Writing this at a pretty low point in my week so if it comes off as scattered I apologize... Not sure if I'll continue this or just leave it as is.
There's Beauty in the Breakdown
He found it odd that no one noticed; not one person noticed him swiftly pocket the x-acto knife from the art room. He could feel the cold metal every time he dipped his hand into his letterman jacket during class. He worried as he jogged back and forth across the football field hours later, and each time Coach Bieste even looked at him his heart thundered against his rib cage.
His thoughts were consumed with irrational, improbable questions. Did she know? Had she dug through his locker and found the knife? Was she just waiting until practice was over to make a scene?
Really, and funnily enough, the only person who noticed he was acting out of the ordinary was Mr. Schuester. He questioned him, cornered him so he couldn't leave the classroom after the bell had rung, and asked him how he was doing and if he was okay.
He wasn't sure how to answer, and for a split second Dave wanted to scream out and beg the teacher to help him. Just stop the voices in his head, stop the pains in his chest, and stop the laughter and the scornful words.
But he deserved this. He'd hurt Kurt so bad that he had to switch schools, and Dave knew he deserved everything he was getting. Sure, Kurt had come back, but that didn't defeat or erase what he had done. What he had put Kurt and his family through.
He brushed aside Schuester's concern quickly though he could see that the teacher was still worried. He had every right to be, didn't he? He sure as hell didn't have the most wonderful coming out party. He hadn't been pulled out of the closet; Azimio had pushed him out kicking and screaming. He watched as Kurt's friends laughed angrily; how ironic that the kid who was bullying their friend for being gay was actually gay himself?
While Azimio and the rest of the football team didn't dictate who was on or off the team they still didn't make things easier. He quit showering altogether in the locker room and instead waited until he was safely in his own bathroom. And suddenly, on the cold tile of his bathroom floor he realized what he had put Kurt through; he finally understood just how badly he had hurt and terrified him for so many years.
It wasn't until his first slushy, courtesy of Puckerman, that he really realized how many people, not just Kurt, that he had hurt. He found himself being pulled towards the bathroom, and though at first he wasn't sure where he was being taken or by whom he was too dejected to put up much of a fight. He was handed a wad of paper towel and as he wiped his face it became all too clear. Kurt.
"Well, your t-shirt is ruined," Kurt said and watched Dave as he wiped the rest of the blue liquid from his face. "How are your eyes?"
"Stings," Dave finally managed, his voice and entire body were shaking, though Kurt couldn't tell if it was because the slushy was cold or because he was upset.
"Splash them with water and they'll start to feel better soon," Kurt said softly.
"What are you doing?" Dave asked; he'd started to wipe the slushy from his letterman jacket and watched Kurt sit on a small couch. Had he pulled him into the girl's bathroom? Dave would have laughed had it been any other moment; this was so very Kurt.
"I know how it feels, Karofsky," Kurt crossed his arms over his chest defensively. He didn't look angry, but he also didn't look entirely comfortable alone with him. Could he really blame him? "And while Puckerman is a friend what he did was low, and he should know better since he's taken more than one of those from you."
"I'm sorry," Dave murmured. He was uncomfortable and though Kurt was trying neither boy knew what to say. "For everything."
"Well, what's done is done," Kurt said very matter-of-factly, and for a moment Dave wanted to pull the knife out—not to scare Kurt, which he was sure it probably would have—but to tell him to take it away, don't let him do anything stupid.
But he didn't. He couldn't put that on Kurt.
His and Kurt's second run in was only a few days later; he caught sight of Blaine and Kurt in the bleachers during football practice. Both were bundled under heavy coats, hats, mittens, and scarves, but he could see their faces. They were laughing at something Finn had done, but Kurt's eyes caught Dave's and Finn reacted badly. He wasn't even sure what Finn had thought Dave had done, but apparently it had been an unforgivable offense, and he found himself flat on his back with fists flying at his face. Dave knew he should have fought back. Hell, he was bigger and probably stronger than Finn by a mile, but he had hurt too many people already with his fists and had vowed he wouldn't do that again.
It felt like forever but only a few seconds passed before he found Coach Bieste pulling Finn off of him and pushing him towards the school. Blaine and Kurt both reached down to help Dave up, and though it shocked him at first Dave was grateful for the helping hands.
He found himself actually liking Blaine. The feeling came like a slushy hitting him in the face; he had his back pressed against the brick wall of Dalton Academy, Kurt standing to his left jabbering away about song choices and dance moves and Glee stuff he really didn't care much about. Blaine exited the school last, but his eyes lit up when he saw Kurt and the two hugged briefly before Blaine smiled kindly at him, "Hey Dave."
The guy was all hair gel and smooth, polite conversations and he had this dapperness about him that made you like him even though you tried your hardest not to.
Mr. Schuester had cracked down; forcing Puck to stop throwing slushies—though the hockey team took on the job anyways—and even offered Dave a place in the Glee Club. He had honestly thought about it, he really couldn't get any lower on the social ladder if he had tried, and though Kurt and Blaine both tried to get him to join Dave wasn't going to budge.
