Nine Messages
Kurt looked down at the screen of his phone and the box on the screen. "Missed Calls (9)"
He clicked the box open, deleted the missed calls and their times without opening them. He didn't feel capable of handling any more guilt as it were; he had ignored Dave's cry for help and it gnawed at him.
He exited to the home screen and another box, previously hidden, flashed open. "Messages (9)"
Nine messages. Nine times that he'd—
No. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Not tonight.
He laid in bed for an hour, his phone like a predatory animal watching him in the dark. Mocking him. Taunting him with the knowledge that he could absolve his own guilt by listening to the messages and deconstruction of David Karofsky.
His suicide attempt wasn't his fault. It wasn't. It was all because of the bullying, the messages on Facebook, and the situation at the new school, right?
With a heavy sigh, Kurt picked up his phone and dialed his voicemail.
Message one, sent January 4, 2012 9:45PM
"Um, hey, Kurt, I know that you told me that I could call you but I haven't been able to work up the guts to do it until now. I… um…well, I've been thinking a lot about that night and seeing you there. I thought that maybe you'd come back—you and B-Blaine seemed to have a good time that night. Well, I…um…I thought that we could hang out and get coffee sometime, outside the bar and school and stuff. I'm sure that my time's almost up on your voicemail but I just wanted to tell you…um…I think that if things would have been different we could have been friends. You know, if I wasn't such an asshole and hadn't fucked with you all the time. I just…you were…aw, hell, you were…fuck, I don't even know what to say. Fuck, I don't want to scare you and make you think I'm getting all stalkery and shit. I've always been fascinated by you, Fancy, and there's nothing stalkery about that, just the truth. Instead of telling you I had to push you away by pushing you around and man, I fucked it up. There's only one time that I don't regret shoving you and that's more because of what happened afterward than the actual shove. Fuck, that's not the right way to put it either. Fuck, I'm just gonna hang up now."
There was a long pause.
"Fuck, I love you, Kurt." The last line at the end of the message was barely a whisper, but he was holding his breath, waiting, knowing there was more.
Then the impact of that last breathy confession hit him in the solar plexus and knocked all the breath out of him. Dave loved him then; Dave had loved him for longer than Kurt knew, since before Valentine's Day. Dave loved him.
He pressed his fingers to his lips, instinctively knowing of which one time Dave spoke. The consequences of a shove. An unwanted kiss. He could almost feel the pressure of Dave's lips on his once again, burning, rough, and moist and hot and….
His hand shook when it dropped to the phone, saving the message for download later. At least, he hoped he could download it. He would have to find some way of saving it.
Message two, sent February 14, 2012 11:55PM
"Hey, Fancy, I know that you won't answer the phone for me. I'm a chump—a chimp chump. A chubby chumpy chimp. I'm sorry, Fancy. I knew that you were dating Bland, Blaine, sorry, but I thought that you and I connected somehow. You want, no, you need someone that adores you and worships the ground that you walk on and... Well…honestly, I don't think that Blaine does. Or will or can. He's too into his own…well, I didn't call to bash your boyfriend. I called to say that I thought about it and I…well, I want to try being better friends with you. I mean a guy can't have enough friends, right? And if that's all I can have with you then that will have to be it, right? Anyway, thanks for covering for me with that guy from my school. I…I might try to call you later, if you don't mind. Talking on the phone is easier for me somehow. Anyway, happy Valentine's day, Fancy."
"You know, I meant what I said. I think I'm in love with you. Maybe you're right and it's just the idea of you, but maybe not. I don't think so. Bye, Kurt."
Hot—his face was flaming hot and he realized that he was royally pissed. How dare Karofsky criticize Blaine? Blaine was perfect, in his own right and for Kurt. Was he drunk? He sounded drunk, but then again, Kurt had never seen him inebriated so he had nothing to compare it to.
Blaine worships the ground he walks on—right? Hmm, right? His inner voice didn't automatically agree and Kurt prodded it with a mental toe. It still declined to speak up and defend the love of his life.
What did that mean? And why, if he was so upset, did he save the message and go on to the next? Even Kurt had no answer for that one.
