Sams lips feel exactly as they look - full, tender and luscious and for awhile I lean into him, then my senses come back to me and I push him away and quickly scurry to my feet. I cannot comprehend what just happened. I stare at Sam with my eyes wide and completely shocked. He doesnt look fazed which I cant decide whether scares me or turns me on. "What the hell just happened?" I snap, my ability to speak finally returning to me. He shrugs casually as if what just happened did not just change the course of history. "I thought you could do with a little distraction."

"A hug would have sufficed," I point out. I am beyond belief right now. Have I truly been trapped inside a nightmare? I dont know if this constitutes as a nightmare though because those lips did not feel like burning and scalding in hell fire. "Do you want to have sex?" he ask, and my confusion builds into a higher block. The worst thing about this whole predicament is that he is nonchalant about it, as if he did not find his words at all crazy. "Doesnt your compass point North?" I ask.

"Im kind of a North-East kind of guy if you know what I mean," he says. Have I been the only one who has remained the same in the course of 6 years? Because apparently everyone has decided on a brand new course and this whole retreat is just one surprise after another. "Since when?" I question.

"Kurt, Im a guy model. Im surrounded by naked guys all the time. Did you really think Id stay straight forever?" he ask. The situation he describes sounds like a paradise. Can sexual orientations be changed? I never thought so, but now - Im not too sure. "Look, you looked really stressed out, and with good reason. I thought a little action could put your mind off things. Thats what I would want if I was in your situation. I apologize if I overstepped."

"So - thats it?" I ask. Call me old fashioned, but kisses arent supposed to be that casual. "You dont want to have sex, right?" he ask. I feel incredibly guilty that 20% of me leans towards a Yes, but my common sense overpowers me. Sleeping with Sam would unleash a tidal wave, not to mention what Blaine would think. I respond with a hard no, then he shrugs. "Im really sorry about the crap youre dealing with. Try the breathing thing."

I dont know how am I supposed to reel myself from this. It is as if Im living in a completely parallel universe. I feel like my high school years were a complete lie. I leave Sam and his offer behind and I retreat back into my room before I do something I might regret, where I spend the entire night working on my designs and trying to shield Sams lips, Chelseas manipulative ways and Blaines entire existence out of my mind. I take Sams advice, before the whole sex offer, and inhale deeply every time I feel a little overwhelmed. My quest is to get Hugh to pick me over Rebecca, to be recognized as a fashion designer, to have people worship me as they do with Hugh. Then I realize my quest hinges on how other people perceive me and I feel worst about myself. Maybe I should have strive to be a doctor instead, clearly this line of career has made me too consumed about the optics.

I fall asleep on my coffee-table-turned-drawing-board. The sun is blinding me through the glass doors of the balcony when I wake up. Take it from me, its never good to fall asleep on a table. Ive been through more than one occasion of this to vouch. The events of yesterday felt like a movie I watched that left a lingering effect. There is a ghost effect of Sams lips still on mine. I dont particularly think that kiss was a gateway to other possibilities, but I havent been kissed in awhile and I forgot what it felt like to have somebody make you feel wanted. Evidently Sam did provide some insane form of distraction. My spine feels as if a truck ran over it 50 times. Since Ive been here, I havent had one good nights rest which is ironic because that was all this retreat was suppose to promise me. I am about to go into the shower when a blood curling scream startles me. I run out of my bedroom with bated breath where Santana and Noah and crowded at the entrance of Rachel and Finns room. I push through them and ask whats wrong, but Santana laughs.

"Berry realized she can never play the role of Ariel," tells Santana, and I frown, then Rachel appears out of her bathroom and I scream at her appearance. A red, blotchy monster has consumed my best friend. Rachels whole face is swollen and looks as if it is going to explode in a matter of minutes. Even her crying is muffled and the sound that emits lies somewhere in between groaning and a car backfire. "What the hell happened to you?" I ask. Rachels response is incoherent because her lips have inflated like a giant balloon.

"She was allergic to the seaweed," tells Santana. I am trying my hardest not to laugh, but she looks like Elmos scary big brother. Noah doesnt have the same problem as I do. He even points and laugh. Rachel falls to her knees and sobs into her palms, and Finn is right there next to her, trying his best to console her by rubbing circles in her back and telling her that it doesnt look too bad. "Are you kidding? She looks a nuclear bomb. Honesty is very important in a marriage, Hudson," says Santana. I smack her arm and tell her to shut up in which she rolls her eyes. Blaine appears out of nowhere and peers his head over Santanas shoulders, asking what happened. Unlike the rest of us, he isnt dressed in his pajamas. "Doctor Anderson is here to see the walking vaginal infection."

