Blaines smile immediately fades into a thin line. I cant read his expression, but mostly because I choose not to, avoiding his face like Medusas eyes. Finn and Rachel have completely left their conversation hanging and are now silent, with eyes transfixed at me. I feel like a marbled sculpture, with curators studying me at every angle. I wish someone would say something, anything.

"Where the hell is Milan?" ask Noah, the last person I was expecting to hear from. I havent realized that he and Sam have abandoned their selfie session as well.

"Monday, you mean - 3 days from now? Two days after my wedding?" I let my head hang loose, watching the shreds of skin Ive peeled off above my middle nail. "Is this even - legitimate? Whos sponsoring you?"

"Shes one of Hugh Shepards stakeholders. Shes the one who invested in Hugh in the first place," I tell my friends. "She said that it took a special kind of courage to walk away from coming so close to an opportunity of a lifetime. She asked if she could see my portfolio, so I showed her - the real one and she was impressed. She wants to invest in me and have my work shown at Milan Fashion Week."

"So - for how long will you be gone?" ask Finn. A large hammer raptures my heart at the tone of his voice, so upset at this news. I wonder how my father would take it when I tell him.

"Well, tentatively for a year. But ultimately, however long it would take to get my brand out there," I say. The reality now sets into my friends, the reality that Im leaving. I dont believe it myself. When I accepted the offer, even I couldnt comprehend how soon it would be. Nobody says anything and the only sound in the room is the very gentle buzzing from the lightbulbs of the chandelier. I take a sneaking glance over at Blaine, not too long to be caught, but I see him staring at nothing but blank space.

"Congratulations!" Sam explodes, slapping my back so hard my soul nearly spilled out. "Milans where the real fashion capital is at. Ive modelled there a few times and Im telling you, most of the biggest gigs Ive done are from there."

Im glad that somebodys finally snapping into their senses to realise how ground breaking this is for me, but I dont blame the ones that are still reeling themselves from their shock. Id be the same if Rachel suddenly sprung this on me. I mumble a Thanks to Sam, but avid his eyes all the same. When Santana walks in and tells us the Lady Mobile has arrived, Ive never been more pleased at an unorthodox statement. "We better go. Our genitalias cant wait any longer. Dont worry, Finn, Ill have a leash on her."

For some reason, I dont think that scrunched up facial expression is Rachels doing. I walk towards the threshold of the entrance door without saying another word but as we leave, I finally let myself look at Blaine. When he tosses his napkin onto the table and let his head fall in dejection, I swear I hear tiny cracks start to from on my heart.

"Whys everyone in a morose stupor?" Santana whispers to me as we walk out of the hotel building, with Rachel following quite a distance from us. I am reluctant to tell her, afraid to kill her upbeat mood because its slowly rubbing off on me. I decide not to, not yet anyway. Besides, someones bound to tell her anyway.

We leave the hotel. At the driveway sits a long limo, so long that no other cars are able to drive into the driveway, leaving a long line of irritated people scowling at us as we head for the furthest door from the front. A man stands by it, smiling politely at us. Thats when I realized the driver has nothing on except leather briefs and a chiselled physique. I burn crimson as the onlookers judge our every step. "Our driver used to do Playgirl, in case you were wondering where youve seen him before," tells Santana.

"Which one is the bride?" ask the driver, his eyes scanning across the three of us as if looking for meat to eat.

"Thatd be her," says Santana, pulling Rachel forward by her shoulders. News of mt departure must have drained away because Rachels face is replaced with a half scared half excited facial expression. "Your husbands dick is a very lucky organ."

I burst out laughing so hard that all eyes are now on me and not our practically naked driver. As if this night couldnt have been more awkward. He shrugs it off and takes Rachels hand as he opens the door for her. When Rachel gasp peeking inside, my nervousness shoots through the sky. I peer over her shoulder, only to be induced with an even higher dose of confusion. The inside of the limo is barely the focus, despite being lit with pink neon lights with the ceiling a gleaming cotton candy colour. No, the real highlight inside are the three strangers sitting in a single file on the leather seats that face the door. Two males who are just as breathtakingly beautiful as the driver, and a woman who wears a tight fitted red dress with the neckline going so low I wonder if her ovaries are for show if the dress was slightly more lose.

"Who the hell are they?" I hiss at Santana.

"Theyre ours for the night," she winks coquettishly. Rachel and I both gape stupidly at her. "You realize were all team penis here, right?" says Rachel.

