X
~ Party ~
The following Tuesday had everyone in the choir room, awaiting the start of Glee club. Rachel had positioned herself in the front row with her legs and feet together, hands clasped in her lap and looking like a prim and proper bible saleswoman, Mercedes was flaunting her new snow leopard print leggings and hot pink sneakers to Tina, who in turn was asking her which funky website she'd ordered both items from, Artie was wheeling himself across the floor and trying to perform neat tricks he'd taken up at the local skating park, and finally Kurt had nestled himself in the second row, straightening the creases out of his skinny jeans. All of them were fully engrossed in their worlds, until in came Mr. Schuester, his smile bright and perky.
"Everyone I have an announcement. I would like to introduce the new additions to New Directions Glee Club: Samuel Evans, Quinn Fabray, Mike Chang and Brittany Pierce," announced the music teacher as everyone in the club whipped their heads in unison towards the left hand door. Indeed, two jocks and two Cheerios were making their way into the room, their faces slightly unsure, but nevertheless aflame in enthusiasm, their eyes scoping out the room as they made to their seats.
Making his way over to the piano where piles of scores lay atop its surface, Mr. Schuester shuffled through them all before turning around to see the questioning looks on the veteran members of the club. Popular students in a 'lame ass' club? How had their teacher done it? Grinning, Mr. Schuester explained. "No recruiting needed for these guys. They signed themselves up for the club, which I really am happy about so, please, make them feel welcome… and that includes you, Ms. Berry."
"I haven't said anything," retorted Rachel as Kurt smiled heartily. He raised his head to watch the new arrivals plop themselves down in the back row, his eyes following how they all adjusted themselves in their seats, whilst Rachel continued to blabber on with mock hurt so thick, he cringed. "Besides, Mr. Schue, I'm insulted that you would think that I wouldn't be happy for our new members. Now we are that much closer to twelve people within the choir, I'm as delighted as you are."
"I know, Rachel, but I just don't want you to scare them away with your more than confident attitude. When it comes to show choir you can exhibit some rather overpowering tendencies which can… unsettle your peers. So try to become aware of that when the time arises, all right," the teacher replied, Rachel gaping in disbelief as Kurt looked at Mercedes' amused reaction, because truth was, both of them could easily nod their heads in agreement to everything that had just been said.
It was evident Mr. Schuester had laid into the girl only because he'd wanted to let Rachel as well as the new arrivals know that she would not be able to get away with her boisterous nature. That was understandable since Kurt was still very much surprised that anyone, especially popular students high up on the status ladder, would be interested in singing and dancing to show tunes. Shrugging, Mr. Schuester continued, "Right is everyone settled? Is everyone comfortable?"
With a round of nods answering the question, Mr. Schuester began to speak, his hands illustrating his words as everyone tuned in to listen. "Now, guys, we have some work to do. I want to know what everyone's taste in music is, okay? So by next week, I want you all to come in and perform a song you believe you can pull off, succeed in and then, through that, I'll be able to determine everyone's strengths and weaknesses for the group songs. Is that cool with everybody?"
"Can we spend this session coming up with ideas, Mr. Schue?" Tina asked as everyone looked to Mr. Schuester for the answer. Kurt was interested to know as well, even if this assignment was rather pointless seeing as all auditions had been judged by the music teacher, a round of performances that had them singing songs they liked but could also 'pull off'. It just seemed like a lazy task to be set, but then again, it would be fun, a pleasant first activity for the newbies.
"That's a good idea, Tina. All of you can use this room, the music practice rooms if the music teachers aren't in there, the auditorium if the drama students aren't using it and anywhere else where no one will tear your voice box out if you disturb their work; now you may go," dismissed Mr. Schuester, making his way towards Artie who had raised his hand for song selecting advice. Turning around to observe the new comers from his second-tier perch, Kurt took them all in.
Samuel or 'Sam' as he was commonly named, was the blonde boy he had seen in Puckerman's entourage. Kurt had never spoken to him before, seeing as he had no reason to, but he looked like a nice enough guy considering he had never insulted him with homophobic remarks. A decent jock was a rare breed, one with bleached blonde hair even rarer. Almost slick with thick conditioner, roots that had been touched by the bottle, a distinct smell of peroxide with the sunlight from the windows rendering it near white, almost albino looking. Was his hair real? Sam would be tongue-tied with embarrassment if he were asked. A Scandanavian Justin Bieber style wig that set quite a contrast to the jet black hair of Mike Chang sitting next to him.
