The Curse of Miracles

Chapter Three: Kurt Meets Darla

One hour of flat ironing his hair. Twenty-five minutes of trying to get rid of the tufts of blonde with L'Oréal permanent hair dye. Because obviously, he was worth not looking like the lemonade-haired freak in the Nude Erections. Yuck.

Sydney had managed to really mature in the last twenty-four hours. He wasn't even phased anymore that Sebastian was taking Gayest Face to Hal's Subs anymore. Syd did his own homework by himself, and he was sort of pissed off about the fact that Sebastian snuck back into their room at four am. His whole family was getting kind of sick of the fact that Sebastian had a little problem with booze. They knew he didn't pay for his own booze, and that he basically leeched it off other guys. But once your parents know that most of these guys were old enough to be your fucking father, they start to get worried. Sebastian tried to assure them that he didn't sleep with guys suffering from arthritis, but they weren't convinced.

You're not yourself, his dad told him last night when they were washing dishes. Did someone do something to you?

They thought he was being nice because some guy took advantage of him after he drank a little too much, which you know, it could've happened. Sebastian had been black-out drunk so many times at Scandals. But he didn't think that that was why he decided to become best friends with the guy that put the suck in cock sucker. Without the actual blow-jobs.

Sydney walked into the room when Sebastian was just staring at his face. He looked like he waxed his eyebrows. Gross.

"Are you done staring at yourself in the mirror?" Sydney asked dryly, leaning against the wall.

Sebastian nodded his head and swallowed the lump in his throat. He always thought he looked good but today, it was like he woke up and realised that he was Frankenstein's fucking monster. What the hell? Now, he didn't how he looked like in any of his clothes. His body was not fucking proportionate. His legs looked weird even in baggy black pants and his white shirt made his skin look whiter than a fucking marshmallow. He had a zit on his back that he knew nobody could see but it was kind of making him want to kill himself. Great. He looked like a joke. And a plastic surgeon couldn't fix him.

"Yeah," Sebastian replied softly, looking away from the mirror. "Sure." He realised that he was already late.

"Seb?" Sydney stared at him like he was about to detonate. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You look… kind of… sad?"

"I'm okay," Sebastian said, his voice just as soft. He didn't understand what was happening to him. What was this? The second phase of puberty where he develops morals and his self-esteem tanks for no fucking reason? "I'm fine."

Was he depressed? Sebastian didn't feel fucking anymore sadder or happier than usual… whatever.

"You sure?" Sydney asked and then started laughing. "You ain't checking yourself out like usual, princess. Do you need a bigger mirror to take in all the beauty?" he mocked, but all Sebastian could think about was there wasn't a big enough mirror for his fucking horse face. How come Sydney had the same face and didn't look like a total douche?

Barf. Did he actually do that? Sebastian looked at his face, wondering if all those cum facials deformed it.

"Sebastian," Sydney grabbed his shoulder and looked at him straight up. "What happened to you?"

"What…what do you mean?" Sebastian asked unconvincingly. He wasn't even nervous when he lost his virginity! What gave? Seriously, what was he scared of? That Sydney would beat him with his inhaler?

Sydney raised an eyebrow as if to say that he wasn't that fucking dumb. "Are you… are you thinking of doing what that Dave guy did? Is that why you're so damn close to him? Is that why you wanna bring him home tonight since he got discharged?" he asked, his voice a little lower than usual. "Because you're freaking me out. Not just me. You're freaking mom and dad out too! Dad thinks that some creep in that bar fucking put his hands on you. Mom thinks that you might've seriously screwed up and you didn't want to own up. But whatever it is, you're not your-fucking-self."

"I'm trying to be fucking nice," Sebastian spat out at him. "When am I going to get that through your thick head?"

"Fine. You're trying to be nice. Good for you, but did something happen to make you want to?" Sydney looked just as serious as their dad's heart attack. The one that put him in the ICU for a couple of months. "Did somebody hurt you?"

Sebastian just swallowed the lump in his throat, and he shook his head. "No," he said softly.

And that was the fucking truth! What kind of person just started acting different for no damn reason? It didn't make sense.

