Fanfic - Nothing to Lose (part one)
Fandom - Glee
Characters - Kurt, eventually Karofsky
Warnings - violence, swearing
Summary - How long does it take to push a person over the edge? Just how much can someone bear before they snap?
Disclaimers: Glee and its characters are not mine. Honest.
This is a story that I first started thinking about when I responded to a comment on this fic (just a heads-up, if you look through the comments on the thread for the original prompt-which is not what is linked, but you can find the prompt there-you'll know how this is going to end). I probably should have waited to start this, so I don't have yet another WIP floating around, but I seem to have story ADD. This one should only be another one or two parts, though, so I guess I'm good.
Also, this is set (currently) before the events of season one.
---
Kurt had never felt more miserable in his entire life. Heavy drops of rain hit the cold glass windows of the bus, leaving behind long streaks of water snaking down toward his folded arms, and Kurt huddled further into himself to ward off the chill. His coat was useless now, the sleeves damp and slightly sticky. He sighed and rests his head against the window, no longer caring about the moisture messing up his hair. His skull thudded dully against the glass with every bump and shudder of the bus. He sighed. These vehicles were older than dirt and poorly-designed to boot. Thankfully his hair was still damp from earlier so he barely felt the tiny drops of cold water flying in through the gap of the window in front of him.
Stupid fucking school. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and leave Lima behind in his rearview mirror.
His eyes were burning but he would not cry. He refused to give them that. Things had gotten this bad before. He just needed to suck it up, deal with it. Things like this happened to kids everyday throughout the world-hell, it was practically a staple in those cheesy teen movies from the eighties.
It was just a little bullying. Nothing special. He’d been dealing with this since forever, and these were the last four years they had to torment him. Why the heck did he think it would stop now? Everyone had always told him that high school was going to be brutal.
It was okay. He just needed to get himself home, and then things would be fine. He could shower and then things would be okay.
The bus turned down the familiar streets of his neighborhood and screeched to a halt, hissing loudly as the air was released from its breaks. His stop. He hurriedly grabbed his bag and bolted from the bus, sweeping down its wet steps to the sidewalk, praying none of the other kids decided to take things up a notch and follow him home. He never wanted that to happen again.
He circled the cul-de-sac, keeping a close eye on his surroundings as he went. He didn’t expect anyone to bother following him in this kind of weather, but he could never be too careful. The wind was picking up now, and the drops of rain were biting into his cheeks, stinging painfully as he walked. That horrible burn behind his eyes was getting worse and his face was too hot. He was crying. He had to be. At least the rain hid it pretty well.
It took him a good ten minutes, but after a good solid loop, he made a beeline for his house. No one was behind him. One of life’s little miracles, that.
He fumbled a bit with his keys, the cold of the metal biting into his fingers once he pulled them from his pocket. He needed to calm down. He’d be inside soon. Then he could call his dad and everything would be okay. The lock clicked into place and he burst into the house, dripping onto the smooth hardwood floor. Damn. Something else he’d have to clean up before his dad made it home.
His satchel dropped to the floor with a sad squelching sound. Thank god he’d asked his dad to buy him extra notebooks for the year. He would hate to have to explain to him that crusty blue paper wasn’t exactly ideal for assignments. He divested himself of his shoes and left them sitting on the mat to dry before peeling off his socks. He really didn’t want to have to clean any more than he had to, and leaving behind wet, dirty footprints from his socks was not something he looked forward to, thank you very much.
The downstairs bathroom was close; he really didn’t have all that far to go, and there were big fluffy towels in there that Kurt himself had hung. He could get in a quick shower before calling his dad to let him know that he’d made it home. If his dad wondered why he was calling a half hour after he should, he could always lie and say the bus was running late. The weather was bad enough. It was believable.
He stepped into the bathroom and got a quick look at himself as he flicked on the light. Well, so much for this jacket. He really should have thought it through before deciding that white was a good idea for the first day of school. His bangs were plastered to his forehead. At least the rain had gotten rid of most of the blue dye.
The water warmed quickly once he turned the tap, and he hastily divested himself of his clothing. He’d never thought a shower could feel so good, and he sank down to a crouch as exhaustion overwhelmed him. He couldn’t stop the tears now.
Stupid fucking high school. He’d thought that maybe his tormentors had grown up over the summer, that maybe he could finally, finally fit in somewhere and not have to eat his lunch in the nurse’s office anymore. He thought he’d finally escaped his goddamn label, but no, no, no, no. They just had to get even more creative. If anything, the upperclassmen were worse than his old classmates. Who the hell throws a slushie at someone?
