Chapter 3

Something was going on with Kurt.

There were three things Rachel Berry prided herself on: first, her obvious star quality; second, her history of overcoming a plethora of obstacles worthy of any sappy romcom; and third, her keen senses that could tell when something was wrong with a friend. And her last prided talent was being honed in ever since Kurt had come back from his night out with Adam.

It started when he had described the night as "nice." Not only was it a description dramatically understated compared to his regular, but the way he said it implied that the night hadn't been so "nice." Rachel would have settled for thinking that Adam had just been bad in bed, or Kurt and he had ended the night fighting, but that didn't seem right. Kurt would have said something about it, or at least hinted about it. No. He was hiding something.

Then, when she went into the bathroom for her morning routine before anyone else was up, she saw it: A mess. Kurt was generally a tidy person, and very rarely did he not pick up after himself. Only when he was going through a funk did Rachel ever find a stray sock here or there. But this… This was way out of the ordinary. She tripped over the pile of clothes when she walked into the bathroom, and she would have yelled at him were it not for the splash of red she saw among the blues and whites of the outfit.

Stooping low, Rachel sifted through the clothes with her fingertips, her heart hammering in her chest. She hoped desperately it had just been a scarf or something, but deep down she knew Kurt would never be caught dead in red, white, and blue. That was too patriotic for his taste.

And there it was, like a flashing crimson light. She held his underwear between two nails, on one hand feeling a little strange for handling his delicates, but on the other hand only feeling sheer panic for her friend. Unsteadily, she stood back up and hesitated only a second before running out of the bathroom, light and quick on her feet.

"Santana," she whispered, stopping beside the head of the sleeping woman's bed. When she got no response, she shook her with her free hand. "Santana," she hissed aggressively, feeling relieved when she stirred awake.

"What do you want, Troll?" Santana grumbled, her eyes prying open to glare at the other girl. When Rachel held out the pair of boxer-briefs in response, Santana sat straight in the bed and pulled away. "Okay, I don't need to see your period underwear, thank you very much." She looked horrified and furious that she had been woken up for something so disgusting.

"They're Kurt's," Rachel clarified, turning on a bedside lamp. Santana cringed away from the underwear further, looking confused.

"Are you accusing him of having a lady-vag?" She scoffed and rubbed her face before throwing her legs over the side of the bed so she could stand.

"No, I…" Rachel sighed and followed Santana as she went to the kitchen, still holding the stained underwear in her nails. "I found them in the bathroom," she explained in a hushed tone, not wanting to wake Kurt. "He was bleeding."

"Really?" Santana asked with mockery, her voice a little too loud. "I thought he sat in nail polish." She rummaged in the refrigerator before settling on an old bagel and joining Rachel. She put her feet up on the table and sat back, seemingly fully engrossed in her snack.

"I'm serious," Rachel insisted, leaning forward. She had to get through to her; it was the only way to really help Kurt. "There's something going on with him. I can sense it. Ever since he came back from his date with Adam, Kurt's just been… off. I can outline what I've discovered so far, and we can find out what to do once you're caught up. I must say, I think I've got almost everything put together. Firstly—"

"Okay, firstly," Santana cut in, holding up a warning finger, "get Lady Hummel's crusty blood-panties off our table. This is where we eat." Rachel removed the underwear per requested, holding them at arm's length away from the table. "Secondly," she continued, "don't be telling me what to do. If something is really going on, you can be damn sure my bloodhound-like nose has already sniffed it out, despite the weird scents you give off that clog up my nostrils." Santana stood from her seat and wiped her hands off onto her pants before heading back to her room. She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder at Rachel. "And thirdly, if you every wake me up in the middle of the night again, I will slip a razor blade into one of your incredibly childish sweaters. You won't know which one until it's too late." She smiled and disappeared into her room, leaving Rachel alone with the pair of bloody boxer-briefs.


As much as she hated to admit it, the hobbit was right, and Santana knew it. She had known something was wrong with Kurt the moment she saw him sneaking into their home that night. Then there was the underwear that she saw when she snuck into the bathroom while he had been showering. She knew immediately Kurt had gotten laid at that point, because why else would he be bleeding in his pants unless he had been hiding a vagina for his entire life? She would have brushed it off as the product of hot and aggressive sex, but she knew Kurt was like a sadly crippled turtle when it came to getting it on, so he'd never do anything to cause bleeding in bed. And once he refused to answer any of her intrusive questions, she knew for certain something had gone down, and not in the good way.