"I don't believe you," Sydney said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Something had to have happened. And you know what? I always hated it when you fucking come home at three am, plastered but I can't fucking stand it anymore. If you dare to walk out of this place after eleven, I'm gonna to fucking drag you back because I don't trust you know what you're doing. I think people are taking advantage of you, but you're so fucking conceited that you think that you're using them."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Sydney the psychiatrist? Fuck him. Sebastian was seething.

"Whatever," Sebastian said, grabbing his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. "I hope you get hit by a truck trying to do that. Hey, you survived once, didn't you?" he knew this didn't make any sense because… well, they were twins.

Sydney scoffed. "That was bad," he threw Sebastian's wallet towards him. "I'm happy you're finally getting some friends. Because I'm hoping that they fucking figure out what must be going on inside your head. Because it can't be good."

"You think you know me?" Sebastian spat out icily, his shoulders stiffening. "Whatever, Syd."

"I know that you changed," Sydney stared him down. "You changed so damn much. You were always fucking mean, but you were never self-destructive. That's new. See, mom, dad and I—we know that you got a problem. We just never talked about it. It's easier just to deal with you trying to lash out on anyone that's holding a set of pompoms. But we fucked up. Because there is something seriously wrong with the way that you think. I can't fucking believe I waited until you were plastered pretty much every day to do something about it… I'm so damn sorry, Seb, but I'm gonna help you."

Sydney was looking at him like Sebastian actually had a real problem. What was the problem anyway? Whatever. Sebastian had half a mind to stop going to Scandals just to stop his mom from trying to pack him heart-shaped PB&Js.

"I DON'T NEED YOUR FUCKING HELP!" Sebastian shrieked out. "I'm FINE, Syd. I know that's hard for you to fucking grasp, but I don't need your help. I never needed your fucking help. I don't know what you think is going on, but you're so fucking wrong that it's almost hilarious." Sydney was looking at him like he was pitying Sebastian for not knowing.

He felt guilty again. Guilty for what? Letting Syd tell him that he knew what he was feeling? Screw him.

Before he left, he checked his closet one more time. How come no matter how much fucking clothes you bought you literally had nothing to wear? And why the hell did he think that he could rock leather pants? Every time he looked at them, he could hear a vegan chain themselves to a tree. Sebastian rolled his eyes and tried to cover himself up with a black zip-up. He surveyed himself in the mirror, and then felt a little better now that he had a little something to cover up his giant shoulders. Gross. And it wasn't that they were huge because they were muscular. He looked like a human clothing rack. Sebastian didn't know how the hell he was going to go to a bar now that he felt like he looked like shit. He bet with his current level of self-esteem; he'd let the first cross-dressing sixty-year-old with sweaty armpits take him back home.

Before he could go out, he got a WhatsApp message. He got added into a new group, and Trent was texting.

Hey Sebastian? Yeah, I wanted to let you know that Nick, Jeff and I are going out and we thought that maybe you'd want to come with? We're going to see a movie this Friday. We can sort of meet up before and decide what movie we're going to? Maybe something a little funny. I know the Karofsky thing has been sort of hard for you to deal with. And we don't think you should be alone.

Sebastian probably got diabetes from reading that message. It was sweeter than a double fudge cake.

Fortunately, he was still sensible enough that his first initial feeling was disgust. What was wrong with these people?

Sure, Sebastian replied. Short and sweet but then he added on: But I'm sitting in the middle and I don't want Duval to sit next to me because he smells like Bath and Body Works just exploded and he laughs like a fucking goat. Gross. And I can't be seen sitting next to Sterling, who looks like he belongs in a Disney Channel boy band. Or you either, Dixon. I might see someone I actually like. Got it?

Otherwise, the rest of his message was nice. Hell, his whole message was nice. It was constructive criticism, okay?

When he got to Hal's Subs, Kurt Hummel was already sitting there looking like he didn't know what to do with himself.

He looked like a real princess dressed in all that white. What was he trying to do? Match his fucking pet unicorn? Talk about vanilla. Sebastian was already pissed off, and he half wanted to insult Gay Face, and keep their competitiveness. But he just felt pitiful. And you know the weird thing was? Sebastian felt like he wanted to cry. So not only did he need fucking panties for his new pussy, but he also probably needed to get a fucking diaper. Even Gay Face wasn't a crybaby.