Message three, sent February 20, 2012 4:45PM
"Fancy, goddamn, I wish you would answer your phone for once. I think that asshole said something to some of the guys at school. I've been getting some really strange looks lately and they stare at me when I walk in the locker room. I'm acting normal like nothing's up but it's really fucking with my head and I need to hear some friendly conversation right about now. So you guys are getting ready for some big competition? I saw it on Facebook, something about extra practice. On Finn's page. I wasn't stalking your page. Those new headshots that you got, though, they were really good. You look classy, I mean, you know, handsome. Like one of those movie stars from the fifties. I like the black and white too. You looked—you looked hot. Anyway, I just wanted to hear a friendly voice about now. I guess that you can call me back if you want. Or not. I'm leaving it all up to you now. You call the shots. Talk to you later, Fancy, or maybe your voicemail. We're becoming old friends, your voicemail and me. Well, bye."
Maybe listening to these wasn't such a good idea.
Dave sounded a little more at ease, a little happier, a little bit freer from the burden of his secret in this message. Kurt gnawed his bottom lip, slightly perturbed by what wasn't said instead of what Karofsky did say.
So he looked at the headshots and liked them, huh? Kurt unconsciously preened and turned his head to profile, glancing out of the corner of his eye to look into the mirror. They were quite well done, he thought. Blaine had told him that they were slightly egocentric and off-putting, but then again, his shots hadn't turned out nearly so well. Maybe—maybe Blaine was jealous of how good they were? No, impossible. His boyfriend would never be upset because some pictures were better than others were. Would he?
Kurt filed that away for further inspection until later.
Wait a minute—what date was that message sent? He realized he had no idea when these messages had been sent. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Well, then, he would just have to save them all. He ignored that little voice that said he was going to save them anyway. Fuck his conscience too.
Message four, sent February 21, 2012 2:33PM
"Kurt, Kurt, just…I need to talk to you…I went in the locker room and…on my locker…in... In…p-p-p—p-pink! FAG! Right on my locker. What the fuck do I do, Kurt? I didn't want to come out at school! That's not—I don't—how did they know? Was it because they saw me with you or can you look at me and tell that I'm a fag? I don't know, Kurt. I don't know. This is fucking killing me. I need to talk to someone…please call me back, Kurt. If there was one time that I need a friend, it's now. You're the only one that I know would understand. You're the only one that I can talk to about this. You told me if I needed someone to talk to that I could call you. God, please. Please. I've been hiding for so long and fighting this for longer but I don't think that I can take this shit. Please call me back."
And here it was. The beginning. The start. The inception of broken promises and broken dreams.
His stomach churned as the tinny voice repeated the numbers to press for saving and deleting. He saved the message and paused before the next, trying as hard as he could to keep down his gorge. Fuck.
Karofsky (fuckit, Dave, Dave, Dave, why did he have so much trouble calling the man by his name, for god's sake? Dave.) needed him and he was too fucking busy and too fucking selfish and too wrapped up in Blaine to see that he needed to hold himself to those promises.
He couldn't listen to any more.
He had to. Dave had left these messages for him and it was only fair, only right to listen to them.
He scrubbed at his eyes with shaky hands and pressed play.
Message five, sent February 21, 2012 3:18PM
"Fancy, please call me back. I know that you're obsessive about your phone and you constantly check it and clear out your messages. Please, call me back. I need you. I need to talk to you. I'm feeling very...well, not good about things right now and I need some help. Some guidance. Some friendly advice. I can't go back to that school, not after this. Please call me back, Kurt."
Message six, sent February 21 2012 3:54PM
"Omifuckinggod Fancy I just looked at my Facebook page and there's so much shit, so much hate, so much—omigod, is this how I made you feel? Like you were lower than shit? I'm so fucking sorry, Fancy. I never meant to make you feel this way. All I ever thought of was how much I wanted to hold your hand or even just talk to you in the hall like, flirt and shit and I never had the guts to. I could have. You did. You were brave. I'm not. I'm a coward. But reading how much they all hate me...I can't deal. I can't deal with it. Please call me back, Kurt. Please, Fancy. Call me back."
