David Karofsky had made a mistake. A pretty big one, for that matter.
But he had told them over and over again that he realized the size of his mistake and would never try it again.
"How can we know that you're never going to try any of this… this… harmful type of thing to yourself again? Do you even realize how terrified we both were?" His mother had choked out in a teary frenzy.
"Of course, and I've told you—"
"You scared the hell out of your mom and me, David! This isn't just going to go away!"
"I know, but—"
"No buts! You obviously have some problems, David James Karofsky, and all we want to do is to help you."
"Mom, I—"
"We've talked with Reverend Arnolds, and I've been meeting with him personally." His mother began in a quiet hint of a whisper. "This… disease you have isn't one they can fix with medicine. But, with the power of God and the power of his faithful disciples, he said we'll be able to help you."
"Linda—"Paul Karofsky began, placing a hand on her shoulder and shooting Dave a sympathetic look.
"This isn't something that's just going to go away!" Dave cried, bring a meaty fist down on the table so that that the silver cutlery danced with the porcelain plates. "I'm finally beginning to accept myself, and you think that you can just pray the gay away? No!" He stood up and shoved his chair away from him, as if it was some vile thing that had personally insulted him. It was his mother.
"David, you are not going up to that room of yours!" His mother exclaimed as fresh tears leaked down her fair cheeks.
"Why, 'cause the devil's up there?" He shot back, his eyebrows forming a forty five degree angle, creasing his face with emotions of anger, guilt, and resentment.
"Young man, you watch your tongue." Paul called out, slowly walking over to his son. He clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. "Now, come on, try and calm down, let's finish your supper, and then you can go to bed, yes?"
"Yes." Dave replied, releasing a gust of breath he had not known he had been holding.
"Yes what, David?" His mother asked him, sweeping her bleached locks across her forehead with a stern glance of motherly command.
"Yes, sir."
He just wanted to be alone.
Dave trudged up the stairs after supper and entered the restroom. He grabbed the timer that sat on the counter and pushed 'start'. With a tiny beep, the digital numbers began to race at an infinite speed. Ever since the incident, his parents insisted that his showers be limited to ten minutes. "Drowning is not acceptable." He had heard his mother whisper to Reverend Arnolds. When he was done and had some type of clothes on, the door was to remain open as he finished his nightly before-bed ritual. When that was done, he was to tell them both a proper goodnight and participate in a half hour prayer session, which included reading portions of the bible and praying as a family for Dave's condition to be healed. At precisely 9:15 PM he was to go to sleep, though the hall light was to remain on, where his parents took turns cycling the hallway, making sure he was asleep. He was constantly being watched, constantly being monitored, constantly being limited from freedom.
Dave entered his bedroom and wanted nothing more than to slam the door. He went to reach for the doorknob, but never found it: his door had been removed. There was now a gaping hole in the wall of his bedroom, one that let in worried stares, confronting words, and a constant, bubbling worry. In a frenzied fit of worry, his mother had bought and installed security cameras for every room in the house.
He wasn't dumb. He knew why they were doing this. He could feel their prolonged eyes lingering on him when they passed in the hall, or how he was only allowed in his bedroom to sleep and get dressed.
He hated it. He hated the feeling of being on watch 24-7, like some type of criminal, like some kind of caged beast.
The limitations were the worst. After school, he was to wait for his mother to pick him up. He would have to relinquish his cell phone, where every single message was examined with judging eyes. His phone time was monitored to an hour every day. If he were to want to go out, he would have to tell his parents with whom he was going, where he was going, who would all be there, and what they would be doing. The person he was to go out with would have to undergo a harsh interrogation of similar questions. If they "passed", Dave was allowed to go.
One evening, Kurt and Blaine paid the Karofskys a visit. Dave stood like a little kid next to his mother as she once again began her round of questions. He clasped his hands together underneath his belt, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, leg to leg, side to side.
"And where do you intend to take David?" Linda asked with a sharp tone.
"Well, we were planning on going to The Lima Bean and grab some lattes, and then head to that little jazz record store Blaine turned me on to." Kurt smiled politely as Blaine clapped his shoulder.
"Yes, Mrs. Karofsky, we were planning on just listening to some music and hanging out." Blaine added, flashing a dazzling smile.
Linda presented the boys with an upside down smile. "David doesn't like jazz." She said in a tone that suggested finality.
"Well, then we could always go to—"
"No, no, it's clear your plans could change at any second, just like my son's decision to be gay came out of the blue. Good evening." With that the door was shut with a rough slam. Linda turned to face her son, whose face was casting a million different emotions. His cheeks were inflated with isolated breath. His eyes were round with shock. His eyebrows were slouched curves of hurt.
"You will thank me later."
"How can I thank you?" David exclaimed, stuffing his hands angrily in his pockets. "You just turned away some of the only people I call my friends!"
Linda made a low noise in her throat that sounded like a scoff. "You call them your friends? I call them sinners. How you could choose to be like them, David, I haven't the slightest idea. It disappoints me tremendously." She brushed passed him, leaving him in the foyer like a child's forgotten toy.
