Seen It Coming
Author's Note: This story is set during the second season, when Kurt's bullying is worsening considerably although characters like Finn and Puck no longer partake in his torment.
Warnings: Contains bullying, physically, verbally, and psychologically. The story also includes homophobia, claustrophobia (in case that's a trigger for anyone), and small mentions of sanity/insanity.
Disclaimer: Glee doesn't belong to me. If it did, you'd see considerably more Kurt in the show.
He's walking towards the parking lot after school with one hand on his cell phone and the other on the strap of his bag when they surround him. Looking back, Kurt supposes it's his own stupidity that's to blame, because if he's learned anything in high school, it's that Neanderthals will attack whenever and however they can. He knew that there was a football practice going on, but he hadn't accounted for the hockey team. He should have seen it coming.
But he isn't paying attention, and that's why it's not until a large, burly boy shoves him backwards that he's painfully aware of the five jocks leering at him. His phone falls out of his hand as his back collides with the dumpster, and Kurt steels himself for what he knows is coming.
Sure enough, it's after only a few well-worn insults and a couple punches that the larger boys lift him over the side of the dumpster, dropping him non-too-gently into the garbage. He used to kick and struggle when they would grab him and try to force him into the trash. But Kurt's learned that he'll still get tossed in the dumpster either way, and fighting only increases his injuries. Besides, they always walk away after they toss him in. He'll be able to get out in a minute or two either way. So he lets them.
But this time, the blue of the sky above him disappears as the lid to the dumpster is closed, and Kurt fights the urge to panic. Okay, so they decided to shut him in this time, which he figures is probably their idea of creativity. He can just open the lid once they leave.
Only they don't. Kurt still hears their voices and obnoxious laughter outside, and he really starts to wish they would walk away like normal so that he can get out. Because now it's not just the horrible smell or the disgusting feel that's getting to him, but the blackness, the fact that he can't see anything, and the staleness of the air that makes him not sure whether to hold his breath or attempt to breathe harder.
He tries to relax, to close his eyes so can pretend that the blackness is his choice, but he can't drown out the voices of the hockey players that waft through the closed dumpster lid. He knows he should be used to it by now, the feeling of terror, but there's something about being completely shut in that makes his heart pound, his stomach clench in a way that somehow manages to be new and frightening each time.
Finally, he decides he can't keep waiting or the blackness will swallow him, will seep slowly into his mind until there's nothing left but the color that manages to be empty yet compressing at once. He thinks they'll probably decide to throw him back in once they see that he's escaped, but it's worth it to be out of the dumpster, even if it's only temporary.
But when he pushes on the lid, it doesn't move. He shoves harder, pressing both hands to the ceiling of his cage, but he may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it does him. Kurt hears laughter again, but he realizes (and it sickens him, scares him more than he'd ever admit, because Kurt Hummel just doesn't get scared of jocks) that it's coming from above him.
They're sitting on top of the dumpster, holding him in, and Kurt doesn't think he's ever been more terrified. It wasn't enough to just throw him in this time. They had to trap him, imprison him so that he can't escape, can't see, can't breathe. He doesn't know whether they want to scare him as badly as they have or whether they just want to leave him here, kill him. He doesn't know which is worse.
His chest heaves as he hyperventilates, his brain and his body filled with sheer panic. Some logical part of him knows it's stupid, stupid to be using the air like this, because he doesn't know how long he'll be here and he's going to run out of oxygen if he keeps this up.
And it doesn't matter whether his eyes are open or not. Either way, the blackness is engulfing, and he wonders vaguely why his eyes haven't adjusted to the dark yet. He tries pounding again and is greeted with more laughter. "Having fun, fairy boy?"
He doesn't waste the breath to respond.
He tries to collect himself, tries not to panic. (He'll be alright. He'll be fine. It's going to be okay). Kurt searches his pockets for his phone, stopping when he remembers that it fell when he was being thrown in. He wants to call Finn, wants to ask the football player he's come to think of as his brother to come get him, but he's without any way of telling him that he needs rescuing.
Rescuing. Saving. God, the words sound bitter even in his mind. He attempts to push them out, keep them stranded somewhere in the darkness where he can't see them, can't feel them, doesn't have to face the humiliation that comes with being weak.