Like Sam, Kurt hadn't said two words to Mike but that was because they ran in separate circles. From the looks of it, Mike looked like an all-round athletic, easygoing boy, Oriental, with his handsome slanted eyes fixated on Tina, oblivious, her sweet face somewhat made gloomier in full on Goth attire. According to Tina, it was a look many boys didn't 'dig', and her refusal to look any different was the reason why she'd never been involved with anyone, not to mention her mother's strict rule that she couldn't date a boy who wasn't of their ethnicity. Allegedly. Yet there Mike was, staring. Every nuance of a twitch in his eye, mouth, drool glistening in its corner was unmissable under Kurt's smug gaze. This goth girl was going to get some.
Finally, there were the girls, Quinn and Brittany, who were both exchanging ideas through eager chatter. They'd both smiled at him when they'd entered, and he them, but he'd not waved. He'd not wished the other Cheerio hating Glee members to frown his way, though with them all occupied, he spared a glance, noticing subtle looks Quinn was throwing Sam, with irises dilated, lips puffed and pink, her seat almost straining with the many times she would cross her legs, as if she were hiding something, arousal, moisture. Sam himself had not noticed, had no idea. How he would react would be something to watch. With hair like that, it brought sexuality into question and Kurt could not blame Quinn. Sam was a real hottie, blonde and all.
Twisting himself back to face the front, Kurt pulled out his iPhone and scrolled through his library for potential numbers. They could sing anything which meant they weren't constricted to portraying one particular emotion and Kurt was pleased at the liberty. He would have to choose a song unlike anything he'd already sung, one that he decided would be sensual, not necessarily sexy, although that would be the side note, but sensual in the sense that the lyrics would conjure up the need for intimacy, for an inseparable closeness. The vocals would have to ooze with colors of warm breath, singing over a melody that would be orchestrated to create a classic tune that would melt the heartstrings of every listener. Now there was an idea.
"Hey, Kurtie!" Brittany joined Kurt unexpectedly, making him jump in his seat as he almost dropped his phone to the floor. He hadn't expected the girl to pounce on him since she had just been engaged in conversation with Quinn… who by the looks of it was now talking to Sam. Obviously, yet Brittany didn't seem to mind that her company had been dumped in favor of a boy. She was too kind to take it as a bad thing, Kurt supposed. "What are you going to sing? Have you chosen something yet?"
"No, I haven't, but I've got an idea of what I want to sing. It's just a matter of finding the right song," smiled Kurt, Brittany leaning over to his side as her eyes glossed over his phone. Kurt knew that the genre of music the blonde went for was more dance, electronic and techo, styles that were often pushed aside in Glee in favor of the real show choir stuff, since attention was lavished more on vocal than on the instrumental, which was understandable. "Have you a song in mind, Britt?"
"Nope, I have none whatsoever. That's why I'm here with you, Kurtie. I thought you could help me out," grinned Brittany, shifting her eyes from the phone's glowing screen to him. The problem was, Kurt had never heard the girl sing, so he'd have to hear her before he could help. Sensing his hesitation, Brittany continued. "Please, Kurt. It would really mean a lot of me. I don't know what suits my voice and after the song you sang about shooting people down in assembly, I really want you."
"Britt, that song wasn't literally about shooting someone down with a gun, it was just a metaphor for when you hurt someone emotionally," replied Kurt as Brittany 'oh'ed before nodding her head. He wanted to laugh, at least giggle at what she'd interpreted the song to be, but when remembering whom it had been for and what it had been based on, he didn't. Instead, he hastily moved on. "Anyway, why don't you do something similar to what you auditioned with?"
"Good idea! Oh... no, I can't do that," began Brittany, her face dissolving into disappointment for a bout of ecstatic joy too short for comfort. Urging her on, Kurt laid his hand on her thigh in reassurance. "When I auditioned, I hardly sang. Instead, I danced, and it was the same with Mike. We're not so much singers as we are dancers and even though Mr. Schue said we could help with choreographing numbers, the whole point of this task is to sing, and I have no idea which song to go for."
"Tell you what, Britt. I'm going to help you," smiled Kurt, almost falling out of his chair as Brittany launched herself on him, wrapping her arms around him as she hugged him tight. "I remember when Rachel and Tina guilt tripped me into auditioning and I had no idea what to go for. It would have made my life much easier if I'd had someone to help me. Plus, I owe you for helping me get into shape for the Cheerios, you know, helping me with the dancing and everything. It's the least I could do."
As Brittany retracted herself from him, she smiled, her eyes shining gratefully back. Kurt didn't care why Rachel, Tina and the whole school thought that Brittany was the stupidest person in the 21st Century, let alone Lima. He didn't care that she had apparently slept with every jock in the school, but when he really started to care was when, despite her good-natured persona, Brittany would decide to hang out with people who were not nice to her. That didn't involve Quinn by any means. Quinn had been nothing but kind to both of them. No. He meant Santana. If the girl was able to persuade abortion in the mind of a self-conscious and insecure set of parents, corrupting a naïve mind like Brittany's would be a cake walk.
