Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
A/N:
I completely understand if you want to skip this, I wrote it because I needed to, so really, honestly, feel free to skip to the story. Hope the story will be intriguing to you.
I take it author's notes exist to provide – among many, many, other things – a platform where the writer can give some idea about how the story came to be as well as talk to reviewers. So please forgive me for the long author's note to follow, but that is what I am trying to do here. And I really needed to try, for me. And I hope, of course, it will give you something too, otherwise I would have written it somewhere in a privet diary, together with this story. Writing what follows, it hit me that it is not only how I felt today, a lot, but how Kurt must have felt that day when Karofsky scared him into pieces.
So where does this story have its origin? I went to see my family this weekend. It left me feeling horrendously, frighteningly, weirdly confused and lost in a way. Yeah, no, I really needed all these words. Need.
Nothing new badly painful happened this time around, not really. But there are bad things still lasting out all else it seems. They are things that might never be anything close to good ever again, and that hurts so ridiculously much.
(If you have made it this far through this author's note I already admire you. It is over soon, I promise. I am so sorry for it being so cryptic, and I hope it's not too much.)
I've been pushing back tears, some slipping out anyway, all of the train ride home, which lasted over six hours, and it just build that ugly chocking pressure in my chest. It hurt. Does every time.
And it just all left me thinking: Why do I have to be like this?
So this is my take on what went down inside of Kurt, within split-seconds, so overrunning him completely, when Karofsky harassed him and took the wedding cake decoration from him in such a shockingly creepy way.
I am still not over that scene either. Don't think I ever will be. And at the same time I miss the character of Karofsky this season. I wish Dave would come back. I so want to see that friendship happen. Maybe I'll just have to write it then.
Mauled
Kurt can't breath, he just stands here, empty hands not even shaking, hands that seconds ago had still held a miniature bride and groom ... smiling.
There is no space to put his feelings, no shelf in his mind to neatly sort them in …, somewhere.
Somewhere in the frame of A-Z a black hole has just been born, swallowing, devouring all thoughts, all feeling bright, whole, consoling.
Being left with the everything of nothing, left in empty, hollow consciousness …, not even the mercy of pain is with him in this moment, blissfully distracting as it could only feel right now.
Nothing.
Only …
…
There are no words, there is no focus, to pull together '… feelings.'
He cannot capture them, string them, floating loose, together in thought, nor paint them in colors for anyone else to see. There is no fusing, molding them into a sculpture of clay, metal, … understanding.
Emptiness, loneliness, is all he has standing here. And he cannot shake the dread that, really, it has him.
For the blink of an eye it has him feeling something akin to light, but the emptiness too full, penetrating his every cell, feels like a downpour drenching all of him in sadness.
The cold races through him like a current of mudded tide claiming back the land with full force, taking, unbeknown to all onlookers, with it, yet another pillar of strength, carried deep in the core, in every grain of hope left.
Darkened waters like electricity washing through him suck him dry, have him freeze.
Hot, wet, bitter bile rising in him has him drowning inside his own skin as he still stands somehow, unable to move …, at all.
It is like a storm flood breaking in on him, cold winds howling, encasing his whole body, as the fear rushes back into his body – reclaiming, reviving all of him with ache hard.
It is a fear boiling, burning him alive from the inside, as thought begins to break him down wholly, hammering away at his skull from the inside.
'I can't do this anymore.'