carry on (as we were)
'THE THING YOU'RE AFRAID OF LOSING
IS ALREADY GONE,'
said the shovel to the dirt.
'Worse,' said the dirt. 'It didn't exist
in the first place.'
"I don't need help," is the first thing Kurt says when he enters the room.
"I didn't say you need help," Blaine retorts, eyes locked on the ceiling, left foot bouncing as it hangs off the edge of the bed.
"I have you," Kurt continues, taking a seat next to the other boy. "I don't need any help because I have you."
"But I'm not qualified," Blaine rolls his head to face the other, but instead of gazing up at Kurt, his line of sight falls onto Kurt's thigh. "I don't think I really count."
"You do," Kurt validates quickly. "You help me, so you count."
Blaine sighs, a long, drawn out sound. Kurt runs his fingers across Blaine's hairline. The boy looks up finally to meet the other's gaze. "Is he pushing you again? He only wants what's best for you, you know. He's your dad."
There is a pause as Kurt contemplates his friend's words. Eventually he shakes his head and leans back against the pillows. "No. He doesn't understand anyways. Dad or not."
"Kurt," Blaine starts, but the boy just turns his head and closes his eyes. Blaine releases another sigh before curling into Kurt's side.
A loud knock on the door draws them out of their rest.
"Kurt!" Burt's booming voice resounds through the room.
The two boys sit upright. Blaine turns to Kurt, honey eyes wide. "In the closet," he says, voice frantic, "I'll be there. Be quick."
Kurt nods quickly, and Blaine scurries across the room to hide in Kurt's closet, closing the door nervously behind him.
Burt enters the room no less than two seconds later. He smiles awkwardly upon seeing his son. "Hey, bud. What're you doing?"
"Talking to Blaine," Kurt responds quietly, eyes downcast.
A beat of silence. Burt sighs, a tired noise. "Kurt," he begins and walks over to the teen, a gentle hand coming to rest on the boy's shoulder, "you know Blaine isn't real."
"Yes, he is," Kurt argues, expression determined. His father gives him a look, and Kurt bows his head, chastised. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Kurt, kid, I'm just looking out for you," Burt says softly, but Kurt just nods and looks away. "I know you won't like this, but I got in contact with someone, and you're going to an appointment tomorrow."
Kurt's head jerked up. "Dad! No! You can't make me go. I'm not going."
"This isn't something you can argue over, Kurt. This has been coming for a month now."
"No, please, Dad." He knows he sounds like a child, but he doesn't need to go to a shrink. He's doing fine on his own. He has Blaine's help anyways, in spite of his father's accusations that he isn't real.
Burt frowns down at his son, eyebrows furrowing. "What happened to you is something that needs to be discussed with a professional."
"No, it doesn't," Kurt argues, squeezing his eyes shut and burrowing into his pillows.
There is a pause before a harsh exhale comes from Burt, and the sound of retreating footsteps fills the room.
The closet door creaks, and Blaine peeks his head out. "Is he gone?"
Kurt nods from his spot on the bed, head still buried in the pillows.
Blaine clicks his tongue as he takes his place next to his friend. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Kurt's voice is muffled. "It was bound to happen eventually."
"It might actually help," Blaine supplies, voice lilting in false cheeriness.
Kurt sighs and turns his head to look at Blaine.
"So maybe it won't," Blaine states when he sees Kurt's defeated expression. "But you can at least say you went and know for sure it doesn't."
"Maybe."
The two share a look before Blaine leans forward and presses a kiss to Kurt's forehead. He takes the boy's hands in his. "Courage."
Kurt quietly repeats the word.
It started to hold meaning the same time Blaine arrived. Kurt was alone in the dark corner of the locker room, shivering and naked. His shirt had been ripped off, and his jeans were bunched up around his ankles. He had been by himself for at least an hour, shuddering as tears steadily slipped down his cheeks, when Blaine had arrived. He introduced himself softly, and Kurt said his own name back before lapsing back into the cold silence. Blaine had stayed with him, always at a careful distance but occasionally reaching out to wipe sweat off of Kurt's brow or a tear from his cheek, until the loud bang of the door opening echoed around the room. In a flurry, Blaine stood and disappeared into the shower before whispering a soft, "courage," into Kurt's ear. It was Finn who entered. Kurt screamed and shouted for Blaine to come back, but he didn't fight Finn. He was too weak to anyways.
When the two got home, it was to a frantic Carole and disquieted Burt. Finn retold the story of how he found Kurt and did his best to clothe him and bring him home. He said he didn't know what happened. At one point, Carole tried to pull Kurt into a hug, but the boy took a fearful step back before rushing upstairs to his room.
The next day arrived, and Kurt put on his best game face and went to school. Things felt so abstract. The day went class after class, but Kurt could hardly recall the lessons. Everything seemed to be muted. He felt as if he were a puppet, ruled by a puppeteer: walking from class to class, smiling carefully at friends, speaking only when spoken to. All his friends looked concerned, but he just waved them off. Everything seemed to just have been a dream when he found himself outside the front door of the Hudmel home. That's when he saw Blaine again.
He smiled brightly at the other boy. "Courage," he greeted. Blaine smiled back, and Kurt opened the door, granting Blaine access into the home. Since then, Blaine would usually visit as soon as Kurt got home, and he'd stay until it was dark, and Kurt was beginning to get ready for bed.
Two days after the locker room, Burt confronted his son.