"Im getting to that," says Santana, flailing her hands to shush us. In the background, I vaguely hear a woman telling us to hurry before she beats us with her cane. "You remember when you took off because you were afraid of marrying giganthor? Rachels face burns in shame and I have a tingly sensation to remark with; too soon. "Yeah well today Im giving you the opportunity of experimenting, getting it out of your system, before you wed - in the form of Lesbian Rachel Day Out."

I could not have laughed harder, my whole stomach shrinking to the size of a walnut as I burst into hysteria. Everyone knows Santana is the queen of experimenting - shes played both sides of the field. Albeit I think its a wildly comical and a down right ridiculous idea, it does sound intriguing. Rachel rants for a moment or two about how absurd an idea it was, but gradually even she found the prospect interesting.

"I wont even know what to do!" says Rachel.

"Thats why Tatiana here will ease you up," Santana winks. In that moment, the woman inside clambers out of the limousine, her dark skin shining like a well-polished marble and her hair wild and curly falls down her back. There was no denying how beautiful she was, even I feel a sense of attraction. "Is this her?" ask the woman, her voice riddled with confidence and self-assurance that I shrink in intimidation. Santana nods excitedly. Then the woman does the wildest, award winning thing Ive seen all night - she grabs Rachel by the back of her head and plants her lips onto Rachel, practically sucking out the oxygen in her lungs. The noisy crowd suddenly goes silent, with two males cheering them on. When she pulls apart, Rachel is left with a swollen red lip and a childlike wonder sparkling in her eyes. Shes hooked.

"Kurt, your guy is inside. Didnt want to get you a girl otherwise you would feel comfortable," says Santana. Im burning with annoyance, wishing so hard she didnt know just how to irritate me. Rachel and her woman-date climb inti the vehicle first, followed by Santana who took all the help that was more than necessary from our hunky driver. Just as its my turn, I look over my shoulder to where the entrance door is and see Blaine standing there with his hands in his pockets. He doesnt wear a comprehensible expression, just a blank one. I dont know what Im supposed to do because hes caught me looking back at him, so I do an awkward wave, almost losing my clutch in the attempt of getting into this ghastly limousine. My insides are at ease again when he pulls a gentle smile and reciprocates my gesture.

The inside of the vehicle resembles an 80s disco-lights changing shades every second, loud techno music blasting against the roof. I also wonder if there is a black light casting over us because everything looks like it glows but its larger inside than it looks from the outside.

"Kurt, meet Logan," says Santana, introducing me to one of the guys seated down. He cocks his chin up and does a flirtatious wink to me. He is the quintessential male - skin like hed been kissed by the sun rather than kicked, hair dark and slicked to the back. The shape of his eyes are sharp, like hes wearing mascara but I know he isnt. He has his right foot resting on his left knee, and one arm stretched across the headrest of the leather seat. I dont like the prospect of being with this stranger, but if I was forced to, he would definitely be the guy I pick. "Nice to meet you, Kurt. How about you take a seat right here," he says to me, patting the empty patch of leather as if it should appeal to me. I snort and glare at Santana.

"You cant be the party pooper. Its not a party for you, dont be selfish," she says before she grabs the other quintessential guy next to Logan, a guy probably in his mid-20s with beautiful locks of blond hair and piercing green eyes. I exasperate, knowing fully well that this is going to be one long, awkward night.

"Ill sit there, but the next time you use a condescending tone on me because you think its sexy, Ill shove a shoe down your throat. Got it?" I say and he does the single most revolting thing ever - he pouts. I shake my head and take the empty space, where I immediately feel his arm tentatively sliding over the header part of my seat. I hear Santana telling the driver to go, before she disappears behind a curtain I didnt realize was even there, at the very back seat of the limousine.

It groans when the engine starts, but soon were off - at the slowest speed in mankinds history. I secretly think Santana made him go slow on purpose, judging by the playful cat purs shes making behind those curtains. Rachel is up front, legs entwined with Tatiana with their heads merely inches apart and immersed in a conversation that only comes from Rachel while Tatiana grazes her manicured fingernails across Rachels arms every now and then. Its an odd sight, really. If you had told me a week ago that we would be confined in a limo with personal escorts, I would have laughed you out of the room - but were here.

