up like that right now, no matter how little sleep he’d managed to get last night.
He looked up, blinking away the water that tried to worm its way into his eyes. There was something discoloring the tiles closest to the showerhead, turning them an odd greyish brown, but he really didn’t want to think about that. Who knew how many boys had showered here before him (after all, the school was kind of ancient), and on top of that, who knew how often these things were cleaned? The thought caused his stomach to lurch, and his hand jolted forward to the tap to stop the flow of water. He needed to get out of here before he threw up.
He flung back the flimsy white curtain separating him from the rest of the bathroom and briefly rubbed away the water clinging to his legs and torso before wrapping his towel around his waist, not even bothering to dry his hair in his haste.
He realized that he’d forgotten to bring a fresh change of clothes with him when he stepped out of the stall, his tiny bottle of soap clutched tight in his hand. He swore as he snatched his pile of dirty clothes from where he’d left them and hastily stumbled back to his room. It was still early. Almost no one was around to see his trek down the hall, and even if there were, it wasn’t exactly that unusual to see guys wandering around in nothing more than a towel. Kurt supposed that it was just strange that it was him of all people who might get caught doing it.
He found the little board tacked to the door of his room, proudly marking it as number 317, and he fumbled with the pants balled up in his arms, searching for the room key he’d stuffed in his pocket before making his way to the showers. His hands were unreasonably shaky as he scrabbled to get the key into the lock, and he was pretty sure that one of his socks had escaped his grasp.
“Come on, come on.” The key went in, and he gave it a sharp twist, his shoulders sinking in relief as the lock gave way easily. He quickly shuffled inside and pulled the door shut, letting his clothes drop to the floor. He’d bother with them later.
Francis was still fast asleep, not bothered in the slightest by Kurt’s absence or his less-than-silent entry into their room. Kurt wasn’t sure how he would have dealt with his roommate had he been a light sleeper. I bet Blaine is a light sleeper, he mused as he made his way over to the small dresser that held his uniforms. He looks like he’d be a light sleeper.
He walked over to the closet on his side of the room, careful to keep his towel firmly situated about his waist, and pulled out the basics that he’d need for the day: underwear, the standard grey slacks, the crisp white uniform shirt, the striped tie. He had the option of wearing the blazer or the vest today. Kurt was fairly certain that before this past summer he would have never been grateful for only having two choices of things to wear, but he really couldn’t deal with the stress of sorting out and creating an outfit today. He’d go with the blazer. He figured that most of his classmates would be wearing it instead of the vest for the first day, and it would probably make him stand out that much less. The last thing he wanted right now was to draw any more attention to himself than he had to.
Francis groaned and shuffled about on his bed, and Kurt hastily shucked on his pants and underwear, not wanting to get caught naked by his roommate on what was to be their third full day living together. He’d never live it down.
He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt before sinking down to the floor to gather up the clothes he’d left there. He gathered them to his chest and dropped the bundle of clothing onto his rumpled comforter. He settled down next to them, the mattress dipping with his weight, and stared at the floor, his elbows resting heavily atop his knees. It was almost six o’ clock, almost time for everyone’s alarms to start going off, for the rush of teenaged boys hurdling from their rooms to the showers and dining hall for a quick breakfast before the start of classes.
Breakfast. His stomach flipped at the thought of food. He’d skip it if he thought he could get away with it, but his medication didn’t always sit well without something to eat. He’d take being nauseous for an hour or two over being nauseous for the rest of the day, thanks.
Kurt cast another quick look at the clock and sighed. It would be best get himself ready as quickly as possible. Then he could grab something quick from the front of the line for food and come back here with no worry. He straightened and tried to keep his fingers steady as they pushed the buttons of his shirt into place. It was a little odd feeling the starched collar of his shirt pressing up against his neck, but he’d get used to it. He’d worn far more uncomfortable things in the past.
The knot of his tie was a little sloppier than he would have liked, and everything he wore hung a little too loosely from his too-thin frame nowadays, but that would be remedied soon enough. He was on the mend and no longer had to eat hospital food. He’d be back to a healthy weight in no time, he was sure of it. Francis shifted about again in his sleep, and Kurt quickly shoved his feet into his shoes and bolted toward the door. He didn’t feel up to facing his roommate just yet.
The halls were nearly deserted as he made his way through the twisting labyrinth leading to the nurse’s office. It was still early, and he wasn’t sure if anyone manning the desk right now would be able to administer medication to students-he hadn’t been paying as much attention as he should have when the head nurse had gone over the procedure for this sort of thing with him and his dad, and the past two days he’d been here much closer to eight o’ clock, rather than just before six-but it was worth a shot. He didn’t feel like having to come back here when everyone was up and he was in danger of being seen. He slipped in through the door and walked up to the desk.