"You've been quiet, bud," he had said to an unresponsive Kurt. "I just don't want this to become a thing that disables you from living a normal life."
Kurt slowly turned his head to look at his dad. "I'm fine."
Burt sighed and reached a hand out to his son, who flinched away. "Kurt, you've been acting so different, and I know it has to do with whatever happened in that locker room. Finn found you naked and helpless on the floor. The floor, Kurt. And you're shirt was ripped, and you didn't do a thing about it."
Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't want to think about it."
"What happened, Kurt?" Burt questioned.
Kurt shook his head. "Nothing."
"Clearly not nothing if you're getting so worked up over this," Burt persisted.
"Dad, please," Kurt pleased, voice breaking. "Not now."
"If not now, then when, Kurt?"
"I don't know. Just not now," Kurt curled up into a tight ball on his bed. "Please, Dad, just go away."
"I need you to tell me what happened back there, Kurt," Burt declared. "I'm not leaving until you do."
"I'm not even sure what happened," Kurt responded quietly, cautiously. "I just remember someone pulling down my jeans, ripping my shirt, and just…," he shook his head.
Burt was frozen. "Kurt," he breathed, "you can't go on like this. You need to talk to someone. You need help."
"No," Kurt began to sob. He wished he didn't. He felt weak and pathetic.
"Yes, you do," Burt argued. "Kurt, you were—God, you were raped."
"I know, Dad!" Kurt pulled a pillow over his head. "I know."
"It's not your fault," Burt said.
Kurt released a scream into the downy fabric of the pillow. "I never said it was. I'm sure my psychiatrist will say that."
"It's not funny," Burt stated.
"I didn't say it was funny either," Kurt responded. "Just go. Please, Dad."
There was a tense silence as Burt stared down at his son before nodding. "For now, I'll go. But we're going to have a real talk about this, Kurt, and you're going to go to a psychiatrist eventually."
Kurt merely groaned.
"It was inevitable," Blaine is saying when Kurt focuses on him once more. "And you know I'm not enough."
"It feels like you are," Kurt replies as a warm laugh falls from Blaine's lips. "I wish you were."
Blaine smiles softly at the boy before running a hand through Kurt's hair. "If only."
His voice is so endearing that Kurt can't help but lean up to press a kiss to Blaine's cheek.
Her name is Dr. Welch, and Kurt tells her upon entering that her last name reminds him of fruit snacks and grape juice. He then apologizes because the words were uncalled for and most likely rude, but he thinks that small things should be appreciated. (Read: Blaine said that appreciating as many things as possible might help Kurt feel better.) His dad had told him before the appointment to not bring up Blaine, so he won't.
She seems nice enough, and she appears to understand his boundaries. No hugs, and very limited body contact. A mere handshake will do upon meeting. Her and Burt share a few words before Burt is telling Kurt that he'll be out in the waiting room if he needs anything to which Kurt just nods his head slowly.
As soon as he leaves, Dr. Welch closes the door softly behind him and turns to Kurt, a smile painted on her cherry red lips.
"Okay," she says, and her voice is too bright. It makes Kurt shift his weight from foot to foot. "Just take a seat wherever."
He carefully perches himself on the edge of a beige suede chair. The decorations are all in neutral colors, and Kurt wonders if it's to help calm some of the patients. He dislikes the word 'patient' immediately.
Dr. Welch asks him generic questions such as how his day is going and what did he eat for lunch and how is he enjoying high school. He falters at the last one but answers with a false smile and bob of the head.
She has a notepad with her, and Kurt refrains from turning up his nose when she writes something down with her blue ballpoint pen that makes little scratching noises every time she adds a note. "I don't want to get too deep," she says after half a minute of utter silence minus the flipping of pages that are all about Kurt's life leading up to the locker room incident. "Think of this less as a therapy session and more of a making of a new friend."
Kurt stares at her, eyes wide, as she continues to talk about 'making a new friend'. When she's finished, Kurt shakes his head. "I don't really want to come back. My dad made me come here in the first place. I don't need help."
"I already said not to think of this as therapy," she responds teasingly, but Kurt isn't in the mood for teasing and just stares blankly back. The small smile on Dr. Welch's face drops. "Right. I remember being a teenager," she laughs softly despite Kurt's stony silence. "I know this isn't ideal for you, but you do need to talk about what happened."
"Just because you have a fancy title and take notes on me doesn't mean you know what I need," he stands abruptly and makes his way to the door. He hears some more shuffling and doesn't need to look to know that Dr. Welch is going through her notes on him. He flings the door open and treks to the waiting area. "I'm cured," he tells his father upon seeing him sitting with a car magazine open across his lap. His dad looks up, and Kurt just waves his hand.
"What happened?" he asks as they pay for the session. The receptionist hands him a receipt, and they make their way out to the car.
"I left," Kurt simply proclaims.
"Kurt," his father's voice is resigned and dull.
"I'm not sorry," Kurt states. "I didn't like it. All she did was take notes. I felt like I was being taken apart. I'm not some animal for her to dissect."
"All she wants is to help you figure out how to carry on with life. What happened to you is something you can't just sleep on and then wake up to say you're fine."
They arrive to their car.
"I know," is all Kurt says, and his father sticks a hand out to stop him.
"Do you really?" he questions, and Kurt turns to look at him. Burt's eyes are framed by wrinkles, and his eyebrows are low; he looks tired overall.