For Brittany, she'd always found Kurt interesting, different from all the boys around, with an aroma of strawberry and lime, not of armpits and dirt webbed feet. His sense of dress was well coordinated. Simple, with pastel, almost toddler like color schemes, form-fitting all around to show off assets like his ass, firm with little bounce like jelly, tightened in those jeans, made to look like two large breasts about to burst with milk. He had an attractive personality and coloring, vanilla shaded skin and hair, the latter soft, clean and cocoa tinted with not a hint of grease or dandruff on his shoulders and, to top it all off, he was her unicorn, a gentle kind-hearted soul. If she'd been a hot guy, she'd have snatched Kurt up in a second. He was perfect.
"Britt, there is something I have to ask you… why did you join Glee Club?" asked Kurt, looking over at Brittany, her expression slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation. Looking around to see what the others were doing, she noticed Quinn and Sam discussing song choices at the back, Tina and Mike at the piano chatting away, Tina sitting on the bench and Mike leaning against the large black instrument, and Mercedes, Rachel and Artie gone to practice elsewhere.
Everyone seemed to be too busy, preoccupied with their own projects to spare them a glance and as she looked back at the fair-skinned, expectant boy, she threw him a cheerless look, throwing him off completely. It was as if she had not been wanting him to ask such a question, that it was best unanswered if it were ever uttered, yet Kurt wished to know. Putting his iPhone to one side, he angled his body towards her, his brows furrowing. "What is it Britt? Were you forced to join the club?"
"No Kurt, don't be silly. We weren't forced."
"Well then... do you not like it here already? It's only been... fifteen minutes."
"Oh no, it's not that."
"Because I can go talk to Mr. Schue if you're not enjoying yourself."
"No, no Kurt. Glee's great, its plenty fun. It's just that I felt so bad for you guys after you sang for the first time in assembly," answered Brittany honestly, looking almost as if she were about to weep as her eye sight moved down to her lap before she raised it to meet his gaze. In response, Kurt placed his hand comfortingly on hers, and encouraged her to continue before her emotions overtook speech. "There was that small slip up and the whole school was so mean to you. It wasn't cool."
"It's alright, Britt. We haven't yet been torn down completely," assured Kurt, rubbing her hand with sparks of warmth. He had no idea the girl had been giving him attention beyond aiding him with his choreography and stretching techniques. Frankly, he was somewhat stunned by the revelation. Obviously, the girl pitied his school life and most people with a heart would, but to use it as a key example to join the struggling school choir exhibited a character within her that he could only praise.
"I'm glad that Sylvester wanted you as a Cheerio, but I didn't like it when Santana and all the others shunned you and tried to make you quit," Brittany continued. "Same with Puck and his friends. They all want you gone, except me. I didn't want you to leave, Kurt. You're special and you don't deserve to be thrown out just because you're my happy unicorn. So, I convinced Quinn to join the club with me and she convinced Sam, but only because she likes Sam and Mike because he likes Tina."
"I guessed something was going on there. Well, anyway, thanks for bringing them all along to join, Britt. It was very good of you, you've really helped us out a lot," Kurt complimented as Brittany's depressed expression morphed into a full on beaming smile. He loved seeing the girl smile, considering she could light up a room in a way only she could and he loved that she didn't have any plans to undermine the club – or at least he didn't think she did. It wasn't really in her M.O.
Pulling out his iPhone, Kurt handed it to Brittany so that she could gain at least some inspiration for a song from a library of material that would hopefully accommodate her tastes, and as she did, Rachel, Mercedes and Artie returned into the room. Rachel's confident face obviously indicated to all that a song had been selected within the given time. Mercedes still looked as though she hadn't chosen a tune as of yet and Artie seemed to be reciting his song's lyrics under his breath. They all came to sit down and gossip about the assignment and with that, Kurt looked back at Brittany, who was currently listening to a booming thumper. This girl was really going to be responsible for adding the bass beats to Glee's otherwise weak supports.
"Hey, listen, everyone: I just want to invite anyone here if they're interested to come as like my plus ones to Finn Hudson's party tonight," announced Sam as everyone turned around, his cheeks flushing as every eye landed on him. "If I give you all my cell, you can text me all your numbers and I can give you directions if you don't actually know where he lives. It starts at six and it'll probably end around midnight but you can come and go as you please. Oh, and you have to dress up."
A moan followed through the room, yet it wasn't the idea of fitting himself into a costume that got to Kurt. He knew Finn was a good enough guy to him but since he was one of the cool kids, that only translated to him having a lot of dick-faced friends who would just enjoy ripping on Kurt for being attracted to men. He knew that if he went, he'd no doubt only come out in tears, his clothes totally ripped apart at the seams with alcohol and vomit stains staining the material. It seemed more like hell than a party and so with that, he decided against the idea. The prospect of being safe in his room, working on his Glee homework instead of being torn to pieces and thrown in the gutter somewhere was so much more appealing.
