Hope for the Hopeless
Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow. (Mary Anne Radmacher)
Straight Americans need... an education of the heart and soul. They must understand - to begin with - how it can feel to spend years denying your own deepest truths, to sit silently through classes, meals, and church services while people you love toss off remarks that brutalize your soul. (Bruce Bawer, The Advocate, 28 April 1998)
"He said he'd kill me if I ever told anyone."
"Told anyone what?"
Dave tensed. The moment of truth, where everything in his life would be destroyed forever. Almost against his will, he looked across the room. Blue eyes stared back at him, thoughtful instead of angry. David held his breath.
"Just . . . that he was picking on me."
Relief, sudden and urgent. He would live to see another day.
It wasn't that David was afraid of his dad. He knew that a lot of the homos coming out nowadays were mostly afraid of their dads - and God, they should be, what kind of dad wants a fag for a son? – but David wasn't. Yeah, sure, his dad had been the quarterback when he was in high school, and David knew that you could leave football behind, but in the end it never left you. So he figured that his dad wouldn't be happy if David ever decided to come out - which he won't because he's not gay – but he also knew that his dad was honestly one of the mellowest people David has ever met, and he figured that would work in his favor.
No, it was his mom that he worried about.
It wasn't that his mom was a bad person. She wasn't. It was just. Sometimes David thought she loved Jesus more than she loved her family. She was the one who forced him into a suit every Sunday to attend church, the one who prompted family prayers over the dinner table, the one who'd given him a Bible for Christmas when he was seven and all he'd wanted was a toy truck. She dressed in floral skirts and modest blouses, and gave the same sideways glance she gave David when he got a low grade to the mothers who walked around in tank tops and short skirts. She watched Fox News. She was pro-life. She'd thrown a fit when he'd told her he was learning evolution in science class in seventh grade. She was adamantly Christian. And she hated gays.
David had one vivid memory from when he was twelve. They were watching television as a family, flipping through channels to find something to settle on. His father loved documentaries, his mother loved the news, and David loved anything that had a lot of explosions, so it often took a while until they managed to find something they'd all enjoy. As they flipped, they passed a channel that was displaying two men kissing. His mother had hissed at his father to stop flipping and stared as the MSNBC newswoman reported a story of a gay couple who'd recently gotten married in Iceland and the troubles they'd faced returning to America.
His mother watched until the story was done. And then, her face blank, she said, "That's disgusting. If we ever allow those people to 'marry,'" air quotes and all, "then I know this country has gone straight to the dogs. Yet another reason to never watch MSN – Fox would never let that kind of story air." She made a disgusted sound, and motioned for his dad to switch the channel.
And so David, who had never asked before because he'd been afraid of the answer, learned what his mother thought about gays.
He remembered the first time he'd met Kurt Hummel.
They didn't know each other very well in middle school. Lima was small, sure, but just because it was small didn't mean everyone ran in the same circles. David knew Kurt's name, knew vaguely what he looked like, and knew that his dad owned the only auto shop in town. He'd even known Hummel's mom, only briefly, as she'd been the kindergarten music teacher and had given David a few lessons on the piano. That was enough. That is, until Mr. Shuester's Spanish I class, freshman year.
David hadn't wanted to take Spanish. His mother had discouraged him, in fact. She thought he would be "encouraging the idea that Americans should learn the language of the illegals taking over our country." But his dad, for once, put his foot down. His dad was a lawyer. Not a good one, particularly, but still. He dealt with Spanish-speaking people all the time, even in Lima, where the Latino population was pretty much the Lopez family.
"It'll help David in the future to know more than one language," he'd told David's mother. "And it will look good on a college application. Do you know how many colleges require a year or two of language now?"
His mother had folded at the college argument. She wanted nothing more than for David to go to college, even though David sometimes wondered if he wanted to go, at least for reasons beyond free beer and hot chicks.
So David signed up for Spanish, taught by one W. Schuester. David had been surprised by Schuester. He was young, better-looking than most teachers, with hair that was gelled to an extreme and a bright smile. He even told them all to call him Mr. Schue.
"Now, I know it's the first week, but I have a project for you guys to get to know each other better!" Mr. Schue said on the third day of Spanish, smiling brightly. Groans throughout the students didn't diminish it. "I'll assign you partners and it's your job to find out ten facts about each other by the end of the hour."
"Hudson, Puckerman," Mr. Schue said, reading off partners, apparently unaware that Hudson and Puck had been best friends since fifth grade and probably knew each other just fine by now. "Lopez, Zeizes," David snickered at the look Lopez exchanged with the fat girl across the room. That would be entertaining to watch. David was so amused he nearly missed his name. "Karofsky, Hummel."
David frowned. He didn't remember Hummel very well, at least not what he looked like. He hadn't been in David's seventh or eigth grade class, which had been split because of the side. David vaguely remembered a small, dark-haired boy named . . . Christopher? Conrad? It had been a C or K name, he remembered. But anything beyond that was fuzzy. Hell, he remembered the kid's parents better than he remembered the kid.
"Alright guys, get together with your partner and get started!" Mr. Schue said excitedly.