Kurt merely shrugs in response before climbing into the car.
Blaine is disappointed.
"You could've tried to talk to her," he says.
Kurt frowns because if there's one person in this world who he knows really cares about him, it'd be Blaine, so seeing Blaine disappointed in him makes him feel guilty. "I guess. She just kept taking notes and telling me to 'stop seeing it as therapy' and more like 'making a new friend,' and I didn't like that, so I left. I could've tried, yeah, that's true, but it's just so hard." He smoothes out his comforter before climbing under his bedcovers. "I'm just sick of everything."
Blaine clicks his tongue and takes a careful seat next to Kurt. "That makes sense. Will you let them take you back? Would you try again?"
"Maybe," Kurt answers steadily. "Only because it's you asking though."
"Of course," Blaine whispers, and a smile blossoms on his face when Kurt's eyes meet his.
"Dad told me not to tell her about you," Kurt says as he reaches a hand up to cup Blaine's cheek. The other boy nuzzles into the hand almost immediately, and Kurt rubs his thumb across the soft flesh. "I don't know if I would've in the first place."
"She probably would've asked," Blaine responds as Kurt's thumb brushes his lips.
"Oh."
"It's cool," Blaine says eventually as Kurt is stroking his left eyebrow. "I don't mind being a secret. I'm the one who hides anyways."
"That's good," Kurt replies. "I don't want you to feel left out or anything."
"Yeah. It's fine."
"Can you meet me at school tomorrow?" Kurt asks after stopping his movements and letting his hand rest once more against his best friend's cheek. Blaine lets out a nervous breath, and Kurt apologizes, only to be stopped.
"No. I," Blaine stutters, "can try. Don't worry. Under the bleachers?"
Kurt nods. "We'll have to avoid the Skanks. They might be there."
"Oh well," Blaine says, and Kurt giggles when he feels Blaine's tongue press up against the inside of his cheek, right under his hand.
Blaine leaves eventually, just clambers through the window and disappears into the night despite Kurt's room being on the second floor, and then Kurt is left alone with nothing more than his thoughts.
His father pushes open the door carefully, holding a bowl of hot soup. Kurt can see the steam rising in the soft lamplight. "Hi, Dad," he says softly. "I'm not hungry."
"You should eat anyways," Burt replies and moves to set the bowl on a light blue kitchen towel. Kurt recognizes it as one of his mother's. "Carole made it for you in specific."
Kurt rolls over, blankets shifting as he gets comfy on his side. "I'm really not."
"Doesn't matter," is all Burt says before sitting at the foot of Kurt's bed. "The main reason I came up here is actually for something else."
Kurt stiffens. "What is it?"
"It's about Blaine," his dad says, and he talks slowly, carefully, as if choosing what to say word by word. "Tell me about him."
"Why should I when you don't even think he exists?"
"Just tell me about the guy, Kurt. I know you want to," Burt sighs.
Kurt allows the corners of his lips to turn up at the thought of his best friend. "He's from Westerville. He goes to Dalton, I think. You know, that private school for boys. He has honey eyes, and he wears too much hair gel. I wish he didn't though because when he doesn't, his hair is all curly. He doesn't like it because of that, but I find it endearing."
"And this Blaine," his dad starts, causing Kurt to land piercing eyes on him, "is he just your friend? Or is he your boyfriend? Because I can understand that. Your options are very limited here, and I know all your friends are hooking up and breaking up faster than time itself. It's not wrong to want that, Kurt."
"Why would you think that?" Kurt's voice is breathy as a blush streaks across his cheeks.
"You get this look, Kurt," his dad answers. "It's how I looked when I talked about your mother."
Kurt closes his eyes and sinks deeper under the covers. "Oh. Um, well, he's not. Or, at least, I don't think he is. I can ask him."
He hears Burt sigh, and a hand pats him softly on the side. "You do that. Night, bud."
"Night, Dad."
He hears the click of the lamp, and it gets a bit darker from where he's hidden beneath the blankets, and then he hears the door shut. He lowers the blankets from above his head and peers at the white-painted wood.
He does ask Blaine.
"Are we?" Kurt asks as Blaine's peaceful expression quickly morphs into one of shock. "We don't have to be. I get it if we aren't. I was just wondering. Especially with the…," he trails off and motions to his lips and Blaine's face.
There's a heavy silence as he waits for Blaine to answer, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches Blaine pace the room a few times. Eventually Blaine nods and comes to stop in front of Kurt. "I think so, yeah. I don't see why not."
Kurt nods and lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Me neither."
"So should we…?" Blaine meets Kurt's gaze before leaning in slightly.
Kurt nods again before leaning in some more. "I'm so sick of tasting it. Him." He closes the distance between them and allows Blaine to wash over him instead. When he pulls away, his eyes are closed, and he's breathing deeply through his nose. "Just you," he whispers.
"Just me," Blaine whispers back.
"I want you to get rid of him," Kurt says suddenly, frantic and rushed. "I feel him still. Sometimes. When I'm asleep, or even when I just pass the locker room. I can feel his hands … there. One time I got sick from it, and I threw up in the school restroom. I just want you to get rid of him."
Blaine nods and goes back in for another kiss.
Kurt brings his arms up to wrap around Blaine's neck, and Blaine's hands settle on his hips. They stumble back towards Kurt's bed, and Blaine breaks the kiss. "Is this going too fast?"
