CHAPTER ONE
I had the greatest love. The kind of love that just keeps on growing and makes you feel strong and steady. The kind of love that gives you more than it takes, fills you with safety and acceptance, and makes the rest of the world disappear. You feel the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, your heart beating like a wild bird suddenly caged and your legs wanting to burst into dance. You feel alive as if something inside you has just awoken as if you'd been sleeping all your life until this moment. It seems like there's nothing bad in the world, everything's just pure and perfect. And every day time flies like a blink of an eye, making every second feel even more valuable. It was the kind of love you wanna hold on to and never let go.
It was the most beautiful, impeccable love and I was the happiest anyone could ever be. I was powerful, confident and full of passion. I was complete.
Kurt grabbed his backpack from the armchair behind him, walked to the bedroom and slipped his laptop into the bag. On his way back to the living room he stopped in front of the large rectangle full-length wall mirror. A fluffy, chestnut brown haired twenty-two-year-old guy with tired, glasz eyes and slender body frame stared back at him with a vapid look on his pale face. His red plaid dress shirt was wrinkled and splattered with paint stains from his work renovating the workroom. His black leather jeans had a few little holes in them.
Kurt sighed and took off his clothes lazily, letting them lay where they fell. He put on new pants, bright red colored jeans, and started mincing in front of the mirror, twirling, with an uncertain face. The pants were tight yet still managing to be comfortable. They were a bit too long for him, though, but made his behind look perfectly round and bouncy.
He looked at his naked torso. It was slim and V-shaped. His stomach was flat but somehow still slightly muscular. His hips were narrow, nipples even and his navel oval-shaped and vertical with a little hooding.
His wiry arms hung on either side of his straight body, palms out, motionlessly. He stared at his reflection blankly, remarking every detail he'd like to change.
A few minutes later Kurt sighed again, releasing his gaze from the mirror. He turned around, walked to his clothes rack and started glancing through his dress shirts. After rigorous consideration, he yanked a speckled navy blue shirt off the hanger and put it on. He left the upper button open, tugged on a black jacket and pinned a dark grey hippo brooch on its right shoulder. He put on black leather boots, took one final look at the mirror, sprayed a little cologne on and walked out of the apartment.
An old Dodge truck, a vehicle his father had bought him for his twentieth birthday, was parked on the other side of the driveway. It was big and black, surprisingly easy to steer, and smelled like bubble gum because of the Wunderbaum that was hanging from the rearview mirror.
Kurt dug the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the doors and sat inside. He left the door open, put the key in and started the car then closing the door. As mentioned, the car was old, and lately, there'd been some problems with the starting. Kurt was no expert on cars, and since his dad worked miles away in Lima, he'd had to figure out a temporary solution all by himself. And as it turned out, leaving the door open during the starting had been the soothing, unexpected answer to his problem.
Kurt drove to a small diner where he'd been a regular customer for almost as long as he'd lived in New York. The diner was homely and quite peaceful considering its location right in the heart of the city. The place had the nicest staff, and Kurt felt always really inspired sitting in there, drinking his Grande Nonfat Mocha and observing other customers.
He entered the place and walked straight to his regular table on the corner next to the window. He sat down, pulled his laptop out from the bag, flipped the screen open and booted up the system. He opened up the latest chapter of his novel in Ulysses and started reading it through to pick up where he had left off.
His story was a historical novel, placed in London during World War II. The protagonist was Brent Perry whose position as a commanding officer of the military of the United Kingdom was under surveillance because of some unpleasant doubts and accusations. With Brent's wife, Margaret, Kurt was able to describe also the lives of the civilians, which made the story much more understandable and exciting to read but also to write.
Kurt had always been interested in history and the psychology behind it, especially the wars and all the emotions and feelings that were prevailing in those horrible times. For his novel, he'd visited a few museums in London on his business trip, collecting more exact information on the weapons, vehicles and the procession of the war. He'd talked with the workforces and been greeted with so much respect that after returning home with all his notes, he'd been even more motivated to finish the book.