"You know, your friend said you were a catch. Youre sexier than what she described," Logan tells me. I feel the heat rising to my cheeks and laugh that Im actually seeking out praises from a male escort -how desperate do I feel. "Im yours for the night, you know?" he tells me and moves a couple of inches forward to fill the small inch of space we already have. Even the cologne on him smells incredible. I wonder where Santana dug up these people. "All night," he whispers leaving a suggestive ghost behind his words.

"Are you gay? Or paid to be gay?" The question bubbles up inside of me before I can even form a reflective response on it. Ive always been curious on the whole escort business and where the line is drawn. I dont like the idea of thinking of them as less of people, theyre merely on the job, doing what they need - much like me going to Milan. Logan looks up to me and a sly smile forms on his lips, a smile so sexy yet mischievously boyish. He really is a quintessential man, with looks so wasted on incorrigible talents.

"Im whatever they need me to be, baby. Whats your fantasy?" he ask, his voice soft and salacious like whispering a poem. I cant deny that he has me feeling an enigmatic warmness spreading through my chest. Im surprised to realize how distinguishable real love and infatuation are to tell. When all you want to do is tear the persons clothes off and roll around in warm chocolate, is infatuation. When you want to do the same thing, but stay in the chocolate situation forever, thats real love.

I decide to humour him. I know this isnt going anywhere further than this night - or this limo. Might as well indulge this Greek-looking God in my fantasies.

"Youre the guy," I tell him, sending him slightly into his seat but his sharp gaze doesnt leave me. "Youre the guy I never left to be in the city. Youre the guy I fell in love with in high school, the one that made me think about white picket fences and a village of children. Youre the guy that got away."

Logan considers this, and in his time of thinking, Ive ruled that Ive completely gone mental and absurd. I want to laugh this away and brush it off as nothing but then he entwines his long fingers with mine and wrap his arms around my waist, resting his stubby chin on my shoulder and breathing out evenly. "Tell me about the white picket fences. Where would we live?"

I burn crimson instantly. I was joking, but in the same token, he doesnt look at me like Ive completely gone down the loony bin. I want to respond, to tell him that we would live back home in Lima, where Id open a charming little tailoring shop and he would be a writer for Limas one and only publication company, but then the limo screeches to a halt on the damp New York road. The driver tells us were here, but I dont need the announcement. I can hear the soft thumping music, vibrating my heart. Through the window, I see a crowd of 20 something year olds waiting in a long line the seemed as if it snaked all the way down to Brooklyn. I dont know how wed ever get into this stereotypical club.

Rachel and her date are first out the door, her face gleaming with excitement. Im at least glad that the prospect of tonight have completely rid my news out of her mind. Santana and her date take a few minutes to readjust their clothes. I vaguely see Santana putting on her bra.

"Shall we?" Logan ask, his head nudging to the exit. I have half a mind to jump out and take off for the hills but I dont. Logan follows closely behind me as l clumsily try to balance out of the limo, which is elevated from the ground like the sky. Out of nowhere, my escort locks his hands with mine and I instinctively snatch it out of his hold. I ignore his brief faze and follow Rachel as she tries to reach the very back of the queue.

"Where are you guys going?" ask Santana. We turn and shoot her a frown in which she waves her fingers to ask us to follow her. She goes straight to the entrance, tells her name to the bouncer; a tall white male who gives elephants a run for their money. He steps ahead and unhooks the red velvet ropes for us. I should have known better than to expect Santana to stick with norms like queueing to get into places. I keep my head down as I follow my group into the premises, earning unhappy glares from party goers who have probably been in line for hours judging by their melted make-up although you cant really tell with kids these days. Im sure somewhere theres a trend called Zombie Chic.

Ive only ever been to a dance club once in my life, and that was in the first few weeks of college when I followed some of my school friends to experience the city. I ended up with my head in the toilet, barfing out weeks old of meals. I swore never again and yet here I am. I think it goes to show how reliable I am with promises. This place is similar to the one i went to; blinding neon lights with a thick mist to hide everyones identity, loud techno music that threatens to destroy every working eardrums you have populated with drunken dancing people with a heavy stench of alcohol clinging to their shadows. I dont know how people keep coming here, though I dont necessarily think people come here for fun. They come here to prove something to themselves; that they own social lives.