"No," Kurt brings their lips together before pulling away to scoot back, legs spread to make room for Blaine. "It's not fast enough. You're not him. You can cleanse me."
"Right," Blaine lets out a ragged breath and moves to sit on his knees in between Kurt's legs. He cups his face in his hands as their lips meet. It's all breathless and heavy, and Kurt feels something beginning to build in his stomach, and he wants to call it fear, but it's warmer. It's nothing like what the locker room felt like. Blaine breaks the kiss, but their lips are still touching, and Kurt can feel Blaine's move to form words. "I help."
Kurt nods, and his fingers brush down Blaine's sides to find purchase on the hem of his shirt. He tugs desperately at the fabric, and Blaine leans back on his ankles to tug it up and over his head. "This is good," Kurt says as he removes his own shirt. "This is very good. Not bad. Not him."
"Stop thinking about him," Blaine says as he takes Kurt's bottom lip between his teeth. Kurt gasps softly, and the corners of Blaine's lips curve upwards. "It's just me."
"Just you," Kurt's fingers clutch at the ends of Blaine's hair at the nape of his neck. "It's just you."
Blaine hums in agreement before Kurt's hands come in contact with his belt. "Too fast?" he asks, and Kurt shakes his head.
"It's a new beginning," he clarifies. "I'm scared, but only because I don't want to lose you."
"You won't," Blaine states, banishing the fear.
Kurt nods. "I won't. Now please." His fingers deftly unclasp the belt and tug it out of the loops of Blaine's pants. He can feel Blaine's breath against his lips, so alien yet warm and inviting. His hands shake as he unzips and unbuttons and nervously tugs down. He whispers, "courage," and his voice wavers and cracks, but Blaine just repeats his actions, and then everything gets messy and hot and dizzying, but it's all okay because it's Blaine and Kurt, and that's okay.
He hopelessly tries to pretend it doesn't hurt when Blaine kisses him a trembling goodbye and a promise of tomorrow before becoming another shadow in the night.
Dr. Welch looks tired this time. Kurt keeps his mouth shut and doesn't point it out. Instead, he goes back to the suede chair and takes a seat before saying: "I was raped."
The woman freezes, hand halfway to her notes. She turns to look at the teenager. "You were," she confirms.
"I," Kurt hesitates, and he can feel his heart speed up in his chest. He exhales, all nerves and no calm, before trying again: "I know who it was."
This causes Dr. Welch to pivot and face him entirely; she already has her notes. "You do." It's not a question. It doesn't need to be.
Kurt nods, eyes closing. He can picture him. Meaty hands, and sweat, a lot of sweat. Dark eyes clouded over with a perverted lust, and thin lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Kurt can feel him, too big, too tight, not ready. Never ready. He gasps as cold washes over him. It's suddenly too much, and he has to unzip his jacket. "I'm sorry," he says to Dr. Welch. She doesn't stop him when he stands and exits. This time, however, he heads to the restroom. When he arrives, he is greeted by red-rimmed eyes and quivering lips. His cheeks are flushed, and he can feel the erratic thump-thump-thump of his heart. He runs to a sink and splashes cold water on his face. "He's gone," he tells himself, voice harsh. "Blaine got rid of him." It's not enough. He looks into the mirror one last time before shakily going back to Dr. Welch and her too invasive notes.
She hasn't moved. Her eyes lock on him as soon as he enters before dutifully flitting to stare at a picture on the wall to give him time to better compose himself.
"His name is Karofsky," Kurt rushes out when he thinks he can move without falling apart. "We call him that. His full name is David Karofsky. I don't want to out him. I didn't want to out him."
Dr. Welch sits down in her desk chair and taps her pen to her chin. "You would've had to eventually. Circumstance calls for it."
"I know," Kurt breathes. "But I didn't want to."
"You changed it," Dr. Welch observes, and Kurt looks up at her. "You said you 'don't' want to out him, and then you said you 'didn't'."
Kurt frowns and looks away. "It's too late."
The woman nods before writing something. Kurt blanches. "I didn't do anything wrong, did I?"
This causes Dr. Welch to pause, eyes shifting from the canary paper to Kurt's lithe form, leaning forward nervously in the chair. "No," she says eventually, voice steady and strong. "You did nothing wrong."
Kurt releases a breath. "Okay."
She writes some more stuff down before asking about his day. He tells her he's tired and wishes he could sleep forever. She asks if he eats. He tells her he eats enough. When she asks how long ago it was that the locker room incident happens, Kurt hesitates. "I think," he says slowly, "about a month and a half ago." She writes something down.
"Has this feeling been consistent?" she inquiries. "This fatigue? Is that what it is?"
Kurt shrugs. "I feel heavy a lot. Sometimes I feel like none of the day actually happened. That was more the first week though."
Dr. Welch nods. "Kurt," she clicks the pen twice, "I'd like to talk to you and your father on trying out antidepressants."
"You think I have depression," Kurt sucks in a breath.
A firm nod is his answer.
He lets out the breath. "Why not?" He gives another false smile.
"They put me on something," Kurt says when he sees Blaine again. Blaine makes an intrigued noise. "Prozac, fluoxetine," Kurt supplies.
Blaine reclines against the headrest of Kurt's bed. "How do you feel about that?"
"Oh, I didn't know I was talking to Dr. Welch," Kurt jokes. He looks away after a second though. Eventually he shrugs. "Okay, I guess. I didn't do anything to stop it." He doesn't do much to stop anything anymore. He looks back at Blaine. "What's happening in your world anyways?"
