Junior Year - November
Kurt was surprised to find the back door unlocked when he got home from school. He was on the verge of calling the police when he tripped over Sarah's canvas Army surplus backpack, flung onto the floor next to the refrigerator. He called out to her.
"Sas! Where are you?" The only reply was the heavy backbeat of music echoing down the stairs from his room. He took the stairs two at a time, flung open his bedroom door, and was confronted with Sarah sitting in the middle of his floor. Her long black skirt was rucked up around her thighs, exposing holey black tights above her combat boots. Her upper body was swallowed by one of Finn's old hoodies. She was meticulously attacking the paper contents of an old shoebox with a pair of scissors, tears pouring down her face.
Kurt knew Sarah had been struggling. He'd been watching it happen so slowly that he wasn't even sure what was really going on. For so long she had been the strong center of their collective universe, making sure the boys were all okay, even though things had been harder since last spring, since Mr. Puckerman came home. But he hadn't known quite how bad it had gotten for her, until just then.
He crossed the room and sat next to her, stilling her hands with his own. He slid the scissors from her grasp and tucked them under his thigh.
"What're you doing?"
She nudged at the edge of the box with the toe of her boot. "These are all the letters my asshole father sent from prison," she bit out.
"Why are you cutting them?"
"So I don't-" She stopped for a moment, shook her head. "Ma and Noah don't know about them. I couldn't let them see them. He hurt us all so much, I couldn't do that to them. And now he's back, and if I'm going to pretend like I don't know what letters he's talking about, I have to get rid of them. I have to, Kurt."
"I know, baby. I know. Here . . ." Kurt took the box, and piled the unshredded letters back inside. From the looks of the confetti on his carpet, she had only gotten through one letter. At least, he only saw the remnants of a single stamp. He had the perfect spot for the box; it took a minute of digging in his hope chest, and then he slid the box into a corner at the bottom, next to his silver slippers and a little jar of the perfume that smelled like his mom. He covered the whole lot with his baby blanket, and then gathered the bits of paper that were left and buried them in his bathroom trash.
He returned to Sarah, who had sat silently through the whole process, took her hand in his and rubbed soothing circles on her palm with his thumb. He softened his voice; he wasn't used to Sarah being vulnerable like this. "Why were you really cutting the letters?"
"I told you."
"You told me something. You didn't tell me the truth."
Kurt watched as she looked away and twisted her hands in her lap. "You said you were cutting the letters so you didn't do something else. Sas."
She wouldn't look at him. He was patient. He waited while she shifted next to him in silence. Finally, finally, she spoke. "I cut the letters so I wouldn't do this." She stripped Finn's hoodie off and over her head, and lifted the hem of her black tank top, showing him the shallow cuts that snaked their way across the taught skin of her abdomen. Some were a few days old, but most were older still, mostly healed.
"Oh, Sas." He let his hand rest there, feeling the smooth spots where the skin was pink and healing and the rougher edges where the newer cuts were scabbed over. "Baby, why?"
She looked at him then, her face crumpled and her eyes angry. The utter lack of anything but coldness in her voice scared Kurt, mostly because he'd never heard her like that.
"Because I can't fucking breathe, K. I feel like I'm burning inside, or dying."
"And hurting yourself helps?"
"No. Nothing helps. It just makes it less than for a little while."
Kurt was scared, knew he was crossing into dangerous territory here. He knew that the very right thing to do would be to involve his dad, or Carole, or even Finn and Puck, but Sarah had always taken care of him. Now it was his turn to take care of her. He pulled her into his arms and rocked her, smoothing her hair and whispering nothing into her ear. It took a few minutes, but her tears stopped and her body relaxed. When she pulled away from him, her eyes were bright and challenging.
"Help me."
"With what?"
She twirled a finger around the end of one of her curls. "I want to cut my hair."
"Okay." He could do that. He wasn't bad with hair; he'd shaved Noah's mohawk enough times over the years. "How short?"
"Shave it. All of it."
"I don't . . . God, Sas, are you sure?"
