Title: I Write Sins, Not Tragedies
Part: One/?
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Klaine (Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson)
Summary: FreakShow!Au. In the little town of Lima, Ohio, Kurt Hummel lives as a shell of his former self. He is orphaned and alone, feeling nothing, saying nothing, doing nothing. Until one night a gothic circus and its breathtaking ring leader come to town for one weekend only, and change Kurt's life forever.
Rating: This Part; PG-13. Overall; NC-17
Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of character death, acute depression, and derogatory language.
Author: WonderfulWesley
A/N: Just some little thing that I couldn't get out of my head. We are studying freak shows in sociology and Klaine rules my life, so this little ditty popped out. I hope you enjoy it so far! I literally wrote this in about a half hour, and I don't have a beta so any spelling mistakes are all mine/my Ipad's fault!
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Count down. In. Out.
Five, four, three, two, one.
In. Out. Breathe.
A panic attack. The normalcy in a world of abnormality.
Always breathe. Always survive.
In. Out. In.
Breathe.
Bleak.
That was the only word that could sufficiently describe Kurt Hummel's life in its most basic entirety. He was not happy, he was not sad, he was merely there. He existed as a shell of a person that had once been, and that was it. Nothing more, and yet nothing less.
Some days he would sit alone in the small lonely apartment that he lived in and wonder if he would ever know emotions again, to know more that the consistent numbness that he had come to be one with.
There had been a time in his life, not so long ago but long enough to constitute nostalgia, when he was more than just this broken shell. He had been so much more than he was now. He had not been merely alive, he had been living. He had been a rambunctious young man, full of hopes and dreams. He had constructed intricate life plans of travel, big cities, and success.
Kurt Hummel will be the first person to tell you that dreams do not always come true.
He was at the prime of his life when tragedy reared its ugly head. Nature, time, and a God he doesn't believe in took his father from his life one cold night. Kurt's last remaining parent had been snatched from his grasp, and Kurt would never be the same again.
Such is life.
Kurt Hummel was sixteen when his father died. Barely a man and almost a child, Kurt was left alone in a cruel world that would never putty him merely because he was an orphan. Even with his limited experience with reality, he was wide enough to know that.
Kurt did have family, in the most primal sense of the word. He had people that were genetically bound to him by DNA, and nothing else. He had aunts and uncles, but that didn't matter too much. Nobody wants to take the sad, gay, freak under their wing, no matter what tragedy he'd suffered.
Kurt knew he could have fought them. He could have pitched a fit of the ages, and quilted them into caring for him. But honestly, Kurt just didn't have it in him to try and educate a group of ignorant people who clearly didn't care.
So, he took on his grief alone. Faster than most would consider healthy, Kurt could feel all the emotion and life draining from his body. He had felt the anger, the denial, and even the all consuming misery that came with losing someone so important to him, but it did not last very long. Before long that shallow gray feeling that had begun in his toes and seeped through his body until it had covered him completely, like a suit of armor with nothing inside, until he felt nothing anymore. He was a shell of his former self. Through the roller coaster of emotions into the plummeting darkness, not once did he shed a tear.
The only time that Kurt had some semblance of feeling was when he was having a panic attack. They happened much more than he liked, but he had come to accept that they were inevitable.
When they came, he always knew. They felt as if someone had a forceful grip around his neck, like the very world itself was trying to shove all the things he never wanted to feel down his throat into his soul.
Needless to say it wasn't a nice feeling.
So Kurt learned to deal with them. He would shut his eyes, count down from five, and hope that one day he would know what it felt like to cry again.
August 13th, 2012
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Kurt Hummel made his way out of his apartment. Truth be told, he probably wouldn't have left at all if he hadn't run out of milk.
"Drink milk every day kiddo, and then you'll be big and strong like your Papa!"
Kurt felt his throat begin to close at the thought of his father. He could not afford to collapse on the street.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Five, four, three, two, one.
In. Out.
Survive.
Kurt managed to calm himself down with minimal backlash from his heart. This was something he could control. He was in control of himself. Mostly.
Walk. Breathe. Walk. Count.
Kurt made it to the local grocery store without completely collapsing, so he counted that as a small victory.
