CAGE
Burt Hummel was a good man. He loved his wife with his entire being, as much as he possibly could. He loved her so much, he'd move across the country to be with her. He'd even break the law for her. He'd hide for her. He'd bring life into this otherwise lifeless world with her; he'd have a son named Kurt.
The hospital walls were stark and completely colorless in comparison to Kurt's wide eyes. They were bright blue, but Burt knew that was probably the early baby stage. There were little tufts of brown hair, sheer and soft. The boy looked at him through dazzlingly long eyelashes. Burt could only think one thing, and that was how beautiful this baby was.
He felt shame for thinking it. It was good to be ugly. It was safe. And here Burt was, thinking something horrid about his little Kurt. But beautiful was the only word. Burt's vocabulary was reduced to that one word, and now Burt was repeating it like a mantra in his mind.
He knew in that instant, that he would do everything in his power to protect Kurt from everything that could possibly hurt him, even if that thing was Kurt himself. Nothing would hurt his baby, his son.
The fear was like a leech, attaching itself to his mind and sucking each thought with vengeance. With each breath of air, Kurt could feel the leech inject him with yet another dose of terror, and only terror. It was the same terror that coursed through his veins like blood, pumped in his heart, circulated his brain, and rejuvenated the muscles in his legs so he was running with every ounce of adrenaline in his system. He ran away, the lockers creating a blurry red in his peripheral vision, the same red that encompassed his mind. The red, the lockers, the school, and all of its inhabitants were leaches, and Kurt feared he was becoming one himself.
He pumped his legs in awkward angles to run faster. Kurt felt as if the locker room was getting closer and closer the farther Kurt ran, chasing him with the smell of sweat and jockstraps that lingered ominously. Hewas there, rancid like the memories that were more frightening than the locker room itself. The memories that had been engraved into his mind, copied and pasted into his brain's hard drive.
When Kurt ran past the school doors and out of the school property completely, he kept going, still trying to swallow down the frightening thought that Karofsky was chasing him. And if Karofsky was chasing him, the entire school might be as well. None of it was bearable. All of it was faster than him. He couldn't outrun them if he tried, especially with the throbbing in his legs that numbed his lower half second by second. He didn't really mind the pain, however. The sharp pangs up his legs masked the pounding in his head that had nothing to do with running.
Kurt stopped abruptly at the Woodhull Bridge that connected Downtown Lima to the edge of Pierpont Street, or the location of William McKinley High School. Kurt gasped for air, realizing his subconscious was trying to tell him something. He could remember this bridge, how mesmerizing it had been. He hadn't thought about this bridge in while. In fact, he hadn't thought about a lot of mesmerizing things in a while. Then again, he didn't really have much reason to.
He walked hesitantly to the edge of the bridge, hardly registering the way his lungs heaved desperately for oxygen. He didn't notice how shaky he was either. Kurt was too busy thinking about gap that separated the bridge from the murky river below- life and death teetering precariously over something as trivial as a ledge. The drop was so dangerous, so deadly. The rushing in his ears became a crescendo as he climbed so each foot was planted firmly on the bridge.
He thought about his mom and their secret, along with countless others that had smudged a huge hole in his heart. He thought about cars that crashed into each other, intoxicated drivers killing little boys' moms and mechanics' wives. He thought about their house was in Lima, not in Westerville. He thought about the kids at school and how they hated his retched beauty that stained his face so deep and dark, so vile that every time he looked in the mirror he thought about the terrible secrets he hid away in his chest. He thought about his crooked nose and how it hadn't been when was born. And finally, he thought about clammy hands latching onto his face like the leaches. He thought about the sweaty lips that magnetized towards his own in an instant, too fast to stop. The memory was acrid in the air around him, he breathed in the locker room and the red.. His lungs were filled with disgust and hate, and so was Kurt. The memory was a chill that licked up his spine, crackled his skin, and bent his stomach.
Kurt was at the point where he'd had enough. Life had gorged him with hardship, and all that was left to do was regurgitate everything out into the open. It was pounding in his brain, swishing through his arteries, turning his fingers blue with the lack of warmth and comfort. But the thought of telling anyone about the things he wouldn't even dare to think about was dreadful.