David decided to wait and let Hummel come to him. Better to stay seated than look like a fool wandering around to try and find him, not knowing who he was looking for. Other people were getting up and moving around. He saw Puck and Hudson fist bump, already sitting next to each other, while Lopez and Zeizes started fighting almost immediately. A book bag slamming onto his desk pulled him out of his observations and he looked up. There was Kurt Hummel.
He wasn't pretty - not yet, not like he'd be in a few years – but the word adorable fit him well, all chubby cheeks and wide blue eyes, a line of freckles sprinkling his nose. He was dressed in tight fitting jeans - skinny jeans, but David had only ever seen girls wear them – and a shirt that was bright blue. He was also wearing a bow tie color-coded to his shirt, shoes that matched his outfit, and a sneer.
"Karofsky," he said tightly. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"
David frowned at him. What had he done? "Alright," he said, letting some of his own anger out.
"Go ahead, give me some facts," Hummel said, almost mocking, as he sat down.
His eyes are really blue, David thought, then shook it away. "My middle name's Joseph," he said without thinking. He almost added, after the Bible-Joseph but figured that would be too much to reveal to someone like Hummel. "I hate liver. I'm joining football once tryouts start. Either that or hockey. My parents aren't divorced. I like the color red. I like action movies. My birthday is May 21st and I have two cousins. My dad's a lawyer." He stared at Hummel.
Hummel huffed. "Alright," he said. "My middle name changes on my mood," he said haughtily, "My father owns an auto shop and has a Mellencamp addiction, which I will never understand. I would give my first child to see Wicked live with the original Broadway cast," David had no idea what he was talking about, "I hate Rachel Berry, I'm already fluent in French and Spanish is just a diversion. I abhor red, but blue is quite alright as long as it matches, action movies are the same plot with different characters and a variety of explosions, my birthday is March 28th, and my mother is dead." He smiled at David. It wasn't a happy one. "Look, we're done."
David eyed him. He's gay, he realized with dawning horror. Those clothes, that voice, singing, he said something about Broadway – he's gay. His mother, David realized, would have a fit if she knew David partnered with a gay kid in anything, even if it was assigned. But more than anything, he couldn't afford for Hummel to even get an inkling that they were friends, or about to be friends, or even had the potential to be friends. He could never be associated with Hummel, because there was always a chance it would get back to his family, especially his mother, who was friends with a lot of the mothers in town (well. Not friends, per se, because she often complained about their lack of ethics behind their backs, but she knew them well enough to gossip).
David remembered Hummel's mom. He remembered being sad when he'd heard that she'd died when he was around eight. But he forced a sneer on his face.
"What a sob story," he said, already knowing the best way to cut ties with Hummel. "Sucks to be you, fag."
Hummel's eyes widened and David noticed that they were blue, but they were also kind of grey and green too. He'd said that last part loudly, to attract the attention of his nearby classmates, and it worked. At the next table, Azimio, who David had met earlier, was working with a small Asian girl. He turned and grinned at David.
"Homo bothering you, Karofsky?" he said casually.
"Just trying to cry on my shoulder," David said, sneer still fixed in place. His head started to throb. "Guess he's hoping he can get some company, if ya know what I mean."
Azimio snorted and turned to Hummel. "Leave us real men alone, fag," he said.
David's chest started to hurt. Azimio had said it so casually, as if it was an everyday word that he used all the time. So did you, he reminded himself. But that was different. He hadn't-he didn't want to hurt Hummel, not really. He just wanted Hummel to leave him alone.
For a moment, Hummel still looked shocked. Then his chin lifted and his jaw strengthened and he glared at Azimio. "I would," he said, sneering, "but I don't see any real men here, so that's not a problem."
For a moment, Azimio didn't seem to get it. David did, and he stifled the feeling of shock that Hummel was fighting back, unheard of for the school fag, a position that David had heard about in middle school and dreaded ever since. Still, he couldn't stifle a bubble of amusement. Hummel had a sharp tongue.
"Well, looks like we went and got ourselves a fag with a backbone," Azimio said, sneering. "I didn't think those existed."
Hummel's glare deepened. "And you have unfortunately confirmed that not only is this school full of idiots, but you are the king of them."
Azimio opened his mouth, prepared to say something, but then Mr. Schue came up on their side, asking about what they'd learned from each other. David recited some of the things that Hummel had given him and, just to drive a nail in the coffin of any relationship between them that wasn't friendly, he added in the fact that Hummel's mother was dead, all with a sneer. He ignored the way it made his head ache.
When he looked at Hummel out of the corner of his eye, his eyes had iced over. David felt a blast of relief. Hummel would never pretend to like him, probably never be interested him, and David would make sure it continued that way.
He tried to ignore the little voice in his head that told him how much he didn't want that to happen.
David might have been able to ignore the feelings, if it wasn't for Hummel being . . . well, being himself.
He walked around with his head held high, even when he had no reason to do so. He had sharp eyes and a sharper tongue and he dressed so strangely that David sometimes wondered if he was an alien. He sang. David was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to know that, but he'd passed the auditorium and choir room sometimes and heard Hummel in there, his voice high and clear as a girl's. David ignored the voice that told him it was beautiful. It couldn't be beautiful. Nothing about Hummel could be. He was a fag, he was disgusting, and David could never be tempted to like him, in any friendly way at all. Never.
