Shattered Like Glass
*Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks, underage drinking and mentions of self-harm and other mental health issues.*
*Spoilers: Takes place shortly after season 4, episode 4, The Break-Up*
*Disclaimers: I don't own glee and therefore do not own any of the characters mentioned or used in this story.*
...
The cool night air rushes into the apartment upon the door sliding open, creaking on its railings. Kurt inches through the doorway, sliding the door shut behind him as he locks it and deposits the keys back into his pocket.
Standing there, surveying the apartment, he leans back against the door exhaustedly.
The entire apartment was a chaotic mess, cooking utensils strewn about and chairs out of place, though he couldn't scrounge up the effort to care. The mess, surprisingly, did not frustrate him, but the silence did.
Rachel was out somewhere, Kurt had no idea where because he didn't particularly care where she went anymore, but it left the apartment deathly silent and dark, a single light flickering from the kitchen where Rachel had no doubt forgotten to switch it off.
Kurt sighed, straightening as he shrugged off his coat, slinging it over the back of the arm chair in the living room. He could currently care less about the state of his clothes, a thought that should've worried him further.
Home was too quiet, among the bustle of New York's streets Kurt had been blanketed in noise, speech and music, all the sounds of the city. But here he couldn't help but listen to his thoughts.
And they were screaming at him, declaring disgusting thoughts of self-loathing and confusion, stabbing at his insides until he felt sick.
He couldn't stop the heavy feeling that settled in his gut and consumed his body in its presence as he listened to the thoughts, there was no way to drown them out now that he had returned to the quiet and no way to rid himself of the sinking feeling that left him nauseous.
Well... There was one way...
Kurt spared a glance towards the cabinet in the kitchen. There was surely some form of alcohol in there, Rachel had somehow managed to get some, going off on a spiel about the importance of healthy rebellion. Kurt didn't really care, he just needed something, anything he could drown his sorrows in and use to escape these treacherous thoughts. He barely hesitated for a second, striding over to the cabinet and flinging it open. Bottles shining in the dim kitchen light glinted back at him, alluring but dangerous, and he immediately reached up to grasp a neck of a bottle in hand, the cool glass soothing in his firm grip.
He pulled it out of the cabinet, contemplating searching for a glass to use but eventually deciding against it. If he had a way to measure out how much he was drinking every time he took a sip he'd feel guilty and conscious. There was no way he would ever get drunk enough to wash away these thoughts plaguing his mind while he was aware of every drop he'd drank.
Kurt settled back against the wall in the kitchen, sliding down the surface with the bottle clutched between his fingers. He sat for a quiet, prolonged minute, watching the light reflecting on the surface of the glass. He opened the bottle.
He took a swig.
Utterly disgusting.
Perfect.
Kurt took another gulp, ignoring the burning sensation that tingled his tongue and slid down his throat. He expected his thoughts to leave him now but they became clearer, unwavering, even in his steadily drunkening mind.
He cheated on you. He took a sip.
He never loved you. He swigged from the bottle.
You weren't good enough for him. He chugged down the drink desperately.
No amount of alcohol could shield him from the truth, he just hadn't been enough for Blaine, and probably never will be. Blaine had cheated on him, nobody cheats on somebody they truly love. He will never be good enough, him and his disgusting, pasty skin and his child-like face, bitchy attitude and countless other features he hates himself for and are reminded of every single day.
The heavy feeling in his gut had returned full-force, feeling like a weight compressing down on all his organs, it was growing rapidly and taking up all the space in his insides until he felt like his skin was stretched and his lungs were crushed.
Kurt's heart beat uncomfortably against his ribcage, like there wasn't enough room with the tightness in his chest for it to do its job.
He felt his lip quivering and brought the bottle to his mouth, desperate to ignore the thoughts as he immersed himself in the horrible flavour of the drink coating his tongue.
There's a reason he doesn't love you. His shaking hands lift the bottle to him.
No-one will ever think you're good enough. The drink burns like fire but it's not enough to quell his raging mind.
You caused this.
