Kurt's hand flew to his mouth protectively. "Let me get this clear," he heard himself say, in a raspy, harsh voice that he almost wouldn't have recognized as his own. "You're telling me that you want me to go...sleep with David."
Blaine looked at him with an infuriating mix of pity and condescension, as if he were explaining something far too simple. "Right now, David is in a lot of pain and he's got to feel lonely and unwanted. He is bisexual, or at least bi-curious, remember? I know you weren't expecting this, but after all, it's not that different from your coming here to be with me, is it?"
"You...you said that you loved me," Kurt almost whispered.
"Kurt, of course I do. I don't think you realize how much you've come to mean to me. But this is what I want you to do."
"You want to pass me around like a fuck toy." Kurt couldn't believe that Blaine had the effrontery to look pained at the harsh words.
"You know that's not how I see you and it's not how David sees you."
"Do I really?" Kurt found himself shrieking as he repeated, "Do I really?" He could see Blaine waiting patiently as he choked back indignant sobs of helplessness, and when he couldn't stop fighting them, Blaine quietly went to the bathroom, returning with a glass of water and a cold washcloth, which he gave to Kurt. Kurt wordlessly accepted both, since the gesture had to signify that Blaine had relented. Blaine took the washcloth back and Kurt heard him refreshing it with more cold water.
"Better?" Blaine asked, this time wiping Kurt's face himself, and Kurt nodded, still not sure he could speak. Blaine was peering at him with the same concern that he had shown when Kurt was sick and Kurt felt almost as weak as he had then, but with relief. Blaine waited another few moments, and then asked, even tenderly, "Ready now?" Kurt's jaw dropped as he realized that nothing had made a difference.
He couldn't stay in that room a moment longer and backed towards the exit, closing the door and shutting out the sight of Blaine's still-concerned and handsome face.
He was so numb now that he could even think clearly, if slowly, and he knocked on Hamza's door. Even if there was nothing that Hamza could do, at least he might have advice, whether Kurt would have any chance of successfully pleading with Blaine, or even trying to refuse.
As he considered the possibility of refusing, he wondered if Blaine, if the Warblers, would really use force on him. Would they really be willing to strip away the gilding of civilization, to hold him down or to tie him so he couldn't struggle or escape? Or would they find forcing some kind of drug down his throat a more decorous solution? His knocking grew to near pounding as he realized that he honestly didn't know, but he suspected that yes, some of them would take this to the logical conclusion of how a trophy of war is treated. But Hamza wasn't there to provide advice or even the possibility of an intermediary, somebody they might listen to as a fellow Dalton student. Kurt wasn't even sure that they would listen; after all, he had agreed to the terms.
Kurt didn't want Blaine to come out and find him lingering. He left the dorm, the cold outside chilling but also calming him as he tried to consider his other options. He knew any of his Glee friends, or Mr. Schue or Coach Sylvester would offer to take him in, to try to hide him, but he couldn't imagine the Warblers hesitating to notify the police, even if they told themselves that it was to make sure that he hadn't just run away, that he was all right. They'd notify the police, or even private police forces, now that those were legal. They would know how to find him and Kurt remembered that the penalty for attempting to break the contract was at least tripling its length. He could get through the remaining three months, but not another year, or even longer. He didn't know what the exact penalties would be for helping him, but he was sure that it would at least open whoever assisted him to lawsuits, if not criminal charges. Even if the lawsuits could be fought, all the better-funded party had to do was drag it on. No, he couldn't do that to any of his friends.
He knew that realistically, he had no chance of successfully running on his own. It would take longer to find him than if he went someplace obvious like a friend's, but he had no resources. Without identification that he could use, his odds of finding a job were miniscule. He might find a chop shop that would want his mechanic's skills and ask no questions, but even if he managed to subdue every mannerism that marked him as gay, he'd still be a target, and if there were any reward for his return, as he suspected there would be, he'd be living every day in terror of somebody turning him in or the police even raiding the shop and finding him as a bonus crime solved.
Was there any kind of story he could make up to get Blaine to change his mind? Was there any factor that he could manipulate? Could he find a way to make Blaine jealous of David again? Or could he tell Blaine that he was afraid of David, that David had taunted him with his helplessness and threatened what he'd do once Blaine was tired of Kurt and passed him on? No, that wouldn't work, Blaine would never believe him over David and so it would only make the situation worse. He'd been lucky that his previous attempts at manipulation hadn't done much harm, and even brought his dad and Carole together, but there was no way this could succeed.