She stood up and moved to his window. It was already getting dark out. She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. "I'm sure. I told you, K. I can't breathe. Something has to change. Maybe it's me."
"Fine. Let me go get Dad's clippers."
He took the scissors and left them on the kitchen counter on his way into the master bath. Even in the new house, his dad's barely-used clippers were in the bottom drawer under the sink. He took them up to his room, stopping at the recycling basket for some newspaper and at the linen closet for a couple of towels on his way. Sarah was already in the bathroom, stripped down to her sports bra. She watched silently as he spread the newspaper on the floor and one of the towels around her shoulders. She sat on the edge of the bathtub and leaned forward as Kurt plugged the clippers in.
"Do you want any fuzz at all?"
"No. I want it gone. All of it."
"Okay." Kurt sighed, and flipped the guard to the same setting they always used for Puck. He switched the clippers on, and let the vibration numb his arm for a minute. "I'll ask you one last time. Are you sure?"
Her eyes were hollow, but they fixed on him clearly. "Dammit, Kurt, if you won't help me I'll do it myself."
He took that as a yes.
Kurt smoothed the hair at the base of Sarah's neck, and touched the clippers there. He hesitated for a brief second before moving his hand forward. Sarah's curls fell with a plop onto the newspaper. With every pass of the clippers, Kurt followed the path with the flat of his hand, like he was soothing away every rough spot in Sarah's soul. It was different, the feeling of all of it, than it ever had been with Puck. Kurt knew why, of course. Puck had been creating himself. Sarah was cutting herself apart.
***
Finn found Puck sitting in the dusk on the edge of the fountain, which had been shut off years ago. Now it was just a repository for broken beer bottles, cigarette butts and other detritus of the crumbling Lima landscape. He hunched over himself, looking ten again in the midst of their childhood playground.
"Kurt's going to stay with her," Finn said, hesitating to get any closer. "She really needed you."
"Thanks, asshole," Puck said, without rancor. "Kurt can have her. I'm done for now."
"You're her brother, dude," he said. "Why do you think she did it?"
The words seemed to come from a place of disgust inside Puck, pouring out onto the scarred, damaged ground. "Because she hates herself. Because she hates my dad. Because it's always been hate with Sas, even when we were eight and she was talking for both of us. Because... I couldn't, and she had to do it. She had to be the one to hate for us. I only knew how to be afraid."
He lifted a hand to his eyes, and as Finn watched him wipe his face, something broke inside him. He found tears in his own eyes - he, who almost never cried. He mostly hadn't had a reason to need to. He'd been happy to be the solid one, the dependable one. It was strange that he didn't feel particularly solid right now, like he was starting to come apart and he didn't know what to hold on to.
"So it's all that hate, turning inside," Puck continued, speaking in that dull monotone that Finn couldn't stand. He wanted to shake it out of Puck, but he didn't feel like he could get any closer to him.
"Do you ever feel like cutting, like that?" Finn asked, afraid of the answer, but Puck shook his head.
"No, dude. I just want to throw things."
Finn laughed, and Puck's shoulders came down a little.
"How about you?" Puck asked, and Finn looked at him sharply, surprised.
"No way, man," he said. "I don't want to hurt anybody. Especially myself."
"You're the protector, Finn," Puck said, and Finn could hear him grinning. "The white knight."
"Yeah, well, I couldn't protect Sas, could I?" Finn crossed to the old tree and put the flat of his hand on its smooth trunk, on top of all the carvings that had been left there over the years. He found the heart Sarah had carved for the four of them, and traced it with his finger. It was a piece of their past, and probably would be there long after they were all gone from Lima. The thought was a little creepy, but mostly comforting.
"Do you remember when she drew those pictures on our arms?" Puck asked, finally turning toward Finn. His eyes were dry and red, and he watched Finn steadily. "In third grade. She said they were magic."
"Sure," said Finn. "Mine helped, I think. I got the drum set, anyway."
Puck wrapped his arms around himself, shivering a little in the fall night air. "Sometimes I wish she could do that again, now," he said. "Things are so hard now. I need - I wish we could..."