If he was honest, a part of him hated Hummel. It wasn't only for being gay: David despised that and felt uncomfortable with it, uneasy for reasons he couldn't and wouldn't name, but it wasn't that. It was the way Hummel ran around the school with his nose in the air, as if he was better than everyone else when everyone knew he wasn't. It was the way Hummel still glared at him when he locker-checked him or threw a slushie in his face. It was the way Hummel made comments about David's intelligence, or lack-there-of, when he was being put in the dumpster. It was his crazy clothes that pointed out his sexuality more clearly than his voice or his face or his small size did. It was that he wore them with pride despite that fact. It was that Hummel could walk down the halls, proud of who he was, despite being despised for it, and David couldn't. It was that Hummel had courage and a will of steel and pride and was beautiful. David hated him for being so loveable, hated him for making David admire him.
So David locker-checked him harder, slushied him more, threw him into the dumpster with gusto. Hummel could never know. David may admire him, maybe even like him, goddamnit, but Hummel was never to know. Hummel hated him, David had made sure of it, and he was a vindictive little bitch. There was no telling what he would do with the information that one of his tormenters might be nursing, of all things, a . . . David didn't want to call it a crush. He couldn't, because that would mean—No. He always shook the thought away. He didn't like Hummel, not in the normal or abnormal way.
Still. If his eyes sometimes followed Hummel in the hallways, there was no one to know but himself.
Then The Day happened. It had started out so innocently. The usual fling into the lockers. The usual trash-talk. But then: the unusual reaction.
Hummel had a sharp tongue, but he never usually spoke up for himself. There had been exceptions, but the norm was Hummel taking the locker bumps and most of the trash-talk with a glare and a haughty sniff. And even when he talked back, he did it in the safety of the hallway. Most of the students there didn't care, but it gave a chance for a teacher to run interference. So Hummel stuck to the hallways.
But not on The Day. Instead he followed David.
David wasn't good with words, at least, not with ones that didn't hurt. He didn't know what to say when a teacher called on him to give an answer: not because he didn't know it, but because putting it into words was difficult. Sometimes keeping up with Hummel verbally was part of the challenge of bullying him, because Hummel always seemed ten steps ahead, words-wise. He always had something to say, always knew the right way to say it. It was part of why David hated and admired him.
So when Hummel stormed in after him, rage lighting a blush on his face, eyes snapping with anger, David lost his words for a moment. He wasn't gay, he wasn't, but Hummel's face was beautiful, sharply defined in a way that it hadn't been even last year, and he was even prettier when he was angry. He got up in David's face, forcing him to see every detail: the smattering of freckles on Hummel's nose, still there even a few years later, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the interesting mix of blue-gray-green that was his eyes. For a moment, David couldn't hear what Hummel was yelling about. Then:
"You're just a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!" Hummel yelled in his face, eyes alight with anger, face burning with it. David could no more have stopped himself from breathing in that moment.
David kissed him.
Hummel's lips were soft under his, mostly from surprise, but probably also because Hummel had some of the softest lips David had ever seen. His face, under David's clammy hands, was warm, the skin soft against his palms. For a moment, David felt pure bliss.
Hands against his chest, pushing him away. David reared back, blinking stupidly, drunk on kissing someone that he'd wanted to for a change, not having to fake his response. He even dived in for another, just for a chance at that feeling again. But then Hummel pulled back, horror on his face, and David's bubble broke. He'd kissed Hummel, he'd kissed a boy, oh god his life was ruined, what had he been thinking, whatwouldhismothersayohgod-
He hit the lockers. Mostly because his life was ruined now: no doubt Hummel would run out of the locker room crying rape and molestation, and while most people might not believe him, David knew Schue would and probably Hummel's dad and probably Figgins. And even then, there would always be that doubt among his peers, the idea that perhaps David was a fag. But it was more than that. For a moment, David had had bliss. He was kissing someone he wanted to kiss. There had no need to check his reactions to make sure that they fit a normal boy's, he hadn't had to pretend that he wasn't imagining the girl across from him was a boy just so he could appropriately fake horniness. For a moment, he'd been purely happy. But then Hummel had backed away in fear, in terror, and David had realized that he would never have that happiness. He could never kiss who he wanted to kiss, because it was wrong, it was disgusting and, more importantly than anything, the person he wanted to kiss hated his guts for good reasons.
David ran and never looked back.
David went to school the next day dreading the looks he was sure to get. He'd spent last night dreading a call from Figgins, dreading anything summoning him to the school first thing in the moment to talk about the Locker Incident. But no call had come. David allowed himself, tentatively, to hope. Maybe Hummel had manned up and decided to bear with unwanted kisses in locker rooms. Maybe he'd keep his fairy mouth shut.
David made it through the first half of the day, and his confidence grew. Hummel hadn't told anyone, as far as he could tell. He'd passed Hummel's fag hag in the hall and her glare hadn't been worse than it usually was that week. Schue had given him disappointed look, but Schue had been giving him many of those this week. For the moment, he was in the clear. As he made his way down to lunch, David could only feel relief.
And then he saw Hummel.
