Our Love Created The Perfect Illusion
The first day of school remains the only day of the academic year that people actually enjoy. The girls get to dress up in their new fall fashions, the boys get to admire the lovely ladies, crisp and tan from the summer sun, and the teachers get to once again start torturing their students with books, hours of homework, and detentions.
I walk into the prison school, eyes glued to the floor. I, unlike everyone else, would rather be sticking bamboo shoots up my fingernails than be walking in to school for my senior year. My grey, skinny jeans tightly hugged my thighs, suffocating them to death. I just wanted my pajama pants. My baby blue button down outlined my abs, but I felt extremely awkward in it. I really just wanted my hoodie. My Doc Marten's slapped on the tile ground, making a low echo through the noisy hall, and it annoyed me because shoes were extremely overrated. This whole "school thing" was overrated. Let's through a bunch of hormonally charged teenagers into a building so they can emotionally scar each other enough to last a life time! Great idea. I let my eyes scan the scene around me at my locker, judging all of my peers. Brit definitely got a boob job, she never had a rack like that, I thought to myself. Her and all of her other cheerleader friends were pushing spirit on everyone. Damnit, they were approaching me.
"Turn that frown upside down Kurt Hummel! It's the first day of school!" Brit shouted, waving pom poms in my face. I rolled my eyes and looked away, apparently in the wrong direction. My eyes locked for a split second on Blaine's. Blaine Anderson.
Bad decision. I booked it to the bathroom.
I locked myself in the handicap stall and wiped tears from my eyes.
You're not even in homeroom yet, and you're crying. Good job, Kurt. I thought you weren't going to let this get to you. I thought to myself. I'm normally not this bitter or depressed, but this appeared a lot easier than it actually was.
Summer flings suck.
I think that many times when we miss someone, we miss more of the memories than the actual person. And I missed Blaine, but our love created the perfect illusion. I miss the way my fingers fit so perfectly in the spaces between his, his rough, calloused palms squeezing my soft, porcelain hands. I miss the way his laugh echoed throughout my living room at the stupid and seemingly grotesque comedies he used to make me watch on rainy days. I miss the kisses we shared at the top of the Ferris wheel during the July Carnival, his lips sweet like the candy apples he bought us. I missed the mix CDs he used to make for me, the ones with slow, sweet Jazz from the '40's and 50's. They were his secret guilty pleasure, but I loved it. I missed the way we used to sway to it in his bedroom, standing on the top of his feet, tippy-toed just enough so my lips could reach his. I miss the scent of his body when he held mine as we danced, or when my head would rise and fall on his chest as we gazed up at the stars in the field behind his yard. I miss the texts of good morning and the texts of good night, and the early morning pickups for coffee and cake. But most of all, I missed the cheesy, corny, stupid love that seeped from the pages of a romantic novel into my reality. I missed it more than anything.
"We can't be together anymore, Kurt," He said to me, squeezing my hands. My palms burned in his touch.
"With the guys at school, we'll never have the end of it," He said to me
"You don't think we can handle a couple of homophobes?"
"No, it's not—"
"And even if I couldn't, we we're losing, you don't think we'd pull through? You wouldn't protect me? You wouldn't let me protect you?"
"You know I would, Kurt, but—"
"But what, Blaine? But what? You're ashamed of us, aren't you?
' "Kurt."
"You lied to me, Blaine. You used me. You didn't really love me, did you? That night, when you said it for the first time, you didn't mean it?"
"Of course I meant it, Kurt, why would you think—"
"Because you would put up with all of the bullshit if you really loved me."
I walked back into the house, slamming the door in his face.
"C'mon Kurt, we can figure this out," He yelled from outside.
"Go home Blaine, this is done," I screamed. I slumped down to the ground, head buried in my legs, body heaving in sobs.
My memories are interrupted by the sound of the bell. I opened my eyes, burning from my tears. I didn't have time to treat the puffiness, so I quick splashed my face with water. I walked out of the bathroom and sighed, when I bumped into someone
"Oh, I'm sorr—"
"Kurt, can we talk?"
I looked up and met the beautiful hazel eyes of sweet Blaine Anderson, and all of the memories I just relieved in the bathroom punched my heart, going in for the knock out. I felt my breath hitch as our eye stayed locked, I couldn't dare to look away. The noise in the hall quickly dissipated, and it was only us.
Just us.