"I'm not going to go," replied Mercedes as she stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder, the school bell ringing in the distance and signaling the end of the school day. "I can't make it, but I hope you guys have fun and make sure to let me in on the party juice." Kurt suspected that the girl just didn't want to dress up, and even she did, it would be in her own abstract wardrobe, a look which to most at McKinley would also constitute as dress up, as ignorant of fashion as they all were.
However, Kurt was glad he wasn't the only one not attending, mostly because he didn't want to feel like an outcast within the group. He didn't even know Finn very well anyway and it just seemed strange to attend the party of someone he wasn't familiar with beyond a nodding acquaintance. Decision made, Kurt left the room with the others as they headed towards their lockers, depositing all the books they didn't need to take home. Yet at the last minute, he held back and headed instead to the gym. All this talking of dance music with Brittany had his body pumped for some movement and for him it sounded far more stimulating than going to a party where he knew very well a certain boy with a Mohawk would be attending.
.
Glee
.
The night was clear with the stars in full view. No cloud was in sight by the time Kurt left the school with Mercedes late that evening. Being October, the sun was saying goodbye a lot earlier, which meant that even though both of them had to walk home in the dark, it was refreshing to take in the night air. This was the second time Kurt had to walk home since his car was currently in the garage for repairs. He would have done it himself considering he liked to think that he could look after his own possessions, but his father had insisted on doing it back up for him. Apparently, big parts needed big hands and although he could make intricate work of wires due to his nimble fingers, larger components were out of reach until he was older.
Walking was good exercise anyway. Kurt had spent two hours stretching, followed by dancing, followed by another round of stretching. In fact, it had got to the point where he'd probably done around a week's worth of warm-ups, something he felt like boasting about but in the end didn't. That achievement was all his. Mercedes had also tagged along, where she'd completed her Physics homework as well as watched him do moves that could very much have been mistaken for choreography from Cirque De Soleil. It was rather impressive and quite a successful form of distraction, yet when Kurt had inquired after her reason for not attending the party, the reply had been plain and simple: she wasn't interested.
It puzzled Kurt at first. Mercedes wasn't invited to these events often, not many of them were, so why turn it down? After all, she was much more likely to be invited than Kurt ever was. Sexuality seemed to really run that deep in the minds of others, until he remembered the party list: asshole, dick and, oh, another house full of assholes. They would all taunt Mercedes on her weight and in extreme circumstances, would sneak even in minor racism, thus resulting in their conversation adopting the more favorable sound of Glee club's brand new assignment, if Mercedes had her eyes peeled for anyone in particular and, of course, the strange new fortune that had presented itself for them all in the cool kid forms of Sam, Mike, Quinn and Brittany.
It turned out Kurt wasn't the only one who was immensely surprised, with the diva wondering what their real motives were behind joining. He had tried to reduce her suspicious mind to only a few scenarios but, in the end, he had just let her imagine. The stuff that came out of that girl's mouth was wacky as hell but it was also hilarious. However, Kurt didn't bother letting her know that the most likely reason people had joined, was because it was comprised of pity and puppy love, and he had an inkling that if the girl managed to dig a little deeper before striking gold, the real reasons would be shooting out of her mouth like a slot machine at Atlantic City. It was an aspect he didn't think Mike, Tina, Sam or Quinn would appreciate all that much.
They were just about to go their separate ways home when the loud sound of thumping music could be heard in the distance. Both of them stopped and looked down the street. A few houses away was a building with the lights blaring and the people outside, mingling and hanging around. It was obviously Finn Hudson's party, an event they both had decided not to attend, but after catching sight of a glint in the diva's eye, Kurt sighed. Mercedes had made it very clear that she didn't want to go, but there he was, striding to catch up with her as she bee-lined for the house, her measly excuse being that she merely wished to check the place out, catch a drink or two, maybe meet up with Rachel and Tina, that is if they were still alive.
What was the use? All their friends were probably done for, torn to shreds, ripped to pieces. There was no point saving them now. Coming to a stop at the front of the house, a number of their peers talking, laughing and eying them with inquiring frowns, both Kurt and Mercedes looked up at the building in front of them, their bodies now to wary and cautious to move. Finn's home wasn't really all that impressive but it was quite large, styled in the traditional 1970s woodsman forest cottage, horror movie like, except bigger, louder. All the lights were on, all the curtains were drawn and the sound of music mixed in with intoxicated teenagers screaming to make themselves heard over the huge din was the sole soundtrack of the night.