He tensed. Hummel was with someone else, a short kid whose height was counteracted with broad shoulders. He was a pretty boy like Hummel, all big brown eyes, close-cropped hair and strong jaw line. He looked like he would call Hummel's dad sir and give flowers to girls on the first date and quote Shakespeare. For a brief moment, David felt a flare of jealousy.
Then the jealousy fled in face of panic as the short kid started talking about the Locker Incident. Hummel had told someone. He'd given that information to someone. Someone knew.
He tried to hurry past them. He couldn't look at them in the face, knowing that they were aware of something he'd been trying to shove down for his entire life, knowing that they were held the key to the lock on his deepest, darkest secret. They were dangerous. They knew who he was, they knew the part of him that even he couldn't look straight in the eye. They had the power to destroy his life and he couldn't know what they'd do with it.
"You just have to know you're not alone," he heard the short kid call after him.
David snapped. How was he not alone? Yeah, sure, there were gay kids in Lima - or, rather, one gay kid - and he knew that gays existed in the world. But look at Hummel's dad: everyone had heard of the meeting he'd had with Figgins last year, about that girly diva-off Hummel had been involved in. McKinley was a small school and news spread fast. David's mom - hell, even his dad - would never have done something like for him, even now. If he told them he was gay - not that he was, he wasn't, that kiss had been a mistake, hewasn'tgayohgod - then they'd hate him. There was no doubt of that.
He turned and shoved Short Kid into the fence. He didn't know if he was more infuriated by the words or that fact that Short Kid's face was calm and composed. For a moment, David contemplated punching him in the face. Then he was being shoved away by an angry Hummel. David would have been surprised by that a month ago even. Now he knew that Hummel was stronger than David gave him credit for. Part of David hated Hummel for that, for being strong where he was weak.
But most of all, he hated the wanting that he couldn't stop, looking at Hummel in his blue coat, eyes somewhere between grey and blue, all sharp jaw line and neat hips and long legs. He was beautiful and David wanted him and could never have him. Not only because his mother would denounce him if he did, not to mention the rest of the school, not only because David could barely admit to himself that he might not find the idea of sleeping with a guy disgusting, but also because Hummel hated him. Hummel hated who he was and how he looked like and everything about him.
David felt his heart twist. Then, without saying anything, he fled. Crying in front of the school was embarrassing: crying in front of Hummel and his boyfriend was unacceptable.
Somehow it all got harder when Hummel was gone.
Part of it was the guilt that David couldn't stop. It came creeping in during the night, when he laid in his bed, staring up at his dark ceiling. He had no delusions about why Hummel had left: it had been because of him. He'd driven Hummel to that. Part of him whispered that he should have been proud, he'd managed to make the fag back off, but most of him realized that it wasn't something to feel proud about. It was something he should be ashamed of.
Part of it was the Looks he got. Not just from Hummel's freaky friends – especially Hudson and his fag hag – but from everybody. The only ones in school who seemed truly unaffected was the football team, but David had seen some of them give him a glance every once in a while. No one knew the truth about why Hummel had left, but the entire school knew that he wouldn't have left because of the normal bullying. People hated Hummel, sure, but that didn't mean they were unaware that he was a vicious little ice-bitch. They knew he gave as good as he got most of the time, especially in the past few months. They knew David had upped the ante, had changed something about the rules. But they didn't know what.
The last part was his mother. His father too partly, but ever since the meeting with Hummel's dad his father had withdrawn from him. David wondered if he suspected something, if David had gone too far with the line about Hummel liking him. But his dad never mentioned it. He never said anything to David at all, actually. It was his mother who did all the talking. She'd been the one to bring David's case to the School Board, the one to get the expulsion overturned. She'd been the one to give him congratulations when she heard Hummel had transferred. She'd been the one who'd been on his side.
He didn't want her to be.
When she'd first heard about the news, she hadn't scolded him. She hadn't even given him a disappointed look. She'd told David how proud she was of him, for standing up for what he believed in and for not allowing a fag to walk around unpunished. Those had been her exact words. When she'd said it, all David could think about was Burt Hummel and the strangely tender way he looked and acted around his own son. All he could think about was, Why don't you pick on me instead, huh? And the pure love he'd seen in Burt Hummel's eyes, the pure protective parental outrage.
He wanted that. He wanted it more than he could say. But he couldn't have it, and it gave him yet another reason to hate Kurt Hummel.
After the Football Incident, David avoided the glee club. He stayed away from the members: he didn't slushie them or locker-check them or throw them into dumpsters. He didn't meet Hudson's eyes in the halls. For a while, he thought it was enough. He was the king of the school, a throne he'd barely had before being unseated by the incident with Hummel. He didn't have a girlfriend, but he made out regularly with Cheerios. He didn't have to look Hummel in the face day after day, having what he couldn't have thrown in his face all the time. His secret was safe. People had stopped giving him looks. His grades were improving. Life was good.
Then Kurt Hummel returned to McKinley.
David had first heard it the weekend before Hummel's supposed return. Azimio had told him, cackling gleefully at what they'd do to Hummel as soon as he walked into the school. David had frozen, then made excuses to get away. He had to be alone.
Hummel was coming back.