It's your fault, it always is. It's too much, Kurt's eyes are prickling uncomfortably,
welling with tears and his stomach twists into knots that expand, bubbling throughout his entire body until there's no room for anything but discomfort. He can feel the panic rising, it's flooding his veins and crashing through his mind and he can only tremble with his hands encompassing the bottle as he's shrouded in anxiousness, the thoughts overwhelming him now.
You drive everyone away.
You're ugly inside and out.
Nobody could ever love you.
Kurt has the intense urge to scream but his breath is too short, stolen from his lungs as he struggles to breathe, his limbs shaking and his body quaking like a leaf in a blizzard.
He just wanted to escape his thoughts but now they're there, overtaking his existence and tumbling over him like a tsunami and they're just there, no matter where he turns.
He does let out a sound then, a pained groan mumbling it's way past the barrier of his lips as the tears welling in his eyes spill over, streaking his cheeks. One of his hands has let go of the bottle, instead gripping into the flesh of his arm until he can feel his nails digging into the skin, he desperately tries to ground himself, remind himself of physical pain, anything to avoid the thoughts that are tearing him apart like he's a crumpled piece of paper at mercy to the wind and rain. He feel like he might die here, sitting hunched on the kitchen floor of his shared apartment as his heart thuds so uncomfortably in his chest he feels he can't breathe.
You deserve to be left by Blaine.
You're going to die, and nobody will care.
You can't even love yourself.
And suddenly everything is boiling to the surface, anxiety clawing at his skin as if yearning to be free and his blood screaming at the sick feeling ever present in his gut.
It's all being released and with an abrupt twitch of his hand the bottle is being flung across the room. Kurt watches it fly through the air, lip quivering but his face otherwise nonchalant as the bottle soars and impacts the opposite wall, smashing into a million pieces with a jarring sound that snaps Kurt back to life.
He gasps in shock and stumbles over to the mess, dropping to his knees with a thud.
Shards pierce the skin of his knees but he barely feels the pain, welcoming the distraction from his slowly clearing mind. He tries to gather up the pieces of glass but his hands are still shaking, filled to the brim with adrenaline and anxiety and he gives up, letting them drop to his knees as he kneels on the floor, breathing heavily.
He sits there hunched, regaining his breath for God knows how long, working on ridding his mind of the thoughts plaguing it.
The sound of keys rattling makes his head shoot upwards and he stumbles back.
Kurt desperately wipes the tears from his cheeks and removes the glass from his shaking hands. He wants to run and hide, to leave this entire thing behind and find somewhere he can ignore his roommate. He knows he must be a mess, covered in tears and sweat and blood with his hair in a disarray in his clothes not fairing any better treatment and he feels so weak, so vulnerable, like this is a part of him he must hide from viewing eyes.
Still, as the door slides open and Rachel slips into the apartment he stays there, trembling and a disorganised mess.
"Kurt?" Rachel calls, and he can hear the cheery tone coating her voice. Gosh he's so selfish to ruin her night with his horrible appearance, he needs to escape now while he can. While he braces his bloodied hands on the floor in order to stand Rachel turns the corner into the kitchen, her smile fading as she takes in the sight before her.
"Kurt?" She questions again, her eyes widening and he sits there guiltily, staring up at her while he quakes, tears already forming in his eyes.
"Oh honey." She whispers and he looks away, back down at the shattered glass in front of him. Rachel follows his gaze and starts with a gasp.
"Oh my, don't move an inch, I'll be right back with the broom!"
Kurt obeys silently, unable to stand the disappointment that will surely encompass her voice now. He sits there unmoving as she sweeps around him, eventually swaying to his feet as she tugs on his arms in an effort to make him stand.
Rachel silently manoeuvres him away from the kitchen and into the living room where she sits him down on a couch and without words goes to fetch the first aid kit.
The weight in his gut had subsided, still present but ignorable now. Kurt could also avoid his thoughts, the pain from his stinging knees and palms and the shame of being caught controlling his mind.
Rachel returned and set to work, picking glass out of the palms of his hands as she obviously ignored the smell of alcohol permeating from his breath. He sat there unmoving, the pain from his cuts less noticeable than the worry in her eyes.
"This is going to sting," Rachel simply warned before gingerly dragging a wipe across his hands. She was right, it did sting, but Kurt remained there unflinching, staring off into the distance as she continued her ministrations on his limbs.