He walked to the dairy aisle, keeping his eyes low, his head down, and his mind focused. Eye contact led to panic attacks. The group was his safest bet.
As he grabbed a gallon of 2% milk Kurt began to hear the excited whispers of the townsfolk.
"It's only in town for this weekend! That's it!"
"Can you even believe it? It's so exciting!"
"An entire show of freaks!"
The word "freak" sent a chill down Kurt's spine to his toes. He was well aquatinted with. When he had been in high school it had been a word that he had heard time and time again, as he was slammed into locker after locker and never flinched. His skin would bruise slightly, but it never hurt as much as the malice behind the words spat in his face. He'd never felt physical pain, and that shield had seeped into his emotions as well, until he felt nothing. And yet that word still struck something in him, deep down. Now at eighteen and graduated, it was like a ghost that haunted him constantly. He couldn't escape.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Five, four, three, two, one.
In. Out.
Survive.
Kurt forced the shudders that were threatening to take over down, and for the millionth time wished that he could experience emotions like a normal human being.
He quickly made his way to the cashier. It was the same woman who had been there for as long as he could remember. She had a kind face with thick gray curls that framed her face. She smiled sadly at Kurt, but made no attempt at conversation, something that Kurt was greatly thankful for. Conversations could not be controlled, they were dangerous.
He paid for his milk with no eye contact. He did, however notice when the woman slipped something into the bag along with his milk and the apples he had picked up.
"It's an advertisement," she explained as he paid, merely telling him and expecting nothing in return, "for the show."
Kurt did not question her further. Questions were not something that he could control. They were dangerous.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In.
Count. Walk.
Survive.
Kurt made his way back to his apartment in his permanent silence. Silence was safe and controllable.
Kurt let himself into his apartment quickly and quietly, as was his way. He stopped to swipe a hand trough his thick hair, some of which had fallen into his eyes in his rush home.
He took his bag of groceries to the small kitchen to put them away. Pulling them out of the bag, the flier slipped out and fell to the ground.
Kurt looked down. He had almost forgotten about it in his rush to be alone once again. Squatting down to retrieve it, he looked at the large and exquisite writing that looped all around the page.
Come one; Come all
to the strangest show in town.
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday: this week only.
Come and join is for a night of freakish fun, down by the old train station at 9pm sharp.
Contortionists, fire eaters, and black heads, oh my!
Tickets start at $10
be there!
Peculiar.
That was the only word that came to mind as Kurt looked over the flier again.
A bunch if strange people, being openly strange for others to see? That was something he'd never heard of. We're they actually proud of how abnormal they were?
Kurt would have let it go. He wood had thrown the flier away and slowly sank back into his own silence for as long as possible, if it weren't for the eyes that were printed across the flier.
Even in black and white those eyes were enchanting. They were large and round and intoxicating, but most of all they were full of emotion. This picture, a close up of a pair of black and white eyes, held more emotion in the pupils than Kurt did in his entire body.
It was like some sort of spell. Kurt knew he had to go. Like a moth to the flame, Kurt would make his way to the abandoned train station tonight. He would see those eyes for himself.
The old train station was a somewhat strange place to begin with. It was broken down and full of old stories that nobody could prove, giving it a alluring kind of feeling, but the addition of the grand red and black circus tents that expanded for what seemed like miles made it down right paranormal.
Kurt was out of his element to say the least. It seemed as though all of Lima, Ohio had come out to see the freak show. Not that he was surprised; the people of Lima would pay almost anything to objectify other that they thought were strange or different. That was just their way.
He was completely surrounded on every side. From the moment he night his ticket to working his way I to tent for the show, there were people everywhere.
People were uncontrollable. Kurt was quickly losing his grip on reality. Panic was flooding his veins and becoming all compassing. This was a mistake, a horrible mistake.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Five, four, three, two, one.
In. Out.
Survive.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Five, four, three, two, one.
In. Out.
Survive.
"Excuse me sir," a light voice asked, right near his ear.
Kurt stumbled back. He wasn't used to people getting so close to him. He spun around to come face to face was a slight blonde woman. She had large innocent eyes, and was decked out shimmery blue robes. A large tabby cat wove in and out around her feet.
