As he moved off his bed, Dave Karofsky wondered how many people would be puzzled by this.
He knew on some level it would be something unfathomable for most. That someone like him, someone big and supposedly stupid would do this. That a jock like himself would ever even contemplate such depths. He supposed in a way it was a surprise even to himself.
He'd never really given death much thought before, specifically his own. Sure, he'd thought about it in the sense that most people did whenever they watched a movie where someone died or read about it or even heard about someone who knew someone who died and things like that.
It was always the same, "What if I went out that way?" kind of thought, but beyond that nothing else.
Even with how bad things had been, he hadn't reached this point quite yet. He'd been able to take it all in stride for the most part. Well, aside from shoving people into lockers and the whole thing with Kurt, but still…compared to some of the things he could have done, he considered it a small victory.
But now…now it didn't seem enough anymore. He'd been alone before, sure. And yeah, as of late he'd felt lonely all the time. But right now in this moment he'd never felt so completely abandoned by the world.
He stared up at the beam in his closet and choked over a sob. He remembered how badly he'd wanted his room. When they'd moved in he remembered touring the whole place, holding his mother's hand. He remembered seeing the room they'd picked out for him and feeling disappointed.
It had been downstairs and right next to the living room. His dad liked to watch TV on about the highest volume possible and while sometimes it was fun when they'd watch scary movies or football games, most of the time it was just annoying. There was also something just plain depressing about being on the first floor.
But when they'd gone up to tour the attic he felt something stir inside himself. He'd never been a needy a child. He rarely got attached to certain toys from commercials or insisted on doing certain things. He'd been content to go along with whatever his parents wanted and he never asked for anything unless he absolutely needed it.
But when he'd seen this space, he felt an almost painful need to have it. He tugged on his mom's hand and asked her if he could live up here instead. He was thinking of all the adventures he'd have with his G.I. Joes up here above everyone else. How he'd built a fort over in the corner there and pretend that he was up in a tree house or on some kind of secret mission where no one else could see him.
He'd pleaded with her in whisper as the realtor went on about what a convenient place for storage the attic would be and started to whimper and cry as she squeezed his hand sharply and told him to shush.
He remembered bursting into full on tears once the lady had left and his mom had rounded on him, demanding to know what had gotten in to him. She'd gone on about how they'd tried to pick a nice house for all of them. How they'd picked one out in a nice, safe neighborhood near a school that was supposed to be good. How they'd even picked out a perfect room for him, even though part of him wanted to interject that she had no idea what would be perfect for him.
He remembered standing there, ashamed and sniffling as she laid into him for about half an hour and how he wished he'd never said anything to begin with. He could still have adventures in the attic, he supposed. As much as he wanted that space all to himself, he figured he'd just have to do without and for as long as he could before his mom found a reason to complain about him going up there at all.
But what stood out the most was his dad finally breaking in and telling his mom to stop for a second. Rarely did he ever see the two of them butt heads. He got the feeling they didn't always agree on everything, but generally one of them would sigh and stare the other way until the issue could be glossed over.
But this time was different. This time his dad huffed and asked what the big deal would be. It wouldn't take much to fix the place up so Dave could have his own space. They went back and forth for a little bit as Dave looked on, afraid his dad would do what he always did and sigh and walk away, but for some reason on this day he wouldn't let it drop. Maybe it had been his child's tears that drove him to this point or perhaps his wish to finally win an argument against his spouse, but either way he fought for it like the lawyer he was outside of the home.
The next week Dave found himself in his new attic bedroom, wallpapered with the plaid pattern he'd picked out at the store excitedly. It had been his happiest childhood memory, finally getting something he truly wanted. He felt his heart swell with the memory of it and felt a few more tears slip out.
Part of him wanted to just forget the whole thing. To just put the chair back, take off the suit, and tuck the belt as far back into his closet as he could.
But he thought about the sharp sting of the locker door against his back. He thought of the looks and the insults. He thought of the death wishes and the viciousness.
He thought of Scandals and the one place where he'd started to feel accepted. He thought of Tony who had first told him he was a bear cub and offered to buy him a drink. He thought about how he'd stayed up until two in the morning listening to Tony's harrowing coming out story and crying along with him. But he also thought about the sharp faced Sebastian, the boy who always seemed to have men hanging off him. He thought about how he'd asked for some simple advice, what with Valentine's Day coming up and all, and how he'd been not only rejected, but wounded by his words and how since then he had a fake ID that had remained static in his wallet since that night.
He thought about Kurt and how despite how he'd fucked things up, he still thought maybe there was a chance for friendship. How Kurt had looked at him, like he was truly sorry before he left. How Kurt had covered for him when Nick had caught them. He thought about how sympathetic Kurt had been and how above all people he seemed to read him better than anyone else.
And yet…no matter how many times he called, he still got nothing. He expected it right after Valentine's. He had only wanted to apologize, but he figured he'd give it some time. He'd called again a few more times, wanting to know how Kurt had come out to his dad. In a way, he'd almost sensed this coming. After Nick had seen him, he thought something like this might happen, although he'd been hoping privately that it would just be an egging of his house or something in that vein. He thought maybe he'd head the whole thing off and tell his parents before anyone else could, but Kurt never picked up, so he abandoned the plan for the time being.
And finally, there was the three times he'd called Kurt today. First once he'd made his way out of the locker room and into his truck, the second when he'd pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway and bawled his eyes out, and finally when he'd gotten home and thrown his bag down. He'd reached for his phone after he'd sent his laptop flying across the room, but still no answer.
He thought last of his parents and how he could already guess their reactions. He was confused about his dad's part of things. What he'd said in the office with Kurt and his dad made him wonder if maybe it would have been alright. Maybe he would have patted him on the shoulder and let him know that it was okay and that even if he wasn't crazy about it, that he'd tried to understand it and accept it.
But then he thought of his mom. He thought of his mom and her insistence that they attend church every Sunday and Wednesday. He thought of her mutterings of insults whenever they watched a program with a gay character or how she'd shake her head and snap the radio off whenever Lady Gaga came on preaching that it didn't matter if you were gay or black or well…not like his mother, but that you still deserved love.
He thought of the time he'd almost outed himself by commenting on some actor or another and how she'd made him go to a Christian summer camp that year. He thought of how she asked him at least once a week if he had a girlfriend or whatever happened to that nice Latina girl. He thought of how he'd begged for this stupid room and how she'd shaken her head and insisted that she knew him better than he did and how she was just trying to do what was best for him. He figured in her own way it was love, but all it had ever felt like was rejection.
He thought about a lot of things before he stepped up onto his desk chair, but once the belt was secure around his throat and his legs pushed against the seat, knocking it to the ground, he thought of nothing at all…