Drag Behind.
I just gotta get off my chest,
That I think you're divine,
You're always ahead of the rest,
While I drag behind..
"Drag", Placebo
The travel back home is eerily quiet. Dave knows his father is upset since he doesn't turn on the radio: his dad is a terrible singer but everytime he's driving he'll at least hum with whatever tune's on. When he was younger and didn't have to worry so much about what people thought of him, Dave used to join him, too. But that was ages ago and he stopped in seventh grade, when people started saying how faggy that was.
He tries to say something, anything, really, because even shouting would be better than this quiet, disappointed silence. 'cause his dad never gets shouting-angry. No, his dad is the kind of dad who just ends up putting his disappointed frown and speaking slowly and calmly and making you feel two inches tall. He's always taken more after his mom than his dad.
But his stomach is too twisted for him to be able to spare any air that's not to breathe. He has his schoolbag and his letterman jacket and then he'll have to go and pick up his things.
Expelled. It hasn't quite sunk in. Part of him wonders if it ever will.
Once they park at his house, his father turns off the car slowly.
"David..."
He flees, because apparently he's very good at that. He opens the door and closes it and he's already opening the door before his dad has even gotten out of the car.
Dave knows this is just delaying, but delaying works for him. Miss Pillsbury words about assertiveness and coach Beist's words about taking the bull by the horns are lost on him. He stomps to his room, closing the door, pushing the lock. His heart is pounding and he waits for a while to see if his dad knocks. Not that it matters, because he won't open anyway, but he waits. He hears his dad's footsteps stop in front of his door, but then his dad goes away.
Just as well, Dave thinks, reaching for his iPod, earphones on before he puts on his FML playlist (there is a reason why he never lends his iPod to anyone). He's been listening to this particular playlist for the past few weeks for, what feels, twenty four seven. It's angry and hurt and it's him. And that is so lame.
You're always ahead of the game
while I drag behind.
I DRAG BEHIND, I DRAG BEHIND, I DRAG BEHIND.
You're always ahead of the path
I drag behind
you possess every trait that I lack
by coincidence or by design...
He does consider not eating. Even if his dad had, apparently, taken the day from work - his car is still on the driveway - he's sure that tomorrow he'll go. No-one has died of not eating for twelve hours, right?
But he also knows that even if he managed to get a few hours, they are going to talk about things sooner rather than later. So he takes a deep breath, hands inside the pockets of his hoodie, dragging his feet towards the living room. He glances towards his dad's studio, half expecting him there 'cause even if his dad is not really a trabaholic or anything like that, he is, also, not the kind to simply sit around when there's stuff that has to be done.
Instead he finds him on the kitchen table, hands crossed, elbows on the table, his expression worried. He wishes, for one long moment, that he could be having this discussion with his mom. They'd shout at each other and scream and his mother would say he had been an idiot and that she didn't care if he had been expelled, the first thing he was going to do was grovel on Hummel's feet and apologize and then grovel some more for the School Board to rescind his expulsion.
Instead his father looks sad. Disappointed. Like he can't believe that ugly, chubby, bullying him is actually his son.
"Sit down, David," his father asks. Dave swallows before he does, his mouth suddenly drier than after eating a whole bag of French fries. "I want to understand this, son, so we can decide what to do. I've not called your mother yet, but I will have to do so soon. Specially if we can't get you to another school."
Another school. Some days it's all he has ever wanted, leave McKinney behind and all it means. Leave Hummel behind so that he could go back to... not feeling like this. But now that he's actually not there he's terrified about it and he hasn't stopped feeling his heart in his throat since principal Sylvester said he was expelled.
There's a moment of silence where Dave can feel his father's eyes on him.
"Is it because of your mother?" his dad asks.
"What? No! Dad, of course not!"
Sure, his parents are divorced, like half his classmates are. And sure, he's not close with his mom, but that's because she's been living in L.A. for the past five years. He talks with her plenty and they email a lot and she made him put Skype so that they could have a mom-son talk every week. He spent the whole summer with her. It's just that he and his mom have always been way too similar, so usually they end up screaming at each other until they work things out and then they see a movie in something he would never admit under pain or torture. But he's not screwed up because his parents split or whatever the shit therapist on TV say.