And the teachers. God, they were no better. Sure, he was just a freshman, and yeah, he kind of attracted bullies like a magnet, but they could have at least said something. Not doing anything just made it okay, right? He curled up further into himself and tried to calm the horrible, wracking sobs that had overtaken him. Breathe, Kurt. Just breathe. Everything’s going to be okay. Just get a hold on yourself and breathe.
No, it wouldn’t matter if he got any teachers involved. They’d probably just tell him to try harder to fit in. He stuck out too much, was too threatening to the Neanderthals who ruled the school. Well fuck them. Kurt couldn’t change that much if he tried. Worse were the ones who coddled him and tried to tell him to keep his head up, that things would get better. Yeah, well when would they get better? When he was beaten near to death in college? When he was found shot dead in his house at thirty-three? When he finally told his dad that he was gay and got kicked out of the house because Hummels didn’t need any fags around? When?
Speaking of his dad, he needed to get out of the shower and call the man. God, his dad must be frantic by now if he was keeping an eye on the clock. Kurt turned off the water and quickly rubbed himself down with one of the soft towels hanging on the wall, not really caring if he was being abrasive to his skin. He could take care of it later.
Kurt wrapped himself up in the towel and made his way to the kitchen, modesty be damned. He glanced at the tiny green numbers above the stove. Four o’clock. Okay. He wasn’t too late. He picked up the phone from its cradle and dialed the garage. His dad should still be there.
One ring.
Two.
Thr-”Hummel Tire and Lube. This is Burt.”
“Hi, dad.”
“Kurt, Jesus. Did you make it home okay? It’s pouring out there, and I was starting to get worried. You do know what time it is, don’t you?” His voice was a little breathy; he’d been worried. Kurt hated it when his dad worried about him.
Kurt curled against the wall and tucked the towel tighter around his body. He could feel little lines of water that he’d missed running down his back, his legs, to drip onto the floor. Damn. One more thing to take care of. “Yeah, dad. I’m sorry about calling late. The buses were running a bit behind this afternoon,” he lied smoothly. His dad had enough to worry about. He didn’t need to know that the bullying had gotten worse.
“Well, I’m coming home a bit late today. The weather makes people antsy and we’ve had the truck running around all day. You gonna make dinner tonight, or do you want me to pick something up on my way home?”
“Could you get something? I don’t know that I’m in any shape to cook anything right now,” he sighed into the phone.
“Everything okay there, bud?”
“Yeah, dad. Everything…everything’s fine. Just a long day is all. High school is a bit different than what I was expecting. Um, I’ll just-I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”
“Okay. You sure you’re all right? I can shove this off on Jerry if you need me to come home early.”
“No, dad. I’ll be fine. It’s just schoolwork and stuff.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, dad. Don’t be such a worry wart.” He chuckled lightly into the phone, and hoped that his dad didn’t pick up on the sadness in his voice. “You drive safe on your way home, okay?”
“You got it, bud. Wouldn’t want to have to fix my own car along with all the others we’ve got piling up around here.”
“No, we wouldn’t. Love you, dad.”
“Love you too. I’ll see you when I get home.”
Kurt stood there in the kitchen for a while after his dad hung up, just holding the phone in his hand. Thunder rumbled outside and rain pelted the windows with renewed fervor. He never thought this was going to be so hard. It was times like this where he really wanted his mom back. She’d know what to do. He loved his dad, he really did, but the man wasn’t exactly easy to talk to. He knew about the bullying, how could he not? It had been going on now for so damn long now it was practically routine. These high school boys had just upped the ante was all.
He placed the phone back into its cradle and hiked the towel up higher on his chest. He needed to change, needed to get himself together, get everything cleaned up. He could deal with this. He was strong. No one pushes around a Hummel.
---
The weight of it hit him sometime after fifth period. In retrospect, he should have expected it, but damn did it hurt. Just because they’d never caught the guys who did it in the first place didn’t mean that they hadn’t followed him to William McKinley.
It was exactly the same as last year. The same word, the same black ink, the same ugly handwriting.
Fag.
He wasn’t sure why it was bothering him so much right now. The janitors had tried to clean it off his last locker to no avail. It never fully went away, and the letters would just come back the next week.
Fag.
Fag.
Fag.
It was probably the same jerk as last year, taunting him. He’d almost burst into tears when he saw the marker stretching across the smooth metal of his locker.
He’d thought he was done with this. Sure, the first couple of weeks had been bad, but this was high school and he was a freshman outcast. He should have expected this kind of crap, right? He’d seen some gothic Asian chick get shoved around yesterday. This was life, and he was at the low end of the social spectrum. This was how things worked.