Message seven, sent February 21, 2012 5:01PM
"Well, you're not going to call me back I guess. Too busy with your happy happy gay gay fun-filled life for a pathetic hamhock that will bald before he's thirty. I was just…um...well, I have...goddamn, that sounds like a stalker for sure…well, I have some stuff that reminds me of you. You know, prom stuff and... Well, I have a picture of you from the extras from the yearbook...and that cake topper that I took from you. I, um…well, I know, at least now I know that it was probably your mom and dad's so I'll give it back to you later...well, make sure that it gets to you. Somehow. Anyway, Kurt, I just hoped that maybe this time you'd pick up. Maybe I'll try again later."
Message eight, sent February 21, 2012 5:48PM
"Kurt—Kurt—I—I can't do this. I can't be gay. I can't be brave like you. I can't do this. Everybody knows. There's been some texts…I can't do this, Kurt. I'm not brave like you. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I can't tell my parents. My mom...my dad…fuck, they'll hate me. They'll hate me and I couldn't handle that. I wish they were different...like your dad. I wish I were different...more like you. Brave. Brave. Not me. I'm an idiot. A chump. I thought that you could forgive me, I thought…well, fuck me, never mind what I thought. I'm that same chump that tried to hold onto something that I never had in the first place. But you know, I think that if you would have said okay? I think that I might have been able to get through all this…with you by my side…because just looking at you made me strong, that night at Breadstix. Strong enough to pull off that gorilla head and strong enough to tell you in the first place. I can't be that guy, Kurt, because I'm not that guy. I'm freaking out over everyone knowing and what they're saying and I—I just—I don't even want to—well, nevermind. I gotta go—"
Message nine, sent February 21, 2012 6:15PM
"Kurt, I just wanted to call you and tell you that everything is going to be all right, okay? I know that I've left a bunch of messages on your phone and some of them were, well, fucking crazy-sounding, really, but I've got things figured out now and I'm gonna be okay. I wanted to tell you that I meant what I said, Kurt. I've thought about it and it's so fucking true, it's the only true thing that I've said in the past four years. I'm in love with you, Kurt Hummel, and I've always been in love with you. So, take care of yourself and I'll...well, I think that I need to…well, I need to leave you alone. So, um, bye, Kurt. Bye."
His knuckles were pressed to his mouth to keep in the horror, the gasps, the pain that threatened to overtake him at the messages that played one after the other. He heard the love, the desperation, the need that colored every word and his heart shriveled in shame at his behavior. Tears flowed freely down his face, unheeded until a shadow crossed the light and he looked up to see his father hovering over him, his face rumpled with sleep and brow furrowed in concern.
"I was walking down to the kitchen and I heard voices in here, then I come in and see you crying. What's up, Kurt?"
The dam burst at the love in his father's voice, or maybe the worry etching his brow; Kurt began crying in earnest and Burt hurried over to wrap his boy in his arms and hold him, the pose eerily reminiscent of an earlier time when it was just the two of them and Kurt couldn't sleep for the nightmares….
Burt held Kurt until the weeping had mostly subsided and then let his arms relax to allow Kurt to pull away when he needed to. He did finally sit up, his face pale and blotchy at the same time, snot dripping profusely from his nose.
Burt looked down at his sodden tee shirt and back at his son. "Now, what caused that storm?"
"Karofsky. He—I told him to call me if he needed to talk and then I ignored all his calls. He left messages. Some of them were from the day that he—well, the day that he tried to—you know, Dad."
"The day he tried to commit suicide."
"Yes. Well, I was listening to them. Dad, I should have called him. I should have answered his phone calls. I should have—"
Burt raised his hand. "Hold on, Kurt. You aren't responsible for what David did."
"I know that, Dad. I could have helped him if I would have responded just once. Just one time, Dad. He needed a friend."
"You can still be that friend, Kurt. He needs them now too."
Kurt shook his head and mumbled into a Kleenex. Burt finally stood up and paced at the bedside, at a loss for a moment until an idea struck him. "Kurt, what's past is past and changing it is impossible. But as I see it, even though you didn't call him back before doesn't mean you can't now. Or even go to see him—I heard that he's home now. Maybe, talk to him about the messages and what you thought and felt. Maybe you can get rid of this whole blame game you got going on here and Dave can move past it all too."
Kurt looked at the clock. It was barely nine. It startled him to see the early hour; it had seemed like it was much later and he was exhausted only a couple of hours ago. Combined with the early sunset and he naturally went to bed when it was dark outside—at six PM.