David didn't know why he would. He'd been at the fancy prep school Dalton for a good three months. Why couldn't he just stay there? Why did he have to come back and mess up David's life yet again? And yet a part of him wondered how Hummel had changed, if he'd grown again, if his eyes would be blue or grey when he saw him again. What he'd be wearing, how his hair would look, his expression. David wanted to bury his head in his hands. He'd thought he'd gotten past this. It had been so easy to ignore when Hummel wasn't in his face all the time, flaunting how wrong he was.
David knew Hummel probably was dreading seeing him. He gave a choked laugh-sob when he thought what Hummel's face would look like if David ever told him that he was just as scared of seeing Hummel.
For the most part, they avoided one another.
David saw him a few times. The most memorable one was the first. He'd been walking down the halls, absorbed in his own thoughts, and suddenly Hummel was there. He wasn't taller, but the thinness had left his face, and the dark shadows under his eyes had faded. He was smiling. Laughing, even, and David saw why a moment later: the short guy, the one who had talked to David all those months ago, was with him. David remembered hearing something about a new guy transferring, but he hadn't made the connection. Now he felt rage burning in his chest as he watched them talk together, heads bent in to one another, secret smiles on their faces.
David hated them for being able to do that. He hated Short Kid for being able to look at Hummel and smile, affection clear in his face. He hated the way Hummel looked at the Short Kid as if he hung the goddamn moon in the sky. He hated how much it hurt to watch them together. And, as it had so often with Hummel, the hate turned into rage. He waited for the opportune moment, when they were turned away enough so they wouldn't immediately see him coming, and close enough that he would have enough momentum. Then he shoved out with his shoulder.
He hit Short Kid first and sent him crashing into Hummel, who hit the lockers with a loud snap. David stopped and looked back at them. Hummel was glaring at him, but his face was white. The Short Kid was just staring at him, his expression calm. The calm only threatened to break when he looked at Hummel and saw how pinched his expression was, how his lips had thinned into a white line. When he turned back to David, his eyes were angry. David smiled at him. He knew it wasn't a nice one, but he didn't care. He wanted Short Kid to be angry at him. He wanted to punch him in the nose, for daring to be what David could never be. He wanted to hurt him for taking Hummel, no matter that Hummel never was and never would be something David could have a claim to. He wanted him to hurt like David hurt.
For a long moment, he held Short Kid's eyes. Then, without looking at Hummel, he turned away.
David had never really cursed the fact that he lived in a small town before. Sure, he dreamed about leaving like most other kids his age, but he'd never been overly bothered by living in Lima before. However, before it had never occurred to him how inconvenient it was to have only one supermarket in town. Or that it might not be the best idea to go grocery shopping with his mother when he was well aware that the one person he never wanted to see again might be at the very same supermarket.
Or that Kurt Hummel might end up in line in front of him and his mother.
David hadn't even noticed him until they were almost in line, and then it was too late to tell his mother they should pick another lane. That line was the shortest and his mom would want to know the reason why David wanted to switch. He didn't want a scene in the supermarket, which his mother would surely stage if she knew Kurt Hummel stood only feet away.
He stared at the back of Hummel's head. He was dressed neatly, as usual, and he knew that his mother was looking at Hummel strangely. He wondered what Hummel would do if he knew they were there. Would he get out of line? Would he stay? And then the constant fearful thought in the back of David's mind: would he tell?
David tore his eyes away from Hummel's head as his mother started to speak. "So, David, your father and I have been discussing your school work," she said. Out of the corner of his eye, David noticed Hummel tense. There weren't many teenagers named David in Lima.
"I've been working hard," he said, trying to mumble so Hummel wouldn't hear him as clearly. By the way Hummel's spine straightened with a snap, he knew he wasn't successful. Still, Hummel didn't leave the line. David wondered if Hummel thought it was draw too much attention or if he just wanted to get out as soon as possible now that he knew David was there.
"I know, but we're not happy with your grades, David," his mother said sternly. "I understand that you've had a rough year, what with that incident, but you can't allow other's sins to affect your own life, do you understand?"
David tensed. Hummel could hear every word his mother was saying. Damnit, he thought.
"It has nothing to do with that—" he started, desperate to shift her attention. He didn't want this to happen. His mother and Hummel should never walk in each other's space, breathe each other's air. They were from different worlds.
"I think it has everything to do with that, David," his mother said. "I know how distracting it must be, having someone that disgusting walking around school freely. I cannot believe that your idiotic principal allowed that monstrosity back into school." She shook her head in disgust. "I think it's high time we had an exchange of power again. That Sue Sylvester was a good enough principal. She was certainly better than that no-good, Muslim idiot you have in power now." (1)
David cringed a little inside, but kept his face clear. He'd tried telling his mother that Figgins was Christian – had, in fact, pointed him out at church as many Sundays as possible – but she was convinced he was a Muslim. It was part of the reason she hadn't attended the meeting with Hummel's dad – she always made snide comments whenever Figgins was around and thus Figgins had refused to let her into his office anymore.
He didn't dare look at Hummel.
"It's just harder this year," he said, still mumbling. "They're riding us harder, that's all."
"You will let me know if that faggot is bothering you again, David," his mother ordered. "I mean, the nerve of him, accusing you of assaulting him."
Shit, David thought. He knew Hummel was going to turn before he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Hummel said, his voice polite, but with an icy edge. "I couldn't help overhearing."
