Terri had left the bathroom door cracked while she searched out some replacement clothes for Kurt. His own were out of the question. They had finished drying but the sweater still carried an unpleasant whiff of vomit and she had made the mistake of putting the dryer on High, so it would take a considerable amount of work for the boy to struggle back into the shrunken black denim jeans, if he could do so at all, given how tight they had been from the start. It would take an effort she was absolutely sure that Kurt was not in any shape to attempt, assuming he was even willing to wear pants with ripped out knees in the first place.
The left side of Kurt's shirt collar had been discolored by the rivulets of blood that had run down his face, bringing a thoroughly dismayed expression to the boy's face when he had noticed the stains in the mirror. Terri had been surprised that he seemed more upset about the shirt than he was about the damage to his face, until he had explained that bruises healed while dried blood was all but impossible to wash out of Italian blend dress shirts.
It bothered her a little how casually he had stated that fact. As if he knew a great deal about both.
It was for this reason that Terri took her time sifting through her ex-husband's old things. She had stored the box in the bottom of her small closet, part of her unwilling to part with this one last tangible piece of the life she and Will had shared. The box dated back to Will's college days, which was probably why he had never mentioned that it was missing. He most likely assumed that this box had been thrown away years ago.
The clothing inside was old and some pieces were painfully out of date, something Terri suspected would bother her young guest if she could use his own clothing as a clue. She found herself wanting to cheer Kurt up, but unfortunately, it appeared that lifting his somber mood would have to be done in some other way. Will had just never been a fancy dresser.
"I guess these will have to do," she mused, pulling out a pair of faded blue jeans and a scarlet and gray Ohio State sweatshirt. They would probably be too big. Will was not that much taller than Kurt, but even at the age of 20 he had been broad-shouldered and muscular. She paused for a moment, closing her eyes and smiling as she remembered how easily the sight of that handsome young man had been able to take her breath away. How easily he still could.
The sound of splashing caught her ear, drawing Terri's attention to the bathroom. There was more splashing, followed by a painful grunt, a muffled curse and a deep sigh that echoed off the bathroom tiles, clearly audible in the next room. "Are you okay in there?" she called, standing up. "Is it safe for me to come in?"
There was a long pause before Kurt replied, with embarrassment coloring every word, "I'm having a little trouble getting out of the tub."
"Oh." She bit her lip. It wasn't really surprising. Her bathtub was deep and rounded; it was the entire reason she had chosen this apartment over any of the others she had visited, even though the rent was entirely too high for such a tiny space. Between the bubble-slick surface of the tub and muscles that had to be tired, achy and newly relaxed by the hot steamy water, it would indeed be difficult to get out of. "Don't move. I'll come help you."
Thankfully there were still plenty of frothy, fragrant bubbles to protect Kurt's modesty but the poor kid looked as if he would prefer to just sink below the surface and drown himself when she bent close and ordered him to put an arm around her neck.
Grabbing a towel off the rack next to the bathtub, Terri straightened up slowly, keeping her eyes on the boy's blushing face as he got his legs under him and stood. Wrapping the towel around his hips, she held on until both of his feet were firmly planted on the rug next to the tub and he was securely seated on the edge.
"Thanks, Mrs. Shue," he mumbled. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."
"It's no trouble," she said kindly, dashing wet bangs out of his eyes. "I'm glad I could . . . oh, my goodness!"
Her startled gasp made him look down at his body. The pale skin was marred by multicolored bruises in a diagonal pattern from his left shoulder to his right hip, with more across his stomach area. Deeper bruising fanned out over the bony hip joint peeking above the edge of the borrowed towel. Kurt's fingers skimmed the pattern self-consciously. "Seatbelt, I think. The buckle hits me right here," he added, wincing as he pressed against the pattern on his hip
Terri's lip trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks. It had never even occurred to her to check under his clothes! What if he had internal injuries or something? Was he going to drop dead because she had failed to check more thoroughly? And how about all the other things she had done wrong . . . let him nap with a concussion, made him throw up by pushing him to sit up too fast, forgetting all about him when he needed her?
