A/N. Hey guys, Ellen here. So I got this idea when I was at work, not sure how, but yeah. I'm sorry in advanced because it will make you sad and it will make me sad, and I'm sorry. I'm not really sure how many chapters it will end up being, but I think I've got a bit of direction…. hopefully. Anyways, I hope you guys like it, and if you do, then reviews are helpful, but not necessary, I'm not going to push you. I just hope you enjoy what I write and don't hate me too much. It's loosely based off the song "Terrible Things" by Mayday Parade. Listen to it at the same time for cries. Okay, here you go. Chapter One. Enjoy. (:
The door slammed shut behind him. Kurt didn't even realize how much force he had incorporated in one single action, and how he didn't even realize the sound it made or how that affected the shaking of the table and the clanging of the keys. Or the running of four year old footsteps down the wooden floorboards into the entry hall he now stood in. How he was still standing he wasn't quite sure. He'd never really experienced an out of body experience Brittany and Rachel had once spoken about, but it was at that moment that he felt like a ghost, floating above and watching exuberant jumps and leaps and twirls towards the lost and confused and broken man. And then suddenly there was an armful of little girl with brunette hair in a pineapple bun brushing against his unshaved chin. The feel of the smiling child with the beautiful, long eyelashes that she knew how to work to her advantage- far too well for such a little girl. And suddenly he was standing again, but the feeling of being so out of place wouldn't quite shake away.
"Hi papa K," she breathed out as she turned her beautiful green eyes too look at the tall man.
"Hi Katie," Kurt managed to reply, he wasn't too sure how he managed. And he could feel the throb of tears and depression and pain at the back of his throat, and the prickling of his eyes had begun and he wasn't too sure if Katie had noticed.
"Papa K, what's wrong, daddy?" Turned out, she had noticed. God damn it. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He couldn't ruin her day, he couldn't wipe that smile of her face. He couldn't sit with her on the couch and fall asleep in each other's arms with Breakfast at Tiffany's playing in the background and a snowfall of white tissues on every square inch of black leather. He couldn't. He just couldn't. But he knew he had too.
"Oh nothing Katie-pie, just had a really big day." There was that lie. The same lie he'd told his brother, and his sister-in-law and the cashier that served him in Wal-Mart on his way home from the hospital. It was like maybe, if he repeated the words enough, they would become true. And the day would never have happened and then all three would be sitting around watching Breakfast at Tiffany's. But that wasn't the case. And he was left to lie to his four year old daughter. And they were the same person enough for her to know that her father was lying.
"Daddy, lies never get you anywhere," she started, damn that girl was smart, "why are you lying to me? Why are you sad daddy? Why do you have tears in your throat and a red nose and tissue burn and why haven't you shaved? And why are your eyes wet and look like you haven't stopped crying all day? Is it Grandma Carol? Where's papa Blaine? Why isn't he here to make you happy again? If we watch the movie you love so much, will that make you feel better daddy? If I call daddy and get him to come home and make you tea? I don't want you sad daddy. Why are you sad?" The questions poured out of her mouth, and every new one she asked made Kurt even sadder. The cries in his throat were stuck. And he knew he would have to let them out, but he didn't want to scare his daughter.
"Whoa, slow your roll there little me." Kurt tried to make a joke out of the bombardment of questions. It didn't quite work. Somehow, the four year old had inherited his signature 'bitch-please' look and thought it was the appropriate time for it to make an appearance.
"Come sit down, Katie." He started, despite the chokes he held back. "I need to tell you something, and it's going to make us both sad, and I'm going to cry, and I think you will cry, but afterwards we can just watch whatever movie you want and eat as much Hershey's as you would like and then we can fall asleep. But I have to make you sad, and I'm sorry. But you need to know."
"Okay papa," somehow, she didn't seem fazed. Her eyes had lit up at the promise of her favourite chocolate, but she could see the tears brimming and the laugh gone from her dad's face, so she simply nodded. "To the couch?" she questioned, again.
"To the couch." And Kurt took her hand, led her over to the couch. And sat her down on her favourite cushion Carol had made before they had lived in this house. And he backed into the kitchen to get her that juice she loved in her favourite Harry Potter sippy cup because he couldn't bear the smell and the smiles and the stains and the tears and the memories. And in that moment of brief realisation, he took a deep breath, tried to cough away the chokes and tears in his throat and walked back over to his daughter. The best thing in his world.
Terrible