Blaine's gaze darkens. "Don't."
Kurt shrinks back. It's a rule not to talk about Blaine's life. Sometimes it causes Kurt to wonder if he really did make Blaine up, a weird, twisted, coping method, but Blaine is real. Kurt knows it. "I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I didn't mean—"
"I know," Blaine snaps. Kurt doesn't like it when Blaine is like this. He gets cold and distant, and it makes Kurt feel all alone again. It sends him back to the corner of the locker room, nude and shivering. Kurt reaches out a hand, and Blaine freezes before accepting the sign of peace. He twines their fingers together. "It's too much," Blaine's voice is quiet, and his breathing is rough. He suddenly surges forward, and their teeth clack before Blaine's lips are on his.
Kurt's hands move on their own accord to clutch at Blaine's waist before their separating. Their foreheads are pressed together, and Kurt can feel the cool dampness of Blaine's tears on his cheeks when his hands move up to cup them. "What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Blaine whispers.
"Please," Kurt whispers, and his heart speeds up when Blaine's hands push lightly at his chest.
"No, Kurt," Blaine asserts.
"I tell you everything," Kurt continues despite everything in him telling him no, and he knows he should've listened because Blaine is shoving him away now, hazel eyes blazing.
"You don't have to tell me anything, Kurt," Blaine practically growls. "Not once have I made you tell me anything. I've asked you, but I've never made you answer, so don't act like I make you open up to me. You've known that I won't tell you anything. You know." He scoffs before shaking his head. "No. I'm going to tell you what happened. And you're going to sit and listen."
Kurt nods stiffly, sitting up straighter, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.
"It was a hate crime," Blaine states, voice scathing, venom dripping with every word. "I should've known not to do anything, but I thought it'd be okay. I was really naive. There was a Sadie Hawkins dance right after I came out, and I invited another gay kid to go with me. I should've known something would go wrong," he lets out a bitter laugh. It's so unlike him, and it scares Kurt. He tightens his grip on his legs as Blaine continues. "We were waiting for his dad to pick us up when these guys come out of nowhere and beat the living crap out of us. I don't even remember the other student anymore. I left. I ran to Dalton because I'm a coward," he meets Kurt's wide eyes, and a blasé smile sprawls across his face, "and I'm so disgusted with myself for it."
Kurt blinks and words come slowly to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I—"
Blaine doesn't let him finish. "Of course you didn't."
He leans forward and presses a kiss to Kurt's lips. "I need to go."
Kurt nods before closing his eyes and disappearing for a bit.
Burt finds him in the closet. "Never thought I'd see you in here again," he begins to joke, but the words die on his lips when he sees the impassive expression on Kurt's face. He kneels next to his son. "What's going on?" he asks delicately.
"Nothing," Kurt answers guardedly. "Just tired."
Burt purses his lips. "That's what the Prozac is for. Is it not working?"
Kurt squeezes his eyes shut. "Can I … ask you something?"
Burt frowns but nods.
"Is it," Kurt balks. There's a pause as he collects himself before continuing. "Is it possible to love something you're not even sure exists?"
Oh.
"Is this about Blaine?" Burt questions, hoping the inner dilemma he feels doesn't show.
Kurt tenses before haltingly nodding. "I didn't mean to, I swear. I just … he's so there, and I just can't help but feel this warmth, and he's so beautiful, and I'm just so alone without him." A choked sob makes it way past his lips. Another one comes and then another before they're racking his body, making his shoulder shake and his lips tremble and quiver. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I know it's unhealthy. I know I messed up. I'm so sorry." He brings his hands up to cover his face, though the action does nothing more than cause him to gag. He shakes his head.
Burt apprehensively places a hand on Kurt's back. "Hey, bud, no. I'm not mad, and you're not messed up. Blaine's a source of comfort to you. It makes sense you'd care about him."
"I'm a freak," is all Kurt says.
"No, you're not," Burt argues. "You're a strong boy growing up into a man, and you're going to go to New York and end up on Broadway and have your own fashion line. There's nothing wrong with you."
"I'm in love with my imaginary friend," he retorts.
Burt doesn't respond, which only leads to Kurt crying harder.
"He just feels so real," Kurt explains. "I can see him, and he's there, and I can hear him. He just seems so real. I don't get how he can't not be."
"We can't help who we fall in love with, Kurt."
"I don't get why I just can't move on or tell Blaine to go away," Kurt's shoulder shake as another sob goes through him.
"It doesn't work that way, and you know it," Burt says.
Kurt nods and hiccups. "I just love him so much, but he's not real, and I just want to die, Dad." He gets choked up then, and his words abruptly stop. He stands, and shakes his head. "I didn't mean, no, I'm sorry. I just, I'm going to bed." He squeezes his eyes shut and turns away from his father before leaving to shakily climb under the covers and close his eyes. Burt watches him and lets out a breath. He stands warily and makes his way over to his son. He stares down at him for a second before patting his shoulder.
"You'll figure it out," he says. "Try spending some time properly alone maybe."
Kurt hiccups once more before burying his face into the pillow.
Burt furrows his brow but leaves without another word.
"I didn't mean to stay away for that long," Kurt says first thing when he sees Blaine underneath the bleachers one day after school. "I just had to figure some things out. I needed the time away."
Blaine doesn't respond and instead stares absently out at the football field.