Apparently Santana has broader connections than I had initially thought. She had us booked in the VIP section; a large podium that is elevated from the ground, with railings surrounding its perimeter overlooking the dance floor. We settle into a large semicircle red couch that has the same beer stench. Im starting to think its what they air out in the vents, not the people or the furniture. The young waiter who looks just as irritated with this place as I am, takes our choice of damage before scurrying away. Logan sits close to me, our knees touching with his arm coiled behind me but not touching me.

"Whos your date, Santana?" I scream over the music that seems determine to silence me out.

"This is Leo," tells Santana. The beautiful blond smiles at me and I swear I feel electricity running down my spine. Im a sucker for handsome guys, who isnt? Even straight males dont hide it anymore. Rachel is too invested with her date, and frankly Im a little scared this experimental thing is working out too well. Seems like an awful decision to open up a whole other world for Rachel so close to her wedding. When our drinks come, I take mine gingerly. I opt for no alcohol tonight, fearing the last time a drink and a club intertwined in my life. Dance clubs like these are the physical representations of peer pressure; everyones drinking, everyones dancing and it makes you want to do the same. To feel what theyre feeling. Santana doesnt wait. She downs her drink in record time and is on her feet, urging us to dance. When we refuse, she takes Leo and leaves. I tell Logan that he can go with them if he wanted, but he shakes his head and says he wants to stay with me. Under normal circumstances, I would be so pleased if anyone said that to me, but I know hes being paid to be perfect.

"So, Tatiana, where are you from?" I ask. She is a little startled when her attention is pulled away from Rachel, but quickly composes herself. I barely hear a thing through the music, but I catch Long Island and moved. I dont know how anyone manages to converse in a place like this. How can a place be for social gatherings if it doesnt permit social interaction besides the ones known as grinding? Its insane.

"You still havent told me," Logan whispers into my ear, his hot breath curling and kissing my earlobes. "About those white picket fences youve dreamt for us."

I burn crimson. I dont know whats more humiliating; the fact that I actually said those things aloud, and sober, or that Logan is indulging me in this. Either way, it makes me want to dig up a hole and bury myself in it. I dont answer him, which feels a little childish but Im letting the loud music be my reason. These thoughts take me back to Blaine, who of course is the one that got away. I wonder if he had wanted to talk to me before I disappeared into the vehicle earlier. If he did, I cant imagine what he has to say. Tell me congratulations, or ask me to stay? The latter is unlikely, but I feel my heart desire for it. For some unfathomable reason.

"Do you want to dance?" Logan ask me. My gut tells me No, then I realize that making a fool out of myself beats sitting here, consumed in battling thoughts of Blaine. I nod my head and Logans eyes light up like dusk hour. He takes me by the hand and leads me out of the VIP area, through the moving crowd to the heart of the dance floor where the neon lights are the brightest. I stand with my feet together, unsure of myself. Have I forgotten the rules of dancing? Sometimes I fear pseudo intellect makes you boring. Then Logan takes both of my hands and lifts them to the sky, making me dance like a little girl dancing with her dad at a chaperoned dance. "I know you can move those sexy hips of yours! Cmon!" Logan yells through the music that is persistent to silence him and my own self-consciousness.

So I do, despite the music resembling the sounds in a Transformer sequel. My shoulders constantly brush against strangers around my perimeter, but I try to ignore them and let the music take control of me, my bones following the rhythm. Logan pulls me up against himself and he rolls his body against me, smothering me with his cologne. Ive always been self-conscious when I dance. Its an awkward thing to let your body suffer multiple spasms with people watching you, but I realize the whole point of a dim club - so nobody can really see you.

"Back that ass up to me," Logan whispers salaciously into my ear, his tongue teasing the back of my earlobe. I hadnt realize him moving behind me, but his hands have a tight grasp on my hips as he slides his crotch against me. There is a sense of adrenaline a person experiences on the dance floor of a mainstream club. Its a high feeling that makes you yearn for touch, for warmth. Maybe this is why people act like animals here, because it makes you feel isolated.

Time is a useless factor when youre on the dance floor, so when Logan takes my hand and leads me out to the open, I have no recollection of how long its been. All I know is that Im drenched in sweat, my clothes sticking to my skin to form another layer and a strong stench of alcohol clinging onto my back. Rachel and her date are still in the position, except their limbs clinging together and Tatiana whispering into Rachel who looks like an excited teenager. Santana has returned, looking like a mess with her hair picking up more volume than it needs. "Thought you guys took off!" says Santana when she catches sight of us.