"What?" Finn followed the slight movements of Puck's body with his eyes. He'd always found Puck's compact form compelling, even back when he was Noah, but things had changed between them, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He just knew Puck's voice had the same longing, the same urgent need for - something - that Finn felt, himself.
"We're not allowed to touch each other anymore," Puck said, quickly, as though he were forcing the words out. "The four of us. Sarah never wants to hold my hand at school these days, and you and Kurt - it's just not allowed. The only time we get to touch each other is in football, and sometimes in Glee." He took a shuddering breath. "It fucking sucks."
"Yeah," said Finn, and now he moved in to sit by Puck, letting his knee brush against him, and he draped an arm around Puck's back. Finn's limbs had gotten super-long and awkward in the last two years, and he seldom knew what to do with his hands anymore, but on Puck's back, they felt just right. "I know what you mean."
He sensed all the remaining tension leak out of Puck and drain into the empty fountain, to be replaced by a wholly new sort of tension, the kind with which Finn was becoming all-too familiar. It was centered in his stomach, just below his navel, and he could feel the accompanying hardness in his pants. If it had been anybody other than Puck, he would have been embarrassed, but - how could he possibly be embarrassed by Puck?
Finn felt a touch on his leg, just above his knee, and he looked down in surprise to see Puck's hand there, palm up, strong and tanned. He put his hand down on top of Puck's, and their fingers laced, as they'd done a million times before.
"Except now it's different," Puck said. His voice was soft. "Isn't it?"
"How?" said Finn, feeling the catch in his throat, and he swallowed. "How is it different?"
"You know," said Puck, and moved his hand a little, brushing Finn's leg. "Don't you?"
Puck was the one who always had a date on Friday night. Finn mostly stayed home. There had been that thing with Quinn, but it hadn't lasted, and she'd mostly wanted to walk around with him at heel, like a trained spaniel. Finn didn't want to bother with that. And Rachel, he really loved her, but she seemed to want something from him that he couldn't give. He wanted - he wanted -
"I'm not sure," said Finn. "I'm a little freaked out by it." He peeked at Puck's eyes, which were staring at the moon, and Puck looked over at him at the exact same time. Puck grinned, laughing nervously.
"But," Finn added. "I want it. I... I think I always have."
"Yeah," said Puck. He tugged Finn's clasped hand toward him, let it fall to his side, so Finn was leaning on his arm over him, supporting his weight on top of Puck, on the broken cement of the fountain. "I just... it would change things for us. For the four of us. I don't want Sas and Kurt to feel left out, you know?"
"Do you think they would?" Finn hadn't thought of that, but then, he hadn't done a lot of thinking about any of this, had left it to his subconscious to ponder, and steadfastly ignored it when it appeared in his afternoon fantasies and early morning wet dreams. Now, though, suddenly, it was here, right in his face, looming large and bright like a constellation he hadn't been able to make out until just now. Now it was obvious. Now there was no way he'd ever be able to ignore it again.
He hesitated, still leaning over Puck, and shifted his weight. "What do you want?" he asked.
Puck looked up at him, and deliberately leaned upward, into Finn, to meld his body against Finn's, touching all the points that were closest: his chest, his stomach, his arms and shoulders and - "Puck," Finn gasped.
"I want to touch you," Puck said, and wrapped his arms around Finn, bucking his hips forward, and it felt so much better than anything Finn had ever felt before that he couldn't believe it.
Finn let the weight of his body come down on Puck, doing the pressing for him, and it was so good, so intense, and Puck was making these encouraging noises like c'mon and that's it and so hot and - he came in his pants, just like that.
"Shit, Puck, I'm sorry, man," he jabbered, holding up his hands, because now he felt embarrassed, now his face was flaming red, and he scrambled backward on the edge of the fountain, still feeling the aftershocks of their contact. "That was -"
"That was fucking hot, man," Puck said, astonished, and smiling. Finn just sat down where he was and watched him with incredulous unease, while Puck circled him like a panther.