"I'm really sorry, you know," Kurt continues when he sees that he won't get a reply. "I wanted to spend time with you, but I was just really confused." He's about to say more when Blaine kisses him. His eyes widen before he's winding his arms around the shorter boy's neck and shoulders, and Blaine's hands are grasping his waist, clinging to him as if he'll disappear any second.
"It's okay," Blaine says when they part. He brings a hand up to glide his thumb over Kurt's bottom lip. "We're okay." He lowers his hand to mold their lips together once more. "Things are okay."
Kurt nods before pulling away to bring Blaine into a tight embrace. "I missed you."
Blaine kisses him again before smiling. "I missed you too."
He doesn't mean to tell his dad, but he does. Honesty was their thing anyways.
"Blaine and I," he stumbles over his words, but they're too fast to be stopped, "we had sex."
Burt freezes, hand halfway to the milk in the fridge. "You had what with Blaine?"
"Blaine, I, we, sex," Kurt finishes lamely.
There's a stony silence before Burt is retracting his hand from the fridge and going around the bar to pull his son into a hug. "Kurt, I'm sorry."
Kurt stepped out of his dad's arms, confusion written across his features. "Why?"
"Did it hurt?" Burt asks, ignoring Kurt's own question. "When you and Blaine…?"
"Well, at first, yes, but then I didn't really notice," Kurt answers cautiously, still perplexed, even more so when his father brings him into his arms again.
"It's going to be okay, bud," is all Burt says. "I've got you."
Kurt doesn't understand, but he doesn't ask any more questions.
"That could really hurt you if it opens in your pocket," Kurt states when he sees Blaine toying with pocket knife he carries with him. "Why do you even keep that around?"
Blaine looks up at him. "Old habits die hard."
Kurt swallows but doesn't say anything.
"Have I seemed," Blaine pauses as if searching for the right word, "distant to you?"
Kurt frowns. "I don't think I'm qualified to judge that."
"Neither of us are really qualified for anything."
"True," Kurt agrees before gazing at the other's face, the sepia eyes, the pink lips, the gritty stubble. "Sometimes," he decides.
Blaine closes his eyes and hums. "Okay. Sorry."
"It's fine," Kurt says.
"Thanks."
Kurt nods and leans down to place a light kiss on Blaine's forehead. A smile takes over Blaine's lips.
"You can keep it," Blaine proclaims suddenly, "if you want to."
"Your knife?" Kurt inquiries. "Why would I want it?"
"You never know when you'll need it," Blaine states, and Kurt takes note of the fact that he said it as if Kurt will for sure use it in the future. Blaine hides the blade and holds up the knife in his palm, offering it to Kurt.
He accepts it with a soft, "thank you."
Blaine just asks for another kiss.
"I have a friend named Blaine," Kurt says suddenly to Dr. Welch during one of their increasingly habitual sessions.
Dr. Welch raises a brow.
"He's," Kurt froze. He stayed with me is what he wants to say. Instead he says, "he's my best friend."
"How long have you known him?" Dr. Welch asks.
"We met around the same time that happened," Kurt's answer is vague, but Dr. Welch knows what he means.
She writes down something in her notebook.
Kurt gets a sick feeling that he knows what it says.
"Is he still coming around?" Burt asks when he enters Kurt's room with any warning.
Kurt bolts upright from his spot on his bed. He's by himself. "No," he says. Dr. Welch has probably told him.
"Total honesty." She has.
"Yes."
Burt frowns. "Have you two done anything again?"
Kurt looks up at this before shaking his head and laying back down once more. "No."
Burt sucks his lips in before nodding. "Good."
He can feel his dad's eyes on him all the time now. He tries to ignore it, but sometimes all he wants is to see Blaine. He sticks his hand in his pocket and rubs his thumb against the smooth wood of the knife. He glances into the hallway to see Finn in his room, playing a videogame on his Xbox.
He lays down and turns on his side.
He misses Blaine.
He sees him again when his dad is at the shop, and Carole is at the hospital, and Finn left despite Burt's command not to leave because Rachel said she had something to show him which "obviously means her boobs, dude."
He's sitting on his bed, a common position for him these days, when Blaine barges in. Kurt tries to contain the grin and laugh that bubbles in his chest. "Hi," he says instead, though his voice is breathy and higher than usual, and his excitement is fairly obvious.
Blaine stares at him before stumbling over and landing a searing kiss to Kurt's lips. "I've missed you so much."
Kurt grins against the other's mouth before responding. "Same here. You have no idea." He can feel the curve of Blaine's lips against his own, and he lets out a breathless sigh.
They kiss contently before Blaine pulls back. "What happened?"
Kurt hesitates before answering. "It's my dad. He doesn't want me around you."
Blaine tenses. "What?"
"It's nothing. He just thinks I need to let you go, that's all," Kurt explains.
"But you won't, right?" Blaine looks too concerned. Kurt can feel his heart begin to race. "You'll remember me, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Kurt assents. "Of course I'll remember you."
Blaine stares at him for a long moment before nodding. "Good." He brings their lips together one more time.
"But," Kurt begins abruptly, suddenly, nervously, "do you ever wonder if all of this isn't real?"
Blaine's lax expression hardens. "What?"
"What if this," Kurt gestures vaguely between them, "really isn't real?"
"It is though," Blaine argues.
"How do we know that?" Kurt contends. "How do I know that?"