It was odd seeing a man sitting there instead of Ms. Buxley. He was engrossed in what looked like paperwork, marking things off as he scanned through the pages. The name tag pinned to his shirt read ‘William Felton.’ He had to be the nurse on call after hours. Kurt cleared his throat to catch the man’s attention. He looked up and pulled off his reading glasses to get a better look at Kurt, his lips lifting in a disarming smile. He seemed friendly enough.
“Hello. How can I help you this morning?”
Kurt swallowed. “I’m, uh, here for my medication. I’m supposed to take it in the mornings.”
The man pushed himself back from his desk and grabbed a small ring of keys from the cabinet behind him that he slipped into his pocket before opening up one of the drawers behind the desk. Files. He must have had to make sure Kurt’s file was in there to make sure he wasn’t lying and trying to steal some poor kid’s pills.
“All right. And can you tell me your name?”
“Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”
Mr. Felton picked out one of the manila folders and laid it open before him, checking the photo on the first page to make sure that it was the right boy standing in front of him before flipping toward the back for the instructions on administering the right dosage. He snapped the folder shut and walked over to the locked cabinet on the other side of the room where they kept the medications. Kurt was too distracted by the folder on the desk to pay him much heed.
They’ve been writing things about you in there. Terrible things. Like what you did over the summer. Where you’ve been. What you’re capable of. Just like Blaine. They don’t trust you either.
Kurt’s fingers itched to reach out and grab the folder. As much as he hated to admit it, the voices were right: they had been writing things about him, and every little detail must be locked away, safe and secure inside that little manila folder. What if this man, the night nurse, had been studying his file, laughing at how insane he was and then sharing it with the rest of the night staff.
God, just look at this kid. I’ve seen some crazies in my time here, but nothing quite this bad. And he’s not even two weeks out of the psych ward, too.
He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and fingered the hard edges of his room key, trying his best to memorize the way the metal teeth felt against his fingertips. It would give him something to focus on besides the file, make him seem much more put-together than he felt. He wasn't supposed to touch his ears anymore. Felton was suddenly there again, holding a little paper cup of water in his hand, kind of like the ones they used to give him at the hospital. The pills were cupped in his other palm. Kurt couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there.
“You okay there, son?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured him with a quick nod. “Just tired.”
The man before him said nothing, simply passing over the pills and water. He moved back to his desk, hiking his reading glasses back up onto his face. Kurt swallowed and stared at the little pills in his hand. Two red ones for the delusions, one white for the anxiety. Far less than what he used to take.
You don’t need them, you know. They’re not working anyway.
Kurt clenched his teeth and fought the urge to respond. No one was there; he was just hearing things. Saying something now would only make him look unstable in front of this man, Mr. Felton, who probably had the authority to recommend his removal from the school on accounts of safety. He popped the pills into his mouth and choked them down, washing everything away with the few swallows of water inside the paper cup.
You know they’re not working, and yet you take them anyway. Such a precious little sheep.
He smiled shakily at Felton as he tossed the cup into the trash. “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Take care of yourself, Kurt.” And he turned back to his paperwork.
Kurt opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. There were a few more students around, most headed for the dining hall. He followed along behind them, trying to seem as normal as possible, but it was difficult with how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. Everyone knew he was crazy. They had to know.
That had to be why, even after the pills had disappeared down his throat, the manila folder was still laying atop Felton’s desk.
---
Part one
Part four
Part six
His eyes tracked over to the bright red numbers of the alarm clock on his desk. Three thirty-four. Francis had said that Kurt’s alarm was better than the one he’d brought along-it was far more likely to wake the both of them up at the proper time as it hadn’t failed once in the two years Kurt had owned it-but right now the small victory of using his clock over his roommate’s felt more like a massive failure. Kurt was pretty sure that right now he hated it more than he’d hated anything in his life thus far.
He blinked and tried to will the numbers to change. It was still three thirty-four.
The clock was mocking him; it just had to be. There was no other explanation for it. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, hoping that sleep would catch up with him this time. When he opened his eyes next, he would see the light of day spilling in from the window, Francis would grumble about how early it was and how he didn’t want to go to his classes, Kurt could get up and wander the halls without reprimand, and he could carry on about his day like everything was normal. Like he was normal.
Like everything was okay.
But that wasn’t going to happen. He’d likely just lay there until his body became too exhausted to care anymore and shut itself down, or he’d be locked in this eternal hell of drawn-out time, where it would forever be three thirty-four a.m. The latter option seemed far more likely.
