4: Inside, Institutionalized, Interpretation
"Finn?"
Finn looks up when Carole says his name, his eyes flickering. "Mom?" he says.
She flutters to the edge of his bed, taking his hand and squeezing. "Finn, are you–" she cuts herself off, sounding choked and hoarse. Kurt feels his father clamp a hand upon his shoulder, and unwillingly shrinks away from his touch, a fresh flood of guilt breaking in his gut. What did he do?
Finn shakes his head, squeezing his mom's hand back tightly. "No," he says, voice fluctuating.
Slowly, Burt and Kurt come closer. Kurt can see the tears Finn's barely keeping back, and he really just wants to curl up and die right now. "Oh God Finn," he says, "I am so sorry."
"It's not your fault," Finn whispers, not meeting Kurt's eyes.
And this, this is the bit where he should admit it – yes, it is. This is where he should confess; tell them what happened, beg for Finn's forgiveness. The truth will set you free and all, and he's feeling quite a bit shackled right now – plus Finn's practically bound in that hospital bed. Maybe there are no knots, but those tight white covers sure are making Kurt think of a straightjacket.
He tries. Really, he does. But he chokes on the words in his mouth, stuttering out "I...I..."
Finn shakes his head. "Forget it," he says.
Carole sighs, and sits down on the seat by the bed. "...Is there anything we can do?"
"No," says Finn, thoroughly examining his hands. "I don't think you can," and he looks up again, as everyone surrounding him holds their breath. "I mean, I can't even remember, you know? And you always hear stuff about like, there are these flashes of what happened, but no, zip. And I keep trying not to imagine it; what he did with me, the way he looked at me, how he messed with my body on the bed like I was some kind of art project – and it's just like, I can still feel him, like, inside, and it hurts so much, and I just wish... Sorry," he cuts himself off, looking down, ashamed. "That was... weird. Creepy. Icky."
"Don't be," Kurt whispers. "You're venting. Unloading. You need to do that; it's healthy. And the day we tell you to shut up is the day we lose our right to be considered members of the human race."
Finn looks at him with such gratitude that it breaks Kurt's heart, and proves once and for all that he already gave up said right of membership.
"Thanks," says Finn. Kurt just nods, because he can't bring himself to say 'You're welcome.'
Burt sighs, clapping Finn on the shoulder. "Well, if you need anything, we're all here. You got that?"
Finn nods. "Do you think you can get me some food?" he asks, prompting everyone to badly-repressed smiles – including him. "I'm hungry. There are like, allocated meal times here, but you know me..."
"Of course. I'll go get you something from the cafe on the ground floor," Carole says.
"I'll go with you," adds Burt. Kurt kind of expects Carole to protest that, but she just nods mindlessly, and turns back to Finn.
"That's my boy," she says, and leans down to kiss him on the forehead. Finn smiles. Then Burt and Carole leave; it's just Kurt, Finn, and this hospital room proving people can have very different interpretations of events.
Kurt sighs and bites the inside of his cheek. "So," he says.
"So," Finn parrots him.
Kurt sits down in the chair beside him, fidgeting with his hands. "Finn, I... I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything." Well, Kurt knows that's not true. "And you don't have to feel guilty. You weren't meant to like, protect me."
Kurt's mouth goes dry. He desperately wants to tell the truth – right now, the knowledge pounding through his head is killing him – but he can't bring himself to do it. "That's not it, it's just..." Kurt hesitates. "...It shouldn't be like this."
Finn smiles sadly. "Truer words, dude."
Kurt sighs. "Are you going to report it? Go to the police, go to trial."
Finn shakes his head. "No. I don't think so," and he sounds so uncertain and unemotional, like it's a question on his homework he's not sure of (god knows there have been a lot of those). "It's just... I don't think I could do it, you know? You up there in court and say... I don't even know what. And if I reported it, like everyone would find out, and I just... People already think I'm a freak; I don't need this in their eyes every time they look at me. It's not really healthy or, responsible, but... I'm just not that strong." Finn sighs and pauses. "Plus, they'd all think you did it."
Kurt's stomach flops again as his heart starts beating about a million miles an hour. "Wait, what? Why?"
Apart from the fact I did.
Finn shrugs. "We live in Lima, dude. People hate gays anyway, and they know you used to like me... and people reckon our parents being together is creepy, 'cause of that. If they found out about... this... everyone'd just think it was the creepy gay stalker, taking what he couldn't get, and I couldn't let that happen to you, man. Despite what people say about me, I know the way it would play out: the evil gay violating the sweet perfect straight boy. You'd be lucky to last the month alive."
Kurt wonders if it's possible to choke on your own saliva – god, he hopes so. "...You know the word 'violate'?" is the only response he can manage to form.
Finn shrugs. "I dated Rachel for like, five months, dude. Things rubbed off."
Kurt's eyes start stinging with tears. She would kill him for this. She would probably kill him for this, even if Finn didn't think he was...
Kurt breathes shakily, looking away from Finn's wide eyes. "Fuck," he mutters.
"Yeah," says Finn. "I'm... I'm glad you're here, dude."
Kurt can't take it anymore.
He leaps out of his seat suddenly, staring down at Finn. "I should – I should go," he chokes out, not missing the hurt look in Finn's eyes. Then he turns of his heel and actually fucking runs out of the building, looking for the side entrance so he won't pass where Dad and Carole will be returning with Finn's food.
He makes it out of the building. He can't take the car – Dad and Carole need it to get home – but he has to pass through the carpark, and by the time he sees it, he's bawling his eyes out. He knows where he has to go – and thanks god that all the medical/clinical-related centers in this town are around each other, and that everyone lives close to their work.
The doorbell ringing wakes her up at ten AM, and a sleep-interrupted Mercedes Jones is something to be feared. However, maybe it's her fault for staying up to like, five at that party of Puck's. But whatever.
Her parents are out – otherwise she would currently be dead – so that means she has to answer the damn ringing herself. "Damn, what is it?" she snarks before she gets there, like eighty-two percent sure she will be unable to keep herself from killing whoever it is on the other side of the door. But all that falls over dead when she opens it.
Because Kurt's there. And he looks like hell.
"Kurt? What is it?" she says, he voice quite obviously terrified. His eyes are red, his nose runny and sniffling – he's obviously barely managing not to cry his eyes out. He pulls uncomfortably at the hem of his shirt, digging his nails into the fabric to the extent he risks damaging it – and when Kurt Hummel will risk his clothes, something it bad.
"Are you okay?" she asks, and yeah, she's an idiot.
"No," Kurt says, looking down at the ground. He forces himself to look up at her. "'Cedes, I screwed up. Like, really bad. And someone got hurt. Please don't ask me to explain who, or what I did, because... I can't; I just can't," he says. She nods dumbly. "I'm so scared. And I probably don't have any right to be, and I definitely don't have any right to tell you not to ask questions, and I'm generally the biggest piece of shit ever to live, but... this is freaking me out and I really need my best friend right now."
She keeps nodding, a feeling of dread settling in her gut. "Of course," she says. He starts choking on his sobs, unable to keep the tears back anymore, and he breaks her heart. She steps forward and envelops him in a tight hug, and he holds onto her for dear life.
"Shh, shh," she says. "It's okay, it's okay." And she keeps repeating that mindlessly, although she's like eighty-two percent sure it isn't in the slightest bit.