What the hell was happening to him? His parents probably thought he was getting ready to off himself. They raided his room and took away his razor, and his mom wouldn't even give him a fucking pill for his headache.

Sebastian was sure that if they could, his parents would fucking steal his books so he couldn't hurt himself with a papercut.

They even took his safety pins and told him to get rid of his tattoo. How the hell was he supposed to get rid of something inked permanently into his skin? Sheer fucking will? His mom confiscated his earring studs. The only thing they hadn't confiscated was his hair dye. But it wasn't long before they came up with the idea that maybe he was going to off himself by consuming mounds of pasty hair dye. They wouldn't even let Sydney walk around with his inhaler.

Could you die from taking too much fucking Ventolin? Sebastian was pretty sure it wasn't possible.

"Princess," Sebastian greeted with a nod of his head before sitting. This was not his usual spot, but he decided not to be too picky about it. The place smelled like fried carbohydrates and cheese. It was an amazing smell. Kurt was staring at him like he was waiting for Sebastian to choke him and then drag his body away to a dumpster. This was great.

Kurt looked surprised, as if he just realised that Sebastian was upset. "Sebastian," he greeted. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine," Sebastian said through gritted teeth, because if another person asked him if he was upset, he might explode. He just shrugged, and then looked down at his menu. "Just thought you'd bring along your high heels. I have got this pain in my neck and I don't want to hurt myself by looking down at you." Not the best, but it wasn't as weak as it could've been.

Kurt glared at him. "What happened to trying to be nice, Sebastian? Did you already quit? It's been a day."

Sebastian just shrugged, and then looked at the menu. "Whatever," he said stiffly, only for Kurt to roll his eyes. "Why did you come anyway if you'd just anticipate that I'm just going to fucking quit?" he asked, and Kurt looked surprised.

What? Surprised that Sebastian came to that conclusion? "I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt," Kurt replied.

Sebastian doubted that that was the actual reason, but he took it anyway. Kurt was looking through the menu. The faces that he made were hilarious and all Sebastian could do was try to bite his tongue back so he wouldn't laugh.

"I was right," Kurt said after some time, rubbing his neck. So, he had the neck pain now too? "You are trying to kill me. With a heart attack."

Sebastian couldn't even reply to that. Yeah, he was sure that all Kurt Hummel ate were salads. Yeah, he wasn't buying it.

"This place doesn't even discriminate among vegans," Kurt told him. "Sebastian… nobody deep-fries a tomato sandwich."

"I'm not asking you to eat a deep-fried tomato sandwich," Sebastian rolled his eyes and just shrugged. "Get over it."

What the hell was wrong with that guy? He skipped past like three salads that hadn't been stuck in a fryer or slathered in mayonnaise and was focusing on some sandwich that just happened to be deep-fried and covered in cheese. Nobody asked him to eat it. This guy ate nachos, right? You deep-fried those and cover them in cheese? At least this had tomatoes in it. Sebastian didn't even really have to look at the menu that he'd probably memorised down to the stupid fucking Comic Sans font they used that was probably also giving Gay Face an aneurysm. He expected people to be okay with him wearing a corset but cooking tomatoes in oil was enough to put him into foetal position on the floor. Seriously?

One of the waitresses there—Sebastian didn't have to look up to know which one. It was Darling Darla—marched over there. He knew it was her because she was wearing that lily perfume that made him want to gag. "Oh baby, I—"

Kurt opened his mouth to ask this chick why the hell she was so enthusiastic to see him, but then her face dropped.

"I'm sorry," Darla said, pulling out her notebook. She was so nervous that Sebastian wondered if this was why she dropped out of high school. Couldn't take the pressure of serving le pathetic unicorn.

Kurt looked confused. "What for?" Sebastian was so bored. "And did you just call me baby?"

"Um…well, you have such cute cheeks!" she laughed nervously. "What can I get you boys?" shouldn't she go back to the 1950s? What can I get you boys? This chick was barely seventeen but obviously got tips from her grandma on how to dress.