He was forgotten.
Pressures began to build up in his head like they never had before. Things that his parents thought were helping him were actually harming him. David began to crave solitude. In a twist of reverse psychology, he began to lounge for hours on the couch, casually changing channels and sighing with bursts of energy. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept this up, his parents would push him to go out, to get out with some other people, to begin to repair his life that had broken so greatly.
He had no such luck.
Paul Karofsky entered his son's room at 7:00 AM on Friday morning. He watched silently as his son's chest rose and fell with soft snores. David was smiling, though it was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.
These days, it was all Frank wanted: to see his boy smile. He wanted to see the little boy he had raised to be respectful to adults and authority, the little boy who was a promising wide receiver, the handsome little boy that was nice to everyone and was all the rage with the elderly women at Sunday morning mass.
He placed a hand on his cheek and smiled sadly, knowing that it would be a while before he would see that boy again.
"David, David, wake up." Paul nudged his son's shoulder with his palm, watching as he first struggled before opening bleary eyes, seeming to calm down at the sight of his father.
"What—?"
"It's time for you to get up and start getting ready for school."
Dave sat up in a rough panic, his eyes growing into balls of worry. "But, dad, you know what those guys are going to say— I—I can't go back there!"
Paul sighed, patting his son's shoulder to calm him. "Yes, you do. It's been two weeks, son. You're a fighter, David, and you will pull through this."
"No, dad, I—I can't!" David's voice was quick and rough, like an animal trying to escape the clutches of a predator. He was absolutely terrified of returning to a place where his friends had already been numbered. Now they were cut in half, if he even had any remaining. He couldn't go back to football practice. He couldn't walk the halls without ridicule, lingering stares, or vulgar remarks. David would rather do anything in the world than return to that school.
Paul registered the dread that was digging holes in his son's eyes. He bit his lip and turned to look out the hallway. "Listen, son—"he began, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Your mother's already left for work. I'll give you fifteen extra minutes in the shower today, and we'll talk about this when you're done, huh?"
Dave looked around his room, his eyes focusing on anything but his father. He nodded quickly, doing anything to avoid his father's questioning, confused stare. He soon felt the weight being lifted off of his bed and watched his father exit the room.
It was a quiet ride on the way to school. It was a type of quiet that filled your insides with live spiders, unleashing them in your organs and your limbs. You could feel them crawling around, creating pleasure out of paining you from the inside out. They would crawl around in an anxious fury until your skin was bubbling with nerves.
Paul's maroon pickup truck pulled up to Olsen High School and with a near sigh, the engine was killed. He turned toward his son, who was sitting with a straight spine, looking ahead, his eyes darting around for a sign of a familiar, scary face.
"Wait after school for a white Focus." Paul murmured, slipping him a twenty. "Blaine and Kurt will pick you up at precisely 3:45." David's mouth opened with a slight awe, wondering if he was in reality and not simply still asleep in his room. "You're to go to nowhere but The Lima Bean and possibly Kurt's house."
Dave opened his mouth to ask his father a question, yet Paul beat him to the opportunity. "Your mom is working late tonight. Tell Kurt you are to be home by 7:30 because your mother will be home by eight. Don't have too much to eat; she will expect you to have a hardy appetite for supper."
Dave stared at his father with disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, yet only air escaped. Frank nodded, smiling slightly as he clapped his son on the shoulder. "Now, you get in there and stand tall and proud, son. It's not going to be easy."
"Nobody said it was easy." The radio announcer exclaimed with false peppiness. "By Coldplay. And now on to blah blah blah."
David smiled with a sense of nervousness before nodding to his father's polite stare. "Thanks, dad." He managed to say before slamming the door of his car, entering a world of unknown possibilities.
"He doesn't look gay."
"He would have been better off dead."
"He's only on the football team so he can watch his boyfriends run after each other in tight pants. He'd get a good view as wide receiver. So much contact."
David walked down the hallway towards his next class, his eyes glued to the floor, the only thought in his head which way he would have to walk to get to his next class. He stuffed one nervous hand in his pocket, fidgeting with his keys and ID card. He suddenly ran into something hard and bulky. His eyes squeezed shut as he made contact, bouncing backwards. "Hey, Karofsky."
He looked up into the eyes of Michael Skeet, AKA the senior quarterback for the Olsen Originals. A mean sneer was stretched across his tanned face. A group of guys stood behind him, solemn masks worn over their faces. They formed a triangle; Michael was at the point.
"H-Hey." Dave replied, rolling his shoulders back, standing taller. What did these guys want? They had already made his life a living hell.
"Heard you like dick, now." A wicked grin smeared over his features and the group of jocks chuckled dumbly.
Dave didn't have a comeback and simply stood there, shifting his jaw. Finally, he spoke. "What do you want? I have to get to class."
