Water splashed up from under my feet as I sprinted down the shadowed street. The calves of my Marc Jacob jeans were soaked and as a result my legs felt heavy, slowing me down with each stride, but I pressed on urgently. My heart was pounding against my ribs and my lungs were literally screaming for mercy but I knew I had to keep on running. Run as if my life depended on it. Because it probably did.
I stumbled around the corner at the end of the long street and almost fell in my haste to press my back up against the ominous brick building behind me; I pushed against the gritty, wet wall trying to become invisible amongst the shadows, trying to sink right through the bricks into someplace else where it was safe.
My chest was heaving up and down rigorously as my lungs fought to regain the breath they had lost and I could hardly distinguish the rolls of thunder in the near horizon from the roaring throb of blood in my ears. I longed to sink down to the ground and give the tortured muscles in my legs a chance to build up some energy, but I feared if I were to sit down I wouldn't be able to stand up again. I wouldn't be able to run again. The rain began to come down thicker and faster and it struck the flesh on my arms and face vigorously, soaking everything its cold wet fingers touched. I managed to control my breathing to a somewhat normal pace and instead focused my attention on listening. I zoned out the sound of the rain striking concrete and tarseal, the occasional thunder and the wails of the wind as it picked up speed and hurtled down the street. I zoned it out and listened for a different sound. A man-made sound.
At first it was faint. Then it was unmistakable. Footsteps.
The sound of heavy boots thudding down on the sodden ground. Unlike my own frantic sprint his steps were controlled and calm. He walked with a considerable speed built up but there was none of my urgency. He was confident he was going to get what he wanted. He was confident he was going to catch me.
With a sob of desperation I pushed myself away from the wall and stumbled into an exhausted run again. Every muscle in my body protested immediately but I didn't slow down. Not even slightly.
I managed to gain maybe one hundred – one hundred and fifty – metres, then, through the sheets of rain ahead of me I saw something. At first I thought it was an optical illusion of sorts, a cruel trick on my tired mind to test my sanity. But it was real.
It was a wall. A tall, grey, graffiti littered, concrete wall. I had unintentionally led myself down a dead end. I practically threw myself against it, pounding with my fists and screaming curses at it. After all this, it was the end of the line.
From behind me came a sound so terrifying my blood ran colder than this rain could ever be. It was laughing; loud maniacal laughing that occupied every inch of space around me. It was the same laughing that accompanied me being pushed into lockers, the same laughter I heard as I was chucked into dumpsters and locked in port-a-loos. Laughter that told me that something bad was coming. I turned away from the wall slowly, my fists streaked with blood and my face wet with a cocktail of sweat, rain and tears.
Karofsky was standing in the middle of the street. He was not exhausted. He was not desperate. He was not frightened. Right now, he was everything I wasn't. A dim ray of light from the single streetlight eerily cast shadows over his face. Something clutched tightly in his meaty fist glinted sinisterly. A knife? A gun? I really didn't want to find out. He stepped right into the light and yelled "You can't run anymore, Fancy. You can't run and you certainly cannot hide" He started to walk towards me and I could now clearly see he was holding a butchers knife . It was large, and sharp, and fucking terrifying.
"Please" I sobbed "Please don't do t-this!"
He simply smirked "Are you scared, Fancy? Are you….frightened? Well now I guess you know how I feel!" The smirk was fast gone, replaced with a near animal snarl "You see…you know about – about me" He was dangerously close now, the veins in his neck were bulging and little specks of saliva leapt from his mouth at each word spoken "And I don't believe for a second that you are going to keep your God damned mouth shut! And I can't have that, can I, Lady?"
He was about an inch away from me now. His voice was spookily calm and steady, but his eyes gave away the insanity slowly taking over him; they darted back and forth were wide as dinner plates. He was on the verge of breaking.
I swallowed down the panic brewing deep inside of me and whispered; "I promise Dave. I won't tell a soul! I've- I've been where you ar- "
"NO!" he roared, jolting forward and crushing me against the wall "You always walked around McKinley like a fucking princess! And after you told everyone about – about what you ARE you walked around like it was something to be proud of!" He had one branch of an arm pressed hard against my chest, constricting my breathing, and the knives silver blade softly touching my cheek, I chocked back a sob and screwed my eyes tightly shut "D'you know what would happen if I told anyone? Do you! My father would drag me out on to my own fucking front lawn and lynch me. Hell! He'd probably sell tickets! My mother would likely kill herself with shame, for what she created! Not a single one of my friends would stand by me, and they'd be right by it too. Because even though you prance about like it is; being a fag is…not…okay"
With those last three words of his furious rant he drew the knife across my cheek, applying pressure until it pierced the skin and I could feel warm blood spill down my cheek. I gasped with shock and he responded by making the cut deeper until I couldn't hold back a scream any longer.
I screamed in anguish, in fear, and in regret knowing that by tomorrow I would be dead, that the boy that had taken my first kiss was soon to take my life.
"Not so pretty now, are you Fancy?" he growled, and with a roar he raised the knife over his shoulder and thrust it down int-
Kurt awoke with a strangled gasp, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, a drenched shirt clinging to his shaking frame. He fumbled for the light. His duvet lay on the floor and his sheets were tangled around his legs, twisted around as the small boy had tossed and turned while enduring his nightmare.
"Oh God" He panted "It was just a dream, just a dream, it was just a-" Beginning to sob with relief "You're safe Kurt, safe" he reached for his phone. It was 2:52. With trembling fingers Kurt dialed the now-familiar number and pressed it against an ear. After five rings he got a groggy and confused response "Kurt?".
The sound of Blaine's voice almost instantly calmed Kurt down, bringing him entirely back to reality.
"I'm sorry it's so late, I…I had another one, Blaine. It was- it was terrifying. I don't want to be alone. Can you come over? Please?"
End of Part One.
I'm very sorry if the pairing tags were misleading, I know that there was not really any Klaine within this chapter. Next chapter, I promise.
The next chapter will likely be up later tonight, titled 'Comfort'.
This story is an idea I've had for quite a while, it's very different to what I usually write and due to this I would greatly appreciate it if anyone could give me any feedback.
Thank you so much for reading,
Tori.