My head hits the wall with a hard smack for the fourteenth time today. It's getting ridiculous. I can't even move from one class to another without being assaulted by either a football jock or a hockey jock. Both are vicious. The football team are relentless. On my lucky days, the hockey team consider me too inferior to touch, and that leaves me to the football team. As much as the two team constantly attack each other, they conspire when it comes to me. There's no logic involved, just pure hatred. Do they ever think of my feelings? Of course they don't. They're soulless monsters who aren't capable of feeling anything but pejorative emotions.
Homophobia is getting worse at McKinley and, since I'm the only out kid at school, I'm the only target. Weak. Pathetic. Alone. I'm the perfect bulls-eye to aim for. The Glee Club try, but they don't really care. If they paid more attention, they would see that I'm always ten minute late for Glee Club. I remain in my last class of the day for ten minutes to escape the jocks. My teachers are aware, but they lack concern. I can't pretend like nothing happens when I'm too afraid to turn corners every single day of my life, but then again nobody really looks at how the dark circles have stained my usually fresh face lately. I can't sleep. The nightmares of Karofsky and Azimio are the worst. I close my eyes, and there they are. Haunting me even when they're not around. It's their perfect setup. They've left enough of an imprint on my emotions that they can deal out physical and emotional damage even when I've left school.
But still, I keep strong. I dress the same, act the same, even though I've been told otherwise. Advised, even. Mercedes tells me that if I 'tone it down' a little more, they'll leave me alone. It shouldn't have to come to that, though. I'm maintaining my pride, if nothing else. The way I'm allowed to dress is my prerogative. It's nobody else's business.
"What have we told you about those corsets, Lady Hummel?" Karofsky spits at me as I remain glued to the locker, my back straining against the metal. I'm too afraid to move. Even if I did, it would just result in another slam. My back must be some kind of purplish hue right now. I swallow my fear and raise an eyebrow. My perfectly shaped veneer remains intact, at least for right now.
"You told me not to wear them because they offended you. It just so happens that I really don't give a shit. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to cleanse the foul stench of your ignorance from my Alexander McQueen." Honestly, I have no idea where the raging sass comes from, particularly when I'm under direct threat, but it comes. They don't like that.
"Listen up, faggot. We don't care for that cocky attitude you've got there. You walk around thinking you're better than us, but really you're not. You're a fag and nobody around here likes that, you hear? You won't find another fairy at this school, so why don't you just transfer? I hear there's a perfectly good gay school in Westerville. It's crawling with homos." Oh, Dalton Academy. They must be talking about it, anyway. I looked into it before coming to McKinley, but it was just a pipe dream. I knew that my dad could never afford the tremendously steep tuition.
Hands grab me and pressed even more firmly against the locker. It's not even my locker, I think feebly, but why? It's not important.
"You're not gonna fight back, fancy?" What would be the point in doing something like that? There's six of them and they weigh around four of me…each. I have no chance. Azimio reaches out his beefy hand to grasp my chin. He forces me to look at his leering face. I have the most tempting urge to spit in his face, but I would probably be murdered on the spot for that. I stare at him, wondering what vile thoughts are running through his mind at this moment.
"We've all had enough of your fairy shit. Now we've asked nicely before, but now we're telling you. Leave. This. School. And we'll leave you alone." He releases me and steps away, as do the others.
"Wow, what an interesting demand. I wonder what Coach Sylvester would think about the Cheerio who single-handedly won her Nationals last year just moving out of the school, ready to join another squad and win Nationals for them. I think she would want revenge on whoever chased me out, don't you? And remember what happened to Castle last year? She disappeared. Think carefully next time about who you threaten. Now if you'll excuse me." I left them there, dumbfounded by my words. It was risky and could have potentially blew up my face but I'm safe. For now at least. There's a good chance that they'll find me later in the day and punch me, but I won't dwell on that. Now, Glee Club.
Glee Club has always been my safe haven. My sanctuary. I owe a lot of Mr Schuester and the rest of the club. Well, when they cared, I did, but now I'm not so sure. They're all too wrapped up in their relationships to bother much about me. I wonder if today will be any different.
I'm the first one there, naturally. I'm always way too eager to arrive in the choir room. Avoiding hot-headed involves a lot of being early to safe places. Everybody else will stumble along anytime soon, I'm sure. The next person to arrive is Santana. She usually takes the seat at the back, the one…oh the one that I'm sat next to. I wonder if she'll sit here today.
She nods at me and then takes the seat. That's surprisingly.
"Hummel." She regards coolly. Wait, she's initiating conversation? This is new.
"Santana. And what brings me the pleasure of your company?" I ask, truly curious.
"I watched the jocks get in your grill just now and followed you here." I snarl.
"Oh, well thank you for your help."
"Cut the shit, Hummel. I was about to say that I really respect what you did. I've never actually seen them harass you, so I just assumed that you took it and didn't fight back, but I'm surprisingly impressed. I have a lot more respect for you."
"Oh, thank you Santana, but I'm just doing what I need to do to survive. I'm not admirable or courageous for standing up to the jocks."
"I didn't say you were any of those things. I just said that I respect you more now that I know you're not a total pansy." She laughs shortly.
"Well I appreciate that all the same."
"Oh by the way, heads up today. Apparently there's some new hot jock walking the halls and I've heard that he's 100% gay. Jocks are your type, right?"
"I haven't actually thought about that much, but my track record does prove as much. I'll make sure to look out for him, but he's probably straight." I like to not get my hopes up in case they're crushed. I never really did with Finn, but I was still crushed all the same.
The others begin to file in, frowning at the sight of Santana and I talking. I admit, it's rare. Unheard of, actually. Brittany takes the seat next to her best friend while the others fill the front row. Puck, Mike, Mercedes and Tina complete the back row.
"Well, we'll see because he's thinking of joining Glee Club. Honestly, it'll be a welcome change. Everyone's bored of seeing Lady Hummel without Lord Hummel on his fabulously attired arm." Santana shrugs and goes back to filing her nails. I do appreciate the heads up, though. It'll be nice to have another gay guy at the school, but if he's a jock he won't get any of the hatred I do. Maybe we could be friends though! Or more? Who knows?
"Good to know." It's nice of Santana to do something for other people. Too bad I don't really know her that well. An idea strikes me. "Hey, Santana?" She looks across at me.
"I'm planning a Glee girls and gay sleepover this weekend. Are you up for it?" Santana thinks about it, probably quite thoroughly in her overactive mind.
"Yeah sure, why not? Wait. Is Berry coming?" I pause, thinking about it. Would Rachel coming ruin the night? Santana apparently seemed to think so. Although I would feel bad if she was excluded from my sleepover…
"If she agrees, I'd like her to be there."
"Good. I have plans to stick her hand in warm water."
"What are you, eight?"
"You can't beat the classics, Hummel." Santana smiles.
I sigh. "Since you'll be attending one of my legendary sleepovers, you'll have to get into the habit of calling me 'Kurt', since that is my name and if you shout 'Hummel' in my house, my dad thinks you're talking to him."
There's murmuring from the front of the choir room, but I can't quite hear it.
"Kurt."
"Yes, that's good. Kurt is my name."
"No. Kurt, look."
I look.