Kurt scowled, pulling his bag nearer to him. He didn't want to be here and he was sorely tempted to ditch his friend and leave. However, it was no use. No sooner had the first minute ticked from their stumbling arrival than Mercedes had begun timidly walking up to the front door, swiftly dodging a girl vomiting in the flowerbed as her friend held back her hair. It was revolting. Was this really the lifestyle teenagers were interested in? To Kurt it just seemed reckless, loud and stupid. He couldn't see the fun, the amusement, anything and as he made to grab hold of the diva's arm, he prayed she would come to her senses, blame her lack of judgment from the smell of sweat and sex, and return home where eardrums were still intact.
"Oy, Mademoiselle Hummel, let her go if she wants to join the party! She's probably had enough hanging out with a fruit loop like you!" Bellowed a voice a few meters away, yet not even an endless string of meters could be sufficient for that voice to be ever be far enough. Kurt as well as Mercedes whipped their heads around to see none other than Puckerman making his way towards them, a red cup in his hand no doubt filled with cheap beer or some other revolting alcoholic concoction.
"Oh lovely," muttered Kurt to himself. It wasn't fair. He hadn't even wanted to be here and if only Mercedes hadn't turned back on her rejected invitation, or if he hadn't felt the need to go after her in case she injured herself, he wouldn't be finding the boy he imagined gassing smirking right back at him menacingly. Turning to Mercedes, he spoke quietly with his voice still tinted in urgency. There was no way he was still reserved after their stroll. "'Cedes, let's get out of here before he-"
"Did you hear what I said, Hummel? Leave her alone. There's only so much of the gay that she can handle," interrupted Puckerman as he came to stand before them. Glaring at the jock, Kurt's grip on his friend never let go and as he refused to budge for a second in the wake of Puckerman standing too close for comfort as if to knock him out cold with a punch as strong as Superman's, the mohawked boy's evil smile widened. "Hudson's not gonna want people like you at his party."
"Hudson's not going to care, Puckerman. Stop speaking on behalf of others when you know very well they don't run on the same wave length as you do, that of a troglodyte," replied Kurt as Mercedes pressed herself further into his side, her eyes darkening. "The only person here who does have a problem is a certain someone with a three-decade old haircut, a face that looks like a haggis with pointed toes and a body like a tight old bladder skin holding together some rotting old offal. You."
"What have I told you, homo, about answering back? For someone with a witty tongue you really don't catch onto the threats, do you," answered Puck, swirling the drink in his cup with a twist of his wrist as he took a step towards both of them. Kurt felt like staying put, he felt like holding his ground, yet tonight, he didn't want to risk anything. He didn't want Mercedes hurt because of him. "You know what's going to happen to you if you continue disobeying me, don't you Hummel?"
"Just go back to whatever hell-hole you came from and leave us in peace," replied Kurt, glowing ambers of anger spitting off the tip of his own tongue as he held on tighter to Mercedes. He almost felt like grabbing hold of the cup from Puckerman and throwing it in his face. The jock liked to drink? Kurt would let him drink. "We don't want to breathe in anymore of that rank smelling air pollution that is your breath than is utterly necessary. I mean, what have my lungs ever done to you?"
The jock's smirk faltered slightly but quickly reappeared, offering Kurt the vital glimpse he needed. Puckerman was drunk. Whether he had been for some time or not, Kurt didn't know. The jock's balance was weak, judging by the way he kept swaying and stumbling to regain his footing. His eyes had a somewhat glossy appearance to them, his blinking coming in slow intervals and now that Kurt came to think about it, Puckerman's voice had been slightly slurred, syllables hardly formed for coherence as they failed to leave his tongue with much clarity. Great, now he was being introduced to the new version of this idiot, Noah Puckerman: Drunk Edition with matching beer. Terms and conditions apply. Non-refundable, of course.
Apart from the long list of alcohol side effects that Puckerman was experiencing, Kurt could not help but notice how very differently the jock was behaving towards him compared to when they'd been in the fancy dress store and when he had bumped into him in the corridor. The jock had returned to his former self and something in Kurt actually missed the briefly somewhat nicer Puckerman that he had been fortunate to encounter. He liked to think it had been Noah, the boy hidden within, moreover trapped. Noah, oh Kurt could smile about him all day long. Now, however, it seemed everything was back to business as usual, but this time with booze on the jock's breath, rendering the situation all the more infuriating.
"I'm still pissed after what you called me, Hummel. Fucking pissed. Don't think I've forgotten because I haven't," replied Puck as he leaned into Kurt's personal space, the brunet wincing as he took a step back from the boy's putrid breath, yet it didn't stop Puckerman nearing him once against, almost kissing and licking his ear as he slurred a threat. "I'm going to smash your pretty little head into the ground and you're not going to say no. You'll learn never to mess with me."