"What do you want? Well, I'm sure you want to go mess around with some guys in the bathroom, but—"
"Yeah, I'm sure Mr. Clearwater is wide open!"
"Haha, fag!"
David looked around as if someone would step out of the mass of students and stop this tormenting. He needed a guardian angel, someone to rescue him from his own personal hell.
"Aww, look at our little homo, searching for his boyfriend."
"Or just someone to blow him."
A fresh wave of laughter hit Dave like a tidal wave. The boys were circling around him; some were cracking their fists menacingly, some were merely smiling with violent intentions, and some had blank stares of cruelness. Dave's emotions were rising within him until they were cresting, reaching the top, until they felt like they could shoot out of his ears and burn everyone in sight.
"Shit, just kill yourself already!"
"Yeah, little engine that could! You thought you could, you thought you could, you thought you could."
"Shut up!" David yelled in a rough, broken voice that sounded like a bad radio signal. It was scratchy and clear, loud and soft, searing and seething. It was the first time he had properly used his voice in public in almost a month.
"Just do it already, Mike!"
Mike did. And Dave screamed with pain.
David let the water fall on him as he continued to scrub his face. He splashed warm water over his skin that was inflamed from rubbing and irritation from the #59 dye. His face, neck, and hair were sticky from the slushie that had struck him without mercy.
The bell rang, signaling the end of school. He had made up his mind. David Karofsky could no longer go to Olsen High School. He couldn't possibly go to West McKinley.
He would have to go somewhere else.
"I take it your day wasn't exactly good."
Dave stared down at his coffee, his chest dipping down with a heavy sigh. He felt as if he were to say anything, he would burst into stupid, confined tears.
"You've had better." Blaine answered for him, smiling softly. "Been there."
"Mmm, I second that." Kurt piped in quietly.
Dave sipped his black coffee, meeting the curious gazes of his only friends: Kurt and Blaine. "I… I can't go back there." He emitted in a low whisper. It was then that David began to explain about his day, the terrible, behind-his-back words, the slushie incident, and the feeling of not belonging anywhere. Kurt and Blaine listened with sympathetic faces and responses. They gave him hope. They were there when no one else was. They were committed to helping him through this rough phase in his life, despite the rough course of action he had taken against them a year ago.
They were his friends.
"Well, David, Kurt and I've been thinking…" Blaine began, staring at his boyfriend and putting his hand on top of his. "We know of some place you could go to school. A safe place. A place with a zero-bullying policy."
If it wasn't for the terrible circumstances under which they were discussing this, Kurt would have found the irony delicious, like a bad pun in a romantic comedy.
"Dalton Academy has a 100% anti-bullying policy." Kurt continued, resting one hand on Dave's shaking ones. "And, they have scholarship programs if you need."
Blaine nodded. "Yes, Dalton Academy is a great school and helped Kurt and I immensely when we were dealing with… Well, issues at our other schools." Dave bit his lip brutally. He had been the cause of Kurt's unhappiness. And now he was dealing with the same pain his former victim had been dealing with.
"Kurt, I'm—"
"We've already discussed this, Dave. I know you're sorry. You know I already accepted that."
"Yeah," Blaine agreed, sipping his Medium Drip. "I'm not here to point fingers. I think Kurt and I would both agree that we're here to support you in whatever decision you make, but we both agree that your current situation is simply not suitable nor helpful for you."
David nodded, his lips trembling.
"Dalton… Dalton helped me in a very dark time." Blaine mentioned, trying to connect with Dave on a personal level. "And I really think it would help you, as well. At least… Maybe this weekend we can go up and visit. The Warblers are having a benefit concert on Saturday. Would you like to come with us?"
Kurt nodded excitedly, a smile spreading across his glowing, porcelain features.
"My mom is out of town this weekend…" David began, thinking it over slowly. "I'd have to ask my dad, but he's been a little less lenient on me. I'll… I'll ask."
"Great!" Blaine exclaimed, nodding as if to settle the subject. "Now, let's go hit that sale at Macy's, Kurt. And don't give me that face, they have designer brands there if you look hard enough. Besides, I'm on a budget."
David had actually had a good time going shopping with Kurt and Blaine. They had even recommended a chocolate suit instead of a black one for his next formal occasion, and had helped him find a suit jacket that properly fit him. He had laughed for the first time in a month, and it was only as they pulled him up to his driveway that he realized he had enjoyed himself.
"Kurt, Blaine… It was a great evening. It was fun. I haven't that in a while." Dave leaned forward from the backseat to be heard. "…Thank you."
A huge smile smeared across Blaine's face, and a watery one smudged Kurt's flawless complexion. "Any time!" Blaine told him, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Feel free to text us any time." Kurt told him, smiling at him in the rear view mirror.
"I will." David told them, exiting the car and nodding goodbye. He stood on his front porch, watching the happy couple exchange a quick kiss before backing out. They were suddenly gone.
And that's when it hit him.
He was going to end up like Kurt and Blaine. He was going to be happy.
He was going to Dalton Academy School for Boys.