"It's a problem," Finn said. "I'm - I arrive too fast."
Puck laughed, shaking his head. "Dude," he said. "I've been waiting for this for fucking years. If you were any slower, I'd have to call it glacial." He touched Finn, touched his pants, right on the spot where he'd made a mess, and squeezed, and Finn felt dizzy because he could feel himself respond, already, immediately. He stammered something appreciative, but it didn't make sense, even to him.
Then something Puck had said filtered through to his brain, and he took Puck's hand off him, held it tight in his own. "You were waiting?" Finn asked, somewhat awed. "For what?"
"I don't know," Puck said, looking at their joined hands. "The right time. I was always scared of everything. Scared to hurt, scared to be hurt. Scared of how much I wanted things. And then, when I became Puck - he kind of gathered up all that scared, and made it into this." He gestured to himself, and Finn looked at him again, his solid chest, his big arms, his square jaw. Finn touched that jaw, and Puck closed his eyes, his breathing loud in the darkness of the October night.
"You've been Puck a long time." Finn realized, with a startling burst of joy, that he could touch Puck, and Puck would appreciate it, would enjoy it. Wanted it. Wanted him. He ran his hand down to Puck's chest, along his side under his arm, across his shoulders, feeling the freedom of it, and it was breathtaking. "You're not scared anymore. So why were you waiting then?"
"I guess I was a little scared," Puck admitted. "Not of you. But maybe - of what you might think of me, for wanting it."
"I think..." Finn paused, thinking, for so long that Puck made an impatient noise and picked up Finn's hand, placing it back on his jaw. Finn laughed, and then he took Puck's face in both hands and kissed him. Puck was an awesome kisser. It was nothing like anything he'd felt before, except - he realized with a shock - that kiss he'd had with Kurt, all those years ago.
"You think what?" Puck said, amused and breathless, when they pulled apart.
"I think I love you," Finn said, and they both sat there, surprised and staring at each other, for a long moment - until Puck kissed him again.
***
Kurt waited in the dark of his room until he heard Puck's voice retreat behind Finn's door. Then he crawled around Sarah's sleeping form and moved slowly into the hall. Finn was waiting for him in the dim part of the hall that was illuminated by the bathroom nightlight.
"She okay?" Finn leaned against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed. He sounded exhausted.
"No." Kurt couldn't hide the combination of stress and fear and sadness in his voice. "How did we miss this, Finn? All of us?"
"It's Sas. She's never been the vulnerable one. I don't think it's so much that we missed anything, I think she just hid it so well that we couldn't see it."
"She didn't want us to see it." Kurt thought that maybe that's what hurt the most; they'd been trusting her to hold them up and make them whole for so long, and when she needed them to hold her up she just hid herself away.
"How's Puck?"
"Pissed off. A little betrayed." Finn's voice shook. "Um. Something happened. We - Puck and I - "
"I know, Finn," said Kurt, gently. "We all saw it coming."
Finn's face was bright red, but he nodded. "I guess I did too," he said. "Bad timing, maybe."
"Don't say that," Kurt said. "It's not a bad thing. You guys, you deserve a little happiness."
Finn smiled gratefully at Kurt. Then he sighed. "He's not dealing with this - with Sarah - so well, though."
"He wants to walk away, doesn't he?" Kurt wasn't surprised when Finn looked at him, wide-eyed.
"How did you-?"
Kurt waved his hand in the air. "Please. Underneath it all, this is Noah we're talking about. He doesn't do stuff like this. Not well. Not without wanting to hide." He paused, looked Finn square in his eyes. "You have to promise me, Finn. You won't let him hide from this."
Finn held his gaze and nodded slowly. "I'll do my best."
"It'll kill her if he walks away. Please." God, what a mess. Kurt hated begging, but this wasn't for him.
Finn sighed and let his head rest against the wall again. "Okay. Okay. I can- shit. I can do that."