If he hurried and dressed, he might catch David while he was still awake.
He must've said so aloud because his dad agreed. "Yeah, you might. Paul—well, we've been talking. I've sent him to talk to that one guy you introduced me to, from PFLAG. It's helping."
"Good." He clamored to his closet, rejecting clothes before he even looked at them properly. His eyes were still misty from the waterworks and he just didn't feel like being the fashion plate he normally was.
He didn't care. Didn't care if it matched, if it was this year's, if it even made him look good (admittedly, he had nothing in his closet that would make him look bad, just things that looked better than others did). He just wanted to get his shit together long enough to drive the five blocks to the Karofsky's massive home.
His dad shook his head and headed down to the kitchen to wait for Kurt's return.
"Good evening, Mr. Karofsky. May I see David?"
"Hello, Kurt. Isn't it a little late for social calls? It is a school night."
"This is...well, rather important. He, well, he left some messages on my phone that day…."
Paul Karofsky blanched, surprisingly pale for someone with his complexion. "He called you?"
Kurt panicked; he lied. "My phone was off that day and all he was able to reach was my voicemail. I wanted him to know… Well, that I would have been there, if…, and that it won't ever be off again."
Paul stepped to one side of the door and let Kurt pass by him. "Up the stairs, closest door on the left."
"Thank you."
He felt the man's eyes boring into the back of his head, into his soul. His blackened, guilty soul, further muddied by the lie that he'd just told. Still, he couldn't be heartless enough to actually say that he had ignored the calls for one reason or another. To actually voice the thought that David hadn't mattered enough for Kurt to bother breaking his routine life to pick up the phone.
He began breathing again when he reached the top of the stairs and turned to his left. And stopped just as quickly when David Karofsky looked at him with those eyes.
As he looked at them now, he could see it all there—the love, the hope, and the sheer adoration that swarmed in the hazel depths. But there was sadness and anguish as well and Kurt was certain that those wouldn't go away for a long time. There was so much that David needed to work out; so much that Kurt needed to work out himself.
He was pulled into the room by those haunting, magnetic eyes and he shuffled his feet, wondering where to sit. This was obviously a guestroom; the walls were bare and unadorned by even a piece of mass-produced art. There was a tall dresser on one wall and a queen size bed where David sat with his back to the wall, staring down at his hands. There was nowhere else to sit.
Well, it was safe enough with the door open and David in the center of the bed. Kurt sat on the bottom edge closest to the door and looked down at the plain plaid comforter. His finger traced the pattern of the plaid and he tried to speak, but couldn't force the words out. Any words. He sat there in silence, the two of them, staring into space at nothing in particular.
"Why are you here, Kurt? Community service?"
Kurt's eyes flashed at the dig, but he tried to keep his cool. Icy diva face, he thought, and it was there. Talent, don't fail me now. "I listened to your messages, David."
David turned from the color of paper to the color of blood in the span of a heartbeat. "What messages, Hummel?"
Kurt held up his phone and stood, pacing and tapping the phone against his chin. "All of them. Nine of them."
Dave scrubbed at his face with his hand. Kurt noticed he was still wearing his hospital id band and for some reason it disturbed him. It was as if everyone was expecting David to go back to the hospital at any moment. Like he was going to do it again.
No, never again—not if Kurt had a say in the matter.
"We need to get that off your arm."
"What, Hummel, you need some kind of macabre souvenir? Fine." Dave pulled on the id band and it snapped under the tension. He threw it at Kurt's chest and Kurt unthinkingly caught it with his free hand, pressing it to his heart for a moment before dropping his hand to his side with the band between his fingers.
"David, I came to apologize. To tell you how very sorry I am, that I'm a horrible friend, that I wish to Prada that I'd had my phone on and at least called you back."
"It isn't your job to take care of me, Kurt. You made that clear in Breadstix."
Kurt stopped pacing next to the bed. "I did no such thing, David."
"You told me that you're with Blaine and thanks a bunch and let's be friends. So, it's not your job to take care of me or worry about me or anything."
"But you wanted me to."
"No."
"If you didn't, you would have stopped calling."
"I—well, maybe I didn't just call you. Maybe I—well, fuck, nevermind."