He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the red, the leaches, the memories that made his foot inch towards the water below. The sounds around him were loud and intoxicating, hissing fortissimo in his ear.
It wasn't until a weak voice behind him croaked that the conch shell sounds in his ears became silent and the fear that had been painted onto his eyelids became panic.
"Please," It came again.
He swallowed back any chance of flinging himself off the bridge, calmly climbing back onto the pavement. Kurt turned slowly, not realizing the Caged Boy, his confinement just at the end of the bridge, had been watching Kurt's episode like it were that of prime time television. The flower bushes that greeted citizens into the downtown area, decrepit and dead, led the road to a right turn. Of the left, was the infamous cage that marked the home of the Caged Display, a boy in this town.
Kurt had forgotten about the Caged Boy. Not completely, but just long enough to run up to the edge of the bridge. Just long enough.
"Please don't jump," He said, looking almost ashamed as he did.
Kurt stared at the boy. He tried to look as cold and disheartening as possible. He owed this boy, this caged beauty. He was in debt, and both of them knew it.
"Why on earth would I do that?" Kurt sneered, "You're the one who should want to jump." He turned with a click of his heel, walking away from the bridge as quickly as he'd walked to it.
Kurt swallowed all the secrets down his throat and into his heart where he would hopefully never retrieve them. They weighed down his chest, heavier and heavier the farther from the boy he got. Kurt knew how close he was to being that boy, but that thought had gone down the same route his secrets had.
The only sound was the click of his shoes on the cobblestone pavement, he could still remember the day he met that caged boy. He refused to remember his name. Giving the caged boy a name would be like treating him as a person, recognizing him as something no one else did. And right now, Kurt honestly couldn't go against the crowd.
Burt watched as the barber shredded the random streaks on Kurt's head, leaving large bald strips in Kurt's hair. He tried to ignore it when Kurt silently cried from his position in the chair, and how they fell down his cheeks and onto the tarp draped over his shoulders.
Elizabeth grasped Burt's hand. He knew it was common for kids to get haircuts like this one, and usually none of them cared. Everyone wanted to have haircuts that would've been highly distasteful sixty years ago, because no one wanted to look like one of the caged. But Kurt was different.
When the barber stepped back from his masterpiece, pulled of the protective cover, and spun the chair around, Kurt stood with a stony expression. He wore the same face as they paid and walked out of the shop and into the wispy February air.
Burt watched as Kurt placed a hand on his hand, tracing over the bald patches.
"Are you alright, sweetie?" Elizabeth asked the five year old.
Kurt turned away from her, staring out of the window instead.
"I'm sorry," She whispered, "But it had to be done."
He wanted to go into the bathroom. He wanted to look at the balding patches of hair and dirt scrubbed in his face to produce acne. He wanted to see the ripped and worn clothes he was wearing. He wanted to change it. God, Kurt longed for lush hair that was perfectly groomed. He wanted clean skin, white and pure as untouched snow. His clothes should have been tailored, chic, designer.
But he knew where that would land him. He would be in that cage like the other boy, staring out at a bridge.
Kurt breathed heavy, and instead dared to think about the only secret he could: his mom.
He thought about her hands as they applied makeup and hairspray, hidden delicacies that had been stowed away underneath the sink. He could still smell the suit and jacket she would let him wear. He could hear the click of the lock, promising them that no one would find out what they were doing. He could still feel the constant worry his dad would come home.
But his dad never did come home during Kurt and his mom's secret times. They were sparse. Kurt loved feeling beautiful. His mom would whisper into his ear, pressing her lips just close enough so only the two of them could hear it even if Kurt's dad was home, that it was okay to feel beautiful. And then she would tell him to never ever let anyone see him beautiful, though, because that put you in bad places.
Kurt had to stop thinking about her. If he let one secret to resurface, another would. And then he'd be surrounded. He'd have to tell his dad, and that was the worst thing he could think of possibly doing.
That secret would lead to another one, and that one would lead to another one. Eventually, they'd spill out of his mouth as fast as the water had swished underneath the Woodhull Bridge; as fast as the ticking of a clock or the wavering of a moment. Everything about him would be on display, like the caged boy.
