Chapter 7
The next few days were hard. Not only did I have Karofsky to avoid and sometimes deal with, I also had to deal with Blaine's constant texts.
Kurt tell me what's wrong
Are you mad with me?
Why aren't you replying?
I miss you
The last one was the worst. I'd received it towards the end of a Glee club practice and had to physically hold in the choking cry that flew into my throat. Mercedes had tried to talk to me about it, but I didn't want to broach the subject with anyone. It hurt too much to even think about it. Had I been kidding myself all this time? That the longing looks we'd shared, the times he had taken my hand, they'd all been gestures of friendship? I suppose it was possible that Blaine was a touchy feely person – I'd certainly met people like that before. Maybe the gestures were purely platonic and I'd simply built them up into something more, because it was what I wanted. I wanted Blaine to love me, so I'd made it so in my mind. Either way I felt sick of the thought of me pining over him and him laughing at my naivety. So I ignored every text sent, even the ones that made me cry.
"Kurt." Mercedes said as everybody else packed up. She'd picked her time perfectly because nobody else was listening but if I refused her people would notice. "Has something happened? Is your Dad ok?"
"Oh jeez, yes, my Dad's fine." I replied instantly, not wanting to jinx anything like that. Dad was still suffering with his man flu but he was fit and healthy compared to how he had been.
"What is it then? Blaine" The way my face creased up as if I'd been punched was hard to hide. Mercedes came over and put her arm round my shoulder, her face etched with concern.
"Did he do something to hurt you?" Her hand tensed up so I immediately shook my head, trying desperately to hold back the tears threatening to expel themselves.
"No, it was me that did something. I hoped…I hoped that-" And then it happened. Salty water came tumbling down my cheeks in one big rush, followed by a loud and desperate sob that made everyone else turn around.
"Kurt?" Finn immediately looked guilty – like it was always his fault when something bad happened to me. I wanted to tell him no, it's never you now, but I couldn't get my words out.
"Come with me, it's ok guys he just needs to talk."
Mercedes steered me out of the room through the corridor and into the girl's toilets where she finally let me go and another rush of tears came out.
"Kurt please, I need to know what happened – you're killing me right now!" I managed to restrain my tears, a large sob coming every now and then unexpectedly, and looked up at her.
"It's nothing really, I'm just being stupid."
"Tell me" I took a deep breath, still not wanting to say it out loud.
"I don't think that, Blaine, likes me, the way that I like him." Immediately Mercedes' face softened.
"Oh Kurt." Arms wrapped round my neck and I was yanked into her chest, the shock of the movement almost making me laugh. She began to say something else before we were interrupted by the door crashing open.
"What did I tell you? He gets you in his grasp and then BAM! Everything is ruined!" Rachel exclaimed, in a tone that was either celebratory or angry.
"Rachel!" Mercedes exclaimed back. "This is not the time!"
"Kurt I know it's hard, but better you learnt now what a scheming rat this Blaine guy is before Sectionals than after him and his Warblers have taken our crown."
"Rachel!" This time it was me that called out. It hurt to hear his name, but I still wasn't going to let Blaine be slandered for no reason.
"It's not him, it's me – I lead myself on and he doesn't even know why I'm not speaking to him anymore!" At this Rachel stopped, obviously confused about how to react.
"Listen Kurt," Mercedes began, swivelling us so we were facing the other way, "Blaine made you happy, much happier than I've seen you in a long time. He may not like you in the way you want him to, but are you really going to throw away a really great friendship for that? He's the only guy you've met who knows how you feel…" I groaned, knowing she was right. I needed Blaine. And not just because he made my heart stutter.
"Damn you Mercedes." I said with a smile, so she grinned.
"So what, you're just forgiving him, like that?" I looked back towards the door.
"Rachel, shut up."
Finn and I walked home together, him filling the time with mindless drivel about what plays he was going to suggest for the Lima's game next Monday. I didn't really mind – it was nice to hear somebody else's thoughts instead of having mine run over and over again in my head. I hadn't quite decided what my plan of action was going to be, but if I received any more texts they would get replies.
"And then BAM!" Finn pretended to lob a ball, his shout making me jump "Straight to Puck!" I smiled, pretending I knew what the hell he was going on about and fished around for my keys when we reached the door.
The television was on so I figured Dad was feeling better. On hearing the familiar sound of crowds Finn was past me in a flash, almost leaping over the sofa, and I gave a quick wave to Dad before beginning to take my shoes off.
"Good day?" He called from his seat.
"Yeah. Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Can you see if there's any post I forgot to check." I placed my shoes on the empty rack (I was the only one that used it – Finn and Dad's shoes lay strewn around the doorway.), hung my coat up on a peg and turned to look behind. There were a few envelopes scattered around so I gathered them all up, wandering into the living room as I sorted them into a neat pile.
"Anything?" Dad was wearing his favourite sweats and, even though it was normally the height of rudeness, a baseball cap jammed on his head. Finn had spread himself across the sofa in the most ungainly way imaginable, and was probably going to get indigestion from the way he was stuffing crisps in his mouth.
"Yeah," I began to flick through. Bill, bank letter, junk, junk… "Oh." I saw Dad turn around out of the corner of my eye.
"Kurt?" I stared down at the envelope, with its neat handwriting and crest in the corner.
"There's one for me." I looked up, not quite sure what to do. Dad looked surprised.
"Any idea who it's from?"
"Yeah…um, I'm just going to go upstairs for a bit, I'll be down to make dinner soon. Finn?" I stared at my step-brother, who was so engrossed in the TV he hadn't listened to a word we'd said, "Finn!" He jumped, sending a shower of crisps onto the carpet. "If you want more Spanish help just ask." He nodded quickly, before crying out at some ridiculous foul, which then sparked up a conversation with Dad.
"I'll just be upstairs then…" I mumbled under my breath, before trudging up the stairs.
As I shut the door behind me, blocking out the sounds of whoops and hollers, my eyes glanced back down to the letter. I wandered slowly over to my bed, sat down gently and ran my fingers along the envelope until I reached the edge and flipped it over. It was sealed well so I had to saw with my finger, making a total mess of the top and nearly tearing the letter in the process, but eventually I managed to wiggle it out. As I opened it I realised it wasn't a letter at all, but an invitation.
You have been cordially invited to
The Warbler's Christmas Ball
Join us at Dalton common room for an evening of fun, festivity and plenty of carols
5pm – 11pm
Saturday 11th December
Refreshments will also be available
(Please bring you invitation as your ticket into this event)
I stared at the invitation for several minutes. I was a work of art – obviously the hard grafting of some Dalton art student who had spent hours in his room drawing the intricate border and the Christmas bells that stood either side of the main title. If his colour schemes were anything to go by he would be a great person to decorate a house with. I wondered if the invitations had all been created individually or just photocopied really well and ran my fingers along the paper to check for indentations. If there were any they were too small to pick out. I spent so long analysing the look of the invitation that it was a couple of minutes before I even registered what it meant. I was invited to a Dalton event. It looked like it wasn't just for families, but then again it was invitation only. Maybe it had been sent to me by accident – there was probably a Mr Kurt Himmel wondering why nothing had plopped through his shiny silver letterbox. But it was too much of a coincidence. I flipped the invitation over and checked inside the envelope but there was no heart-wrenching message from Blaine, something I wasn't sure was a good thing or not. But it was definitely from him. This was his way of offering a truce, even though he had no idea what it was for. I sat back into my chair, pondering what shoes to wear. I was going to Dalton again, and this time I was invited.
