"What we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost,
Why, then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours."
~ Shakespeare

The Bard is right. I own not Glee, nor Hodges' song quoted herein, nor, naturally, do I own Shakespeare, and thus I can fully appreciate their virtue and (strictly non-material) value.

I've been neglecting poor Kurt's view of things for the last couple chapters, so it's time to get his input on this whole thing. And to prime the pumps for Dave's big scene. Blaine-haters, eat your hearts out…

Incidentally, this is the penultimate chapter, with one more on the table and an epilogue in the works. Thanks so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed my story thus far. Without you, this would, literally, never have gotten written. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to all my fans, both those who regularly review (jekyllhj7, Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare, and - y'all are the best!), those who have dropped in the occasional review just to let me know you're listening (too many to name right here; just know you're all loved!), and especially those who just like to lurk and let me find out about it on my Story Traffic page. When I first started writing 'Trust,' I never anticipated this much lovin'. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Now, cue the music and let the chapter begin! Read, review, and as always, enjoy!

He hasn't changed. Why would I think he's changed? He's still the same jerk he always was. How could I be so wrong?

The bathroom was blessedly empty, and Kurt had done his best to bar the door with the garbage can. He stripped off his shirt, rinsing it under the flow from the sink. He frowned; the red syrup wasn't coming out, and it had been so long since the bullies had declared a slushie war that he'd stopped carrying stain remover with him. White. He'd had to wear white today. At least it was down his back and not his front; he'd be able to hide the stain under his backpack, mostly.

Kurt shivered. His skin was blotchy red, mostly from the cold, some from the syrup. He stared at his face in the mirror, red and streaky. He scrubbed it with water, washing away all evidence of his weakness. Damn. He'd been so terrified when Azimio had grabbed him. The big footballer had it out for him, blaming him for what had happened to Karofsky. Ha. Like Azimio would have any doubts about Karofsky after today.

He frowned at his reflection. What was Dave thinking? Had all of his friendship, all of their conversations, all of his vulnerabilities been just a… a ruse? To make this final betrayal so much more painful? Dave did have that sadistic streak in him, no doubt, and Kurt was his favorite target. But the scheme was too deeply laid to be a scheme from the start. Maybe part of him was genuine. At first. He looked down at the soaking fabric in his hands. The red stain glared up at him, condemning. But he's chosen his place now. He's a bully. And he's not my friend.

He couldn't face the school after this. He waited until the bell had rung and the coast was clear, then dashed for his locker. Tossing on his coat over his bare torso, he gathered the books he needed into his arms. His soiled backpack had already been deposited in the garbage can back in the bathroom.

It was too far gone to bother trying to salvage, anyway.