"Um…" Kurt acted like his menu like it was written in Klingon. "Well, I guess that I'm going to get… uh, lentil soup."

"Sure, yeah, lentil… lentil soup. Yes, that's your order," Darla said, nodding her head and flushed. She didn't even know where she kept her pen on her uniform. He bet that Syd mentioned to his precious Darla that Sebastian was acting weird. Great. Now, she thought he was suicidal too. "Yes. Of course, you'd want me to take your order. I'm a waitress. You don't know me because you've never seen me before. Alright. I understand… alright."

Kurt looked at Sebastian, completely weirded out. "Am I… missing something here?" Sebastian was about to reply: your balls, but he guessed that that probably wouldn't help. "Do you two know each other? Because it looks like you do."

"Yes, we know each other," Darla replied, but didn't offer anymore information. She was embarrassed. What the hell was this? Her high-school fucking prom? Sebastian rolled his eyes. "My name is Darla Bell. I'm a waitress here. I remember pretty much everyone that walks through these walls and orders three slices of pie as a hangover cure."

"Oh," Kurt then cleared his throat. "It's just… you looked like you were expecting Sebastian to be with someone."

"Oh no," Darla lied, because it was embarrassing that she was wetter than a dog out of a bath. Sydney was disgusting. "Who would I be expecting at this time? Our lentil soup is… it's great. It has lentils in it. Have you ever had those before?"

Sebastian couldn't fucking believe how bad this was going. Her hopeful face completely disappeared because she saw that the guy sitting across from him wasn't his idiot brother that was in love with this stupid place—and her. She'd been going out with him for like forever now. Sebastian was kind of disgusted. Every time that he found them fucking each other like jackrabbits, he wished that he could strangle him because Sydney sounded like a goat when he orgasmed. Sydney, football player, totally into this chick that dropped out of high school and became a waitress. Together, they were going to elude all forms of education forever. They would raise their kids as anti-vaxxers and eat kale smoothies for breakfast.

The thought of it was enough to give him another headache. And also made him want to puke again. He hoped that he was going to keep it down because he was pretty sure that his mom knew about it. She probably thought that he was bulimic. His dad thought that he just drank too much when he went out. Sydney thought he was self-destructive.

"Well, since Sebastian has no manners and isn't going to introduce me, I'm Kurt," he said. "I'm Sebastian's… um…"

Darla wrote down lentil soup. Sebastian hoped it came with deep-fried lentils. "Friend?" she offered.

"No fucking way. This is my…my…" Sebastian didn't what the hell Gay Face was. An arch nemesis? The guy that was sleeping with the love of his life? A lost unicorn that lost its way to Barbie to help her in her time of need? "This is a guy I'm trying not to completely hate. But he's making it hard for me by dressing like he's going to his fucking wedding."

Darla looked over at Kurt's clothes. "Why?" she didn't get it. "Because he's wearing white?"

"Yeah," Sebastian replied, not even a little surprised by Darla saying that. Sydney, the guy that had this thing about drinking a gallon of juice every morning, used to drop by here every morning. Every time he thought of their romance, he was pretty sure a little piece of him died on the inside. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Darla… I'm just gonna get the usual."

"Sure," Darla said, nodding her head slightly and then walking away from them. "Okay. Um… that's it?"

He was going to maybe stab her if she thought that his last meal was going to be at Hal's Subs. Sebastian just shrugged.

Sebastian couldn't believe it. He was pretty sure Sydney said something to her about how something probably happened to him. He was going to fucking lose it with his family. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down—but then he felt this irrational, confusing pang of guilt in his stomach walloping over him suddenly. Like he felt almost guilty for worrying his family. What for? They were making things up in their head. Sebastian was fine, but maybe he'd turn crazy if they kept thinking it for long enough. As he watched Darla walk away in red-inch heels that could probably be spotted out in a satellite in Mars, Kurt was eying him like he was trying to figure him out. Ha, nice try, princess.

"You usually come here with someone?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was under the impression you were single."