He just thought that maybe all the crap would taper off, that they would let up on him after a while and focus their attentions on some other freak, but his hopes were dashed as soon as he saw those three awful letters decorating his locker. He ran his fingers over the big, block letters. Of course he’d been singled-out. He wasn’t ever going to escape this, was he?
He’d adapted okay. The slushies were a regular thing apparently. A William McKinley special. The dumpster tosses were reserved for pretty much him and him alone, but it was better than the port-a-potty treatment they gave the wheelchair kid and that creepy guy with the really large fro. Kurt would take the garbage over the outdoor toilets anytime, thanks. The dumpster smell could be covered up well enough with a quick change of clothes and enough hair spray, now permanent staples in the haven that had once been his locker. Of course they’d found it and defaced it. What the hell else should he have expected, and he supposed it was better than someone breaking into the thing.
Didn’t mean it didn’t sting like hell.
And he missed the bus that afternoon because of a stupid art project. He called his dad from the school and let him know that he’d be home a little late. It was fine. Their house wasn’t that far. The weather hadn’t completely turned yet, and Kurt could use the exercise. He could make it. He’d call if he changed his mind.
He hadn’t expected to get cornered just outside the school by Puckerman and his cronies, the new rising jocks at the school. He recognized a few of their faces from his morning dumpster toss. There were Karofsky and Azimio, tall and looming and each one well on their way to becoming an obesity statistic. Puckerman, of course, with his stupid leering face and stupid, ugly mohawk that he thought made him look cool. And Finn. Finn Hudson. He was usually the nicest of the bunch. A jerk for sure, but a cute one.
They had caught him off-guard, and it was late enough after school that most of the teachers had either gone home or were busy with meetings and other assorted after school commitments.
Oh god, they had balloons in their hands. He’d seen them drive by and nail that poor Rachel girl with paint last week. This did not bode well for him. His fingers tightened on the strap of his bag.
“’Sup, Hummel?”
He shrunk back against the brick wall behind him. “What do you want, Puckerman?”
“Oh, look, the little fairy can speak. That’s cute, isn’t it, guys?” Azimio. Oh god, this was going to be bad, wasn’t it? He glanced around and saw that each one of them had at least a balloon in each hand. They were opaque, so he couldn’t see what was inside them, but he could guess. Goodbye, Ralph Lauren sweater. You were nice while you lasted.
“Can you guys just get this over with? I know the upperclassmen want you to pick on the freaks and stuff to get in their good graces, but I really need to get home.”
“Shut up, Fancy. No one cares what you want.” Karofsky moved toward him menacingly, but Kurt stood his ground. His day had been shitty enough already. Now he had to deal with this assholes boosting up their egos by picking on the gay kid. Great. Hopefully this whole thing would be done soon and he could get home.
Puckerman held him back, smirking as the wheels in his head began turning. This wasn’t looking good. “No, he’s got a point. Let’s give him a proper welcome.”
Kurt braced himself, but he was completely unprepared for the warm liquid that hit him. He’d fully expected the same paint treatment, and this was far thinner and warmer than any paint he’d ever encountered. That’s when the smell hit him. Oh god, that was-
A balloon exploded in his face, leaving him gasping.
“Oh ho! Nice shot, Hudson!” There were high fives and jeers and it took all Kurt had to not fall to the sidewalk. Oh god, that was urine, wasn’t it? Oh god, it was. It was everywhere-in his hair, soaking into his clothes, dripping into his nose and mouth. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He could hear the heavy footsteps of the retreating jocks and he crumpled to his knees. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. These things only happened in movies.
This couldn’t be happening to him.
---
Kurt couldn’t tell you how he got home, but he somehow managed to trudge in through the door and bolt inside the bathroom. Oh god, how the hell had he let things get this bad? He hopped into the shower without bothering to strip down and turned the water on full blast. It was freezing, but he barely felt the cold. What the hell. Whose idea was it to fill fucking balloons with their own goddamn piss and toss them at him? What the hell had he ever done to them?
The tears were coming in earnest now as he scrubbed the cold water over his clothes. Oh god. He was going to be smelling that for weeks.
He’d never been more grateful to have his dad out of the house than right now. At least now there was no one around to bear witness to Kurt’s shame.
He slipped out of his sopping clothes, depositing them on the bathroom floor, and finished washing himself. He scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin until it was red and raw and irritated. Oh god, he was going to be smelling their fucking piss for weeks. It wasn’t going away.
