AN: Hey people. First Glee fic, and yes it's in Kurt's POV. Angst included. It was weird to write, and I don't exactly know what I was going for, but here it is so I hope you enjoy. Or not enjoy. I'm debating on continuing this to Rachel's POV and then Finn's or something. If I get enough positive feedback, I might just do that. But for now, happy reading. :]
Help.
I'm dying.
Help me.
I'm drowning.
Help me.
I'm breaking.
Help me.
I need you.
Help me.
I need someone. I'm too proud to say it out loud, but in the safety of my own mind, I'm shouting it. I'm standing in the crowded hallway, being the jetty in sea of students. I'm being beat against, I'm jostled around and I'm being bumped. I can't bring myself to stare at them and make a snide comment, like I usually do. I can't do any of that, because of you.
Help me.
I can only see you. You're walking down the hallway too, just another wave to erode me and not even care.
Help me.
The diva was right. I'll always be last because I'm not her. I'm Kurt Hummel. I'm not blond; I'm not carrying your baby.
Help me.
I'm a guy. That's what is holding me back. Rachel was right when she said that she'd always be ahead of me because she's a girl.
I'm dying.
The pain is staggering as I watch you and the ex-cheerio walk towards me, brushing past like I'm not even there, like Mr. Cellophane. You don't know how much I want to be her. No one would understand. If I tried to explain this to anyone, I'd get a one-way ticket into the dumpster, something I was glad to be avoiding since the football players joined the Glee club, not since I joined the football team.
I'm drowning.
I did that for you. Not just for me, not just for my dad. It was always you. It will always be you. God help me, everything I do has something to do with you. You're so blind; you don't even see it. If you do, then I have to thank you. You haven't set the football team on me if you know. I haven't lost my precious manhood. Yet. I think you have a clue because when I asked for your help, the first thing you said was something to do about my sexuality.
I'm breaking.
I liked being able to get closer to you. When we practiced for my football audition, I was in bliss. I loved it when you picked me up and put me on your shoulders when I won the game. I did it for you. I did it for my dad. I didn't ever do it for me. It was never about me. I was happy that you came back to Glee. I took that slushy for you. For you. Yet, you just walked away, though I like to think I had something to do with your decision to come back. The Glee club needed you. Mr. Shue needed you. I needed you.
I need you!
You're walking out now and my eyes are following you like they always have done. I can feel myself begin to tremble, clutching my messenger back to my chest for comfort as I watched Quinn lean into you. I watched you place a tender kiss on her blond head and I was green with envy. I wanted to be the one you looked at like that. I love you. Why can't I have the happy ending for once?
I know now that the gay guy never gets the happy ending. Well, at least Kurt Hummel didn't. I also knew I never would. Not with you, at least. You were my hope for a happy ending. You were all I ever wanted really. Except for my clothes, of course. Even Finn Hudson couldn't get me to change the way I dress, not if he… No. I won't follow that train of thought. All I want is to be happy and I haven't been truly happy in a few weeks.
I am a terrible person.
I wanted to push Quinn off a cliff just then. I deliberately humiliated Rachel in front of a guy she might actually have a shot with. I mean… I'm not blind. I can see the chemistry between you and Rachel when you sing. I'm not that naïve; I just like to pretend it isn't really there. She needed a wake-up call more than I did, and I gave it to her the way I saw fit.
Help me…
I have to turn away now because you're gone and probably driving Quinn to your house. I feel eyes on me and I turn in the opposite direction I had been looking in. I meet hurt-filled brown eyes and we just stare at each other.
She's dying.
I can see her. Rachel looks like I feel. I can see her eyes brimming with wetness, trying not to blink and let the tears fall. She's stronger than I am, than I could ever be. I can feel the tears slipping down my perfectly made up cheeks and she just stares back at me. Should I be feeling guilty? I'm not. She needed that wake up call. She did. I am not going to feel guilty for her of all people, she who has a better chance than me.
She's drowning.
She loves you, too. I can see that written all over her face, as I'm sure she can see on mine. We're the same. We're too similar. That's why we don't get along and never will. We love the same guy and we have the same ambitions. We even have the same vocal range. While I obviously win in the fashion department, other than that we're completely similar. Neither of us has a mother. We have loving fathers. We have it all, but we're not satisfied. We never will be.
She's breaking.
Rachel's self control is slipping when she sees that mine is completely gone. We even have the same emotions. How messed up is that? I feel like I need to do something. I feel like I need to sneer at her and strut away like I normally do, but I can't. Something is twisting inside of my chest, causing me unbearable pain and I can't do anything except stare at her face. Her face is my face. Her emotions are my emotions. We're the same. We're connected. Without ever saying a word, we know each other and I have never hated her so much in my life. Yet I couldn't hate her. We were in an awkward position and neither of us knew which limb to untangle first.
She needs you.
The only difference is that she has a chance of her happy ending coming true and I don't. She's Rachel Berry, perky as a squirrel on crack and bouncing back better than one of those super-duper-bouncy-balls. I couldn't do that because I know there's hope for her and none for me.
Help her.
She raises her hand in a small wave and I see a little tear escape her watery eyes and begin its lonely descent down her cheek. Her mascara was going to run. Leave it to Berry to obviously not buy the waterproof mascara even when she's used to getting liquid thrown in her face almost weekly.
Help me.
I raise my hand and wiggle my fingers at her, trying to smile through the tears that blur my vision. I stare at her, my twin, my other half for a moment longer before separating myself finally. I looked to the floor, breathed deeply and looked up again. Without looking back, I stride away from her, shoulders squared and messenger bag still clutched tightly to myself. There are no glances thrown my way. I am invisible, just like her. She's probably doing the same thing right now. I have never felt more connected to one person. It's almost like I can feel what she's feeling.
I'm dying.
We're like twins.
She's dying.
I just need to make it through that door and I'll be able to escape…
I'm drowning.
I should just give up now. There is no hope for my designer clothes and me.
She's drowning.
We're not different at all. I just dress better than her.
I'm breaking.
I'm sure my tears are running at the same speed as hers.
She's breaking.
Why do we get stuck with all the pain? Why can't we be happy for once?
I need you.
We're so dependent on one person; one person who will never love us back because you've got the golden girl.
She needs you.
She's still ahead of me, though. I'm a guy; I'll always be last. We're always last together.
Help.
We.
Help me.
Are.
Help her.
Last.
Help… Us.