He dragged his eyes open and refocused them back on the clock, back on the little red numbers that had to be conspiring against him because it couldn’t still be three-fucking-thirty-four in the morning. His eyes burned with a dull sort of ache as he stared, and he knew it would disappear if only he could get his brain to shut down, forget the damn clock and let him sleep.
It had begun to rain outside a few hours ago. Kurt could still hear the soft pattering of water against the window panes through the drawn curtain blocking the room’s view of the grounds. Francis had told him that he was anything but a morning person and that he’d be much easier to be around if the curtains were drawn in the mornings. Kurt had no reason to object. It was such a little thing to want, after all.
The numbers were the same as ever, still three thirty-four, and he found himself itching to go and match the time up with his phone. Perhaps they’d had some sort of power outage that had stopped his alarm dead in its tracks, and the numbers had simply forgotten how to blink to let him know that such a thing had happened. Perhaps it was really much closer to six o’ clock than the clock was willing to tell him. That had to be it.
He shut his eyes once more and studied the darkness behind his eyelids. He could see little splashes of color, some of it faint hints of what he’d seen of the room but most of it vague shapes that twisted and turned with every passing second. Maybe this would help him drift off.
Normally when he couldn’t sleep it was due to his racing thoughts, a horrible stream of constant motion rushing through his brain that jolted him from one anxious thought to the next, but now there was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but more of a cloud, like he was wading through a ball of cotton. He wasn’t sure which feeling was worse. Kurt squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, trying desperately to block out the snowy static playing on endless repeat at the forefront of his mind.
What are you doing?
“I’m trying to sleep,” he mumbled to no one in particular, his words half muffled by the fabric of his pillow pressing up against his cheek. “S’hard.”
Why?
Kurt opened his eyes and sought out his roommate’s bed. He’d been so sure that Francis was asleep, but perhaps he’d been mistaken. The boy had been so adamant about getting a good night’s sleep before that Kurt never would have guessed him to be an insomniac too. But when he sought out his roommate, all he found was the boy’s sleeping form, the soft lump of blankets that covered his body rising and falling in time to the even breaths that swept throughout the room, a gentle sighing undertone to the harsh beating of the rain outside. Kurt was alone save for the clock and the shadows that threatened to swallow the room into total darkness. Which meant he was hearing things. Again.
He ground his cheek more firmly into his pillow, screwed his eyes shut once more and twisted his lower lip between his teeth. His medications were too new and not built up enough in his system to block out the voices just yet. His doctor had warned him that something like this might happen. Kurt just hadn’t expected two episodes in three days. It was probably because of all the stress of move-in and the start of classes, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
You never answered my question.
Go away, go away, go away, he thought feverishly, refusing to speak aloud. He wasn’t supposed to acknowledge the voices. They weren’t there. He’d been told to ignore them as much as possible, deny them if the urge to talk back became too overwhelming. They aren’t there, Kurt. They don’t really exist.
Are you thinking about Blaine?
Oh god, shut up. His hands inched up toward his face. The fingers of his left hand picked at the skin of his ear. The slight twinges of pain were distracting, bringing him back to reality.
This has to be about Blaine. That’s why you won’t talk to us. Because he thinks you’re insane. That’s why he wanted to keep an eye on you, you know. So you don’t embarrass him with how crazy you are. You’d do that, wouldn’t you, Kurt? Break down in the middle of class? Strip naked and shimmy across the stage during a performance with the Warblers? That’s what he thinks you’re going to do, you know. That’s why he wants to keep an eye on you 24/7. Because you’re crazy.
Kurt desperately fought back the urge to hum. Sound, like singing and music usually drowned out the voices. Silence was his enemy, but he couldn’t do anything. Not now. Not without waking Francis. Not without revealing the voices in his head and risking the chance of showing everyone just how crazy he really was. He screwed his eyes as tight as they could go and fought the urge to cry. This couldn’t be happening again. It was supposed to have stopped.
It’s Blaine’s fault you’re in this mess. He’s the one who got you committed in the first place. And now he wants to make amends, fix his mistakes. He blames himself for this, you know.
That was news to Kurt. But he couldn’t trust them. They’d lied to him before. Why should they tell him the truth now? “Go away,” he pleaded softly. “Please just go away. I need to sleep.”
You should talk to him before he finds out about your little adventure with Jeff the other night.
Oh god, just shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” he whispered through clenched teeth,. His body was wound tighter than a drum, his back curving with the tension built up in his frame. His nails gouged little red crescents into his earlobe and the skin of his temple, and his breath burned hot in his lungs. He just needed to focus. If he focused hard enough they’d listen to him and go away. The beat of the rain on the window echoed loudly in his ears.