He can't believe he was sitting here, drunk, while his best friend picked glass from his skin after he had unintentionally thrown a bottle at a wall. He supposed he couldn't really blame himself, he knew he'd been under the influence of alcohol...and anxiety.
An attack. He thinks now. He had been having a panic attack.
At the mere thought of such anxiousness his heart hammers rapidly again, jerking upwards and his stomach drops, expanding until it's pressing against his lungs and making it difficult to breathe.
Kurt takes a shaky breath, quelling the fire kindling in his veins. Rachel's moved back and she's staring into his eyes, her own soft and concerned. Her cautiously caring gaze was a stark juxtaposition to the raging feelings he felt inside and he looked away.
"Kurt?" She murmured gently, moving one of her hands to cover one of his own.
He hummed in response, avoiding her eyes. He didn't trust his voice and he certainly didn't trust himself to be strong while looking into those warm eyes.
"Are you okay?" Rachel continued, her voice never rising above a whisper.
He made the mistake of looking, his eyes flitting over the worried lines of her forehead and the true concern in her dark eyes. He felt tears well up again and he nodded, tearing his gaze away.
"Yea-yeah, fine." He muttered in return, his voice breathy and hitching as he struggled to compose himself. She stood, sitting beside him on the couch. He pointedly looked the opposite way, trying to conceal his quivering lip and glassy eyes.
Rachel sat for a minute, observing him with sympathy in her expression, Kurt could feel her gaze on the side of his head as it sat there, unwavering.
She shifted, tucking her legs underneath her and opening her arms.
The anxiety was still there, thrumming under his skin and eating away at his stomach but he didn't hesitate, throwing himself into her embrace.
Rachel wrapped her arms around his back, tugging him closer to her and he didn't protest, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. It wasn't the most comfortable position, his back was hunched and he could feel Rachel's hair tickling his nose but he didn't mind, he could feel the anxiousness leaving his body, it getting wrung out of his nerves and receding from his insides.
Kurt closed his eyes and nuzzled further into the warmth her skin provided, feeling the tears trickle down his cheeks from the pressure of his closed lids. Rachel sat there, muttering soothing words and rubbing circles into his shoulders and back.
They stayed there for who knows how long as Kurt felt himself unwinding, his mind sobering and the anxiety fleeing from his every cell.
He took a shaky breath, using a hand to wipe the tear tracks from his face. He was unwilling to leave the comforting protection of her embrace but she was already pulling back, looking down at his face.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" She asked and Kurt shook his head, sniffling as he glanced back down at this lap. He doesn't think he can face the shame and difficulty of trying to explain to her he had been encompassed with an anxiety attack that was still trembling through his body and mind.
"Okay." She simply said. And then she was standing, reaching out towards him with her arms. He peers up at her quizzically, tentatively taking her hand into his.
"Let's get you into something more comfortable and make sure all the glass is gone."
Rachel gently coos while tugging him off the couch and Kurt stumbles, catching himself on her arms as she steadies him. His face burnt with embarrassment, he couldn't believe that he was inebriated enough not to be able to stand properly.
She doesn't comment thankfully, leading him back towards his makeshift bedroom and sitting him down on the bed as she roots through his clothing rack for a pair of pyjamas. He sits there silenty as she passes the clothes to him and departs, closing the curtain behind her.
It's quiet again, but the silence isn't intrusive it's almost comforting, would be comforting, if he still didn't have the prickle of adrenaline buzzing in his veins.
Now that the rush of raging emotion is gone he feels kind of numb, like a sheet has been draped over him and is shielding his eyes from view and protecting him from the world, clinging to him like a second skin.
It's nicer than a rush of swamping anxiety, he supposes, but the numbness is unnerving, surreal and he's worried that he's not feeling anything at all. And he's even more worried that he can't find it in himself to care.
Without a sound he changes into the pyjamas, unable to find the motivation to properly deal with his clothing, dumping the articles of fabric on the floor. Kurt stands on trembling knees, feeling the skin from his cuts shifting uncomfortably. He was grateful for a break from the nothingness he felt.