Oh God, she was a total failure as a nurse and a babysitter. She would have been such a horrible mother. No wonder Will had dumped her!
"No, no please don't cry! It's okay, it's just bruises," he assured her, unconsciously echoing Terri's earlier efforts at comforting him as he awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, his expression filled with dismay at the sight of her tears. "I'm fine, honest!"
Terri snuffled, reaching for a tissue to dab her eyes and blow her nose. She knew better. Bruised, concussed, visibly trembling with fatigue, gashes and scratches glaring accusingly at her, this boy was anything but fine. And while she had not been the one to hurt him, she had a terrible certainty that she had not done very much to help, either.
"I wish I knew what to do for you," she whispered.
"You're doing it," he told her, blue eyes bright and earnest. "If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be a popsicle by now."
She laughed a little at the solemnity with which he said such a silly thing, then sighed and shook her head. "No, I should have just taken you straight to a hospital."
"I'm glad you didn't. There'd be a ton of people there. My dad wouldn't know where I was and I'd probably still be in a waiting room, seeping blood all over my Versace."
Kurt suddenly shivered and she was not sure if it was a reaction to the conversation or to sitting around wearing nothing but a bath towel. Either way, the shiver shook Terri out of her moment of self-pity. "Let's get you dressed and go find you something to eat," she suggested. "If you feel up to food, that is."
He pondered the question, rubbing a hand over his stomach. "I think I do. But . . . I still feel kind of dizzy and my head won't stop aching, so it might be smart to keep a bucket handy."
Kurt's balance was still wobbly but he managed to pull his underwear back on underneath the towel, flat-out refusing Terri's suggestion of the cotton boxers she had found among the other items in Will's clothing box. They could have been washed to a state of pristine purity and not worn for over a decade, but they had once belonged to Mr. Schuester and wearing your teacher's underwear was just plain creepy, no matter how you spun it.
Fortunately, he did not feel the same way about outside clothes, accepting the jeans and sweatshirt gratefully once Terri had retreated and applied fresh bandages to his knees. As she had predicted, the clothes hung baggily on his narrow frame, but they fit reasonably well and they were warm and comfortable. Under the circumstances, that was all anyone could ask for.
Terri tried the phone again while Kurt sat in her kitchenette, slowly and gingerly eating his way through a bowl of hot tomato soup and tiny goldfish crackers. She did not have a formal dining room and positioning him near the sink had seemed like a good idea, just in case.
Cell reception was still going in and out, making Terri doubt that she could get a coherent call through to anyone. There were no voicemails. Terri resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall and scream in frustration. She knew she should not have opted for the cheapest one she could find – Kendra's youngest had managed to get jelly all over the inside of the last one – but money had been tight that month and it had not seemed like that big of a deal.
Ironically, she had been unable to afford a good phone because she had already spent most of her paycheck on that very same pair of cute designer boots that now lay in ruins out on the frozen balcony. Kurt Hummel was apparently a big believer in Karmic justice, even when he had no idea that he had enacted it.
When she returned to the kitchen, Terri found the boy in question staring blankly up at the big happy-face clock that hung on the wall over the stove, a spoonful of soup hovering halfway between the bowl and his mouth.
"Is something wrong?"
Kurt jumped, dropping the spoon and splashing a few droplets of the liquid onto his borrowed shirt. He blushed, dabbing the stain away with a napkin. "Sorry. Just . . . it's almost two o'clock. I've been here kind of a long time, haven't I?"
It was not hard to decipher what he really wanted to ask. "Well, I haven't heard back from your dad yet but you did say he was busy working, right? Maybe he just hasn't had time to check his messages yet."