Kurt dried himself off as quickly as possible and grabbed his pile of dripping clothing, clutching it to his chest to keep from dropping it to the carpet as he bolted to the laundry room. Thankfully, he’d been on top of the laundry this week, and the washing machine was empty. He shoved the entire pile into the thing, not bothering to read if they needed to be dry-cleaned or not. They were ruined anyway, so what did it matter?
He started the cycle and nearly collapsed to the floor. He wanted his dad to come home and wrap him up in a hug and never let him go. He wanted his mom. He wanted to curl up in a ball and just disappear. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wasn’t fucking strong enough. He wanted his mom.
Kurt tried to calm himself down. Clothes. There were clothes in here. He’d left a few t-shirts and things in here. They were folded on the dryer. He slowly pulled himself to his feet, not really caring as his towel slipped down his torso to land in a heap on the floor. He’d get it later.
Yes. Sleepwear. Simple and off-brand, but comfortable. He needed comfort right now. The fabric was soft and smelled so clean as he pulled it over his head that he almost burst into tears again. His mom. He really needed his mom right now.
Kurt slipped out of the laundry room and made his way toward the stairs. His dad didn’t know about this, couldn’t know. He couldn’t know that his son needed this. Kurt cautiously opened the door to the master bedroom and crept inside.
There. On the far end of the wall. His mother’s dresser. Just after her funeral, he’d accidentally spilt some of her perfume on the thing and now the wood forever smelled like her. Sometimes, it helped just to lay on the floor beside it and breathe in what little scent still lingered. It was faint, but it was her and really that was enough. It was as much as Kurt was going to get.
He padded over to the far side of the room, but something caught his eye and stopped him. His dad had a bookcase. It was old and covered with dust because the man hardly used it. Kurt wasn’t technically allowed in this room, so he couldn’t clean it as well as he liked. He’d never really bothered with the bookcase.
But there was something sitting there, just beside his dad’s nightstand that gave him pause, and he walked over to it, his mission completely forgotten.
It was a knife. One of those ones that folded in on itself for ease in carrying. It was old and covered in a fine layer of dust, grey powder lodged in between the little bumps and nubs that textured the plastic of the handle. Probably given to his dad by his grandfather or something. Like an old hunting knife. Kurt carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hand. He’d never held anything quite like it before.
There were little grooves on the metal edges that stuck out from the side. For ease in releasing the blade, he thought as he gripped the metal between his thumb and forefinger. It took a little effort, but the blade eventually came free. It was smooth and clean at the top, serrated with tiny jagged teeth at the bottom. It was so different from the ones downstairs in the kitchen that he was used to. Kurt ran his thumb along the edge of it to test it and flinched when he sliced into his thumb. He quickly popped the appendage into his mouth to quell any bleeding and stared hard at the weapon in his hand. Still sharp.
Suddenly, he heard the tell-tale clicking of the lock on the front door. Oh god, his dad. He couldn’t get caught up here.
He bolted from the room, knife still in his hand and flew down the stairs to the basement, just as the front door swung open. His heart was racing. What was he going to do about the knife? Think, Kurt. Think. He hastily shoved it into the drawer of his vanity, and prayed his dad didn’t notice it was missing. It wasn’t like he cleaned the bookcase on a regular basis. It was just one knife.
He startled when his dad’s voice came wafting down the stairs into his room. “Kurt? You down there?”
“Yeah, dad.” His heart was still pounding in his chest. There were footsteps approaching. Just keep calm. He could do this.
“What are you hiding out down here for? Got a lot of homework or something?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs, but he stopped cold when he saw his son. “Kurt, why are you in your pajamas?”
“Just wanted to put on something comfortable,” he replied, trying not to appear nervous. “Nothing special.”
“Okay…um, are you up for helping me make dinner? I brought home groceries; it’s why I was running a bit late. I even managed to get some of those fancy ingredients you asked for last time.”
“Okay, dad. Sure. Let’s just go upstairs.” He tried to keep himself calm. Don’t act suspicious. Everything is okay. There isn't a knife in your drawer. Everything is fine.
“You sure you’re all right? You seem kind of nervous. Kids aren’t picking on you at school again, are they?”
“No. It’s fine.”
The look on his dad’s face told Kurt he wasn’t buying it. “’Cause I can talk to the school-”
“No! No, dad. It’s fine. Look, I’m just kind of stressed about some tests I’ve got coming up. Nothing more. It’s fine.”
“You’d tell me if anything was going on.”
It wasn’t really a question, but it sure as hell felt like one. “Yes, dad. I’d tell you if anything was going on. I promise.”
His dad seemed satisfied with that response and let the subject drop. “Okay then,” he said, with a light slap to Kurt’s shoulder. “Let’s go make some dinner, shall we?”