He was momentarily tempted to call Karofsky and say that he'd changed his mind. At least with Karofsky, it would be only one person who had full ownership of his body. But then, Karofsky now thought that he was just a whore and Kurt could only guess at the kind of brutality he'd receive. Karofsky hadn't and probably couldn't even understand why Kurt had reluctantly accepted the clothing and other gifts from Blaine rather than risk the likely consequences of refusing. He threw his head back, thinking that if only Karofsky had made his offer with no strings attached, or had even made the condition something like forgetting about the past bullying and starting fresh, if only there had been anything loving or even gentle in Karofsky's offer, he almost definitely would have fallen for a certain chubby, sweaty jock destined for baldness by 30. But no such luck for him...it was just another "if only." If only Blaine saw him as human, if only Karofsky had offered help freely, if only he himself had voted against pursuing the competition with Dalton...
He was aware again of the wind picking up and biting through his clothing. If he ran away, he'd be too easily found if a friend helped him and too easily turned in if he hid elsewhere. Either way, it was living in terror until he was caught or something worse happened to him. The thought of suicide, of ending this and any future misery, did pass through his mind, and even included a hint of satisfaction at the thought of Blaine's reactions. While so much of Blaine's mind was a mix of contradictions and mysteries to him, Kurt did know that Blaine would regret and even mourn his death. But that was no reason to cause worse grief to those who genuinely loved him. No, the only thing he wanted for them was to be able to return to them. He'd have to climb this hill for the next months.
While Kurt didn't believe in a god, he sent a swift, felt more than worded plea to whatever force there might be in the universe that still protected or at least commiserated with the helpless and desperate and to whatever might still resonate in the universe of his parents' love for him. He asked whatever might be out there for strength and something to hold onto, and resolutely walked to David's dorm.
David left his phone untouched on his dresser, with all the alerts set to vibrate. After the first few calls and texts, during which he barely managed to thank people for their concern and say that he felt bad but was sure he'd be okay, maybe it was for the best, he felt too drained and battered to talk, as if he'd taken a physical beating. Instead, he recorded that message for his voicemail and email autoreply and set it up as his Facebook status. When he'd logged onto Facebook, he had automatically looked for updates from Lynne, but managed to turn away so he wouldn't see whatever it was.
He'd tried to put on music, but angry music made him morose and sad music made him furious. He didn't need any help swinging from one to the other. His room was too damn full of her, as if she had actually arrived and was there with him, but on her way out the door. It was only the buzzing from the dresser that told him that he wasn't alone with her presence.
He snatched the photographs of them together from the dresser. How could it have gone so wrong when it was so perfect? Was it something that I did or didn't do? He'd stare into her bright, laughing eyes and wonder where it had all gone. Is there something wrong with me that she couldn't love me any more? Will anybody ever want me? Then finally the anger came back and he could slam the picture hard into the wastebasket, the sound of the smashing glass on the framed pictures giving him a moment of dark excitement. To hell with you, bitch! Stupid slut, I'm over you! Good riddance!
The room was filled with the things he'd gotten to please her, candles, silk sheets, chocolate-covered strawberries to feed one another. When he remembered as if he was seeing and feeling it then and there, the way her little pink cat tongue would coil around the strawberry and around his fingers, while her eyes glinted with seductiveness and innocence, he threw them on the floor and crushed them under his foot, grinding them until the pink juice was dirtied with the debris from the chocolate. Then the destruction reminded him of his anticipation, of how just the thought that she was coming was enough to make him burst into song, which made the tears come again. Desperate to hold something, he hugged his pillow and cried into it until he was almost choking on tears and mucus.
You think love is so great but it's just tears and snot. Sets you up, makes a fool of you, makes you infatuated, and then pulls the rug from under you, leaving you to blubber like some kid who's been pushed over on the playground. You're better off not caring at all. He caught sight of one of the scented candles and as he picked it up to throw away, the odor of sandalwood, her favorite, caught him in memories again. The first time that they had made love, how she had draped her arms around his neck, rubbing amorously against his body, while he stood there, so entranced that he could hardly move until she caught his hands in hers and drew him to the bed. Her pink-tipped fingers down his chest, the way he had kissed the curve of her throat as she leaned back and gasped, the way her breasts fit in his hands as though hands and breasts were made for each other. How she had murmured his name as she guided him into herself, and how it felt as though he was drowning in love. And look where all that got you, an inner voice sneered. She was playing you like a violin and then she upgraded. But what did I do wrong? She couldn't have been tricking him all that time, could she? And if she was fooling him, playing him all that time, was there anything at all in love? Or was it just something that people made up to camouflage how basic and ugly it was underneath, people gaming one another for the mate with more prestige or better resources. Maybe that was it, David thought as he sat heavily on the bed, his thumb automatically caressing the silk of the sheet, as cool and smooth and soft as her skin. He'd not just fallen out of love but out of love with love, he decided. A part of him even felt proud for having seen through all of this. There was love you could trust—his brother Warblers, a few other friends, his family—and the near-constant buzzing of the phone on his dresser was testifying to that right now. Then there was the love that you couldn't trust, and that was the love that used sex and desire and beauty to trick you. That was the love whose mask he'd just seen ripped off. He knew now which love he'd believe in.