"Who else did you call, David?"
The larger boy crumbled, his face collapsing in on itself as tears began to stream from eyes that were tightly clenched shut. "Az. Azimio. He picked up the phone, said 'Don't call me again, queerbait', and hung up."
"What an asshole."
The stark comment was enough to startle Dave off the edge of a downward spiral. "What?"
"Adams. He's an asshole, David, and you deserve better."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do, no arguments. So, you had some interesting opinions about my love life on these messages."
Dave couldn't look at him. Couldn't let him see how he affected his heartbeat, made his mouth dry, and made his toes curl with sheer need to touch him. "I just—I know more than you think, Fancy. And I do have a right to my opinion."
"True, true."
"What does Bland—I mean, Blaine think of you spending time with me?"
"Um—well, he wasn't keen on it and we had a falling out while we were waiting on news about Quinn. You remember, after I came upstairs?
Dave thought back to the day of Quinn's accident, the day he got out of the hospital. Kurt had raced to his room with the news and they sat together quietly, holding hands to comfort one another. Kurt still didn't know why he ran to David instead of Blaine; Dave was just glad that he had.
"So falling out? Is that gay for—?"
"It means that we broke up. And it isn't 'gay', like it's another language."
"It might as well be, to me. Kurt, I don't know what I'm doing. I never was interested in girls so I don't have any practice with flirting and shit. All I know is just putting it out there. I've done that."
"Yes and the timing was wrong. That doesn't mean the timing is wrong now."
Dave threw himself off the bed and began to pace on the opposite side of the bed from Kurt. Kurt watched his fists clench and unclench, his face redden with who knew what feelings and unspoken needs and his heart flipped over in his chest just a little.
Dave finally paused long enough to growl loudly, "You know, Hummel, I don't need a pity fuck from you."
"For god's sake, David, this isn't pity and there's no fucking involved right now, if ever." Kurt heard a light footstep on the bottom stair and was never more aware of an open door. He hurried on, trying to defuse the situation. "You said you love me."
Dave half-fell, half-leaned against the wall, allowing his skull to make contact with a dull thud. "Yeah, I guess I did. Not the sharpest tool, you know. You weren't supposed to hear it until after—"
"Why? Why would you want to hurt me like that? Hurt yourself? When we talked in the hospital, I thought—well, it was before I listened to the messages and I thought—obviously it doesn't matter what I thought because all this time you knew—"
"Knew what, Fancy? That you were out of my league and I never had a chance with you in a million years? Yeah, I knew that. I still put myself out there. Gave it a shot and was shot down in return. That's tough to get over, but I tried. But all that shit at school on top of your condescending bullshit? Who'd want to live after that shit? Fuck, Mother Teresa would have killed herself."
Dave sat down on the other side of the bed, his back to Kurt and the doorway. Kurt still stood between the bed and the door and he saw Paul lurking just out of sight in the shadows of the hall. He imagined it was his own father and Kurt's heart twisted for just a moment. He still needed to make David understand his part in all this. Let his dad listen.
"David, I believe that had I picked up one phone call or had the common sense to return your call as soon as I saw them, maybe I could have helped you before it got to the point of desperation."
"Or maybe you would have helped me along and made me feel more like a loser...no, fuck, Fancy," Dave said, turning halfway round on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. There I go again, lashing out when all I want to do is…." Dave had a panicky look and clamped his lips closed tightly and showed Kurt his back again.
"What do you want, David?"
A shrug. "I don't know anymore, Kurt. I just don't know. I used to think that I wanted you, a relationship, a fairy tale. Now I just don't know."
Kurt perched on the edge of the bed on his side, crossing his legs and glancing out the door to see Paul Karofsky leaning against the far wall of the hallway. "I know what I want."
He heard the curiosity in the eager reply. "Yeah? What's that, Fancy?"
"Well, he has to be taller than me, of course, and I do like a bit of muscle. Good personality, great smile, nice laugh. Beautiful eyes."
"Okay, so you like, what, a big doofus?"
"No, of course not. He's smart. Talented. And he adores me and worships the ground that I walk on."
"Yeah?"
It was quiet and Kurt could see Paul straining to hear. "We need to get to know each other better, first. See what we have in common, let you get to know what you want and need. That's part of why I suggested we be friends. I do want to get to know you, David. I want to know your favorite food, how you take your coffee, what music you like."