"You're not in the right state to be smashing anyone's head into the ground, you loser. I mean, look at you. You can barely stand or hold that cup without spilling the crap you've got in it. Come to think of it, I would happily bet fifty dollars to watch you throw that cup at the ground and miss," countered Kurt, popping out his hip defiantly, almost setting up a daring challenge through body language as Mercedes burst into laughter, her boy's wit the only party here.
However, such a move was severely unwise as Puck, not liking for one minute being made fun of, and by a couple of dweebs no less, went and crushed his cup in his bare hand. Droplets of beer flew everywhere, a couple even skimming across Kurt's cheek like that from a gun's bullet, before he threw the cup to the ground, its remaining contents staining the stone pathway before staggering towards them. Gasping in fright as he dodged the jock's attack, Kurt pulled Mercedes away and pelted down the pathway, Puckerman heavy on their tails. He wasn't expecting their pursuer to hold out long but as the brunet looked over his shoulder, fully expecting Puckerman to have already fallen unconscious to the ground, his eyes widened.
Puckerman was pursuing them, ever angry, ever furious and even though they were running from the party, from the source of fun, the jock didn't stop. He was so going to kill them, and to think Kurt was never going to see the day when Puckerman would work for him. How sad. Feeling the need to discourage their attacker, the terrible thought of being beaten up fresh in his mind, Kurt shouted out, "Stop chasing us, Puckerman; you're only going to get yourself hurt! Leave as alone, please!"
"No way, Rainbow boy! You've already gotten away with too much, I'm not letting you get away!" Puckerman howled and the sheer danger in his voice was enough to thin Kurt's blood to nothing. It almost did as Kurt recalled how fast the jock was. Puckerman was one of the fastest boys he'd ever known, and Kurt could only hope that the alcohol had been stewing long enough in the jock's system to wreck enough havoc on his coordination. Tonight their fates were in the hands of booze.
As they continued sprinting, their panting loud and the night air whipping against their skin, against them, they approached Mercedes' home. Kurt insisted that his house wasn't far and that he'd make it there easily in no time. The diva, knowing that she would only wear Kurt down with her less than toned legs and tolerance for running, as well as knowing that her boy was more than warmed up for all this after his porn star like stretches, reluctantly agreed. She parted from him, the only weapon disposable to her now being glares she shot Puckerman as he shoved her aside. No doubt she'd come to school tomorrow with a hacksaw along with a body bag with 'Mohawked White Boy' taped to it. Kurt could always look forward to that.
Unfortunately, Puckerman had not for one-second ceased chasing him. For someone who was intoxicated, it was amazing he'd lasted for this long on supports that ought to have given way by now. He'd been running for some time, and with some vigor, as if unaffected or even immune to the effects of cheap beer, coming after him with limbs that staggered, now blundering without his usual running back agility, or grace, all seen as Kurt would frequently look over his shoulder in short episodes, scoping out his chaser's whereabouts. If this had been a playground game of tag, the fair boy might have laughed, might have lightly taunted Puck only to have himself caught, both of them falling into a happy grass rolling hug. Not this night.
"Come back here, Hummel! I'm not… I'm not finished with you yet!"
"Yes you are, you lunatic! You're plenty finished!"
"You deserve this! Let me have my revenge and then I'll… I'll let you go – ow, shit!"
"What the..."
At the sound of a stumble, a curse and a fall, Kurt stopped in his tracks. He looked around and his eyes widened as he came to see Puckerman sprawled in the middle of the road, his great 'guns' packed full with that Puckerman Power now trembling as weak as twigs as they did their best to haul that compacted, muscular body back onto its feet, all of course, in vain. It was an option to make a run for it. So tempting to leave Puckerman to struggle like this, as if he was some netted animal on the Savannah, only to be gassed with Chloroform, to have the night take him, to let him lose track of his whereabouts only to be found drowned in a ditch the next morning, face down, motionless on water skimmed in vomit that had settled on its skin.
The jock had admittedly made a complete fool of himself. He'd tried to teach a supposed lesson to a boy he liked picking on, yet as a result, he was lying slumped, helpless and feeble under the harsh golden light of the street lamp with Kurt now sighing to himself. He cursed his mother's kind nature that she had bestowed upon him, and wished kindness wasn't allowed to be given to those who didn't deserve it. Dropping his bag by the pavement, he walked carefully towards Puckerman. After all, he didn't want to hear the following morning that the jock had died from being hit by a car. His guilty conscience would most likely have exploded all over his television screen, and it was this sliver of mercy that had him nearing the boy.
As Kurt looked down at him, his eyes trailed over Puckerman's attire, his mind only now realizing what it was. It was the soldier 'Sergeant Bulge' outfit from the costume store, the same one Kurt had suggested which consisted of boots, trousers, a dog tag chain with a bare chest painted in streaks of camouflage. It was quite a surprise and Kurt had to congratulate himself on this one because Puckerman looked very good in it, very masculine and all right, very sexy. He supposed he would have seen it sooner if he hadn't bolted from the store like he had done, but he was seeing it now on a body weak on beer and smelling of sweat, until suddenly a hand shot out and grabbed hold tightly of his ankle, causing Kurt to squeal in terror.