"Are you really going to go there, Kurt?" Blaine asks, betrayal clear on his face.
"I wouldn't," Kurt says, "but my dad, and my stepmom, and my psychiatrist—it's hard being one against three."
"It doesn't mean you're wrong," Blaine affirms.
"But I could be."
"But you aren't," Blaine sighs and grips Kurt's hand. "How can you feel this if I'm not real?"
"Vivid hallucination? That dissociation thing Dr. Welch brought up?"
Blaine sighs again and uses his other hand to clutch at the fabric over Kurt's heart. "What about this? And what about the kissing?" Kurt bites his lip, and Blaine groans in frustration. "C'mon, Kurt, listen to me. I'm real."
"That's what you're supposed to say!" Kurt shakes his head.
Blaine stiffens. "No. And you said you'd remember me!"
"Because it's the right thing to do!" Kurt yells.
"No," Blaine refutes. "You're wrong."
"Just shut up!" Kurt squeezes his eyes shut. "You're not real!"
"Kurt, no, you don't know what you're doing," Blaine snarls.
"Not real!" Kurt shouts. "You're not real! You're not real! You aren't real!"
Blaine's hand is hitting his cheek before he can stop himself. They both freeze at the action, and Blaine draws his hand back to cover it with the other. "Oh God. Kurt. I'm so sorry. I—"
"Get out," Kurt commands.
Blaine doesn't move.
"Get out!" Kurt screams.
"Kurt, please, I'll make it up to you, I swear! Just let me, please!"
"I said to leave me alone!" Tears spring to his eyes, and Kurt's actively trying to push Blaine away. "Just get out!"
Blaine scrambles over to the window. "I'm so sorry, Kurt," he says.
Kurt glares at him, pale hand covering red cheek. "Just go."
Blaine blinks at him before carefully making his way out.
Kurt doesn't speak for the next three days. He just needs time to sort it all out.
"I didn't mean to shut you out," is the first thing Kurt says. It's to his dad. They're in the kitchen again, and Burt is making a BLT. Kurt doesn't try to stop him.
"It's alright. We all need a time out sometimes."
Kurt shrugs.
"So what happened?"
"Blaine hit me."
The sandwich is dropped. Burt pays it no attention. "He hit you."
Kurt nods despite the fact that it's not a question. "He was in the right. I kept screaming that he isn't real. He had a right to get mad."
"But that didn't give him the right to hit you, Kurt."
Kurt just shakes his head and rests his head in his hands. "I just want to leave."
Burt releases a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, bud."
"Everybody's sorry," is all he gets in response.
He goes back to his mutism. Dr. Welch doesn't get mad; she just looks tired. Kurt hopes it's not because of him. Everyone is starting to look tired. He's starting to think it's because of him.
The next week's session is when he voices his fears to Dr. Welch, much to her surprise. She tries to tell him that it's not. She's just having a few problems at home, and Kurt wonders what that means, but he doesn't argue. He just slips back into the silence he's grown accustomed to.
"We need to talk about this. You need to talk to Dr. Welch about this," Burt says when he sees Kurt staring blankly at the ceiling from his spot on the couch.
Kurt rolls his head to the left to look at him. "By 'this' you mean Blaine."
"More or less," Burt confirms.
"And by that you mean the sex and the hit."
Burt nods.
Kurt nods in return and goes back to staring. "Okay."
Burt lets out a breath of relief, but he still feels the worry that claws at his chest. "Let me know if you need anything, alright, bud?"
"Okay."
He doesn't.
This time he's with Dr. Welch and his father.
Burt looks unnerved. Kurt shifts anxiously in his seat.
It's Dr. Welch who breaks the silence. "You're father is very scared for you."
"Why?" Kurt asks immediately.
"He's afraid Blaine isn't what's best for you," she states.
Kurt's blood runs cold. "What does that mean?"
"We have something we can give you that can make him go away," Dr. Welch clarifies, and Kurt's heart plummets as she continues: "He's merely a coping method. This type of dependency isn't safe for you or anyone else. You need to recover using yourself only."
"But if Blaine isn't real, and I made him up," Kurt blinks, "that's my imagination. That is myself."
"Not exactly," Dr. Welch stops the idea from gaining any substance. "Blaine is a separate piece of yourself."
"So I apparently have multiple personalities now?" Kurt can feel the anger begin to bubble under the surface.
"No, Kurt," Dr. Welch looks to Burt. "Would you like to…?" She gestures to him. Burt nods.
"Kurt, bud," he begins, "Blaine was great at first. He was a friend that you could confide in, and you could just be yourself around him, but then things got complicated. He's going to inhibit you for the rest of your life. You won't find proper love; you'll be distracted by him, a figment of your imagination. He'll have you on a leash."
"No," Kurt shakes his head. "He won't. He doesn't."
"You won't get the experience you need in life," Burt pushes. "He'll block you from all that."
"You don't know," Kurt's rambling now, "you don't know anything about him, about me. You don't know what we had. He's real. He was real. He was real then, he's real now. It was just one hit. Just one mistake. He's real. You don't know anything about us."
"Kurt, kiddo," Burt sighs, "please listen to me."
"No," Kurt's gasping for air, "you can't do this to me."
"Tell her about what happened. She needs to hear it from you," Burt demands, and Kurt's stomach leaps into his throat.