"Are you almost done, Kurt? I've warmed up some milk in the microwave!" Rachel calls from what he assumes is the kitchen. She sounds so caring and motherly and he feels the words melt his heart. He takes a deep, fulfilling breath and as the oxygen inflates his lungs he feels peace settle over him, the sounds now audible to his ears and every detail in focus. It's refreshing and calming and now the beat of his heart inside his chest doesn't feel like a clock, ticking away his time but just a reminder that he's living and breathing and feeling.
His knees sting and rub against his pyjama bottoms and what follows with the burn of pain is a wave of guilt and shame but Kurt's just relieved those emotions are filling his gut at all.
He's finally aware of his movements and he shyly sweeps the curtain aside, stepping out and padding to the kitchen where Rachel is fiddling with the microwave. She visibly brightens upon seeing him as she hands him a glass, and her eyes are wary but comforting. He takes the cup and almost drops it with the shock of heat that makes contact with his palms.
"Thanks." He mutters quietly, gingerly taking a sip as he peers over the glass at Rachel who's taken a seat at the dining table. She doesn't reply verbally, just with a simple nod that he finds a lot more comforting than he would expect of a non-audible response. He supposes it's the fact he isn't required to respond further.
Kurt takes his glass in hand and moves to seat himself at the table beside her, tugging the chair back and wincing as it scrapes across the wooden floors.
She seems surprised at his closeness but doesn't comment, watching him sit down beside her.
They sit there in silence with their drinks, the dining room light flickering over them and distant sounds from the surrounding streets echoing in their apartment.
Kurt can taste the alcohol on his breath now and hurries to wash it down with his milk, enjoying the warm beverage immensely as opposed to the addicting but burning feel of drinks down his throat.
He still feels a little uneasy, like his body is trying to tell him that something isn't right, although even it wasn't sure what could possibly be wrong. He ignores this gut feeling though and instead settles for resting his head on Rachel's shoulder. She glances down at him, beaming with a soft grin as he snuggles down into the crook of her neck.
"I know you didn't want to talk about it but," She starts, looking into his eyes "Are you alright now?" He nods with an inaudible sigh, bringing his glass to his lips and taking his last sip so he can rest the glass back on the table and focus on her words.
"Ok, well," Rachel begins and there is something calming but questioning in her voice that urges Kurt to sit up and listen, he does so, making sure to engage in eye contact with her despite his mind protesting the action.
"I'm not sure what happened today but you do know you can talk to me about anything right, Kurt?" She prompts gently, reaching over to grasp one of his cold hands that are shaking in his lap, squeezing it firmly and Kurt feels his limb stop trembling under her touch.
"Yeah," he replies breathily, fresh tears springing to his eyes at her caring tone. "Yeah."
"Good, I'm glad you feel this way because I feel I could come to you for help and I'm honoured you would trust me enough to be of aid to you." Rachel trills proudly, patting his hand and Kurt has to let out a snort, because nothing could be more Rachel Berry, self-centered but undeniably caring in a round-a-bout sort of way. The familiarity and normality of the words help his heart settle in his chest and the thousands of spiked butterflies to still in his stomach.
They sit in silence for a moment, but Kurt can sense Rachel's tiredness, can see it in the worry lines on her forehead and the bags under her eyes, can feel it emanating from her. He feels guilty, of course, to have caused her such worry and stress and it only adds to the uneasiness tingling in his gut.
He takes his chance when she next yawns.
"I'm thinking I'll go to bed now If that's okay?" He says quietly as he stands, collecting his glass from the table and tucking his chair back into place. Rachel blinks surprisingly up at him for a moment before nodding with a soft smile. She gets up too and draws him in for a quick hug. Kurt, unprepared for the contact, freezes but attempts to relax his spine as he envelopes Rachel in his arms.
"Goodnight Kurt." She whispers into his ear, her breath warm but not unpleasant on his skin. He holds her there for a few seconds longer, squeezing tightly before releasing her. She steps back and gives him a gentle smile and a tiny wave before turning on her heel and walking out of the dining room. He listens to the opening and closing of her curtain and the muted sounds she makes while getting ready for bed as he returns to the kitchen.