There was no reply.
He slowly unwound as the silence wore on, the tension slowly escaping his body like water through a sieve. He dared to open his eyes.
Three thirty-six a.m. He let out the deep breath that had built up in his chest and tried to convince himself that it wasn’t a sob. They’re not real. They’re not real. He just had to keep telling himself that.
We’re as real as you want us to be. Fuck. He must have said that aloud. His eyes felt wet, but he was too tired to move, too tired to respond. What did it matter? It was all useless in the end. The voices were never going away, were they? He turned over onto his stomach and buried his face in his folded arms, finally giving into the tears he couldn’t hold back anymore. The voices just kept up their whispering, telling him soothing words that meant nothing, nothing at all.
Sleep, Kurt. You need your rest. Tomorrow’s a new day.
---
Kurt focused his attention on the pale blue tiles of the shower stall as the water beat down around his shoulders and neck, trying not to let the shower lull him to sleep. He couldn’t afford a slip-up like that right now, no matter how little sleep he’d managed to get last night.
He looked up, blinking away the water that tried to worm its way into his eyes. There was something discoloring the tiles closest to the showerhead, turning them an odd greyish brown, but he really didn’t want to think about that. Who knew how many boys had showered here before him (after all, the school was kind of ancient), and on top of that, who knew how often these things were cleaned? The thought caused his stomach to lurch, and his hand jolted forward to the tap to stop the flow of water. He needed to get out of here before he threw up.
He flung back the flimsy white curtain separating him from the rest of the bathroom and briefly rubbed away the water clinging to his legs and torso before wrapping his towel around his waist, not even bothering to dry his hair in his haste.
He realized that he’d forgotten to bring a fresh change of clothes with him when he stepped out of the stall, his tiny bottle of soap clutched tight in his hand. He swore as he snatched his pile of dirty clothes from where he’d left them and hastily stumbled back to his room. It was still early. Almost no one was around to see his trek down the hall, and even if there were, it wasn’t exactly that unusual to see guys wandering around in nothing more than a towel. Kurt supposed that it was just strange that it was him of all people who might get caught doing it.
He found the little board tacked to the door of his room, proudly marking it as number 317, and he fumbled with the pants balled up in his arms, searching for the room key he’d stuffed in his pocket before making his way to the showers. His hands were unreasonably shaky as he scrabbled to get the key into the lock, and he was pretty sure that one of his socks had escaped his grasp.
“Come on, come on.” The key went in, and he gave it a sharp twist, his shoulders sinking in relief as the lock gave way easily. He quickly shuffled inside and pulled the door shut, letting his clothes drop to the floor. He’d bother with them later.
Francis was still fast asleep, not bothered in the slightest by Kurt’s absence or his less-than-silent entry into their room. Kurt wasn’t sure how he would have dealt with his roommate had he been a light sleeper. I bet Blaine is a light sleeper, he mused as he made his way over to the small dresser that held his uniforms. He looks like he’d be a light sleeper.
He walked over to the closet on his side of the room, careful to keep his towel firmly situated about his waist, and pulled out the basics that he’d need for the day: underwear, the standard grey slacks, the crisp white uniform shirt, the striped tie. He had the option of wearing the blazer or the vest today. Kurt was fairly certain that before this past summer he would have never been grateful for only having two choices of things to wear, but he really couldn’t deal with the stress of sorting out and creating an outfit today. He’d go with the blazer. He figured that most of his classmates would be wearing it instead of the vest for the first day, and it would probably make him stand out that much less. The last thing he wanted right now was to draw any more attention to himself than he had to.
Francis groaned and shuffled about on his bed, and Kurt hastily shucked on his pants and underwear, not wanting to get caught naked by his roommate on what was to be their third full day living together. He’d never live it down.
He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt before sinking down to the floor to gather up the clothes he’d left there. He gathered them to his chest and dropped the bundle of clothing onto his rumpled comforter. He settled down next to them, the mattress dipping with his weight, and stared at the floor, his elbows resting heavily atop his knees. It was almost six o’ clock, almost time for everyone’s alarms to start going off, for the rush of teenaged boys hurdling from their rooms to the showers and dining hall for a quick breakfast before the start of classes.
Breakfast. His stomach flipped at the thought of food. He’d skip it if he thought he could get away with it, but his medication didn’t always sit well without something to eat. He’d take being nauseous for an hour or two over being nauseous for the rest of the day, thanks.