Kurt headed out into the parking lot, glad that he had his own key to the car. He had enough presence of mind to text Finn, Leaving. I've got the car. Sorry, before peeling out of the lot and off to he-didn't-know-where. He glanced in his rearview once, when a movement in the mirror caught his eye, but he couldn't make out the features on the figure that was emerging from the school door. He smiled, sourly. Evidently he wasn't the only one sneaking out. He briefly wondered what other, better things the other person had going on. Huh, he snorted. It was nothing to do with him, anyway.

~~~glee~~~

The outdoor amphitheater was freezing at this time of year, but that didn't stop Kurt from pulling up outside of it and sitting, appreciating the aesthetics of the scene. The leaden grey sky and cold, grey concrete of the amphitheater's band shell complimented Kurt's desolate mood. It wasn't enough. He shut off the car and pocketed the keys, wandering down the slanting ramp to the raised stage. The past couple of warm days had melted the snow, leaving the concrete clear.

Kurt sat on the edge of the stage, one knee raised, the other dangling. He looked around, up at the curving roof, out over the still-snow-covered seats, and beyond, to the deserted park and living city past that.

Alone. It felt good.

Humming a few bars, he caught the sound of his own voice, deliciously echo-y and plaintive within the man-made cave. He stood, taking a few steps here and there, singing scales until he found the spot with the best acoustics. Then he launched into the most heartrending ballad he could think of, "My Side of the Story," by Hodges, just to hear the bouncing reverberations.

"…This is my side of the story, only my burden to bear. Nobody cares, nobody's there, no one will hear…my side of the story."

"…my side of the story…" echoed another voice, not Kurt's, in perfect harmony.

Kurt froze, and Blaine emerged from around the corner of the band shell. "I heard you singing," he admitted, shame-faced. "I… I wanted to talk with you, Kurt. I've wanted to talk with you for a long time; you've been shutting me out." His voice was hurt and slightly accusing.

Kurt looked around. He was trapped in the middle of a bare expanse of stage, with no way to run and still preserve his dignity. Well. He squared his shoulders. "Blaine," he said, voice quelling. "I wasn't aware we had much to talk about. You made everything quite clear the last time we saw one another. How is Percy, by the way? Have you been discarded yet, or is he still moderately amused by you?" It was cruel, he knew, but he didn't feel much like being nice to his ex.

"…" Blaine shut his mouth and tried again. "It was nothing, Kurt. Believe me, it was nothing."

"It certainly didn't look like nothing," Kurt spat. "It looked like the two of you were quite enjoying each other."

"…It was a mistake, Kurt, one I regret making every day. Haven't you gotten any of my messages? Phone calls, texts, emails?" He came closer, hands out, supplicating. His handsome dark eyes were begging, and Kurt remembered the first time he'd seen those eyes, serenading him despite the fact that they hadn't even exchanged names yet. What a player, Kurt huffed.

"They'd have been returned to you, seeing as I blocked you," Kurt snapped. "Which you would have known if you'd actually sent any. It's been two weeks, Blaine. You know where I live, where I go to school; if you'd been that determined to see me, you could have stopped by any time."

Blaine looked at him, hope blossoming in his eyes. "You would have seen me?"

"No." Kurt's answer was swift. "But I would have known you were trying."

The prep-schooler stopped ten feet away, too cowed to come any closer. "Kurt… you were just singing about 'my side of the story.' Will you listen to mine? Let me explain?"

He really didn't feel like it. But they'd been an item for too long for him to shut Blaine out without giving him a chance. "…Fine."

"Percy and I have… history. A long time ago. But I…it…ended badly." Blaine shuffled his feet, making it obvious that there was more that he wasn't telling.

"How so." Kurt's voice was clipped.

Blaine's hands twisted in his jacket pockets, bunching and knotting the fabric. "Broken hearts. On… on both sides."

"So that was just a necking session for old-time's sake, is that it?" he demanded, anger leaking into his voice.

Blaine took in a deep breath, but let it out in a sigh. "He'd just broken up with his boyfriend. He needed a friend, Kurt," he looked up from the ground, eyes begging Kurt to understand. "I just wanted to be there for him. Things just… got out of hand."

And Kurt was tempted to believe him. Except for one little matter… "Mike and Wes knew about it, Blaine," he said, watching for his reaction.

"…W-what?" 'Deer-in-the-headlights' was a fair description.

Kurt's lip twisted up in a sneer. "Forgot about them, didn't you? They tried to warn me, to send me away. To keep me from seeing that. So they knew. It wasn't spontaneous, was it, Blaine? It had happened before. While we were dating?" It was half a question, half an accusation.

And Blaine knew he was caught. His entire posture sagged, like a balloon with the air being let out. "…yes," he whispered, so softly that Kurt couldn't hear it.

But he could read body language just fine. His eyes blazed. "I can't believe I wasted so much time and energy and bloody emotion on a cheating piece of filth like you!" he spat.

Blaine's spine straightened with an indignant, "Hey!" but Kurt was already off the stage and halfway up the aisle to the lip of the bowl. Blaine jumped down and followed after him, but Kurt spun around, stopping him in his tracks.

"You may think it's okay to cheat on your boyfriend, but I don't. I'm better than that, and I deserve better. You aren't good enough for me." With that, he spun on his heel and stalked to his car. A curious sensation grew in his chest, like his heart was about to grow wings and soar. I do deserve better, he thought. The realization made him smile.

Blaine reached to top of the ramp just as Kurt was climbing into his car. "You think I was the only one cheating?" he demanded, stung and angry. "What about all the times you were with Dave Karofsky, huh? Talking, drinks… You were dating him on the side, Kurt. And you have the gall to tell me that I was cheating with Percy!" He spat his acidic words at him, but Kurt simply closed the door and drove off, not even bothering to look back.