Unlike Rachel, who probably thought Kurt had fought with Adam before sitting on a nail, Santana had a pretty good idea of what had happened, and the image of her crippled turtle Kurt being fondled unwillingly made her Latina blood boil. No one should even be touched, let alone anything more than that, when they didn't want to.

So she had a plan. She was going to make things right, one way or the other.


When Kurt woke up, it took him almost two hours to actually get up. His entire body was protesting, wishing it could stay hidden beneath the sheets for the rest of eternity. He just wanted to bury himself under his comforter and pretend he was in his grave. Maybe he could get some peace if he convinced himself he was a corpse.

But, unfortunately, he wasn't the only resident in the small and frigid home. Rachel and Santana were already both up and moving about in the kitchen, talking a bit too loudly and slamming cabinets like nobody's business. Kurt knew if he didn't eventually get up, they'd become suspicious, and perhaps even, to his horror, come into his bedroom and question him. He wasn't sure how many times he could get away lying to them, so he decided getting up would be the best choice in the long run.

Easier said than done. He managed to toss the sheets off of himself, exposing his body to the cold air. Even beneath his sweats he was shivering, but he wasn't entirely sure that was just because of the cold. He lied like that for a few minutes before crawling from the bed, feeling even worse than the night before. His whole body was stiff, and when he stood to full height, he could have sworn he felt something rip that shouldn't have. While stifling a scream of terror and attempting to walk like he wasn't about to fall over in pain, Kurt headed into the bathroom, scarcely avoiding saying good morning to his roommates.

Kurt collapsed the moment the door shut behind him. Crumpled on the floor, face contorted in agony, he had never felt worse. Every muscle in his body was trembling and screaming at him to stop moving, but a wrenching in his gut forced him to at least crawl pitifully over to the toilet to he could relieve his stomach of the bile that was rapidly coming up.

This wasn't working. He had wanted to hide this from everyone; pretend it didn't happen at all. He had hoped desperately he could recover enough to at least stifle anything from showing to anyone else. But at the moment, he knew that would never happen. He kept dry-heaving— as quietly as he possibly could, so as not to attract the attention of the two women— and there was a wet warmth seeping down his thighs that told him something had indeed ripped. He might be able to keep his emotions at bay for a little while, but his body would physically not do it. He was falling apart, and he could only hide that for so long.

A knock at the door made Kurt gasp, and that made him choke on his own bile, disgustingly enough. He covered his mouth with both his hands and tried desperately not to cough, which only made the sounds he did make that much more horrible.

"Kurt?" Rachel's concerned voice came through the door, and she knocked again. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he rushed out between coughs, scrambling to stand up and biting his tongue to keep from screaming as he did. Breathing through the pain, he leaned against the counter and focused on keeping his voice regular. "I'm fine."

"Oh, well, Santana said she was going out today, so I thought maybe you and I could do something. We could go for a walk, or check out some of the shops," she offered, sounding overly friendly and optimistic. Kurt would have cared more, but the only thing he cared about at the moment was the wetness seeping through his sweats.

"Yeah, okay," he replied, sounding strangled. No part of him wanted to go, but he knew he had to. She would be completely apprehensive if he refused a chance to shop.

"Okay, we'll leave whenever you're ready," Rachel said, and he could hear her heels clicking as she walked away. When she was far enough from the bathroom, he toppled back onto the floor, fumbling around for towels.

He really didn't want to look. Kurt was terrified of what he knew was there, but avoiding it would not make it any less real. With a large gulp of air, he removed his pants and set to work cleaning himself. He couldn't even clear his eyes of tears through the process because of the blood on his hands, which only made it that much messier. He felt pathetic.


Kurt was waiting for Rachel to come out of the bathroom. He had finally gotten ready, making himself presentable and, in his opinion, looking good as new. His sharp dress and clean face didn't do anything to help how he was feeling— which was like shit— but it seemed to do the trick on Rachel. Though she wasn't aware of the three layers of pants he had on just in case, nor the towels he had hidden in his bag, again, just in case.

But she didn't need to ever know about that. He just had to get through this one day at a time, which meant focusing on the task ahead of him. He needed to follow Rachel around for a few hours, maybe buy a vest or something to be convincing, then he could return to his bed and wallow until he fell into a deep, cry-induced sleep.

Rinse and repeat until death.

Kurt could hear Rachel washing her hands, so he figured it was about time to leave. Just when the water shut off, he felt his phone vibrate on his nightstand where he had left it. He grabbed it just as Rachel opened the door, and he read the text just as she said she was ready to go. Unfortunately, the text made his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach, so it was impossible to hide the fear from his face.

Text from: Adam

Can't wait to see you again.