David's mother ran an eye over Hummel and frowned. "Yes?" she asked with irritation. "Who are you?"
Hummel smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "Kurt Hummel," he said. His mother's eyes widened. "I would just like to inform you that you are the most moronic, disgusting, sorry excuse for a human being that I've ever met in my life."
"Well I—" his mother sputtered with indignation.
"Oh, not just for your remarks about me. Your son has already hurled every insult possible against me." David flinched, but neither of them noticed. Hummel's eyes, icy and clear and angry, were focused on his mother. "But what cemented your utter stupidity for me were your remarks about Principal Figgins. Unless you're blind, deaf, and dumb – which, to be honest, would not surprise me in the least – you would have noticed that Principal Figgins attends church every Sunday. If you'd ever bother to speak to him, you'd know that he converted to Christianity when his family came to America when he was a teenager."
"Why you impertinent child—" his mother started, her cheeks flushed with rage. Hummel didn't let her finish.
"As for the remarks against me. Well, you may be interested to know that your son regularly bullied me for the majority of my high school career. Thrown in dumpsters, slushies to the face, shoved into lockers hard enough to bruise, verbal insults – all of it was a part of my life. But I know that doesn't matter to you, because you, you sad, pathetic little monkey, you think that I deserved it. That I asked for it because I'm gay."
"But what you don't know is that no matter what you say, no matter what words or insults or barbs you throw at me, you can't break me. You won't break me. And you know why?" He leaned forward, into David's mother's space. David noticed that the rest of the line was paying attention, as well as many people around them. He felt sick. "Because I may be gay, but I'm worth ten of you, you close-minded bitch. I may be gay, but I will try not discriminate against people simply because they don't fit into my definition of normal. I may be gay, but I'm more compassionate and loving than you are. I may be gay and, in your eyes, sinful and immoral and disgusting, but, in the end, I'm the better human being because I can look at the world around me and see the love instead of the hate."
He pulled away, his expression tight with disgust and anger and what looked like pity. "I feel sorry for you, Ms. Karofsky," he said. "You're an unhappy woman and someday you'll have to face up to your hatred and you'll find yourself buried in it."
With that, Kurt Hummel turned on his heel and left the store, leaving all of his groceries in the small basket he'd put on the floor of the aisle. And for the first time since he was a child, David saw his mother stunned speechless.
As for him . . . . He stared at Hummel's basket of food. Slowly, hope rose.
The next day, David waited for the opportune moment. As soon as he saw Hummel alone in the hallways, he grabbed his arm and dragged him into a nearby classroom.
"Let go of me," Hummel snarled, ripping his arm out of David's grip.
"I'm not gonna hurt you!" David said immediately. He didn't want Hummel to leave. Not yet. "I just—" Words, he thought. They're always fucking up my life. "I want to talk to you," he finished lamely.
Hummel stared at him, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "This is about yesterday, isn't it?" he asked. Before David could answer, he said, "Your mother is a cold-hearted bitch."
"No, she's not," David said hurriedly. "She—" He shook his head. "She's right. Everything about you is wrong." Everything about me is wrong.
Hummel scoffed. "You can go ahead and keep saying that if it keeps you from hating yourself, David," his tone could've cut diamond, David thought, "but just because you're deep in the River of Denial doesn't mean you're right."
"I am not in denial," David said, anger building. "That—that thing, it was—you did it! It was you, not me! I'm not—" He turned away. Why had he thought he could do this?
Hummel sighed. "Karofsky, I don't like you. But if you keep pretending to be someone you're not, you're going to end up hurting yourself. And probably a lot of other people too, if bullying is how you deal with it."
"You don't understand," David said, still turned away. He found it easier to talk like this, hidden from Hummel and his pretty face and sharp eyes. "Your dad—I've never met anyone like him. You've got it good, Hummel. What do you think my father would say if I told him I kissed a dude and didn't hate it? Or my mother?"
"Does it really matter?"
David turned, angry now. "Yes!" he said. "It matters! They're my parents. This—my feelings—whatever the hell I am, it's going to make them hate me! Fuck, I kinda hate myself!" Damnit, he thought. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.
Hummel's face was softening, damn him, and David turned away again. He hadn't really had a plan when he'd pulled Hummel aside, but he didn't want—this. Whatever it was.
"Karofsky—" Hummel started.
"Just go away, Hummel," he said. "Stop spreading your gay to me and we'll be fine."
Hummel was silent. Then he sighed again. "Blaine was right, you know? You're not alone." Then he left.
David breathed in and out evenly, staring at the wall, and a part of him wished it was true.
It was because of Hudson that everything came to a head.
The funny thing was that David hadn't even meant to locker check them that time. He'd honestly been bumped into by someone in the hall, sending him crashing into, of all people, Hummel. Of course he didn't apologize, but that would've made him look bad. He didn't think it warranted the full-on attack Hudson had launched at him.
"I'm sick of this," Hudson said as soon as Hummel hit the lockers, starting forward angrily. Hummel tried to recover enough to stop him and David could see him shaking his head, saying no, no, no silently, but Hudson didn't pay attention. "Leave him alone."