He wishes he'd fought back this time instead of making the assumption that he could just walk away afterwards. They were bound to get bored with routine eventually, and he was an idiot for not having seen it coming. This is his punishment for having been oblivious, and he has no choice but to accept it.
So he tries, tries to just draw his knees to his chest and wrap his arms around himself, curling up and hoping that maybe his body will adjust to the disgusting smell, the stale air. He doesn't know how long it takes for him to realize that he's crying as he sits there, but once he does, he tries his hardest to stifle the sobs that seem to be building up in his chest. He's not going to let them hear him break.
His breathing increases again, and Kurt doesn't try to stop. It seems the only way to keep from making much noise, and exchanging air for sound, life for his pride, seems almost worth it.
It seems less so, however, when he begins to notice the disgusting tint to the air again, the darkness that won't go away, reminding him that no matter what he does, the world outside the dumpster will continue to move on without him.
They're not going to let him out. He's going to suffocate. He's going to die.
The reality of it hits him again, and he can't hold back the choking, strangled sound that fights its way out of his throat. He almost considers asking them to let him out, pleading (he's so pathetic that he'd beg), calling out for his dad, for Finn, for anyone,but he doesn't think it'll do any good other than giving the jocks a laugh.
So Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, rocks slowly back and forth with his knees drawn to his chest (He looks insane. He feels insane. He is insane).
He doesn't know how much time passes before he finally hears one of the jocks slide off the dumpster. Kurt reaches to the lid and pushes gently, but the weight of another hockey player holds it in place. Still, he feels hope, fear, and then hope again, because anything has to be better than this.
And it scares him more than the dumpster. That he'd do anything, say anything, just to get out of here. He doesn't know if it's self preservation or a loss of will. Then he realizes that he doesn't know if he cares.
He hears the voices from outside. "Should we take him out, play with him a little?"
"Let's leave him overnight. We can see how screwed up he is in the morning."
"Hey, fairy boy?" Kurt realizes with surprise that they're talking to him. "You finished dumpster diving? Want to come out?"
"Yes." He hates the way his voice shakes, hates the way he sounds unsure of himself, hates what they've turned him into.
"Ask nicely and we'll think about it." Sickening laughter again, and Kurt fights the urge to vomit. Of course they would want to add a little humiliation.
"Please."
It's all he can manage, the one word. (He's disgusting, he's pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.)
"'Please' what?"
Kurt can't tell if he's shut his eyes. "Please let me out."
"Apologize for being a Queer." Then, the jock adds as an afterthought, "And don't forget to say why you're apologizing when you do."
He shakes his head quickly before he realizes they can't see him. He can't even see himself. Still, it's why they hate him in the first place. Why hadn't he seen it coming?
He can't do it. He can't, he can't, he can't.
Maybe it won't be so bad to just stay here. Maybe he can just ignore them and not say anything. Someone's bound to notice that he's missing eventually. The glee club, probably, or his dad.
It's the thought of his dad that breaks him. The thought of his dad worrying about him when he isn't home tonight. The thought of his dad coming to the school, of finding him, his body, in the garbage..
He doesn't notice that he's shaking until the voice pierces the darkness again. "We're waiting, fairy boy."
Kurt closes his eyes, lets his mind wander as far as it can in the enclosed dumpster. He almost puts his hands over his ears, too. He doesn't know why. "I'm sorry for being gay." He hopes they don't hear his voice break. And he's not going to cry, he's not, he's not, he's not…
He's shocked to hear the sound of a body sliding off the dumpster. After a moment, the lid opens, and he squints as he gasps in air.
Rough hands reach in and pull him up over the side. Kurt lands unceremoniously on his shoulder, taking even deeper breaths to make up for the one that has just been knocked out of him. He doesn't even hear the insults (Something about staying in the closet and why he'd be better off that way), and the hard kicks to his chest hardly register in his mind. All he cares about is that he can see (Has the sky always been that vividly blue?) and that his oxygen is no longer contaminated.
When the hockey players finally walk away, he just lays there on the pavement, lacking the strength or willpower to get up, but glad that at least he's not a prisoner anymore. He still gasps in the air, even after filling his lungs properly once the torture has ended.
And when he thinks about it, when Kurt remembers the harsh laughter, the consuming darkness, the corpse-like air, he realizes that the chance to breathe again is something he hadn't seen coming.