"It happens fast for some people and slow for some, accidents or gravity, but we all end up mutilated." Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
"Every now and then I fall apart. And I need you now tonight. And I need you more than ever." Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bad Reputation
Will stared at the empty choir room.
This was not unusual; he often stopped by in between classes, breathed in the stale sweat and lingering oils from the abandoned instruments piled up in the back. It may not sound like the greatest combination in the world, but to Will Shuester it was better then a new car.
The truly unusual part was that it was fifteen minutes after the last bell on a Wednesday afternoon. And not a single student. Not one.
He fingered the pile of sheet music he had printed out the night before, glancing at the clock and wondering if, perhaps, this was some sort of elaborate set up for another spontaneous number in celebration of a yet-to-be-announced competitive win. A field trip, perhaps? Maybe it had been an early dismissal and Will hadn't gotten the memo?
Or maybe, Will thought. Maybe he had finally lost his kids to teenage brutality.
Kurt was, without a doubt, in the throes of depression.
His mornings were spent dragging himself out of bed, getting ready and unready, changing outfits every beat only to fling the ensembles across the room and sinking back into his covers. He would slam his palm into his clock radio, turning to a rock station and swimming in the senseless thrashing of hair metal. He had not moisturized in days, he had not brushed his teeth or combed his hair or-my god, his cuticles.
He considers, every morning, getting back up and applying the appropriate amount of hairspray and pick out a fabulous sweater to throw over his skinny body and walking out that door with his head held high. Then he considers Brittany, sitting in her Cheerios uniform and a pair of flip flops because her only pair of sneakers are ripped to shreds. And he considers the janitor mopping slushie off the ground and Puck getting socked in the face and the spray paint on his locker and then he thinks, why bother? Why bother slapping on his favorite jeans when all they would earn him was a fist in the gut? Why get himself together when it would only dump a pile of shit on his friend's shoulders?
Why the fuck should he?
So every morning his father would tiptoe down the steps and ask him, gently, if he was ready for school. He would burp out a half-hearted cough and Burt would nod, hesitating at the foot of the stairs before dragging himself towards the kitchen, where he would call the school and tell them Kurt had a stomach flu and, no, he probably won't be in school tomorrow, either.
Mercedes and Tina sat at a local café, homework spread out on the table in front of them and the soft notes of easy listening filling their ears. It was Saturday afternoon, a week after the last time they had seen any part of Kurt Hummel. Mercedes remembered vividly, creeping out of his basement and offering one last, lingering smile. As if to reassure him, yeah, it's a hard-knock life and all that. But in the end it'll just be a story they'll tell to their rich Hollywood friends in their vacation house in Hawaii. How someone actually thought Versace was a sports brand. Ha!
His phone was off, his seat was empty. He was in his room whenever Finn's mom came to pay Burt a visit. Tina was always greeted with a, sorry, he's contagious. Even though Burt looked like he didn't believe it either.
And no one had bothered with glee this week. How could they? They couldn't even speak to each other, let alone screech show tunes in the choir room.
There was a tension in the air, a fear radiating through the less socially fortunate. Word got around fast and overnight, jock noise became like bullhorns, while everyone else became whispers, with their heads ducked and their books held tightly to their chests, subconsciously traveling in pairs.
It was kind of like Nazi Germany, if not too audacious a comparison.
Mercedes sipped from her drink and took out her phone again, staring at the group picture she'd set as her background. It was kind of like looking at a dead baby these days.
"'Cedes?" Tina said quietly, holding her pen on the tip of her thumb absently.
"Hm?"
"Why do we let them get to us?"
Mercedes shrugged. "Because they're really good at it."
Brittany was ironing.
If you had told anyone outside of her immediate family, they would have scoffed at the thought of their resident idiot doing anything more complicated then going to the bathroom. But it was probably the only thing she could stand beside cheer. It was simple, clean, with the vague threat of permanent scarring that was just out reach. She ironed.
It was a golden, sparkling dress fresh out of the bag, untouched since Regionals. She had stared at it every day since then, loving and hating every fiber in it's clothe. She wanted to wear it to school, to practice, to glee, to the dentist. She wanted to burn it.
It was so pretty.
Maybe if she died her hair black, got that nose job her mother had been riding her about since third grade, gained twenty pounds…maybe then she could wear it. If she was someone else, she could wear it. She could hold hands with Santana in the halls and squeal like a pig and paint her nails orange even though she so wasn't a Fall. She could do anything.
Anything in the world, and she'd still probably be a cheerleader.
She was ironing.
Kurt wondered if dogs could be gay.
It started with a joke on a talk show.
"…so I basically walked in on this dog…orgy, and-"
"Wait, so was there any homosexual dogs involved?"
Hahahaha…ha.
He even googled it; could dogs be gay? Could animals at all be gay? Or was it just humans? Confused, misguided humans fucked up by emotion-they were taking up the whole world. They didn't need to survive, they didn't need to fight. So they could fall in love and became like Kurt. Kurt, the freak of nature, the perverted piece of shit. Kurt, who loved everyone he shouldn't.
Dogs weren't gay. Dogs were awesome.
Kurt wanted a dog.
Author's Note: Ohmygod I'm so sorry. That took forever.