The boy abandoned his lunch, sitting back and wrapping both arms around his ribs as he shook his head in denial. "No. Even if he's still busy, he would have checked on me by now. What if he didn't get your message?" Big worried blue eyes fastened on Terri's face, seeking reassurance. "What if he doesn't know I'm safe? Or, what if he did get the message but something happened to him on his way here? I remember seeing a few wrecks. What if-"
"Hey, don't think like that. I'm sure everything will be just fine," she told him gently, sliding her arm around his shoulders and giving them a supportive squeeze in an attempt to distract him from his growing hysteria.
Terri wished she could offer more solid reassurance. She wanted to say that Kurt's father would be here any minute, or that she would take him home herself, or that the weather would clear right up if they just waited awhile, but she could not say any of those things. It had been well over an hour since she had left that message and she did not know if it had gone through. She had looked out the window several times only to find that the weather had grown even worse, snow whirling and blowing against the window in great fat flakes that were piling up and burying the cars in the street below. Even if her car had been designed for travelling over rough snowy terrain, she was just not a secure enough driver to manage it, especially not with an injured boy and an unfamiliar destination.
There was nothing they could do except wait, and hope.
Kurt seemed to understand. He tipped his head sideways to rest against her chest in a silent bid for comfort and Terri smiled, tightening her grip around his shoulders and stroking his hair with her other hand. "Everything will be just fine."
"So tired," he mumbled after a while. "Think I could lie down for awhile? I won't throw up again; promise."
Wondering exactly how he planned on keeping that promise, Terri kissed the top of his head. "I'm not sure whether or not I should let you lie down," she admitted. "Do you think maybe you could just sit on the couch instead?"
"'Kay," he agreed drowsily. Terri could tell she was already losing him. Trying to forbid him from taking a nap would be a losing battle.
Well, she had not killed him the first time. Maybe it would not hurt anything if she allowed him to rest.
Grabbing her phone off the table, she pulled Kurt to his feet and led him out to the living room sofa where he could watch the beautiful, if dangerous, snow storm blowing outside the window. She left him long enough to grab the comforter and a novel from her bedroom, then curled up next to him, covering them both with the warm blanket.
Kurt did not seem to object to this, and when Terri put her arm around his shoulders again, he simply shifted his position so that he could rest his head on her shoulder. She could hear the smile in his voice when he teased, "Read me a bedtime story?"
Terri turned the cover of her book so that he could see the couple portrayed in the drawing. A beautiful auburn-haired woman, complete with heaving bosom, clutching the thigh of a ridiculously handsome, dark-haired man in riding pants; an open shirt revealing his rippling pecs and abs. It looked like a cliché of every romance novel ever written. "Wrong kind of bedtime story, I'm afraid."
"Not if the hero looks like him, it's not."
Terri looked at him in surprise and Kurt blushed, nodding his head a little.
"Oh," she said. "I hadn't realized."
She considered this new revelation for a moment, feeling silly for not having picked up the subtle clues he had been throwing her: the pretty clothes; the lack of macho posturing over her suggestion of bubble-bath; the fact that he had not freaked out over being nearly nude in the presence of an older but still-very-attractive woman; the innocent cuddling they were doing now.
Kendra would have pitched an absolute fit, probably shoving the boy to the other side of the sofa and sitting as far away from him as possible. Luckily, a decade spent in the company of a socially tolerant, musical-loving boyfriend/husband had introduced Terri to a wide range of people and cured her of many of the narrow-minded convictions she had grown up with.
Snuggling down a little more comfortably, she asked, "Should I start at the beginning or skip to one of the juicy parts?"
Kurt breathed a soft sigh of relief, and Terri could feel the tension fading from his shoulders. "Wherever you left off is fine."
Terri's soft, smooth voice filled the air, spinning the tale of Lawrence and Gwendolyn and their torrid tale of bitter jealousy and hatred – thought it seemed like they had an awful lot of sex for two people who supposedly loathed each other – while Kurt rested against her shoulder, offering an occasional wry comment or appreciative noise to enhance the narrative.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.