"Jesus, Hummel, calm the fuck down! Your girly voice is worse than a cat's fucked up vocal chords," complained Puckerman as Kurt breathed heavily in response. Slowly bringing himself to a sitting position, the jock stretched out his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees before finally resting his head in his hands. There he just seemed to stay for several minutes, not speaking, not even moaning away the excess of his beer intake. He just stayed there, rooted to a point of immobility.
Kurt didn't know what to do. There he was, standing in the middle of a deserted street at night with only his bully for company. It wasn't something he wanted to be involved in and considering his house was only down the road, he could once again think about ditching this pest. However, just the way Puckerman was trembling, his body shaking, his head no doubt throbbing from the cold and from a massive headache no less, he dropped the idea. It just didn't feel like the right to do, as if Kurt now held responsibility for him. With that odd thought in mind, the boy kneeled to the jock's level, slowing as Puckerman lifted his head and eyed his descent warily, his eyelids fluttering, drooping to near closure, but still very much open.
"What the fuck do you want, Hummel?" Inquired Puckerman, Kurt placing his hands neatly in his lap as he observed the boy before him. He didn't think such a thing would, but somehow the curse the jock had uttered seemed so poisonous in the sentence, adding a sharp stab of darkness into the question. "Why aren't you still running? Why are you even here? You want to laugh at me? Want to laugh at how pathetic I look right now? Go ahead; I don't give a shit anymore."
"I'm not going to laugh at you, Puckerman. I'm not going to sink to your level where the thought of revenge or retribution is the only thing you jocks feed yourselves on. I like to think I'm more sophisticated than that," Kurt replied, his head high as he unexpectedly frowned back down at Puckerman's snort of laughter so thick with disparagement, it was positively dripping with derision. The boy was not bothering to hide his amusement which most definitely wasn't making it easy to stay.
Once Puckerman had recovered, wiping his mouth with his arm as if he were throwing away the final traces of his laughter with disgust meant for the ground, he looked over at Kurt with nothing short of loathing before looking away into the distance, his face gloomy as ever. Yet this only served Kurt to seethe a retort in response. "I don't know why you find this so funny. Despite you having a naturally sick and twisted sense of humor, it really isn't all that amusing."
"Yeah, it fucking is," countered Puckerman as he whipped his head to face Kurt, the brunet blinking in surprise as he took in Puckerman's hard look. It pierced into his own and in that moment, Kurt swore the energy seemed to shift into a stinging like pain. It was very disconcerting, but before he look away, the jock had shot out his hand once again and grabbed hold of his wrist, bringing himself closer to Kurt, their proximity's nearing as the frightened boy came that much closer to the soldier.
"You think you're better than us, Hummel? You think you can walk around the school with that pompous look on your face and think you're better than everyone? You remind me of those chicks at school who think they're so hot, strutting around with their tits nearly falling out of their tops and their skirts so high you can see their pussies. Want to know what happens to them, Hummel? All they get is a throat full of cock and the slash in between their legs filled until they burst-"
"Stop it!"
"You know, you're prettier than most of the chicks I've fucked, Hummel. Sure you don't have a wet cunt under there for me?"
"Stop threatening me, Puckerman. Stop being such a-"
"A low life scum? Tell me Hummel, who wrote that note in the costume shop? Who did it? Because I sure as hell know I didn't."
"That's nothing compared to the torture you've put me through! Those were just words I needed to expel for you to see and on a measly piece of paper no less," Kurt replied indignantly, disbelief wrapping itself around his voice as his temper rose. He tried to wrench his wrist out of Puckerman's tight clutch but it stayed there, only pulling the jock closer to him, closer and closer. Oh, how Kurt couldn't fucking bear it. He wanted Puckerman off of him, he didn't want the boy anywhere near him.
How could Puckerman think for one-second that what he and his cohorts had done was on the same level? How could he be so blindly delusional? Or was he purposefully trying to push on Kurt's buttons to make him lose more of his control? Kurt didn't know which one was worse and the fact that it was either one of these options was just what infuriated him further. "How can you compare the gravity of what you and your friends have done with a message that didn't even hurt you?"
"That's not the point, Hummel. The point is you let your anger get away with you and as a result, you wrote that note and sank to my level. Don't think you're any better than us, because you're not," argued Puckerman as his own fury rose. Kurt may not have understood how torn he had been after he had seen that note but he wasn't about to let him get away with thinking he was right for doing it. "And for your information, that was a low blow you dealt me, and it hurt... it fucking hurt."