David sneered at him. "Why should I?" he asked. A couple of his football buddies, still in the halls, oohed.
Hudson glared at him. "You're just afraid of Kurt, Karofsky," he said. "He's ten times the dude you could ever be, and you know it."
David rolled his eyes. "A little limp-wristed fag like him isn't a real man, Hudson. Although it sounds like you know a lot about it, huh? Getting a little friendly in the new house?" He made a rude gesture.
There were football players looking on. David couldn't afford to pull any of the stops.
"Well, I dunno Karofsky," Hudson said, looking angry. "I mean, you still don't have a girlfriend. It sounds like you'd know more about it than me."
Their part of the hallway quieted. David gaped at Hudson. It seemed he really had been spending too much time with his new step-brother – that remark sounded more like Hummel than Hudson had any right to sound. What's more, David could feel his teammate's eyes burning into the back of his head. Some of the guys had mentioned his single status. They were suspicious of any guy who wasn't hooked onto a girl, especially a football player. David had tried to play it off as a focus on schoolwork, but with Hudson's remark . . . .
"Don't be stupid, Hudson," he said. "Fags are disgusting."
"Kurt's just as normal as you are," Hudson protested angrily. "You're the douchebag that can't see it, Karofsky! You're just like your mother, y'know?" More oohs. "She's always giving people crap for being different. That's why no one likes her, and that's why no one likes you."
David stared at Hudson. He really had changed, he thought distantly. A year ago, he'd never had make a remark like that. Am I like her? he thought. He loved his mother, sure, she was his mother, but . . . . He'd always been uncomfortable with how quickly she judged, how easily she discriminated. Was he really like her?
"Finn, leave it alone," Hummel said quietly.
"Why're you standing up for him, Kurt?" Hudson demanded loudly. "He doesn't deserve it! I tried and he just threw it in my face."
"Just leave it alone," Hummel hissed, throwing David a look.
"I think the fag's got a crush on Karofsky," one of the football guys – Jeff, David thought his name was – jeered. "Guess he's even more messed up than we thought, huh, if he's crushing on Karofsky after everything?" After all the bullying, David thought, feeling a little ill.
David watched Hummel's face crumple for a moment before it hardened into an icy mask. Something around his heart tightened. He recognized that look.
"But I guess fags just like it freaky, huh?" Jeff continued, to the laughter of the footballers. David looked around. There were plenty of people in the hall, but they all avoided his eyes. They kept going down the hallway, edging away from the conflict. He felt sick. "Maybe it's because of his mama. I heard she liked it a little freaky too—"
"Take that back," Hummel said suddenly, quiet and dangerous. David tensed on instinct: that voice could cut diamonds. Hummel meant business.
Jeff either didn't sense the danger or ignored it. "Why should I? I heard from my dad that your mama liked it wherever she could get it – heard she'd take as many dudes as she could, just like a two-cent whore—"
David moved before Hummel could. He threw a punch at Jeff's jaw.
David only vaguely remembered Margaret Hummel. He had never had much interaction with the Hummel family, nothing beyond having Kurt in his class for a few years – and his piano lessons with Ms. Hummel. It was something he'd stopped after age six, when his mother finally put her foot down. The piano lessons had been his father's idea – he'd wanted David to experience a little "culture" as he put it. His mother hated it – she disliked most music, except for certain Christian hymns. She felt that a boy playing the piano was abnormal.
Ms. Hummel had had kind eyes. Hummel's eyes, if David remembered right: eyes that were sometimes blue but sometimes grey or green, eyes that saw through you. She'd had long hair that was some dark color – maybe brown, but maybe a dark red. She wore sundresses and flip-flop sandals and huge sunglasses. She laughed a lot and never scolded David for screwing up notes or not practicing.
It had been instinct to hit Jeff for his comments on Margaret Hummel. David saw the punch in slow-motion, realized as it was happening that he'd just stood at a fork in the road of his life and taken a different path than he would've normally. And, surprisingly, he couldn't find it in himself to regret it. Jeff and his buddies – they were people who sneered and threw slushies and hated the Glee club for being different and insulted people's dead mothers. They were like David's mother. They were people that David no longer wanted to be like. He didn't know if it was because of Hummel and everything that had happened in the past few months, but as he watched Jeff fall to the floor, he found no regrets. He thought of the Glee kids, who'd all accepted him with little complaining, he thought of Mr. Schue – you're good, you could easily be one of the best in the school – he thought of Short Kid and Hummel, both of them saying you're not alone. He thought of Hummel, bright eyes fierce, telling his mother that he was the better person because he didn't hate anyone who was different.
He wanted to be with them. He didn't want to continue being an asshole. He was tired of pretending. And maybe in a week he'd get so fed up with the jeering and the insults and the slushies that he'd change his mind, but for now, he wanted to be with those people, the ones who refused to conform simply because that was what expected of them. Maybe, David thought wildly, I'm finally learning how to be brave.
"What the hell Karofsky?" Jeff yelled, cradling his jaw.
David didn't say anything. He couldn't. Words, his constant enemies, had abandoned him, as they always did.
"Karofsky," he heard Hummel say softly. "What are you doing?"
"Leave him alone," David said. It came out more strongly than he thought it would. "His mom's dead. I don't see why you've got to go mouthing off about her."
