He just couldn't take it anymore. Kurt sat alone in the darkened choir room, hunched slightly over the piano. His bag lay abandoned next to the cracked-open door, foundation and concealer spilling out of it. He took a shuddering breath, finally letting a few tears slip out of the corner of his eyes and slide down his cheek. He raked a hand through his hair, not caring that he was messing it up. It didn't matter anymore.
He was semi-aware of how his fingernails were breaking skin as he clenched his hands into tight, shaking fists. He can't go home; Finn's over there, watching football with Burt, as Carole laughs at their sport talk and cooks them the stereotypical carb-loaded dinner. He can't go home. He slams his hands down on the closed piano lid, and buries his face in his arms, not caring that the thick layer of foundation will probably rub off on his Marc Jacobs sweater.
He just wants to scream, or yell, or cry. He wants to just be able to run and keep running,until everything falls away behind him. He wishes he could make a noise. But he can't, trapped here in a lonely world. He sits up, taking solace in the darkness of the choir room, where everything seems to fade away into eternal darkness. Kurt's hand moves up and clenches onto his other wrist, and he feels the hot blood run out from under where his fingernails dig in. If he squeezes hard enough, maybe he'll forget. He closes his eyes, feeling the stinging of his arm.
Kurt doesn't realize someone is sitting next to him until they're prying his hands apart. He snaps open his eyes, and yanks his arms out from the intruders grip, clutching them to his chest, pulling down the fabric of his sweater to cover the bloody half-crescent marks marring his pale skin. He sits perfectly still, eyes trained on the floor, hoping whoever it is will go away.
"Kurt?" It's Mr. Schue's voice, floating down through the darkness. "Kurt." Kurt tries to move away, but the hands reach out and firmly grasp onto his bleeding arms. "Kurt, look at me." Kurt tries to pull away, tries to escape the situation. Like the coward he is. Mr. Schue lets go of his arms. Run. Instead, the teacher enfolds Kurt in his arms in a hug. Kurt stiffens even more. "Kurt, its okay." He doesn't deserve the sympathy. He finds the courage to look up a moment, only to meet the pitying eyes trained down on him. He doesn't need his teacher's pity. He lets himself sink slightly into the hug, then pulls away, wiping all traces of tears off his face with his sleeve, the wool scratching his skin. He ignores Mr. Schue calling his name as he leaves the room, leaving his bag behind. As he walks out of the school, he straightens his back, puts on a brave face. It'll be the last time he makes this walk.
At 10:00 that night, Finn goes down into the basement room to get ready for bed. At 10:01, he finds Kurt sprawled out in the bathroom, wrists leaking blood that runs in steady rivulets across the bathroom floor. At 10:02, Finn can't believe it, because Kurt is to dramatic to die that way. It's not that Kurt-like, to just simply slit his wrists alone at night. At 10:03, reality finally hits Finn, and he starts yelling. At 10:10, the yard is alight in the flashing, colorful lights of ambulances and police cars. At 10:30, Finn hasn't heard anything from the doctors. At 10:34, Finn, tears reddening his face, knuckles stinging from being slammed into the wall, pulls out his phone. At 10:35, Mr. Schue's phone rings.
So, I'm thinking that this story will probably end up having three chapters or something..and I'll try and update it as soon as possible. Review!