~~~glee~~~

Home. His room. Alone.

Thinking.

Well. He was glad to have finally had it out with Blaine; he'd been right, the conversation had needed to happen. Well, 'conversation.' At least he knew the whole story now, and could stop second-guessing himself.

It was Blaine's parting shot that was twisting his guts into origami shapes. Me and Dave? Dating? It made him sick to his stomach. He clutched his throw pillow, hunkered down into a corner of his room, trying to find some place small enough to hold in his restless urge to pace.

Closet.

He ousted his shoes and tucked himself down, under the artificial ceiling made by the hems of his clothes, closing the door until just a crack of light was dancing across his toes, and then not even that.

In the close darkness, he finally let his shoulders relax, felt the tension ebb away. He vaguely wondered why hiding your sexuality was referred to as being 'in the closet.' Hiding was uncomfortable. But here, in the small, dark cave that smelled of fabric and cedar blocks, he felt secure. It was his favorite place to go when the world was crushing in on him, ever since before his mother died. It was safe here. Things could be thought in here that couldn't be thought outside. Like that Blaine thought he and Dave had had anything going on between them.

It was preposterous. Dave totally wasn't his type, no way. He was a bully. He was a jerk. He was the bane of Kurt's existence.

Not the last couple of months…

He shoved the thought away, but it wormed in under the door, insistent. Not the last couple of months.

Whatever. If there had been anything, that little seedling had been ripped up by the roots today. He made his choice, he told the thought. He chose Azimio and his crowd. He's a bully through-and-through. There's no redeeming him now.

But… Dave had done much worse to Kurt, before. Threatened to kill him. That kiss… Kurt had been terrified that he'd be walking home one day and get raped. Two slushies were nothing in comparison. And he'd managed to forgive the bigger crimes. He showed me he was sorry. Damn it, he tried to kill himself. This… he's not sorry for this. If he were, he'd have let me go.

He didn't slushie your face, did he? Just dumped it in your backpack. Not on you.

…No. Way.

"Kurt?" Finn's voice broke through his little internal skirmish. "You in here?"

Kurt ran his hand over his face, arranging his expression back to normal, before pushing open the door and unfolding himself. "Yeah, Finn, I'm here."

His step-brother blinked. "I thought you already came out of the closet," he joked, but his grin faded when Kurt didn't respond.

"What?" he demanded, brushing past his step- brother to tidy away all evidence of his emotional roller coaster.

"You skipped afternoon classes," Finn said, standing in the door, watching him.

Kurt kept his back turned. "And?"

"What's going on with you? I haven't seen you this upset since before the wedding."

Kurt's eyebrows flew up. "Well, aren't you the observant one. What happened, Finn, you get sensitivity training?"

The quarterback bridled. "Yeah. From Burt. Who is going to be pissed you skipped and I didn't stop you. Now what's going on?"

To tell or not to tell? Hell, it was no question. He looked his brother straight in the eye. "Karofsky slushied me today. Bully's Alley. Him and Azimio. No way was I going to class in a wet shirt."

Finn's face darkened. "Damn it. Kurt, why didn't you let us protect you?" He held up a hand to forestall Kurt's protest. "I don't care what you say, starting tomorrow, the glee guys are on complete Kurt-protection duty. They won't have a chance to get you again."

He wasn't going to win this one. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Besides, it felt good to have someone stand up for him. With a smile and a sigh, Kurt nodded consent. "Sure. Thanks, Finn."

Finn slung his arm around his step-brother's shoulder, pulling him in tight for a dude-hug. "We're a family, Kurt. We look out for one another. It's what brothers do."

"Yeah… Thanks. Bro."

Finn squeezed once and released him. "Oh, hey, Sam said he found your backpack in the bathroom," he said, reminded. "He gave it to me to give back to you." He handed the bag over. Kurt examined it. It had been cleaned.

"Wow. Talk about service. Remind me to thank Sam." A thought occurred to him. "How did he know it was mine?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "It's kind of unique." Kurt had to laugh at that.

Alone again in his room, Kurt rubbed his fingers against the material of his restored bag.

It hadn't been beyond salvage after all.