---
Part two.
Characters - Kurt, eventually Karofsky
Warnings - violence, swearing
Summary - How long does it take to push a person over the edge? Just how much can someone bear before they snap?
Disclaimers: Glee and its characters are not mine. Honest.
This is a story that I first started thinking about when I responded to a comment on this fic (just a heads-up, if you look through the comments on the thread for the original prompt-which is not what is linked, but you can find the prompt there-you'll know how this is going to end). I probably should have waited to start this, so I don't have yet another WIP floating around, but I seem to have story ADD. This one should only be another one or two parts, though, so I guess I'm good.
Also, this is set (currently) before the events of season one.
---
Kurt had never felt more miserable in his entire life. Heavy drops of rain hit the cold glass windows of the bus, leaving behind long streaks of water snaking down toward his folded arms, and Kurt huddled further into himself to ward off the chill. His coat was useless now, the sleeves damp and slightly sticky. He sighed and rests his head against the window, no longer caring about the moisture messing up his hair. His skull thudded dully against the glass with every bump and shudder of the bus. He sighed. These vehicles were older than dirt and poorly-designed to boot. Thankfully his hair was still damp from earlier so he barely felt the tiny drops of cold water flying in through the gap of the window in front of him.
Stupid fucking school. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and leave Lima behind in his rearview mirror.
His eyes were burning but he would not cry. He refused to give them that. Things had gotten this bad before. He just needed to suck it up, deal with it. Things like this happened to kids everyday throughout the world-hell, it was practically a staple in those cheesy teen movies from the eighties.
It was just a little bullying. Nothing special. He’d been dealing with this since forever, and these were the last four years they had to torment him. Why the heck did he think it would stop now? Everyone had always told him that high school was going to be brutal.
It was okay. He just needed to get himself home, and then things would be fine. He could shower and then things would be okay.
The bus turned down the familiar streets of his neighborhood and screeched to a halt, hissing loudly as the air was released from its breaks. His stop. He hurriedly grabbed his bag and bolted from the bus, sweeping down its wet steps to the sidewalk, praying none of the other kids decided to take things up a notch and follow him home. He never wanted that to happen again.
He circled the cul-de-sac, keeping a close eye on his surroundings as he went. He didn’t expect anyone to bother following him in this kind of weather, but he could never be too careful. The wind was picking up now, and the drops of rain were biting into his cheeks, stinging painfully as he walked. That horrible burn behind his eyes was getting worse and his face was too hot. He was crying. He had to be. At least the rain hid it pretty well.
It took him a good ten minutes, but after a good solid loop, he made a beeline for his house. No one was behind him. One of life’s little miracles, that.
He fumbled a bit with his keys, the cold of the metal biting into his fingers once he pulled them from his pocket. He needed to calm down. He’d be inside soon. Then he could call his dad and everything would be okay. The lock clicked into place and he burst into the house, dripping onto the smooth hardwood floor. Damn. Something else he’d have to clean up before his dad made it home.
His satchel dropped to the floor with a sad squelching sound. Thank god he’d asked his dad to buy him extra notebooks for the year. He would hate to have to explain to him that crusty blue paper wasn’t exactly ideal for assignments. He divested himself of his shoes and left them sitting on the mat to dry before peeling off his socks. He really didn’t want to have to clean any more than he had to, and leaving behind wet, dirty footprints from his socks was not something he looked forward to, thank you very much.
The downstairs bathroom was close; he really didn’t have all that far to go, and there were big fluffy towels in there that Kurt himself had hung. He could get in a quick shower before calling his dad to let him know that he’d made it home. If his dad wondered why he was calling a half hour after he should, he could always lie and say the bus was running late. The weather was bad enough. It was believable.
He stepped into the bathroom and got a quick look at himself as he flicked on the light. Well, so much for this jacket. He really should have thought it through before deciding that white was a good idea for the first day of school. His bangs were plastered to his forehead. At least the rain had gotten rid of most of the blue dye.
The water warmed quickly once he turned the tap, and he hastily divested himself of his clothing. He’d never thought a shower could feel so good, and he sank down to a crouch as exhaustion overwhelmed him. He couldn’t stop the tears now.
Stupid fucking high school. He’d thought that maybe his tormentors had grown up over the summer, that maybe he could finally, finally fit in somewhere and not have to eat his lunch in the nurse’s office anymore. He thought he’d finally escaped his goddamn label, but no, no, no, no. They just had to get even more creative. If anything, the upperclassmen were worse than his old classmates. Who the hell throws a slushie at someone?