Sebastian snorted. "It's none of your business who I come here with," as if he wanted to introduce Sydney to anyone. It was hard enough having to ignore the fact that people knew that they were in the same family, on the account of, you know, being identical twins, but it was even worse thinking of Gay Face meeting his mentally incompetent brother. "But if you must know, I usually come here with my brother… who Darla just happens to do vigorous tonsil tennis with."

He didn't even feel good seeing Kurt's surprise because he realised he'd have to talk about that loser.

"You have a brother?" Kurt said, as if it was hilarious that Sebastian had to share his bed with his loser brother. "I don't know if you were able to share all that genetic glory with someone else." He looked cocky. Bitch. "Does he go to Dalton?"

"Just because most people in your fucking pretentious Glee club don't have anywone to twalk to at home doesn't mean I don't, princess," Sebastian replied curtly. "Sydney doesn't go to Dalton. Hell, he's barely fucking passing Thurston."

How could you fail a fucking language you know how to speak? Sebastian was sure his mom lost three dress sizes the day she found out he was failing French. He was sure that was the real reason his dad went to therapy with Sydney—his consistent under-achievement was a nightmare. Sebastian tried telling him to milk the 2009 concussion if he knew what was good for him. But on one relatively cold summer day, Sebastian remembered seeing his brother come back from therapy. His face was drawn-out and pale, and his eyes were puffy, and red. It scared Sebastian to death.

Kurt just sighed deeply. "And here I thought that you were mean to me." Darla bought his soup out already. Sebastian felt ecstatic when he saw the oily top to the soup. It looked like a fucking cream sauce for a pasta. "Your poor brother. I can't imagine what sharing a bed with you must be like—and don't turn that into a bad sex line. It's a cheap shot even for you, Smythe. But I am mildly curious now… how old is he? Does he know that you nearly blinded my boyfriend?"

Sebastian scoffed. "Like I'm actually in my room most of the time," Kurt was no fun. "He's five minutes older than me."

Kurt looked impressed. "Oh, he's your twin," the way he said it made Sebastian disgusted at the fact that he sucked cock. "Are you the carbon copy type of twin or do you actually have your own separate unique look?" fine. He got that.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Carbon copy," he said. "But I'm the original."

"The original that came five minutes after the fake?" Kurt teased and Sebastian wished he could punch him in the face, but some part of him—that nice part of him—was telling him not to disfigure a guy he was trying to be friends with. That wasn't what real friends did to each other anyway. Darla came around by now. He had his ginger spiced apple pie. Sweet. Spicy. Sexy. "Are you eating pie for lunch? How old are you? Are you like three?"

Sebastian snorted. "Sorry I didn't kill my own cow for lunch," he rolled his eyes.

"Funny you mention cows. I thought you'd be more of a steak and potatoes kind of guy," Kurt just shrugged. "If you were a little nicer, Sebastian, then you wouldn't have to eat all that sweetness to offset how bitter you really are inside."

Sebastian huffed. "I'm not any kind of guy, princess," he was who he was, you know? He was the kind of guy that would blow a thirty-year-old guy but didn't like it if his date did the dine-and-dash (come on, if he could barely pay up for a few dollars, what made him think that he could afford something as high maintenance as Sebastian Smythe?). If you weren't willing to pay for the fake, you don't deserve the original. "And I am the original. Someone stole my idea and locked me in a closet. I had trouble coming out," Kurt looked mildly impressed by that.

"Let me guess," Kurt looked bored with the conversation and appalled at his soup. "I don't know anything about you. You are so mysterious. You're the dark, tall and handsome stranger that everyone's been looking for," he shrugged.

"Do you?" Sebastian challenged with a raised eyebrow. "Really, Kurt? What do you really know about me?"

"What do you know about me?" Kurt flipped that one over on him and Sebastian found it a little funny. He was scooping cold vanilla ice-cream on his warmed-up pie, feeling the apples melt away and the cinnamon and cloves linger. Better foreplay than what he'd been getting with the guys that he'd been hooking up with recently. Not good enough.

Sebastian finished his pie. It was about the size of a starving hamster. No wonder he ate three the other day.

"I know that you're a joke," Sebastian just smirked at Kurt. "And that you owe Darla 4.99."