At least, at first, he wasn't going to budge. Then came Rachel fucking Berry. She wrung her hands in her lap as she tried to explain that Glee Club was about second chances and if they didn't give Dave a chance like they had given Puck than they were just a bunch of hypocrites. He tried to explain he had no interest in singing and dancing, but of course, as with everything else relating to Rachel Berry, it fell on deaf ears. She encouraged him to join, or at least to audition.
"It's informal really. Mike can't sing either and he's still a part of New Directions. You don't have to sing something epic or long or even good, just sing something."
In some fantasy world Dave had imagined that maybe they would accept him, that maybe they would let him sing and love his voice, and that maybe they would welcome him with open arms and his apologies would finally mean something. Fantasy has no place in reality, Dave thought bitterly.
Rachel had been wrong. Turns out that New Directions, though Rachel, Santana, and Kurt were the only exceptions, were actually a bunch of hypocrites. They objected from the second he stepped into the room. They were skeptical, more so at his motives than the ones that Rachel was possibly bringing to the table. Funnily enough Dave was sure Rachel's motives, oddly as it sounded, had been out of pure kindness and trust that Kurt knew what he was talking about when he had told her that "Dave has changed."
"We have to give him a second chance. We gave Puck dozens of second chances," she protested, Finn interrupting her with the usual Dave bashing and Puck followed suit.
"I didn't threaten people's lives, Rachel," Puck sneered at Dave, his distaste was very evident.
"We don't want him here, Mr. Schue," Mercedes said loudly over everyone's protests.
"If Kurt is fine with this, why can't you guys be?" Rachel questioned, but it fell on deaf ears. Dave heaved a large sigh, giving Rachel his best apologetic look, and he walked out of the room. His chest felt tight, a tingling heavy feeling weighed on his entire body. He'd never felt such intense sadness over anything in his entire life. He had never really been friends with any of them, and yet he had never felt more abandoned. No one cares what happens to him, Mr. Schue, and we don't want him here, Finn had said as Dave passed through the doorway. The tears didn't start to fall until he had reached the art room.
His chest heaved up and down as he tried to catch his breath and control the stream of tears that had begun to rush down his cheeks.
"Why am I not surprised," Dave mumbled to himself. He was angry, more so at himself than at the group of social outcasts who had every right to want him gone. A flash of metal caught his eye as he rocked back and forth on his heels trying to calm himself down.
He'd taken enough art classes to know how dangerous it was. They had been warned from day one that x-acto knives were sharp and dangerous objects. They were to be handled carefully, and under the supervision of a teacher or another adult. He was surprised that the teacher had left a pile of them sitting along the edge of the window. He ran his fingers over the cold metal before picking one of them up from the box. Dave slipped the knife into his letterman jacket just as the art teacher, Mr. Tyler, returned to the room, a bit startled to see Dave standing in front of him.
"Dave," Mr. Tyler noticed Dave's puffy, red eyes and wet cheeks and leaned against his desk with a small sigh. He was a lot like Mr. Schuester. He truly cared about his students and about whether or not they learned in his classroom. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Dave breathed out, thankful he hadn't been caught taking the knife. "I just needed a quiet place to clear my head."
Mr. Tyler nodded understandingly, his smile warm and actually caring, "Well any time you need it my door is always open."
It took everything he had not to cry right there and then, but Dave nodded weakly before slipping past Mr. Tyler into the empty hallway.
He didn't hear from Rachel that night though he received several text messages and unanswered phone calls from Blaine and Kurt, both apparently worried. Dave shakily wrote a short note to his father, apologizing for what a terrible son he'd been and how he was disappointed in himself for not being good enough for his father. He scribbled a note to Kurt telling him that he and Rachel and Santana and Blaine were good people, but he didn't deserve their friendship or their acceptance. He kept repeating how sorry he was, not that he was doing this, but that he had ever hurt Kurt.
I truly hope you find happiness with Blaine. You both deserve at least that much out of this mess.
He didn't sign it or fold the note or address it with a sealed envelope. He just wanted this over with. He pulled a bottle of scotch from his father's collection and forcefully sucked down half of the bottle, grimacing at the burning sensation that hit at the back of his throat.
He dragged the knife across his wrist, not pressing hard enough to do much damage, but the action still drew a tiny line of blood. He sighed in relief that maybe this wouldn't hurt as much as he thought it would, and pressed the blade harder against his skin. It stung for a few seconds and the blood pooled quickly around the cut. He took another few swigs from the bottle of scotch before pressing the knife further.
His head was heavy and it felt like his brains had been scooped out and the hollow portion of his head had been filled with globs of cotton. His wrist had stopped hurting even though the bright red stain that had formed on the tile floor below him was quickly growing in diameter.
Dave's phone buzzed and with sticky fingers he fumbled to check the sender of the message. Kurt. He dropped the phone next to him, not bothering to read the text or reply.
Dave was grateful when the world in front of him blurred together and darkness overtook him.