And the teachers. God, they were no better. Sure, he was just a freshman, and yeah, he kind of attracted bullies like a magnet, but they could have at least said something. Not doing anything just made it okay, right? He curled up further into himself and tried to calm the horrible, wracking sobs that had overtaken him. Breathe, Kurt. Just breathe. Everything’s going to be okay. Just get a hold on yourself and breathe.
No, it wouldn’t matter if he got any teachers involved. They’d probably just tell him to try harder to fit in. He stuck out too much, was too threatening to the Neanderthals who ruled the school. Well fuck them. Kurt couldn’t change that much if he tried. Worse were the ones who coddled him and tried to tell him to keep his head up, that things would get better. Yeah, well when would they get better? When he was beaten near to death in college? When he was found shot dead in his house at thirty-three? When he finally told his dad that he was gay and got kicked out of the house because Hummels didn’t need any fags around? When?
Speaking of his dad, he needed to get out of the shower and call the man. God, his dad must be frantic by now if he was keeping an eye on the clock. Kurt turned off the water and quickly rubbed himself down with one of the soft towels hanging on the wall, not really caring if he was being abrasive to his skin. He could take care of it later.
Kurt wrapped himself up in the towel and made his way to the kitchen, modesty be damned. He glanced at the tiny green numbers above the stove. Four o’clock. Okay. He wasn’t too late. He picked up the phone from its cradle and dialed the garage. His dad should still be there.
One ring.
Two.
Thr-”Hummel Tire and Lube. This is Burt.”
“Hi, dad.”
“Kurt, Jesus. Did you make it home okay? It’s pouring out there, and I was starting to get worried. You do know what time it is, don’t you?” His voice was a little breathy; he’d been worried. Kurt hated it when his dad worried about him.
Kurt curled against the wall and tucked the towel tighter around his body. He could feel little lines of water that he’d missed running down his back, his legs, to drip onto the floor. Damn. One more thing to take care of. “Yeah, dad. I’m sorry about calling late. The buses were running a bit behind this afternoon,” he lied smoothly. His dad had enough to worry about. He didn’t need to know that the bullying had gotten worse.
“Well, I’m coming home a bit late today. The weather makes people antsy and we’ve had the truck running around all day. You gonna make dinner tonight, or do you want me to pick something up on my way home?”
“Could you get something? I don’t know that I’m in any shape to cook anything right now,” he sighed into the phone.
“Everything okay there, bud?”
“Yeah, dad. Everything…everything’s fine. Just a long day is all. High school is a bit different than what I was expecting. Um, I’ll just-I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”
“Okay. You sure you’re all right? I can shove this off on Jerry if you need me to come home early.”
“No, dad. I’ll be fine. It’s just schoolwork and stuff.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, dad. Don’t be such a worry wart.” He chuckled lightly into the phone, and hoped that his dad didn’t pick up on the sadness in his voice. “You drive safe on your way home, okay?”
“You got it, bud. Wouldn’t want to have to fix my own car along with all the others we’ve got piling up around here.”
“No, we wouldn’t. Love you, dad.”
“Love you too. I’ll see you when I get home.”
Kurt stood there in the kitchen for a while after his dad hung up, just holding the phone in his hand. Thunder rumbled outside and rain pelted the windows with renewed fervor. He never thought this was going to be so hard. It was times like this where he really wanted his mom back. She’d know what to do. He loved his dad, he really did, but the man wasn’t exactly easy to talk to. He knew about the bullying, how could he not? It had been going on now for so damn long now it was practically routine. These high school boys had just upped the ante was all.
He placed the phone back into its cradle and hiked the towel up higher on his chest. He needed to change, needed to get himself together, get everything cleaned up. He could deal with this. He was strong. No one pushes around a Hummel.
---
The weight of it hit him sometime after fifth period. In retrospect, he should have expected it, but damn did it hurt. Just because they’d never caught the guys who did it in the first place didn’t mean that they hadn’t followed him to William McKinley.
It was exactly the same as last year. The same word, the same black ink, the same ugly handwriting.
Fag.
He wasn’t sure why it was bothering him so much right now. The janitors had tried to clean it off his last locker to no avail. It never fully went away, and the letters would just come back the next week.
Fag.
Fag.
Fag.
It was probably the same jerk as last year, taunting him. He’d almost burst into tears when he saw the marker stretching across the smooth metal of his locker.
He’d thought he was done with this. Sure, the first couple of weeks had been bad, but this was high school and he was a freshman outcast. He should have expected this kind of crap, right? He’d seen some gothic Asian chick get shoved around yesterday. This was life, and he was at the low end of the social spectrum. This was how things worked.