"Good." Kurt turned to go back into his room, and was surprised when Finn grabbed him into a fierce hug. He was even more surprised when his arms found their way around Finn's torso. He clung tight for a moment; there was something desperate to Finn's embrace, like he was seeking comfort of his own. When Finn pulled away, his cheeks were damp. He swiped at them and ran an awkward hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry, man. I don't- I mean . . ."
"No worries, brother of mine." Kurt held tight to Finn's wrist for a moment. "Really. We're allowed to hug in our own hallway." He rolled his eyes, which yielded the desired result, a choked half-laugh from Finn. "Go. Take care of Puck."
"Yeah. Take care of Sarah."
Kurt waited until Finn had slipped back into his room before he returned to Sarah.
She was wrapped in Kurt's blankets, a solid lump in the darkness. Kurt thought she was asleep, but when he crawled into bed next to her she rolled over and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Puck is pissed at me, isn't he?" She sounded so terribly young, and afraid in a way Kurt always associated with Noah.
"Kind of. I think . . ." Kurt toyed with the edge of the blanket and sighed. "I think maybe he's a little upset with himself, too, though."
"Why?"
There were no right words, so Kurt figured he'd go with brutal honesty. "For the same reason I'm pissed at myself. Because I didn't know. Since your dad came back, I haven't been sure if I'm seeing you right at all. God, Sarah!"
Kurt got up and crossed the room to the window. It was late; even the porch lights were off at most of the houses. He let his voice fill with that he hoped was caring and concern rather than anger and hurt. "Do you even know? I love you like you're part of me, and I don't know how to help you. You've gotten so far away from me that I don't recognize you."
Her hand was soft on his shoulder, and she rested her cheek against his back, between his shoulders. Her breath was warm through the cotton of his t-shirt.
"I don't recognize me, either. Sometimes it's easier this way."
"It shouldn't have to be." It shouldn't have to be easy, or hard, or anything really other than just plain awful, but Kurt suddenly didn't know how to say that, either. Instead, he led her back to his bed and climbed in next to her. He spooned her, her back snug against his chest. She clasped his hand in hers and kissed his palm. The unabashed intimacy of it startled him, and he pulled his hand away.
"I love you, Kurt."
"I love you, too, Sas."
She rolled to face him, and before he quite knew what was happening, Sarah was kissing him.
He hadn't really kissed anyone before, unless he counted Finn back in middle school, but his body seemed to know what to do. Even though his brain was screaming no and gay and she's like your sister, he still kissed her back. It was sad and needy with a hint of longing underneath, and Kurt wouldn't have been lying about the shivers it sent down his spine. He finally pulled away gently, and wiped at the tears on Sarah's cheeks.
"I can't, Sas."
"Please." She sounded so lost.
"No. Not when you're hurting like this." What the hell? Not at all. Never. No.
Her eyes got dark and angry. "I'm always hurting like this, K. Please."
"I can't." He got up and pulled at the throw at the bottom of the bed. "I'm gay, Sarah. I can't do this. I'm going to go sleep on the couch."
He felt hollow as he closed the door on her pleadings.
*****
Carole entered the house quietly even though a light glowed warmly in the living room . She wondered, as she slipped out of her clogs by the back door and set her purse on the kitchen counter, whether Burt had waited up or just left the light for her. She peered around the doorway into the living room and was shocked to see Kurt huddled on the couch under that soft throw he kept on his bed.
"Hey, honey. You okay?"
When he looked at her, she knew he'd been crying. He shook his head.
"Want to talk about it?"
"Please?" He shifted to lean against the arm of the sofa, and she sat next to him.
"What's up?"
"I need you to go up and check on Sarah. She's in my room, and I couldn't stay in there. But she shouldn't be alone."
"Do you want to tell me why?" Carole knew the kids were pretty private about their personal stuff; she and Burt had learned not to push. She was pretty sure that she didn't even know half of what was really going on, but they really did take care of each other.
"I can't." Kurt looked suddenly defensive, like he thought he really needed to but didn't want her to know that. At her questioning look, he loosened up a little. "It's not that I don't want to, because I think I should, but it's not my story to tell. Just- I'm worried, and I had to come down here because I was making things worse."