Being a writer had always been Kurt's biggest dream. Ever since he was a little boy, writing had been his passion. He started with vague short stories and fairy tales, but as the time went by, his stories began to become more intriguing and original. At the age of sixteen, he won a writing competition with one of his novellas and got some irreplaceable, positive attention which distinctly lifted his self-confidence. With his already finished works, he hadn't been quite as lucky. All of them had been turned away by the publishers. But Kurt didn't give up. He never did. He strongly believed that the novel he was now working on, could finally be his big breakthrough.
Moments later Kurt's keyboard was smoking with the ferocity at which he typed. Words were darting through the forefront of his mind which was racing with thoughts. It was a miracle his fingers could keep up with his brain.
He was sweating like a little pig, but his mouth was dry as the Sahara. He hadn't got the time to order anything because his dozens of ideas were keeping him occupied.
"Sir?"
Kurt kept on going, still amazed at the amount of time he'd been able to write, nonstop, and completely ignored the waiter that had walked to his table and was now standing next to him.
"Excuse me, Sir?"
Kurt startled and lifted his head from the screen of his computer.
"I'm sorry," he said, feeling a little embarrassed. "I was just so focused on my writing. I think I've finally found the right direction with it."
"Oh, well, I won't be bothering you for long. I just... You can't be here if you're not going to order anything."
"Are you kicking me out?"
A slight blush spread on the waiter's face.
Kurt chuckled, "I was just kidding. I'll take a Grande Nonfat Mocha, please."
The waiter smiled shyly and left with Kurt's order. Kurt shook his head, still chuckling, and finished the sentence he'd been working on before being interposed.
A few moments later, the waiter came back with Kurt's coffee on his other hand and a cronut on the other.
"There you go," he said as he placed the coffee mug and the plate on the table.
A puzzled look appeared on Kurt's face. "I didn't order - "
"I know. It's on me," the waiter replied, smiling. "An apology for interrupting." Suddenly he didn't look half as jumpy and insecure as before. It was like bringing an apology pastry to a guy he had scared the shit out of just moments earlier, had given him his newfound confidence.
"You don't have to do that," Kurt said as he took a bill out of his black leather wallet.
"I know," the waiter said with a skew smile and turned around to leave but stopped and slightly turned his head back. "I'm Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson."
"Kurt. Hummel," Kurt mumbled, looking abashed as he followed him with his eyes all the way back to the counter.
Blaine had been working at Amanda's for almost as long as Kurt had been their customer but never had he looked as beautiful as today with his black, always gelled hair now practically fully curled and a jovial smile on his face. Blaine worked as a full-time waiter but was also an entertainer who performed on Wednesdays and Saturdays at the small stage singing and playing the piano. He had a great voice, and his introductions were always hilarious.
Kurt sighed and was just about to keep on writing when he felt the opposite chair moving. Blaine sat down on the seat and placed his arms on the table.
"So, what are you writing?" he asked with a smirk on his face.
"A novel," Kurt replied, staring straight into his bright hazel eyes.
"A novel? Wow. Are you a writer?" Blaine sounded truly interested.
"No, not yet. But I do believe that this story could really be my way to fame and fortune."
"Is that what you're after?"
Kurt shrugged. "Aren't you?"
Blaine laughed airily. "No." He took a deep breath, not breaking the eye contact, and then continued. "I perform here because it's what I love to do. I don't do it because of the few extra bucks my boss is willing to pay me or because sometimes Broadway producers come here for a coffee. I don't think anyone should do anything in this life just to become rich or famous."
Kurt nodded but didn't say anything. He felt stupid. Why did he have to say it like that? He'd made himself sound like a total douchebag. Blaine probably already hated him.
"I didn't mean to offend you," Blaine said after a while, looking a bit worried. "Did I offend you?"
"No, not at all. I just... I'm not as shallow as I may seem," Kurt chuckled nervously.
Blaine smiled. "I didn't think that for a second."
"Blaine!" a chubby man behind the desk suddenly shouted, and Blaine turned around immediately.
"Shit, I have to go. My boss doesn't like it when his workers are conversing." Blaine turned his gaze back to Kurt, flashed a wide smile at him and got up. "It was nice to meet you, Kurt Hummel."