He just thought that maybe all the crap would taper off, that they would let up on him after a while and focus their attentions on some other freak, but his hopes were dashed as soon as he saw those three awful letters decorating his locker. He ran his fingers over the big, block letters. Of course he’d been singled-out. He wasn’t ever going to escape this, was he?
He’d adapted okay. The slushies were a regular thing apparently. A William McKinley special. The dumpster tosses were reserved for pretty much him and him alone, but it was better than the port-a-potty treatment they gave the wheelchair kid and that creepy guy with the really large fro. Kurt would take the garbage over the outdoor toilets anytime, thanks. The dumpster smell could be covered up well enough with a quick change of clothes and enough hair spray, now permanent staples in the haven that had once been his locker. Of course they’d found it and defaced it. What the hell else should he have expected, and he supposed it was better than someone breaking into the thing.
Didn’t mean it didn’t sting like hell.
And he missed the bus that afternoon because of a stupid art project. He called his dad from the school and let him know that he’d be home a little late. It was fine. Their house wasn’t that far. The weather hadn’t completely turned yet, and Kurt could use the exercise. He could make it. He’d call if he changed his mind.
He hadn’t expected to get cornered just outside the school by Puckerman and his cronies, the new rising jocks at the school. He recognized a few of their faces from his morning dumpster toss. There were Karofsky and Azimio, tall and looming and each one well on their way to becoming an obesity statistic. Puckerman, of course, with his stupid leering face and stupid, ugly mohawk that he thought made him look cool. And Finn. Finn Hudson. He was usually the nicest of the bunch. A jerk for sure, but a cute one.
They had caught him off-guard, and it was late enough after school that most of the teachers had either gone home or were busy with meetings and other assorted after school commitments.
Oh god, they had balloons in their hands. He’d seen them drive by and nail that poor Rachel girl with paint last week. This did not bode well for him. His fingers tightened on the strap of his bag.
“’Sup, Hummel?”
He shrunk back against the brick wall behind him. “What do you want, Puckerman?”
“Oh, look, the little fairy can speak. That’s cute, isn’t it, guys?” Azimio. Oh god, this was going to be bad, wasn’t it? He glanced around and saw that each one of them had at least a balloon in each hand. They were opaque, so he couldn’t see what was inside them, but he could guess. Goodbye, Ralph Lauren sweater. You were nice while you lasted.
“Can you guys just get this over with? I know the upperclassmen want you to pick on the freaks and stuff to get in their good graces, but I really need to get home.”
“Shut up, Fancy. No one cares what you want.” Karofsky moved toward him menacingly, but Kurt stood his ground. His day had been shitty enough already. Now he had to deal with this assholes boosting up their egos by picking on the gay kid. Great. Hopefully this whole thing would be done soon and he could get home.
Puckerman held him back, smirking as the wheels in his head began turning. This wasn’t looking good. “No, he’s got a point. Let’s give him a proper welcome.”
Kurt braced himself, but he was completely unprepared for the warm liquid that hit him. He’d fully expected the same paint treatment, and this was far thinner and warmer than any paint he’d ever encountered. That’s when the smell hit him. Oh god, that was-
A balloon exploded in his face, leaving him gasping.
“Oh ho! Nice shot, Hudson!” There were high fives and jeers and it took all Kurt had to not fall to the sidewalk. Oh god, that was urine, wasn’t it? Oh god, it was. It was everywhere-in his hair, soaking into his clothes, dripping into his nose and mouth. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He could hear the heavy footsteps of the retreating jocks and he crumpled to his knees. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. These things only happened in movies.
This couldn’t be happening to him.
---
Kurt couldn’t tell you how he got home, but he somehow managed to trudge in through the door and bolt inside the bathroom. Oh god, how the hell had he let things get this bad? He hopped into the shower without bothering to strip down and turned the water on full blast. It was freezing, but he barely felt the cold. What the hell. Whose idea was it to fill fucking balloons with their own goddamn piss and toss them at him? What the hell had he ever done to them?
The tears were coming in earnest now as he scrubbed the cold water over his clothes. Oh god. He was going to be smelling that for weeks.
He’d never been more grateful to have his dad out of the house than right now. At least now there was no one around to bear witness to Kurt’s shame.
He slipped out of his sopping clothes, depositing them on the bathroom floor, and finished washing himself. He scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin until it was red and raw and irritated. Oh god, he was going to be smelling their fucking piss for weeks. It wasn’t going away.