"Lord Tubbington tells me that you are not well? He can see the future you know. He says that I should tell you to breath and that it will be okay?" She asked, placing her hand on his shoulder questioningly.
"I-I-" Kurt began to stutter out, cursing himself for not staying in control.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Five, four, three, two, one.
In. Out.
Survive.
"Thank you, I am fine," he finally managed in an almost robotic tone.
"I don't particularly believe you, but Lord Tubbington says to let it be. You're here for the show right? Can I show you to your seat?" The young lady asked, rubbing her small palm soothingly along his back.
Kurt nodded, still a little shocked, but allowed the woman to show him to his seat. He'd never tell a soul, but she reminded him of his mother with her outward innocence and strangely endearing voice.
She escorted him through the crowd on the make shift street, her hand never leaving his back, the tabby never leaving her side.
"Here you are," she said kindly as she seated Kurt. He was placed in the very middle, close to the front, so that he could see everything.
"I hope you enjoy our show!" She giggled as she flounced away, before Kurt could even thank her.
Slightly shocked, Kurt waited for the show to begin in his natural state of silence. The entire town began to make their way into the tent.
Anxiety began to swirl up in Kurt's throat once more. He was starting to think that this had been a mistake. No wonder was worth the restricted feeling in his throat that was making it hard for him to breath.
His heart was beating in his throat. He was no longer in control of himself, his own wry worst nightmare. He had to get out, he had to escape.
Kurt began to stand. He was going to make a run for it. He was going to run all the way back to his safe, silent apartment and never ever leave again.
The lights dimmed and the curtains to the outside world were drawn to a close. He was well a truly trapped now. He couldn't see his hands in front of him.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Five, four, three, two, one.
In. Out.
Survive.
Do not panic. Do not scream. Survive. No eye contact. Survive.
It was like a mantra in his head as he blocked out all those surrounding him.
Suddenly, like a beacon from a lighthouse in a storm, there was a voice. It was smooth like velvet, yet rough and clearer than any he had heard before. It wormed its way through Kurt into his mind, breaking the constant chanting of panic and doubt to pull him back to the reality surrounding him.
There, with a single light to show him, up on stage in what seemed to be his natural habitat, was the most gorgeous man Kurt had ever laid eyes upon in his life. He was adorned in right black dress pants, a crisp white shirt, and the red over coat of a ring leader. A top hat was upon his head and his strong throat was tied tightly with a sleek black bow tie. He was magnificent. There was a fire in his eyes (and his hands) like Kurt had never seen before.
He began to move and dance in the most heartbreakingly beautiful way. Kurt's eyes widened as he stripped the over coat and shirt that he had begun his presentation in, leaving his tanned and furred chest bare to the world. The flames that engulfed him seemed to move with him, like he was controlling them with his body. His voice was clear and sure as he spoke to the crowd, twisting a tale of fire and brimstone. He was enchanting as she twirled through the flames, a smirk on his lips and his eyes flickering back and forth until they finally settled on Kurt.
Eye contact.
Kurt waited for the feeling of panic and anxiety to swirl up into his chest. He was prepared.
And yet it never came.
Kurt was shocked. He'd never been able to keep his eyes focused on one person this long in years. Why was this happening now? What did it mean? This man, the man with the gorgeous eyes (which were no longer black and white, but a deep honey color) was evoking something deep within him.
It was as if Kurt could feel the gray being combated in his body with bright reds and peculiar hazels. It was intoxicating.
Something warm and wet fell to Kurt's clenched fist. He broke eye contact with the beautiful man for the first time to look at his hand.
It was wet.
Kurt's hand flew to his cheeks, and swiped his fingers in amazement.
Tears.
Real actual tears were falling from his eyes.
Kurt's eyes shot back to man as he finished his sensual dance of flame and feeling. His eyes found Kurt's once again, and the smile that lit up his face could have powered all of New York City.
With a final bow, he exited the stage for the next act to arrive, but Kurt was in a trance.
The voice that was constantly reminding him to breathe was back, but there was something different about it.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
Breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
Open your eyes.
Live.