"You told her about that?" He just feels really betrayed, especially at the thought that his father sees his and Blaine's relationship negatively. "That wasn't bad," he defends himself, Blaine, both of them. "Don't ruin a beautiful thing."
"A beautiful … Kurt, what in the Heavens?" Burt's brow is furrowed, and a dumbfounded expression has taken over his face. "You liked it?"
Kurt nods earnestly. "What's wrong with that? Aren't we supposed to be at it like rabbits anyways?"
Dr. Welch is wearing a grueling smile when she reaches out a hand to place on his knee. They've grown closer with time. "We didn't think you'd be able to enjoy sex. Not with the situation with David."
"It was different," Kurt states. "What Karofsky did was," he shakes his head. "No. That was horrible. It was different with Blaine. He got rid of Karofsky. He was a fresh start."
Dr. Welch is rubbing her lips together, and Burt's fingers are interlocked under his chin. Kurt stares at both of them.
Finally Dr. Welch speaks. "Blaine isn't real, Kurt."
He doesn't hesitate to stand and leave.
Burt drives him home after paying for the session. His eyes are tired, and there are dark bags underneath, but he pushes through and finally pulls into the driveway. The two sit in silence for a second before Burt turns to face his son. "She's right."
"No, she's not."
"You met Blaine soon after the locker room, Kurt. That wasn't an accident."
"No, Dad. Please. I don't need more of this." They're wrong. Blaine is real. They've held hands. They've exchanged kisses. Themselves. He's real.
"Kurt, I'm sorry, kiddo."
He's never heard Blaine's last name.
Oh God.
He opens the door and stumbles out. He just needs to get to his room.
The door is unlocked, and he opens it to rush inside. His head is spinning, and he just wants to lay down.
He feels so dizzy and tired, and the knife is heavy in his pocket.
He has no last words before he's plummeting towards the carpet.
When he wakes, it's to Carole pressing a cold washcloth to his forehead. She smiles sympathetically down at him. "Hey there, sweetheart."
"Courage," he mumbles and tries to sit up before she shushes him and gives him a gentle shove back to the mattress.
"I'll go get you some soup," she says. "Stay here."
Kurt nods and closes his eyes. He hears the click of the door, and before he knows it, he's out of bed, reaching into his pocket. He extracts his hand before he can grab the knife. When you'll need it. All the little details of his room are blurry. The door has a lock, and he puts it to good use before pivoting. He trips on a shoe as he makes his way to the bathroom. There's a bow tie hanging from a necklace rack, and he feels a wave of nausea wash over him. Bile rises in his throat. He rips the tie off the stand and clutches it. "I'm sorry," he whispers as he brings the fabric up to his lips. It's not even Blaine's. "I didn't believe you, but I get it. I'm sorry." His knuckles turn white. "Please come back. I can feel him."
They're all over his body, touching him, gripping too tight to his thighs, too tight to his neck. They're everywhere, and he can't get rid of them. He's trapped. "Get rid of him, please, Blaine, please. I need you. I need you so much." The weight of the wrong body on his crushes him, and he splutters and coughs out Blaine's name. He puts the plug in the drain of the bathtub and starts the water. "Get him off. Get him off. Gethimoffplease."
'Courage' rings in his ears like a taunt.
He looks down at the bow tie in his hands. He throws it into the tub. He reaches into his pocket once more to pull out the pocket knife. Blaine's.
He's not real.
Nothing is real.
The bow tie is dark and haunting from where it lays at the bottom of the tub. Kurt strips and climbs in. "Cleanse me," he whispers, "just you. Just you. You help. You help. Youhelpyouhelpyouhelp. Please get him off." The knife is slick in his hand, and he nicks his finger when he opens it. "Get him off," he cries, and his voice is strangled as water gets in his mouth. "Cleanse me. Please."
It's all too much. He feels too much. He just wants it to stop.
He takes a deep breath, ignores the water that floods his mouth. The knife is stark in comparison to his milky skin. He lets it dig into his flesh.
Some part of him, the old him, the one before Blaine and the locker room and Dr. Welch and courage, would get mad at how cliché it all is. This ending. The him of today just wants to go to sleep. He drags the knife down his arms. The sting is a constant. It makes everything else turn into a dull buzz. He closes his eyes.
He just wants to sleep.
"Just you," he whispers.
"Just me," Blaine whispers back.
Being the town gay doesn't get many people at your funeral.
There's his family of course. Burt remains stoic, but everyone knows as soon as he gets home a dam will break. Carole is openly crying, tear after tear silently streaking down her face. Finn looks confused. His lips are in a tight line, and his brow is furrowed. He doesn't understand why his little brother would do it.
Dr. Welch tugs the collar of her shirt up higher. The bags under her eyes appear darker than before. A notepad sits on the seat next to her.
His few friends are there too. Mercedes stands off to the side, eyes locked on a point off in the distance. She wishes he would've said something. All they knew was from Finn. Rachel isn't even trying to sing. It's stone silence from everyone.
It's not the funeral Kurt would've wanted.
There's a priest there. Kurt would've vetoed that immediately. He asks if anyone would like to share a few words.
Eyes roam and gazes are held. A short boy with honey eyes and endearingly curly hair meant only for Kurt stands up.
DISCLAIMER: Any characters that seem to be associated with the television series Glee belong to the show's producers, directors and the actors portraying the characters. (Mainly Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, portrayed by Chris Colfer and Darren Criss.) The excerpt is from a poem by Hannah on tumblr (sometimestuesday).