Chapter One - 3 to 4 a.m. Sunday

Sunday, voicemail received at 3:03 a.m

Call from Kurt Hummel to Jesse St. James

"It's kinda funny, 'cause I didn't know I still had you in my phone. But then I was looking through all my contacts, and there you were, plain as day, Jesse St. Sucks. Yeah, it's funny. And then I decided to call you, 'cause that would be funny, too, but it's not as funny as I thought. I wonder what you're doing right now. You're in UCLA in Los Angeles, and that was always so dumb of you to say, 'cause we knew it was in Los Angeles, 'cause that's in its name. But, anyway, I wonder if you're on your way to being as famous as you always wanted to be. And I'm trying to figure out right now if I'm still mad about what you did to Rachel, or if she really, really deserved that, 'cause she can be really horrible sometimes." There is a stifled gasp. "Really, really, really mean and she hurts people, and she's selfish and I wish I could throw eggs at her!" A click and the message ends.

Sunday, voicemail received at 3:11 a.m.

Call from Kurt Hummel to Rachel Berry

Message begins with a drunk, pained giggle, then a snarl. "Your fashion sense sucks and you're not that pretty and you're too loud and annoying and self-centered, even though you're my friend, and I just didn't want you to get hurt, and I didn't want me to get hurt, and I didn't want Blaine to get hurt, and I kept feeling like I was going to have a heart attack, and I knew I wasn't because I'm in really good shape and I eat healthy, like I make my dad eat since his heart attack, and I hate that you always get everything, and maybe if I was a girl or straight it wouldn't matter as much and people would be nicer to me and Blaine would love me back and my friends wouldn't hurt me this way, but I like who I am, or I thought I did, but I don't know anymore, and what's wrong with me, that's so perfectly right with you so that you get everything I want!" Sounds like the phone is thrown at something, then is picked up. "What's wrong with me?" The last line is different, as though not spoken into phone, then a click, and the message ends.

Sunday, voicemail received at 3:20 a.m.

Call from Kurt Hummel to Mercedes Jones

" 'Cedes, I don't know what to do. What did I do? What's wrong with me? I feel like I'm broken and repulsive and nobody wants to be with me anymore, except creepy creeps like Karofsky, and he scares me. 'Cedes, why don't you talk to me anymore? I miss you, and I try to call and text and Skype, but you're always busy, and I know you were mad when I met Blaine and spent so much time with him, and when I thought the tater tot war was stupid, and when I didn't tell you before I transferred to Dalton, but I didn't mean to make you mad. I love you, 'Cedes, and you're my best friend, and my gal pal, and I just wanted to talk to you about stuff like trying to fit in at Dalton with the Stepford robots, and how Karofsky keeps showing up and the guards caught him, but he sent me a picture he took of my window, and he knows which room is mine and where I sleep, and he scares me, and I wanted to tell you, but I didn't think you'd care, because no one cares when I get hurt or when I'm scared, and I'm really sorry, 'Cedes. I just wanted to talk to you…" A click, and the message ends.

Sunday, voicemail received at 3:39 a.m.

Call from Kurt Hummel to Brittany S. Pierce

"Hi, Brit-Brit. I miss you. You know, I think you're magic, because you always know how to make me feel better. And I love it when you call me your dolphin, and I wish I could have one exception to being gay, because it would be you, Boo.

"When you call me, it makes me smile, no matter how anal Wesley is being in Warblers, or how bad I did on a test, or how much I miss all my friends at McKinley.

"I love you, Brittany." A click, and the message ends.

Sunday, voicemail received at 3:39 a.m.

Call from Kurt Hummel to Jacob ben-Israel

"I called who? I have his number? Why would I want to have his num-?" A click, and the message ends.

Sunday, voicemail received at 3:47 a.m.

Call from Kurt Hummel to Sue Sylvester

"You know, the safest I ever felt was when I was a cheerio, and I loved it so much, and I don't know why you are always so nice to me, even though everyone says you like me, but I don't know why, because the only thing I'm good for is fashion advice, and you hate fashion and only ever wear those horrible, tacky track suits, even though you could look really amazing with a makeover, and I was appalled when I realized I actually miss that disgusting polyester uniform, but it made me feel safe, but I was just so tired at the end of last year, and so this year I didn't come back to cheerios, and I know you were disappointed. I know you tried your best to keep me safe from Karofsky, and that there wasn't anything you could do, and that Figgins and the board of directors are homophobes, so of course they didn't care about keeping me safe.

"But you did, and I'm so grateful for that, and the only time I've ever really felt needed and important was when I was in cheerios, even though I still don't know why you named them after a breakfast cereal.

"Thank you, Coach. You're a good person, and I won't spread it around, because I know you rule by fear, and you're good at it, so I won't screw it up, even though that's all I'm good at." A click, and the message ends.

Sunday, voicemail received at 3:54 a.m.

Call from Kurt Hummel to David Karofsky

"I hate you and I hate being afraid of you and I hate that you stole my first boy kiss and I hate that I still feel sorry for you because you hate yourself more than you hate me, and I never want to see you again, but you won't leave me alone, and I just want you to stop!" A click, and the message ends.

a/n Yes, you are absolutely allowed to hate me. Heck, I hate myself. But I will promise you right now, this is not a death!fic. Just extraordinarily angst-ridden.