A Broken Mirror
Pairings: One-sided Kurt/Karofsky, with a little side of Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG-13 to R
Warnings: Language and some allusion to adult themes (may be triggering?)
A little author's note:
I've wanted to write this for a little while. I've said a couple of times that I relate to Dave's character in some ways, and I've wanted to explore that. I've also wanted to write some Kurtofsky - not counting A Locker Room Impasse because I made Dave such a monster in that and I feel bad about it - but something more as an exploration of either side. So I took the chance to write this.
I based a good deal of this on my own experiences, even if the situations are a little different. I can elaborate more if wanted, but I won't clog up the author's note here. If, for any reason, you're interested, however, you can always PM me.
Anyway, this also takes all events post-Furt and throws them out of the window. It's more an alternative, a "what could have happened" instead of a "what did happen" thing.
One last thing: I've not abandoned Keynotes! I simply got distracted with my writing, and started on a Klaine Rent-based AU instead of working on that over my holiday. I promise an update in the next few days, and you can also expect the other one in some time (I have a feeling it will become quite long!)
And, here we go. Enjoy!
You're a stranger to yourself.
You don't know what happens, but every time he's there, you can feel something inside of you glowing. Or is it burning?
It's neither.
It's a scalding, an all-consuming blistering that destroys you steadily.
It's going to be slow, and it's going to be painful.
You scared, David?
He illuminates your world, while at the same time extinguishing every candle that you ever lit.
With each step you take, you fall further into the darkness.
The light glows at the end of the tunnel, but you don't know how to get there.
It's not as simple as it seems, is it?
He's always there somewhere.
You might glimpse him as he stands out along the prosaic corridors.
You might walk part the choir room and see him through the window, just for a second, as he stares rapt, engaged, at someone who isn't you.
A flash in the mirror?
A snatch through the car window?
Hidden heavy in the depths of your dreams?
He can't see you though, and when he does, the terror in his eyes is the most haunting, yet the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, because he looks at you the same way you do yourself.
With each flash, each snapshot of a sight, part of you crumbles inside, conquered by the flames.
You're nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are.
The worst thing about the words is the white truth they tell, and the voice they are spoken in.
This isn't you, David.
No one will know.
You are going to make sure no one fucking knows.
They're looking at you differently already.
His locker smells of hairspray and citrus and sometimes you drop your books conveniently right outside it while he's not there just so you can take it in for a moment, store the notes, the harmonies, the undertones in your memory because it's so him.
No one gives it a second thought.
Thank God.
Or do they?
You withdraw, hide away.
He runs.
Or maybe that's in the wrong order.
If you could just pretend...
This is not a fantasy.
This is not a fairytale.
This is not make-believe.
But it is a nightmare.
There are leagues that separate him from you now.
An ocean to drown in.
A scarred-velvet minefield to step on.
A red rope of fate to hang yourself.
You pretend you don't care.
Your graphite exterior turns to diamond.
Meanwhile, the unsteady cliffs inside you crumble, turn to dust.
It's nothing that throwing a few drinks at some dweebs won't solve, right?
right?
Somewhere out there, he's burning a bright blue with someone else.
Probably that prep-school pretty-boy with the nice curls you saw in the picture on facebook from Berry's car crash of a party.
The one that pushed you, told you to back off, said how difficult it could be.
No surprises he's gone for him. If he didn't exist, maybe you would have done too.
Stop with the jealously, David. You want him to be happy.
No, you don't.
You want him to be happy with you.
But he's never going to want you.
You continue to keep dropping your books to keep him in your memory, even though you tell yourself you don't want him there.
don't forget can't remember don't forget can't remember don't forget can't remember
You pretend like you don't care he's gone.
Buttboy deserved it, you tell them.
Fancy's off to gay Hogwarts to be with his own kind.
One less fag to infect the place, you say.
And every time a word tumbles from your mouth, it serves to ignite the fire, making it burn hotter and hotter and faster and hotter and higher and hotter and stronger.
It's like you're trying to run from something.
But there's no escape and you're left to bang at empty walls and plead uselessly for an escape.
It's fucking pathetic.
You're meant to go to college, meet a pretty girl, have kids and a dog and whatever the fuck else you do.
Not this.
It's like a galaxy, the universe, has fallen back into one and there's nothing, nothing, that you can comprehend.
All you know in this ever-changing place is him; so real, so finite. And he's gone, and he's never coming back and you're falling, falling, falling, spiralling downwards through the stars and into the point of no return.
Scared yet, David?
Yes.
You see them one day.
You're walking past the cafe, and you look in through the window, and they're standing in line getting coffee.
You don't know which one you first see, but you know for sure it's them.
You watch through the window as pretty boy hands him a cup, then stands on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek. You see how he smiles. How much he cares for someone who isn't you.
It's like a shard of ice has pierced your heart, and the mirror has shattered, and you're slipping away into the tide.
The next day, you trip up by his old locker again.
The last notes of his smell have faded.
That night, you go home and cry for the first time in months.
You shiver with terror.
You're scared, and the tension is stretching, and the ends of the ribbon are hemming and fraying and coming undone.
Just came to say goodbye love, goodbye love
You've lost the end of the thread in the labyrinth.
Where are you, David? Where have you gone?
Wherever it is, there's no return.
You're submerged in the darkness.
You know everyone is against you.
People don't want you.
All they want is a label, or a flashing neon sign they can use to get you down with, their thoughts caught in the dream catcher containing only the rawest of nightmares.
You can't do this any more.
You know you can't.
The tears tell you that.
We will burn soon.
We will all burn together and we'll turn to ash and dust and nothing.
You make a plan.
It's simple, really. After school. The closet at the back of the auditorium.
It's perfect.
You scared, David?
No.
Not any more.
You try to write a note.
I couldn't
It's not that I
FUCK YOU KURT HUMMEL
You crumple the paper and your face.
Then you throw it away.
Somewhere through the walls, you hear music.
Singing.
Fucking Glee club.
The sound strikes you like an arrow.
life is beautiful, we love until we die
You tie the knot.
Your fingers are shaking.
we steal a perfect moment
You position the chair, turn off the light.
let the monsters see you smile
A last hurrah. Sticking up the middle finger to everyone.
Everything's breaking inside of you.
do i hold you too tightly?
Your breath clatters in your throat, a ghost of the past.
Now.
when will the hurt kick in?
You kick the chair.
Suddenly, your world has contracted to a single point.
Everything you've known, everything you want to be, it's the fading credits at the end of the film, the last refrain of the song.
life is beautiful, but it's complicated
As your eyes close, you think you hear the ethereal countertenor voice that sparks something inside of you.
The flames swell.
The heat is blistering.
It's not his voice. He's not here anymore, because of you.
You tell yourself you imagined it.
we don't need to understand
You didn't.
there are miracles, miracles