He first ignored the knock at the door, hoping whoever it was would go away, but it repeated, and somehow seemed urgent. "Who is it?"
"It's Kurt." His voice sounded strange and thin through the door.
"Look, thanks for coming and all that, but now is really not a good time."
"Blaine sent me." He still sounded strange and David figured that opening the door would be the fastest way to get rid of him. Blaine probably thought that sending a relative stranger might help but hadn't stopped to think that sending over the guy that seemed to keep Blaine in a constant state of rut wasn't exactly helpful. Maybe Blaine did have the right idea about how to handle sex, friends with benefits and for more, a contract with a definite termination date, where you could have affection but not love. Fine, he'd tell Kurt that he was okay, let him see with his own two eyes if he had to, and then send him back. He opened the door and stepped partway out, blocking Kurt's view of the mess he'd made inside for fear that he'd overreact.
"Tell Blaine that I'll be all right, honestly." He didn't feel much like it, but he smiled to reassure the clearly nervous Kurt. It was even kind of endearing that the situation seemed to affect Kurt so much, and his smile became at least partly genuine. "It's a rollercoaster, but I will be okay. You can go tell him that," he added, wondering as he heard himself what instinct led him to make his voice so gentle, as though Kurt were a skittish animal ready to bolt.
Kurt closed his eyes for an instant and looked like he was trying to form the words before actually vocalizing them. "No...it's not that. Blaine wants me...he wants me to, to stay the night. To sleep with you."
David wasn't sure he could process every emotion rushing through him then, but four years of Dalton training as well as his parents' impeccable manners had left their mark. He stood aside politely for Kurt. "I think you'd better come in."
David stood looking at Kurt for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He realized that he'd never thought of Kurt as being anything other than Blaine's. It was Blaine who had noticed him, made up the plan, convinced the others, and who had claimed Kurt as his, seeming to fall in love with Kurt. But then it wasn't the case at all, not if Blaine was offering to share him. He'd also never looked at Kurt sexually. Again, Kurt seemed to be so absolutely Blaine's that it would have seemed if not wrong, gauche. Besides, all his thoughts were caught up with Lynne. But now that he was looking at Kurt, he could see slender, athletic limbs, and a clear face with bright eyes. Just the same kinds of features that he had seen in her...if he could only erase those memories of hers with the reality of another body...
His hands were shaking as he reached for Kurt's shoulders and it wasn't until he had stepped closer to lower his mouth to Kurt's that he could feel that it wasn't just his hands. Kurt was shaking like a leaf and that while his eyes were bright, they seemed frozen. As if it were a lab experiment, he leaned back, not even stepping back, and observed that Kurt's fists slightly unclenched from the trouser fabric they'd been squeezing and his breathing became more even, if still ragged.
He asked his conclusion as a question. "You don't want this, do you?"
Kurt was still holding his head high but the rest of him seemed to sag as he breathed, softly, "No."
David closed his eyes. Now what to do? He knew what would have happened had Kurt seemed interested, or even merely neutral, or reluctant only out of shyness or the fear of rough treatment, but no matter what the temptation, he couldn't imagine himself taking advantage of somebody so clearly unwilling, no matter what his right to do so might be. Everything he had gone through that day, including this latest and strangest ordeal, made him so tired he felt he could collapse then and there.
The normal, regular things first. He opened the drawer under the bed for his spare pillow and clean sheets and unfolded the chair that turned into a one-person sofa bed, then pointed the regular bed to Kurt. "The sheets are fresh," he said and met Kurt's confused, hopeful eyes.
"Kurt...I'm not going to do this. I'm not going to use you." Kurt's mouth and face crumpled, but no tears came out. Maybe Kurt couldn't even speak, either, because all he did was mouth, "Thank you." David continued as if Kurt had spoken. "We're both exhausted. Go to bed, and no, you are taking the bed," he added, laughing shortly at how manners and conventions could emerge even then—Kurt might not have been able to say anything about not being used, but he was ready to protest that he shouldn't take the bed.
He quickly changed in the bathroom and when he came out, got into the sofa bed. "Good night, Kurt."
"Good night. And thank you."
David was amazed that he actually felt, if not okay, at least better. Maybe it was just having something else major to take his mind off Lynne, but for the first time since he'd left the party and the company of his fellow Warblers, he felt as though things really would get back into balance.
AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! All the different perspectives and what different folks commented on helped me figure out what was missing to remove the writer's block! I owe you personal thanks, but figured that maybe getting a new chapter up should come first. ;-)