"Okay." Carole ran a tired hand through her hair. "Maybe I can help. Are you okay, though?"
Kurt shook his head, and laughed bitterly. His honesty sometimes shocked her. "No. And I don't know if I will be. But Sarah needs someone more than I do right now."
Carole was halfway up the stairs when Kurt's voice reached her.
"Carole?"
"Yeah, honey?"
"Tell Sarah that I said she's like a butterfly too."
But when Carole knocked gently and waited outside Kurt's door for Sarah to invite her in, there was no answer. By the time she gave in to her anxiety and pushed the door open, uninvited, the bed was already cold.
"Kurt!" she called, low and frantic, and he was there in five seconds, gripping the door frame and spitting curses worse than she'd ever heard from his mouth.
Carole felt dizzy. "Where would she go?" she said, sinking down to the edge of the bed.
Kurt shook his head. "Maybe the park, but other than that? I don't know."
Carole was already moving. "I'll drive."
Kurt grabbed at her hand as she moved past him in the doorway. "Wait." His voice was heavy with fatigue. "We need to wake the others." He nodded to Finn's closed door.
"You take care of that. I'll get your dad. We can cover more ground with more cars anyway."
Puck was awake in seconds following Kurt's abrupt entrance, and the words, "Sarah's gone," were enough to rouse both boys from the bed and send them stumbling into their jeans and t-shirts.
"Did she leave anything - a note, a clue, anything?" Finn's tone was desperate, but he looked like he was going to have to be the strong one as Puck clutched at his arm for support. Kurt shook his head.
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," he mumbled. "She was just so lost - I should have stayed with her, no matter what she was trying - I should have stayed."
Carole took his hand and squeezed it tight. "Kurt, you did all you could. I know you always want what's best for Sarah, no matter what it costs you. She left because she wanted to, not because you chased her away."
"Kurt," said Burt, kneeling before his son. "She's hurting. We're going to find her, and then we'll get to the bottom of this."
But the haunted look in Kurt's eyes told Carole that it wasn't going to be as simple as that, that after tonight, it might never be simple again.
*****
Dave liked walking downtown at night. Lima was the first place he and his dad had lived where it was actually safe to do it, and it was as much a habit anymore as blocking a tackle or brushing his teeth. It was also the most benign of his secrets.
Over the last year, Dave had learned the rhythms of downtown: when each convenience store closed, which block to avoid after Last Call, and where to hide from the patrolling police cars. He'd had a close call, barely missed ducking into a darkened doorway as the first car after the shift change rolled around the corner. He supposed he was lucky, in the right place or whatever, or maybe he was just looking up the street at the right angle to see a shadow cross under a half-bright street light.
He knew that shadow. Knew those hunched shoulders, knew that if he were close enough he'd see fire and defiance and something wounded behind hazel eyes.
He took off running, because that shadow didn't know these streets like he did.
Dave wasn't the best runner. He was brute force on the football field, and no matter what anyone claimed, skating was nothing like running a full-out sprint. But the shadow - Sarah - was moving slowly, so it didn't take him long to catch up to her.
"Get your fucking hands off me!" she snapped, glaring at him, stumbling away and pulling her grey hoodie closer around her face. Her eyes were little more than indigo bruises in a fish-white face. "Karofsky - what are you doing here?"
"You need to be careful out here. Cops and shit. It's after curfew," he hissed in her ear. "I like to walk. So?"
"Trust me, I'm an expert at not getting noticed," she retorted. "You, on the other hand, stand out like a hippo in a goldfish bowl. Leave me the fuck alone."
"Haven't gotten caught in three years. And I'm sure as shit not going to let it happen now." He tugged on the sleeve of her hoodie and pulled her further into the darkness. "I don't know what your deal is, but I know a good place to be invisible."
Her expression was hungry, but she tried to play it cool, and Dave didn't push her. "Whatever," she muttered. "Beats trying to blend in down here with all the poseurs and jock douchebags. Present company excepted," she added.