Kurt dried himself off as quickly as possible and grabbed his pile of dripping clothing, clutching it to his chest to keep from dropping it to the carpet as he bolted to the laundry room. Thankfully, he’d been on top of the laundry this week, and the washing machine was empty. He shoved the entire pile into the thing, not bothering to read if they needed to be dry-cleaned or not. They were ruined anyway, so what did it matter?
He started the cycle and nearly collapsed to the floor. He wanted his dad to come home and wrap him up in a hug and never let him go. He wanted his mom. He wanted to curl up in a ball and just disappear. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wasn’t fucking strong enough. He wanted his mom.
Kurt tried to calm himself down. Clothes. There were clothes in here. He’d left a few t-shirts and things in here. They were folded on the dryer. He slowly pulled himself to his feet, not really caring as his towel slipped down his torso to land in a heap on the floor. He’d get it later.
Yes. Sleepwear. Simple and off-brand, but comfortable. He needed comfort right now. The fabric was soft and smelled so clean as he pulled it over his head that he almost burst into tears again. His mom. He really needed his mom right now.
Kurt slipped out of the laundry room and made his way toward the stairs. His dad didn’t know about this, couldn’t know. He couldn’t know that his son needed this. Kurt cautiously opened the door to the master bedroom and crept inside.
There. On the far end of the wall. His mother’s dresser. Just after her funeral, he’d accidentally spilt some of her perfume on the thing and now the wood forever smelled like her. Sometimes, it helped just to lay on the floor beside it and breathe in what little scent still lingered. It was faint, but it was her and really that was enough. It was as much as Kurt was going to get.
He padded over to the far side of the room, but something caught his eye and stopped him. His dad had a bookcase. It was old and covered with dust because the man hardly used it. Kurt wasn’t technically allowed in this room, so he couldn’t clean it as well as he liked. He’d never really bothered with the bookcase.
But there was something sitting there, just beside his dad’s nightstand that gave him pause, and he walked over to it, his mission completely forgotten.
It was a knife. One of those ones that folded in on itself for ease in carrying. It was old and covered in a fine layer of dust, grey powder lodged in between the little bumps and nubs that textured the plastic of the handle. Probably given to his dad by his grandfather or something. Like an old hunting knife. Kurt carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hand. He’d never held anything quite like it before.
There were little grooves on the metal edges that stuck out from the side. For ease in releasing the blade, he thought as he gripped the metal between his thumb and forefinger. It took a little effort, but the blade eventually came free. It was smooth and clean at the top, serrated with tiny jagged teeth at the bottom. It was so different from the ones downstairs in the kitchen that he was used to. Kurt ran his thumb along the edge of it to test it and flinched when he sliced into his thumb. He quickly popped the appendage into his mouth to quell any bleeding and stared hard at the weapon in his hand. Still sharp.
Suddenly, he heard the tell-tale clicking of the lock on the front door. Oh god, his dad. He couldn’t get caught up here.
He bolted from the room, knife still in his hand and flew down the stairs to the basement, just as the front door swung open. His heart was racing. What was he going to do about the knife? Think, Kurt. Think. He hastily shoved it into the drawer of his vanity, and prayed his dad didn’t notice it was missing. It wasn’t like he cleaned the bookcase on a regular basis. It was just one knife.
He startled when his dad’s voice came wafting down the stairs into his room. “Kurt? You down there?”
“Yeah, dad.” His heart was still pounding in his chest. There were footsteps approaching. Just keep calm. He could do this.
“What are you hiding out down here for? Got a lot of homework or something?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs, but he stopped cold when he saw his son. “Kurt, why are you in your pajamas?”
“Just wanted to put on something comfortable,” he replied, trying not to appear nervous. “Nothing special.”
“Okay…um, are you up for helping me make dinner? I brought home groceries; it’s why I was running a bit late. I even managed to get some of those fancy ingredients you asked for last time.”
“Okay, dad. Sure. Let’s just go upstairs.” He tried to keep himself calm. Don’t act suspicious. Everything is okay. There isn't a knife in your drawer. Everything is fine.
“You sure you’re all right? You seem kind of nervous. Kids aren’t picking on you at school again, are they?”
“No. It’s fine.”
The look on his dad’s face told Kurt he wasn’t buying it. “’Cause I can talk to the school-”
“No! No, dad. It’s fine. Look, I’m just kind of stressed about some tests I’ve got coming up. Nothing more. It’s fine.”
“You’d tell me if anything was going on.”
It wasn’t really a question, but it sure as hell felt like one. “Yes, dad. I’d tell you if anything was going on. I promise.”
His dad seemed satisfied with that response and let the subject drop. “Okay then,” he said, with a light slap to Kurt’s shoulder. “Let’s go make some dinner, shall we?”
---
Part two.