Kurt sticks his glass under the sink, washing it out with the tap as he listens to the familiar, repetitive sound of rushing water. He surveys the kitchen, Rachel has closed the alcohol cabinet, something he's grateful of, but she has neglected to shut the cupboard door where the bin rests. Kurt can see the glint of green glass peering out over the top, shining mockingly, a present reminder of his humiliating attack and he hurriedly looks away.
He pours the murky water into the sink and sets the cup down next to it, stepping back to shut the cupboard door and cut off the bin from his sights. With the connection to his drunken evening severed he feels at peace again and flicks of the remaining lights in the dining room and kitchen before retreating to his own makeshift bedroom.
Kurt quietly pulls the curtain back and steps inside, tugging it back into place behind him after a quick glance around the darkened apartment.
He gingerly sits down on his bed, hands fidgeting on his lap. He feels like the surface underneath him is foreign, like the bed is new to him and he perches on the end of it awkwardly, comforting himself with the slide of his feet as they rub together.
Kurt's skin is still prickling and his muscles are twitchy and uncomfortable, quivering in his legs and arms. He doubts he'll be able to sleep tonight, left alone except for his all encompassing thoughts to preoccupy and accompany him. It'll give him time to reflect he supposes, to clear his head and sort through the whirl of emotions and thoughts rushing in his mind.
It's not normal, he knows, to be controlled completely by engrossing anxiety attacks that make him want to scream and cry and do anything to get away from life itself. It's not okay, he knows, to be entirely possessed by thoughts of self-loathing and insecurities until he's left a shell of himself, littered with cracks that happiness can filter and seep through. It's not normal and it's definitely not right for him to be thinking and feeling these things regularly, it's not healthy and he shouldn't put up with it any more.
Kurt sighs, falling backwards onto the bed and letting the hard mattress mould around his body.
He's had issues like these in the past, tinkered with thoughts of self-worth and harm, been invested in the idea of the importance of his existence, experienced the intense feeling where something is just wrong too many times to count.
When he'd first moved to New York they'd subsided, the freedom from bullies and family and high school permitting him a sense of liberty and relaxation. Among the bustle of the city he felt free, his thoughts quelled momentarily and his heart beating with mirth instead.
Now they had come rushing back to him, anxieties that consumed his body and thoughts that opposed his true feelings about himself, fixated on hatred and loneliness.
He had been intent on keeping them to himself, 'it'll be fine when you get to New York' had been his mantra, repeated and repeated until he had believed it himself.
But problems like these don't fade by themselves, they don't become fine when all the factors influencing them disappear because it isn't just the causes that affect people, it's their own minds leading the charge to destruction.
Kurt should've known, his thoughts reprimand him while a lump forms in his throat. He shouldn't have been so naive basing all his problems in Ohio as the main causes of his feelings.
He's had enough, Kurt's thoughts declare, he shouldn't have to pretend to be ok when he isn't, he shouldn't be afraid to talk about his issues and he definitely shouldn't be constantly afraid of having thoughts and feelings, especially ones of negative nature that can consume him entirely.
Kurt shifts up the bed until he can feel the downy softness of the pillow caress his head, the imperfect ceiling drifting into view.
He should get some help from someone professional, some guidance from someone who's gone through a similar thing, he thinks, and a bolt of determination strikes him, running through his veins and shifting his face until a grim smile is playing at his lips and his brows furrow.
He needs help and this time he's willing to accept it, if not for his friends and family, them for himself.
Kurt shifts, dragging the silky sheets up as they slide over his skin and settle over his figure. The temporary solution for his problems has left him feeling light and resolved and Kurt thinks he might actually sleep tonight.
He can hear Rachel's soft snores and mutterings from the 'room' beside him and just the notion that another human is keeping him company leaves him feeling comforted and at ease. Tomorrow, after work, instead of trying to avoid his feelings Kurt's going to figure out how to get help.
And he's not going to be alone, he won't allow it.
With pleasant thoughts of being freed from anxiety, Kurt falls asleep listening to the rhythmic snores of Rachel and the faint humming from the kitchen fridge.
He may feel shattered like glass, but he is stone, weathered but strong and unbreakable.
...
By SentientDeity~
…
Don't be afraid to search up websites that specialise in mental health, such as Beyondblue and Headspace, or any other trusted organisations in your country/area.
I love you all, please take care of yourselves and your loved ones! ~