"Generous of you. C'mon." He took off at a brisk walk. "We have about forty minutes before the next patrol car comes through."
Sarah shadowed him through the darkened streets, mostly empty at this time of night on a weekday. They were just a few blocks from the grounds of McKinley High School when he drew up in a quiet empty lot, in the shadow of the abandoned textile mill. Sarah was panting a little, but she'd kept up, and Dave knew she'd never admit to being tired or scared or anything else even a little bit weak. She was just that stubborn.
"Sit your ass down." Dave waited until she plunked herself down on the curb before pulling a half-drunk bottle of water from his backpack and handing it over. She downed the remnants and crumpled the plastic halfway before dropping in the gutter at her feet. She glowered up at him, so he sat next to her. He was half pissed off, and better than half curious. "Are you going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to play 20 Questions?"
Dave knew his irritation was equally matched by Sarah's stubbornness, but it wasn't more than another thirty seconds before Sarah provided part of the answer by snatching the grey hood off her head. He gasped at her shorn scalp. "What the hell...?"
"It was... in my way," she said, and it sounded like a piss-poor excuse to him, but he nodded, trying to make her realize he was going to actually listen. She ran a tentative hand over the space above her neck, and she hesitated a moment before forging on. "Did you ever feel like your own body had betrayed you somehow?"
Dave closed his eyes for a moment, and sighed. He was pretty sure it sounded about as sad as it felt. "Yeah." As much as he wanted to get away without revealing anything more, he was basically forcing Sarah to talk so he figured he'd better man up. "That's part of why I like walking." He let the rest go unsaid, but he wasn't surprised that Sarah knew anyway.
"I don't sleep, either. Not anymore."
"Since your dad?" Dave had heard the rumors, of course, about the kinds of things that used to happen in the Puckerman house, and he knew that Mr. Puckerman had returned to Lima last spring. He imagined what it would feel like if his mom came back after all these years; changed or the same, it didn't matter. What would he do if actually had to face the memories, instead of pretending that he had everything under control?
"Yeah."
"I get it." He'd heard people tell him that very thing so many times, in meeting rooms and more kinds of group therapy than he'd ever admit to, that he almost choked on the words as they tumbled out of his mouth. She stood and turned away from him, but he couldn't let her do that. He jumped to his feet and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him.
She sneered at him, hate and anger washing out of her eyes. "Sure you do." She raised her voice to a mocking whine. "Poor kids, fatherless for so long and now their daddy's back. Whatever. Nobody cares that he almost killed our mom, or that he kept drugs in the house. Nobody cared when he went away. They all just pointed and whispered like we were bad kids because he was bad. I'm fucking sick of it."
Dave got right up in her face. "What else are you sick of?" He was challenging her; he only hoped he wasn't pushing too hard. He needed to hear her confession, needed it almost as desperately as he needed to offer his own, to the one person in this damn town who might get it.
"Everyone needs me for something, but none of them even saw me." She gestured to her clothes, her bare scalp. When she laughed, it was pained. "None of them saw this. It's like I'm invisible. I'm fucking shouting, and nobody can hear me."
Dave knew, suddenly, like a brilliant flash, what was hiding under her clothes and attitude, and maybe he hated Sarah for a brief minute for doing what he couldn't.
"Where are they?"
"What?"
"Where. Are. They?" He pushed the sleeve of her sweatshirt up her arm. "Not on your forearm. Where? Here?" He let his hand brush her thigh through her jeans, and she just stood there, stiff. "No? What about here?" He gripped her upper arm. Nothing. His heart was pounding in his chest. "Jesus, Sarah. Where are your fucking scars?"
She backed away three steps, pupils blown wide. She didn't say anything, just lifted her shirt and bared her stomach. The oldest ones were pink, the newer ones heading there. Nothing newer than three or four days. Dave nodded at her, and bent over. Lifted the hem of his jeans and pushed the cuff of his sock down. Showed off the pale white lines around his ankle.
"Why?" She whispered into the emptiness, even though there was nobody around to hear them.