"Alright," by the way his dad says it, Dave knows he doesn't believe it and he can imagine his dad talking with his mom about it and they'll do the weird thing where they fight without fighting that he hated so much when he was a kid. "Tell me. Why did you threaten Kurt?"
"Dad! Why do you believe him? You don't even know anything!"
"So tell me, then. David, I can't help if you don't let me," his dad has his reasonable voice on, but his disappointment is there, and David wishes for a moment he was with his mom. She doesn't get disappointed, ever. Angry, yes. Proud? Sure. But she has always acted as if disappointment was beneath her. "I believed that this was a phase you were going to grow out of, but I can't simply sit and wait if you're making threats to the life of other students."
He bites his lips, fingers moving against the table, half shaking with nervous, pent up energy. Kurt's a big fairy, dad, he thinks about saying, thinking about all the nasty nicknames he and Azimio have thought over for Hummel. He's Dorothy with ruby slippers and someone has to show him not to. He should know that it's dangerous. He should try to fit in the mold the way everyone else does. It's common sense knowing that when a nail sticks out, you put a hammer to its head.
He hasn't told anyone. After the day where Kurt told that faggot from Dalton, Karofsky spent a whole week fearing that Kurt was going to publish it on his Facebook or over twitter. And then, when he didn't, he dared to hope 'cause, really, isn't that how it worked over in chick flicks? The guy and girl who always fought an were nasty to each other suddenly find out that they were meant to be. The girl'd find out that the guy had a heart of gold and that he was just shy or that people had too much expectations on him or that he was scared, and he'd admit that he had always known she was something special.
Except that life is not a chick flick movie - and he would rather eat shit than admit to having watched those kind of movies - and Kurt had kept on looking at him like a monster. 'cause Dave is a chubby, sweaty teenager boy and that's not Kurt's type at all.
His eyes are prickling.
"I kissed Kurt, alright!" He yells. He hates yelling at his dad. It's like kicking a puppy, worse than almost any bullying he has ever done 'cause his dad is completely, absolutely harmless. But he can't stop now. The disappointment is coming, he knows it, can feel it, but he's still talking. "And he was going to tell and I couldn't let him! That's why I said that I'd kill him, but I wasn't serious! It was just words! I've never actually hurt him!" Because the slushies don't hurt and Kurt's not the only person he throws them at and he's never shoved him hard enough that he'd actually hurt him. He has never punched him. He thought that was obvious.
There's silence again. He's breathing hard, as if he had just ran a zillion laps. And his dad is staring at him all shocked and quiet and he just came out to his dad.
The horror of it is so sudden that before he knows it he's standing up fast, chair falling over, and then he's bending over the sink. There's nothing in his stomach so he can, actually, vomit but he still gags, shaking, saliva and bile making his throat hurt. He coughs awkwardly, dreading having to turn around. His dad is way too meek for him to hit him or something like that, but he'll probably tell him how he should, perhaps, go and live with his mom from now on, or he'll suggest they try therapy or he might even break character and say how he doesn't have a gay son so he should leave now.
His father's hand on his shoulder makes Dave flinch, but his dad doesn't move it from there, standing by his side. Dave doesn't look up from the sink.
"You like Kurt, don't you, David?"
He doesn't sound angry or sad or anything like the way David imagined he would, in this situation. His dad doesn't sound matter of factly or anything like that, more like a really long 'aah'. Soft, but not sad-soft. More like careful-soft.
"I don't," Dave says, horrified at the way his voice is shaking. He's gripping at the edge of the sink so hard that he's almost surprised it's not breaking.
"Oh, son..."
And his dad still doesn't sound disappointed. He doesn't sound happy, but he's not sounding angry at him. He still called him son.
So when his dad moves in for a hug, a hand gripping the back of his neck, Dave lets go and clings to his dad the way he hasn't done since he was a little kid. And when the tears start, his dad just holds him closer which, makes Dave think that, perhaps, just perhaps, everything might work out, after all.