Im embarrassed, and a little offended, that she would think Im that easy to get in the sack. Although, in the vibe I was immersed in in that dance floor, the idea was possible. "I wouldnt be surprised if they had. Taking off is Kurts specialty." I was defenceless when that jab came at me. Even our escorts realize the sudden tense change of energy around our group. Santana looks across from me and Rachel and lifts her perfectly sculptured eyebrows.

"Did I miss something?" she ask.

"Its funny hearing that from someone who left her fiancé." The reciprocation escapes me before I can even consider it. I have an uncontrollable need to defend myself by using other peoples downfalls as a reminder. Its a terrible habit. One that is incorrigible and unethical, I know. Santanas lips form a large O shape, as if she too was taken aback by the defence tactic. Rachel is blood red under the gleaming strobe lights. "Okay, someone better tell me whats going on. Now," demands Santana. Our escorts have somehow shrunk in size and are trying their best to be invisible. Rachel and I are the largest ones here, with eyes full of daggers staring into each other.

"Kurt is leaving the city on Monday. For a period of a year or forever," tells Rachel. Santana cocks her eyebrow at me and I decide to defend myself by telling her of my career opportunity. She seems impressed, nodding along with a smile on her face. "Sounds like your dream opportunity," tells Santana and I scream a deafening Thank You, finally overpowering the music.

"Sounds convenient," intones Rachel. My growing annoyance with her have finally reached its breaking point. I glare at Rachel, practically murdering her with my eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I hiss. I could have scared children into their homes with my deadly demonic tone. Even Rachel looks petrified, but is determined to get her point across.

"I find it a little convenient that you suddenly have a reason to take off again, especially since this curve ball came around the time that Blaine returned into your life. Seems to me like youre running away from Blaine, no other. What are you so scared of?" I briefly wonder if the alcohol has found residency in Rachels head. How could she have come up with such an assumption? Its appalling to me. The simple notion that Im readable now, that Im so quick to conform in a presumption makes me feel vulnerable. I am infuriated that Rachel could have such a thought but what I find more infuriating is that I have no words to counter, a lack of defense. "Im not denying theres an opportunity for you, Im just stating that it seems a little right-on-time."

I feel absolutely insulted. How is it possible that after all these years, people still look at me like the other half? The shadow that clings on to Blaine. Has Rachel always seen me as this half person? Had she always thought my residence in New York was the result of a fallout with Blaine? I wouldnt be surprised now if she thought my brain was in the shape of Blaines silhouette. I can feel the warm trickle of a tear snaking down the side of my cheek. Im glad this place is dark enough to conceal how I feel.

"Why would you push Blaine away?" says Rachel. I thought I was done feeling shocked, now Im deep into that neighborhood. "This might be your last chance to get him back, why are you resisting this? He is made for you, just like how you were made for him. Ive tried my best to give you all the opportunities to reconcile and rekindle your relationship but this ego is enough-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I am infuriated, and confused. I didnt think too much of Rachels reaction when I told her I was leaving, now I think there is some mysterious thoughts in there that I cant fathom. "Why do you think he came to the Hamptons in the first place? I made him come because I knew that you always regretted leaving him, thats why you havent been in a relationship in seven years! Youre stuck, and you might think youll get some enigmatic clean slate if you take off but you wont because the one person thats keeping you stuck is the one person that can help you move on!"

My mind might have very well been thrust into a tornado. I dont even know what to feel anymore. Deceived? That is just the surface. I know I am angry - I think Ive even surpassed anger right now. My whole personhood is a lethal ball of fire. The simple notion that Rachel feels pity for me makes me sick to my core. I am not a pity case, I am not some project somebody has to take on in order to fill their self-serving need for achievement. If I condoned violence, I would throw a right hook my father would be proud of. Even Santana is stunned, hidden over Rachels shoulder just gaping at us with her mouth open. I am searching for words, desperately inside of me but all that find its way through is a weird sound that lies somewhere in between a snort and a chuckle.

"This whole time youve been trying to - fix me?" I hear the words come out of me, slow and in disbelief. "You are so unbelievable. I cant even look at you without wanting to punch you!" I turn to leave, but when a waiter walks by me, I do what my heart urges me to do and grab a half empty glass of some brown stuff and empty the contents into Rachels face. She stumbles backwards in shock and I let the glass shatter around my feet.

"That was also for my brother, in case you thought you escaped unscathed," I say before I storm away.