"Why not? Mom's an alcoholic, long gone. Dad's kind of in denial. We move every few years, which blows. You and me? Your friends? We all kind of got dealt shit, you know? Coping is hard. There were times I didn't cope so well."
"But you don't... anymore."
"No. Not since last year. I want to." Dave bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. He could almost taste the adrenaline of release he used to feel. "Christ. I want to right fucking now." He watched her hand drift to her jeans pocket, and he almost asked if she had a razor before he was able to shake the thought out of his head. "Do the others know?"
Sarah nodded at him. "They're varying degrees of hurt, pissed off, and confused. And lost, I think, because I can't tell them what I need."
"What do you need?"
"Help," she whispered. "I can't hold them all up on my own. Not anymore."
Dave thought about the way they had always been, Sarah as the center of the group and the three boys circling sort of inelegantly around her. He was taking a risk; they barely knew each other. But he moved into her space and pulled her close. Under her sweat and fear, he could smell the patchouli, and that same other smell, the one he couldn't place. He half felt like he was making it up, but he said it anyway.
"Maybe it's time to let them take care of themselves now."
"Who's going to take care of me?" Her voice was small, lost in the dark.
Dave took a breath, rested his cheek against the stubble on Sarah's head. Sighed, and spoke. Against his better judgement. "I will."
***
"One more sweep around the block, Dad," said Kurt, leaning over the dashboard and searching the dark with bruised, hollow eyes.
"Kurt, it's time for us to stop," Burt said quietly, and turned the other way, toward home.
"I can't give up on her," he snapped, and Burt sighed.
"You're not giving up. None of us are any good to anyone like this. You're exhausted. How would it serve Sarah if you made yourself sick, or if we crashed the Navigator into a tree?"
It could have easily become a fight between the two of them, but the conversation was cut short when they pulled into their driveway and found another, unfamiliar car there, waiting for them. "Do you know this kid?" Burt asked, indicating the idling sedan.
"It's Dave Karofsky," said Kurt, with curiosity, and a bit of wonder, as he scrambled out of his father's car to open up the door to Dave's car. He looked across the empty passenger seat at Dave, waiting, just waiting.
"She's asleep in the back," Dave said. "I didn't want to make her sit up."
"How'd you get her to sleep?" Kurt whispered, but Dave just shook his head.
"Be glad your dad's in the phone book, Hummel," he said. "Or we'd have ended up at the hospital, and they would've found the scars."
"You knew not to take her back to her house." Kurt's voice was louder now, hoarse, almost unfamiliar. Dave nodded.
"She said this was her home."
Kurt leaned heavily on the seat, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that spilled over, and he took several shuddering breaths before warding Dave off with a waving hand. "I'm okay. Just - help me get her into the house. Please."
Dave didn't need any help lifting her, seemed to have no trouble picking her up just with his arms. He followed Kurt into the living room and down the hall to Kurt's room, not questioning, just silently laying her in the single bed. Then he watched from the hallway as Kurt covered her with a blanket before kissing her cheek, and closed the door behind him.
Kurt's bravado had collapsed around him, and he was barely holding onto consciousness, but he had enough presence of mind to ask Dave, "Did she say anything I should know about?"
"She said a lot of shit, Kurt," he said, without anger. "I'm guessing you know most of it. But I'm - I said I would help."
"You?" Kurt said, looking up at Dave, baffled. "Why?"
Dave rubbed tired eyes. "Because I recognized some of that shit. It sucks to carry it around alone."
"She's not alone," Kurt said, defensively, staring him down. "She's got us three."
Dave shrugged. He wasn't fighting back, but he didn't look away, either. "So what's one more?"
"I'm too tired to talk about this now," Kurt said, and Dave nodded. They walked together to the front door.
"Dave -" Kurt said, suddenly clutching his arm. They both looked at where his hand was touching. "Thanks. You - you might have saved her life."
"She's not alive yet," Dave said, low and weary. "We'll work on that tomorrow. Tell her I'll be by after school."