"Yeah, I get it Kurt."
"No, you don't!"
His anger startled everyone, especially Kurt. "No, you don't understand a damn thing, David. You—you ruined me."
Dave was standing in the blink of an eye. "What do you mean, I ruined you?"
Kurt was shuddering, shaking with the maelstrom of emotion that rampaged his body. "Every kiss I ever shared with Blaine fell short because of you." His voice was tight, controlled, but Dave could see he was on the verge of snapping. Teetering on the edge. With a little nudge—
"How come? Was it because he wasn't sweaty enough? Or was he just too perfect and not ordinary enough?"
Kurt didn't say anything and Dave stepped closer to twist the verbal knife a little deeper. "You need someone ordinary to shine against, not a peacock like Bland. You need someone like me that is so dull and lifeless you can dress them up and move them around to fit into your perfect world and perfect life. Someone to open your doors and hold your coat as you swan through the world and that, my darling Kurt, is not Bland's style."
"His fucking name isn't Bland, you moron, it's Blaine. If you want to call him names, call him something else because that is just childish. And if I wanted dull and lifeless, then I'd stick with him because it was like masturbating every time I touched him." Kurt slapped his hand over his mouth, overly conscious of their eavesdropper, but his temper flared and his mouth started motoring once again. "I don't have a perfect world or a perfect life and I'm sure as hell not your darling."
Kurt was in front of him with two steps with those incredibly long legs and grabbed the front of his shirt. "I don't want a mannequin and I don't want a coatrack. I want a man, goddamnit—can you do that? I want someone that can make me feel hot and cold at the same time. Someone who can make me shiver with his voice alone. Someone that kisses me like they want to consume me. Someone who worships the ground I walk on. Can you be that man for me, David? Because if you can't, then what was all that shit in those messages? Come on, tell me what you're thinking, you behemoth!"
He looked down into the fiery eyes. "I can be that man. Hell, Fancy, I'm already that man." He started to reach for Kurt when Kurt moved first, pulling him down to crush his mouth against Dave's violently.
It wasn't a sweet, loving kiss, but it was exactly what they both needed. It was all teeth and tongue and ice and fire, swirling with unspoken emotion and wordless indescribable sensation.
They broke apart, gasping for air as they watched each other from their separate spaces. The kiss had meant the same thing and different things for each of them; what exactly would be discussed later, but right now….
"Before…we go…any further, I need a promise."
Dave nodded, guessing but letting Kurt have his moment. His demands.
"I want a promise that no matter what, that will never happen again." Kurt pointed to the closet. It wasn't THE closet, but the meaning was clear.
"No, I won't do that again. I could never do that to you or dad again."
Kurt cupped Dave's cheeks with both hands and pressed their foreheads together. "That's all I need. At least, for right now." He let a breath puff through his pursed lips and felt Dave's breath across his own mouth. "Will you call me tomorrow?"
"Will you answer?" Dave snarked back.
Kurt couldn't help himself; he laughed aloud. "Yes, Dave, I'll answer."
"Then yes, I will call you tomorrow." Dave looked over Kurt's shoulder and saw his father lurking outside the door. "Oh, hey dad. Uh, Kurt was just leaving."
Paul gave Kurt a gentle, yet slightly suspicious smile. "Did you fellas work out your problems?"
Dave gave his father a smile that he hadn't seen in a long time and his dad felt the tiny trickles of relief as they seeped into his taut muscles and released the hidden tension. "Yeah. Er, Kurt's going to be around here quite a bit from now on. That okay with you?"
Paul Karofsky looked at the slight effeminate man next to his son and for the first time since this had started, nearly two years ago, he felt the small birdlike wings of hope stirring in his gut. It wasn't what he wanted for his son, but he could live with it to keep him. "Yes, that would be fine. I'm glad to see that you've got a friend like him to keep you grounded."
Paul watched as Dave led Kurt to their front door. For a moment, they stood together, their bodies a single silhouette in the open door. He couldn't understand their whispered goodbyes, but he didn't need to. All he needed was the hopeful smile that crossed his son's face.
Things would be okay. All they needed was someone to listen.