"Yeah, right, like no matter how many times I insult you it's never going to sink into that dim-witted head of yours! God, I can't be bothered arguing with you because there really is no point! I see no final conclusion with this on the horizon because you're just going to keep fighting me until I do grant your wish by leaving this god-forsaken town!" Kurt wrenched his hands out of Puckerman's grasp, rocketed to his feet, and glared down at the jock as Puckerman looked up at him with equal rage.
All the things that Kurt had been through with this bully was now rushing out of his mouth like an endless list of casualties, a list that only puzzled and hurt him to speak out loud but with it, a need, a want and a necessity to make himself heard against his chief oppressor. As he spoke, he articulated every vowel, consonant and syllable in every single word he uttered and with that, he loomed over Puckerman, eclipsing the light behind him and towering over a boy who needed to hear this. If the jock made to grab hold of him again, fine, if he wished to pull Kurt down to the ground and pin him to the road, so be it, but the boy's mouth would keep talking, it would keep moving for nothing could stop it from expelling the truth of it all.
"You called me 'fag' the in the Lima mall, you've thrown me in dumpsters, you mutilated my bag, you've hurt my friends, you stole my sketch pad only to confuse me later when we played dress up in the freaking store like we didn't hate each other. You acted weird when you nearly knocked me to the ground in the corridor and to top that all off, in gym class, some guy thought that it would be side-splittingly hilarious to steal my first kiss and make a fuck-up of it at the same fucking time!"
"You've got to be kidding."
"What?"
"You... you didn't... you didn't like it?"
"What... what you are you saying?"
Puck's fury had waned in the light of Kurt's unexpected admission. He was now completely astounded. When it had come to kissing Kurt, he'd been so enraptured by his own pleasure during the act that he hadn't for once stopped to think what Kurt had felt. He'd just assumed that because he'd found it good, Kurt had found it good. That's how it had ever worked out in the past. Girl's and cougars loved kissing him, often expressing their love with the moans of pleasure they would emit from their swollen lips but this, to have Kurt bash his skills in making out was just a violent slap in the face. This could not be happening. Kurt could not take away the memory of a hot kiss only to burn, scorch and scar it away with criticism. No! Fuck no!
Quickly recovering from his own near confession as Kurt threw him an inquisitive frown at the sheer concern in his voice, Puck cleared his throat whilst he attempted to mentally shake himself from the shock. Yet what his mind attempted to communicate to his body had clearly failed to inform his mouth as within another set of seconds, a river of disconnected words were embarrassing him into clearing his throat a tad too frequently. "But how… I mean… what the hell are you talking about?"
"Oh, please like you didn't applaud whoever did it. Was it you, Puckerman? Are you behind all this? Did you come up with that immature plan and then use one of your repugnant minions to carry it out? If so, congratulations! It's because of you that something I've always wanted to share with someone I care about will now never happen!" With that, Kurt threw Puckerman a repulsive look before storming off in the direction of his bag, a ferocious growl escaping from a cage of fanged like teeth.
He was positive that the jock had had something to do with what had happened in the gym that day. Absolutely positive, and even though he hadn't any proof of the boy's involvement, he could tell by the look in Puckerman's eyes that he had been implicated. He'd been watching on and laughing with pure delight along with all his idiotic friends, fully amused as Kurt had been manhandled, inappropriately touched and sexually assaulted. He could tell someone, tell Ms. Sosa. She'd no doubt seen what had been going on, but no. No one would believe him. No one would help him. With that, Kurt heaved his bag onto his shoulder and without a single, backward glance; he made his way home, his angry footsteps echoing in the silent evening air.
As he left the scene, however, Puck was left mulling over the cruel words that had been spewed out in front of him – and he still couldn't take it all in. It was all too shocking. The one kiss – loved by one – was also the one kiss hated by another and it was just something he didn't know how to react to, especially after Hummel had described it in the creative yet stinging he had. Yet this was it. Hummel had once again had the last biting word and it seemed to Puck that they just didn't seem to ease on the venom. He had bitten back. He had affronted Puck with attacks concerning his lower class background and, even though he didn't know it, his talent in a key sexual subject. They were all low blows, and getting lower all the time.
"Damn, Hummel, you are going to get it," whispered Puck into the air too heavy to breathe easily through, picking himself up from the ground and staring after the brunet's retreating figure as it disappeared into the night. Whether that meant Kurt's well-being was now in the red zone or that he was going to make him eat his own piercing words was yet to be decided but one thing was definite: Kurt Hummel wasn't going to escape so easily next time. "You are going to get it now…"
~ PLEASE REVIEW ~
(But if you wish to criticize, may it be constructive. I'm not going to learn from my mistakes and improve if you vent.)
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are looking forward for more!
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters from Glee since I don't own the show. I'm not earning money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I mean only to please whoever stumbles upon my Love Story.
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