Kurt cast another quick look at the clock and sighed. It would be best get himself ready as quickly as possible. Then he could grab something quick from the front of the line for food and come back here with no worry. He straightened and tried to keep his fingers steady as they pushed the buttons of his shirt into place. It was a little odd feeling the starched collar of his shirt pressing up against his neck, but he’d get used to it. He’d worn far more uncomfortable things in the past.
The knot of his tie was a little sloppier than he would have liked, and everything he wore hung a little too loosely from his too-thin frame nowadays, but that would be remedied soon enough. He was on the mend and no longer had to eat hospital food. He’d be back to a healthy weight in no time, he was sure of it. Francis shifted about again in his sleep, and Kurt quickly shoved his feet into his shoes and bolted toward the door. He didn’t feel up to facing his roommate just yet.
The halls were nearly deserted as he made his way through the twisting labyrinth leading to the nurse’s office. It was still early, and he wasn’t sure if anyone manning the desk right now would be able to administer medication to students-he hadn’t been paying as much attention as he should have when the head nurse had gone over the procedure for this sort of thing with him and his dad, and the past two days he’d been here much closer to eight o’ clock, rather than just before six-but it was worth a shot. He didn’t feel like having to come back here when everyone was up and he was in danger of being seen. He slipped in through the door and walked up to the desk.
It was odd seeing a man sitting there instead of Ms. Buxley. He was engrossed in what looked like paperwork, marking things off as he scanned through the pages. The name tag pinned to his shirt read ‘William Felton.’ He had to be the nurse on call after hours. Kurt cleared his throat to catch the man’s attention. He looked up and pulled off his reading glasses to get a better look at Kurt, his lips lifting in a disarming smile. He seemed friendly enough.
“Hello. How can I help you this morning?”
Kurt swallowed. “I’m, uh, here for my medication. I’m supposed to take it in the mornings.”
The man pushed himself back from his desk and grabbed a small ring of keys from the cabinet behind him that he slipped into his pocket before opening up one of the drawers behind the desk. Files. He must have had to make sure Kurt’s file was in there to make sure he wasn’t lying and trying to steal some poor kid’s pills.
“All right. And can you tell me your name?”
“Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”
Mr. Felton picked out one of the manila folders and laid it open before him, checking the photo on the first page to make sure that it was the right boy standing in front of him before flipping toward the back for the instructions on administering the right dosage. He snapped the folder shut and walked over to the locked cabinet on the other side of the room where they kept the medications. Kurt was too distracted by the folder on the desk to pay him much heed.
They’ve been writing things about you in there. Terrible things. Like what you did over the summer. Where you’ve been. What you’re capable of. Just like Blaine. They don’t trust you either.
Kurt’s fingers itched to reach out and grab the folder. As much as he hated to admit it, the voices were right: they had been writing things about him, and every little detail must be locked away, safe and secure inside that little manila folder. What if this man, the night nurse, had been studying his file, laughing at how insane he was and then sharing it with the rest of the night staff.
God, just look at this kid. I’ve seen some crazies in my time here, but nothing quite this bad. And he’s not even two weeks out of the psych ward, too.
He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and fingered the hard edges of his room key, trying his best to memorize the way the metal teeth felt against his fingertips. It would give him something to focus on besides the file, make him seem much more put-together than he felt. He wasn't supposed to touch his ears anymore. Felton was suddenly there again, holding a little paper cup of water in his hand, kind of like the ones they used to give him at the hospital. The pills were cupped in his other palm. Kurt couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there.
“You okay there, son?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured him with a quick nod. “Just tired.”
The man before him said nothing, simply passing over the pills and water. He moved back to his desk, hiking his reading glasses back up onto his face. Kurt swallowed and stared at the little pills in his hand. Two red ones for the delusions, one white for the anxiety. Far less than what he used to take.
You don’t need them, you know. They’re not working anyway.
Kurt clenched his teeth and fought the urge to respond. No one was there; he was just hearing things. Saying something now would only make him look unstable in front of this man, Mr. Felton, who probably had the authority to recommend his removal from the school on accounts of safety. He popped the pills into his mouth and choked them down, washing everything away with the few swallows of water inside the paper cup.
You know they’re not working, and yet you take them anyway. Such a precious little sheep.
He smiled shakily at Felton as he tossed the cup into the trash. “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Take care of yourself, Kurt.” And he turned back to his paperwork.
Kurt opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. There were a few more students around, most headed for the dining hall. He followed along behind them, trying to seem as normal as possible, but it was difficult with how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. Everyone knew he was crazy. They had to know.
That had to be why, even after the pills had disappeared down his throat, the manila folder was still laying atop Felton’s desk.
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Part one
Part four
Part six