Speaking of, Kurt found his hands to be very sweaty when he thought about the caged boy. He tried to shoo the curly haired beauty from his mind, but like the memories, that face had been sewn into the membrane of Kurt's mind.
He gripped the railing of the steps with his right hand, ignoring the ache in his shoulder from being slammed into his locker twice today. Karofsky had been the culprit in both of these incidents, but the two had been for very different reasons. Kurt felt a shiver roll down his spine that matched the chill of what had happened, was happening, was going to happen. Permanent. Never ending.
Kurt's train of thought halted on its tracks, the sudden jolt making his stomach experiences an uncomfortable free-fall. He gripped the railing even tighter.
Inside the walls of his own room, Kurt lay down on the bed and wrapped a thick blanket as tightly around his shoulders as it would go. The material still smelled like their old house; the creek in the steps; the marigolds that lined the porch; his mother's perfume mingling with the scent of flour in the kitchen; his dad's motor-oil stained overalls. His eyes seemingly fluttered closed on their own, Kurt happy to let the mattress pull him in like quick-sand.
If Kurt could fall deeper into the comforter, he would. He'd dive right into the box spring, even. The cold air could freeze him on this bed. It probably already had.
Kurt fell asleep without realizing it.
...
As the scenery flashed by like a movie, Kurt pressed his hand to the cool car window. His breath created patches of silvery condensation of the hard material. But the puffs of air were hardly Kurt's concern. The bridge was coming up.
Burt glanced at his son through the rear-view mirror. Elizabeth was watching their son as intently as he was, but Burt made no comment.
When the vehicle jolted upwards onto the bridge, Kurt found himself counting the seconds before he'd get to see the caged boy. It was like awaiting a movie, a television show, a book.
Burt glanced up at Kurt's reflection, praying the small boy wouldn't react like he always did. Maybe something had changed.
But of course, Kurt's eyes filled with wonder as they passed the boy, the same wonder that filled his eyes when music played or when his mother smiled at him.
Burt tried to ignore what was happening.
Kurt picked absently at the food on his plate. He had prepared himself because his father was hopeless when it came to anything in the culinary category. Without Kurt, the two of them would've starved after his mother died. But even though he had made it, the food didn't seem appealing. It never seemed appealing.
His dad was a completely different story, "Wow, kid, this is good." Burt said a few words in between bites, others not so much.
Kurt nodded his thanks as he took a hesitant bite of the chicken. It was bitter as it hit his taste buds, going down his throat like a pebble. Kurt swallowed mechanically, as if on auto-pilot, and plowed through the first course. His lips felt dry and wrong, but that probably because they were.
"So, how were piano lessons?"
"She cancelled." Kurt murmured. He kept his eyes on his fork because he was sure the lie would be evident in his irises.
Burt seemed to believe him.
Kurt couldn't go to his piano lesson. In order to get there, he'd have to cross the Woodhull Bridge. That stupid caged boy's eyes were still fresh in Kurt's memory, and he was sure vise-versa would apply. Not to mention the fact football practice wasn't over until eight, and Kurt had no intention of passing the field during that time frame. He hadn't been to a piano lesson for five years.
"Alright that's okay. Do you have any homework?"
Kurt knew the conversation was forced. His dad was trying, at least. He knew he was lucky to have a dad like Burt. The problem was, Kurt didn't deserve Burt.
"No, I finished it at school."
"Here, you don't have enough dirt on your face," Burt reached for Kurt's chin, wiping some of the grime of his overalls and smearing it on the designated area. Kurt was about to thank him without really meaning it at all, but the doorbell rang.
He'd have been grateful for any other distraction, but the doorbell was an exception. Kurt and Burt shared a tense moment, attempting to discreetly avoid each other's eye, while Burt awkwardly removed his hands from Kurt's face. Kurt knew his father was waiting for him to go open the door, but he'd never be able to. Kurt could feel his legs freeze up in the chair. With each millisecond that entered the Hummel kitchen, leaving as fast as it came, the air got thicker and thicker with anticipation. All Kurt did was shovel the fork into his mouth, wishing these moments would evaporate into the normalcy they had once been swimming in.