"Protecting your homo boyfriend, Karofsky?" Jeff sneered. It would've been more impressive if he wasn't still on the ground, holding his jaw. "I thought you were a real man. When'd you become a fag?"
"I'm . . . not a fag," David said. He wasn't ready for that yet. Maybe in time. "But I'm not an asshole either." Titters ran through the crowd that was gathering around them. David looked around. There were a lot of people gathered there. Good. "You're a bunch of douchebags and if it wasn't for the fact that Beiste would kick my ass if I stopped, I'd quit football," he told Jeff and the other footballers. He turned to Hummel and Hudson, who were both staring at him like he had three heads and antlers. "So do I need to see Schuester to join Glee or can I just show up today?" he asked.
Hudson's jaw dropped. Hummel, however, slowly smiled. "Oh, we'll vouch for you," he said airily. "Come on, Finn, we have class to be getting to." He looked David up and down. "Thanks, Karofsky," he said, more softly. Then he took his brother by the arm and started herding him down the hall. "Oh honestly Finn, pick your jaw up from the ground. That is not an attractive look for you."
"But Kurt, he just—" Hudson started.
"I know," Hummel said. "But that's no excuse for looking like a dying goldfish."
Their talk faded as they moved farther away. David took a deep breath and turned back to his previous friends, only to find them all gone, even Jeff. He figured he'd have a slushie in the face by final period, if not earlier.
He was surprised by how little he cared.
He cornered Hummel – no, not Hummel, Kurt – after Glee practice, which had gone surprisingly well after everyone adjusted to David's presence. Hummel – Kurt, it was Kurt – was with Blaine, and they both looked up as he approached.
"Can I talk to you alone?" he asked. Blaine was giving him a suspicious look.
"Sure," Kurt said. He waved Blaine off. "I'll meet you at the Lima Bean," he said. "Go on, go on."
Blaine narrowed his eyes at David, telling him silently I'm suspicious of you and your motivations and I'm leaving now because Kurt asked me to before going. Kurt looked at David.
"This isn't going to end with a kiss again is it?" he asked.
David flinched. He hadn't thought Kurt would bring It up. "No," he said. "I just—I wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything that happened. I was an asshole."
"Oh, you still are," Kurt said. "But you're developing slowly. I'm sure in time you'll become a normal human being, with minimal asshole qualities."
Only Hummel, David thought. "So, that was all," he said awkwardly. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"David," Kurt said, stopping David in his tracks. Kurt so rarely used his first name. "You know, standing up to them is only round one. Eventually you'll to admit to yourself and them who you really are. And that's going to be so much harder. Are you really ready for that?"
David turned and looked at Kurt. Kurt, who was wearing a girl's shirt, skinny jeans, and a clock bow-tie, with shoes that matched. Kurt, who was beautiful and who used hairspray on his perfectly maintained hair and who sang like a girl. Kurt, who loved Broadway and Lady Gaga and female actresses. Kurt, who was gay and open and proud and brave.
"I think I will be," he said. "If you'll help me."
Kurt smiled. David didn't stop himself from admiring it this time. "I'd be delighted to," he said.
David turned and left. He knew he had other things to do—people to talk to, things to confess, an identity to forge. But for now, for the first time in years, he finally felt happy with life.
Long-Ass Author's Note: So I don't like David Karofsky. Not now, at least. I think he's an asshole and a douchebag and something of an idiot. But I recently issued a challenge to myself to write in the POV of a character I dislike and I chose Karofsky for precisely those reasons. And through writing this, I've discovered the Karofsky that I feel the writer's will, sooner or later, unveil for us: a boy who's very afraid of who he is and shows his fear through anger. It doesn't make his anger and his bullying okay, but knowing the reasons makes us understand and sympathize with him more.
It's part of my personal head canon that Karofsky has a fundamentalist Christian nut as his mother. To be honest, his father didn't strike me as a bigot or an asshole in the one scene he was in. He certainly seemed stern, but I figure any parent whose kid is being accused of death threats and assault is going to be a little stern with them. I know Karofsky needed a reason to hate gays so much, and I figured it had to be the mother or the peer pressure, and I thought the mother would be more interesting. Plus I kind of just wanted Kurt to bash her.
I genuinely think that Karofsky likes Kurt. I don't, however, think that Kurt will ever return the feelings. I feel like they could be friends, but lovers just doesn't work for me. I hope the ending will imply friendship, but if you'd rather imagine them entering into a romance, be my guest.
I don't think Karofsky would ever come out right away. I know Glee will probably force him to, as it's a show that compresses time together and makes things happen quickly, but Karofsky's homophobia and fear seems too ingrained to be let out so easily. That's the reason I made him show his support for the Glee kids before he came out – he needs to loosen the boundaries one at a time, not let them all out at once.
Final note: I might write a sequel to this one day, where Karofsky comes out. But seeing as this will all be debunked in a few weeks, I probably won't. This is my first attempt at the Glee fandom (which will probably be unusual for any regular readers) but this story has been bouncing around my head so insistently that I had to write it. Hope y'all like it.
(1) I know that the correct term is actually Islamic when referring to the religion, but I wanted to highlight the mother's ignorance about the subject. Just so you know.