Kurt Hummel felt as though he had been run over by a thresher. He sagged to the floor of his dorm's bathroom, relieved and too tired to stand. His pants and shoes hit the floor with him and he winced at the dull thud of rubber soles against the tiled floor. Everything was too loud. Everything was too bright. He wasn't really quite sure what to do with himself.
He needed to get cleaned up, sobered up, before he headed out. It wouldn't do to be driving out in the snow while nursing what felt like a hangover.
He slumped against the door frame and closed his eyes. His dad was going to kill him. He'd been upset the last time Kurt had been caught drunk on school grounds (vomiting on his guidance counselor after brokenly mumbling to her in the hallways about Disney movies was definitely not one of his life's higher points) but he was going to be absolutely furious this time. Especially after he and Carole had spent the money for their honeymoon on his tuition for Dalton and getting caught drunk was certain to get him kicked out. Stupid Wes for giving Blaine spiked beverages. Stupid Blaine for being so charming. Stupid Kurt for being so smitten. He snorted in disdain. Boys.
He sighed and eyed the toilet wistfully. So close and yet so far. He really needed to clean himself up and find some excuse to give his dad (and Finn and Carole) about why exactly he was so late. This was going to be loads of fun.
He eased himself up, clutching the door frame for support. The ache in his tailbone hadn't lessened during trek back to his room. If anything, it was slightly worse. And besides that (and the odd detached feeling he had from his body), he simply felt strange, almost like he was wearing the wrong skin. He looked down at himself. Nope, still Kurt Hummel. Same shirt he'd been wearing (oh god, had it really been) nearly three hours ago, if a little scrunched and wrinkled. Same black socks as always, though the heel of the right one was now inching its way around to the top of his foot. Uncomfortable, but tolerable for the time being. No jacket, that had been left on his bed with his other personal affects to take home. His pants had been fine-unsoiled and almost as crisp as he usually wore them. He shoes, thank heavens, had been completely unharmed, just unlaced. He wasn't sure when the alcohol had made him decide that taking off his pants and shoes was a good idea, but he fully intended to apologize to Blaine via phone tomorrow afternoon. And thank heavens he had still been wearing his underwear. He would have just died of embarrassment if he'd-wait. His breath caught in his throat.
His underwear. It was on backwards.
He let out a short burst of breath that sounded close to a sob as he stared at the grey fabric. The unassuming clothing leered back, definitely on the opposite way it should, riding up uncomfortably in the back. That's why he had felt so strange. His fingers trembled as he gripped the waistband. Just take them off and turn them around. Nothing happened. Maybe you were more drunk than you thought and really did take them off, but Blaine persuaded you to put them back on. The wrong way. He's a good guy, though. Nothing happened. It's okay. It's okay. Breathe, Kurt. Everything's okay.
He yanked them down hard and fast, flinching at the renewed sharpness of the pain in his legs. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he chanted softly to himself. Just briefly check the inside and put them back on. He'd see nothing there because nothing happened, right? He couldn't remember, hard as he tried. It was getting even more difficult to remember why he had gone to Blaine's room in the first place and his damn breathing still would not slow. He turned the fabric over in his hands but didn't look, couldn't force himself to just yet. It was okay. Nothing happened. Blaine wouldn't-he wouldn't take advantage of him. Everything was fine.
He drew in a huge surge of air through his nose, steeling himself. He could do this. Just look down. There would be nothing to see-just some underwear he thought was comfortable, if a little bland. That's all. He slowly cracked open his eyes and unbundled the fabric he'd crushed together in his panic. Look. Nothing. Nothing except-his eyes widened and he stood completely still for a moment before throwing the underwear to the other side of the room where they landed without a sound beside the shower. He sank back down to the floor, no longer possessing the strength to hold himself up.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. There had been a dot of blood nestled in the front of his underwear, which meant that he was bleeding from behind. This couldn't be happening. Not when things were finally going so well. It was just-Blaine wouldn't-he must've-, but Kurt couldn't keep hold of a single thought. He was bleeding, he registered numbly. He needed to take care of that. Wash himself. Clean himself up. He couldn't worry his dad like this. It might cause another heart attack. The thought of his dad oddly calmed him and he struggled to his feet once more.
He turned the tap on the sink to cold and splashed some of the stinging water to his face. It helped a bit to clear the fuzz in his head. He could do this. His eyes trailed up to the mirror in front of him and his haggard reflection stared back. What was that on his neck? He leaned forward, his eyes squinting against the harsh white light of the bathroom. His fingers tugged the collar of his shirt down and he froze. Hickeys. Dark and blotchy and oh god, Blaine knew he hated them, but there they were, plain as day, and he couldn't breathe anymore.
He had to go home. Had to tell his dad. Somebody. He rushed out of the bathroom, ignoring the increasing pain in his back. Gotta get home. Blaine could come back at any time and who knew what would happen then? He had to leave. Had to go now.
He hastily threw on his pants and jacket, heedless of his lack of undergarments and snatched his bag, keys and phone from the bed. He just had to get home. Everything would be okay then. He paused at the door, suddenly remembering his forgotten underwear in the bathroom. He didn't want to go back. Didn't want to touch it. Didn't want to see the hard evidence of his lost innocence lying there on the bathroom floor, but he couldn't leave them there. It was evidence. He needed them in case his dad wanted to go to the police. The reality of what happened hit him just then and he almost lost his footing. The police. Oh god, he'd been raped. Drugged and raped by his boyfriend. His legs began to tremble so hard that he thought he'd topple over. He needed to go home.
He quickly rushed back to the bathroom and shoved the soiled underwear halfway into one of his pants pockets. He'd deal with it later. Right now he just needed to get to his car and put some distance between himself and Dalton. Before Blaine found out he was missing. He ran, slamming the door shut behind him. Snow continued to fall outside.
Author's note: And here is where I shall leave you. This would have been posted earlier, but the internet I had available to me was blocked. Thank you guys for all the reviews and such. It's really very encouraging. Expect more soon. :)