The sigh that escaped Burt's lungs as he got up from his chair had been repeating many times in this room. The first though was the worst possible day for the sigh to make its presence in the household.
Kurt wanted to glare at Burt, tell him that he did hear the doorbell this time. Kurt wanted to stand up and wipe to dirt from his face and see what Burt had to say about that. But that was a different Kurt, a Kurt with courage.
Each secret that had been nested in Kurt's heart began to flow upwards to his throat. Kurt was forced to swallow them down with his chicken.
Burt walked over to greet whoever had come to the door.
The leeches were suddenly attacking Kurt's skin like they were feasting. The feeding frenzy had begun. A buildup in his chest constricted his lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe evenly. The only way to push the pulsing anxiety in his chest was to tap his fingers wildly on the table. The tension was still there, but was inking out his fingertips like a pen.
Loud gulps of air filled Kurt's body. He closed his eyes, wondering for a terse moment what it'd be like to let it all out.
Kurt abandoned his plate in the sink, and returned to the solitary safeness of his own room.
...
School loomed overhead, dark and cold like one of the biggest leeches should be. He tried to not think about the mass of students that lurked in the nooks and crannies of William McKinley High. Focusing on the rhythmic tap of his mismatched tennis shoes on the pavement was better than focusing on the terror that enveloped his entire being, heavy and wet on his chest like drenched clothing.
He lifted his feet one after the other, trying his best to stare at them as he crossed the Woodhull Bridge. With unevenly clipping fingernails he clawed at the jacket over his shoulders, wiping it away with perspiration from the blistering heat.
The weather in Lima had been having drastic mood swings lately. Kurt tried not to think about how hard it'd be for the Caged Boy to be outside in each climate as he passed the boy.
The Caged Boy just stared at the cup of murky substances in his cup, almost completely oblivious to the world revolving outside of the cage bars. Kurt didn't notice the way the boy's eyes were large and afraid, but if he had, he would've recognized each shade of green and gold in them.
When the Caged Boy looked up, so suddenly Kurt hardly realized it had happened at all, the two of them locked eyes for a moment Kurt wasn't sure if he had enjoyed or disliked. It was then that the warm tones of the Boy's skin and eyes and hair were twirling in Kurt's mind like ribbons.
Kurt walked faster down the path, biting back bubbles of lies and secrets resting on the edge of his voice box. He wasn't supposed to admire things about the Caged Boy. He was supposed to despise the Caged People, fear the odd diseases they can develop, believe that Caged People are nothing humanly of the sort.
It was then that Kurt realized the plaque by the cage still said Blaine. But then again, why would it say anything different then what had always been there?
Kurt kept up his fast pace, trying to get farther and farther away from the cage that was like ipecac to the secrets in his throat.
He was trapped. Forward was school, backwards was the Caged Boy. Neither would help him, no matter how much he wished the latter would.
When Kurt was younger, the walk to school would take forever. He would be able to see so many people, more people than he'd ever seen at one time. Now, the trip was shorter. He savored the moments of solitude he wouldn't receive in a school full of people.
Because the distance between his home and the school was so seemingly short, Kurt arrived at school much sooner than he would have preferred. Actually, it would have been better to have not gone at all.
Kurt knew that as the day passed, he'd catch himself thinking about Blai- The Caged Boy- much too often. Because he already had, and at this rate, there was no telling how many times those soft eyes would rattle around in his conscience. He sucked in a gulp of air that filled his lungs, sighing it out with a testy glance at the sky.
He wondered when all these secrets and words and phrases wouldn't choke his throat every moment. Kurt was tired of them, but there was really nothing that could be done. In all honesty, he was getting pretty good at keeping them. He had been since he was eight. But now the Caged Boy had uprooted them all, sending them up the windpipe and straight through Kurt's mouth. He could feel the time running out. He couldn't hold everything in much longer, especially not the huge secret he was headed for right now.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I would really appreciate some reviews... This story has been in my head for quite some time now. I really hope there isn't too much plot. It may seem a little confusing right now, but it will make sense later. Again, I'd LOVE some reviews!
-andwho