Blaine pushes through us and knees in front of Rachel. She cringes when he touches her face. "It isnt serious," tells Blaine. The whole doctor thing now feels like a reality, with Blaine eyeing Rachel in the way my eye doctor does when I see him for my slight astigmatism. "I think an over the counter rash ointment would do. Stay away from make-up and any other facial products."

"Did you hear that, Finn? No facials," says Santana and I smack her again for the inappropriate comment. I always thought Santana needed those collars that some dog owners put around their dogs to zap them whenever they get violent. Ive never supported the idea, but for Santana, definitely. Blaine ignores Santana too, and for the first time I see that this doctor thing is really what he loves doing. "But Id go down to a hospital for an allergy shot, just to be safe."

Finn offers to take Rachel to the hospital here in the Hampton but Rachel refuses to leave the house looking all red and infectious. Blaine assures them that the redness would go down and that he had some ointment in his bag. So he comes with safety products now. Where was this Blaine when we were in high school and exploring each other? I dont make eye contact with him because I touched myself while thinking of him, who knows the kind of reaction Id get if I look at him. Even in those jeans, hes already got me feeling some type of way. He doesnt look at me either, and I wonder if its because of the victim remark he made. Maybe he doesnt want to open that box either. Chef Marcos assistant, a petite female with dark hair, tells us that breakfast is ready. When she looks at Rachel, her eyes go wide as if she had seen a ghost and Rachel explodes into a crying mess again. This time, I comfort her and tell her that itll go down but a part of me wonders if this crying is just about the allergic reaction, or a breakdown after layers of stress. I dont ask, not yet.

We go to the dining room for breakfast this time. The room looks like an exact replica of what my imaginations tell me The Buckingham Palaces dining room looks like. The walls are gold with Baroque engravings on the corners, the floor is the same material only it is gold, the window is large and gives the view of the ocean and the table is mahogany and looks like is cost a fortune. I feel bad that Im eating peasant pancakes on top if it. Santana explains what happened at the spa they went to. She tells us that Rachel felt her face was a little itchy during and after, but she assumed that was the work of the seaweed, releasing her toxins or whatever, but it was no. It definitely was not. Meanwhile, Santanas complexion is looking as plastic and demonic as ever. Rachel quietly slides into her chair and nobody says anything, not even about the towel she wrapped around her face with two slits, one for her eyes and the other for her mouth. Santana offers a less conventional mask, a leather one with a strap on mouth gag but Rachel declines.

Sam joins us and I avoid looking at him too. In some ideal world where I wasnt so conscious about everything, I would have slept with Sam. Who wouldnt? Hes gorgeous, but I dont live in an ideal world as much as I would like to. Sam doesnt mention anything either. In fact, hes completely normal, as if he and I werent at the brink of sexual intercourse. Has everyone forgotten the profound sentiment to sex? When I was younger, Ive always seen sex as this transcendent thing you share with the one person you love, now its as casual as eating Nutella on bread. Sometimes I wish young, naive minds were programmed into us forever, so we wouldnt grow up to be so cynical and indifferent.

"Has your nose grown back to shape, or do you still have a few lies to go?" ask Santana. A snicker escapes me and I feel Blaines glare burning into my skin. I do what he doesnt expect. I flip my hair and pull a smirk at him. I realize now that he has a white Band-Aid plastered across his nose bridge. It looks swollen, but his face still looks like God whacked him good with the attractive stick. "But seriously, is it broken?" ask Noah.

"The hit wasnt that bad. It would have been broken if the hit was from someone like you," tells Blaine. I let my fork clutter onto the plate, but hold on to my knife just in case. He looks at me with the same self-indulgent, winning look in his eyes. "Are you saying Im weak?" I ask, my webbed fingers curling around the handle of the butter knife. The table is quiet and Rachel is trying hard to peer through her towel mask. "I never said that," says Blaine. I am about to let the matter rest, blaming my assumptions on my uncontrollable, sensitive emotions, but Blaine goes on to say, "But you were always the bottom when we fucked."

I rise to my feet, ready to pounce on him but Finn grabs me by my forearm and tells me to calm down. My anger builds up to the brim. I thought he was an asshole at first, now hes a repugnant asshole. I am practically seething and so ready to throw my best punch at him to show him just how capable I am of hurting him if I wanted to. He isnt fazed, but sits there shoving spoons full of Captain Crunch into his mouth. He has the nerve to call me weak, as if I didnt need all the strength to reel myself from his heinous heart. I look to my brother, he nudges his head to tell me to relax. Has he gone mental? Why do I feel like everyone else is on my side except the two people who are obligated to be on my side? I push my chair backwards and storm upstairs, hearing Santana telling Finn off for stopping a big queer cat fight. I would have slapped the schmuck look right off Blaines face if my brother hadnt nosed his way into my business. Then he would know just how strong I really am.

I slam the door shut behind me, sending a ripple of vibrations around the house. My hands are shaking from what he said. Ive always thought that the courteous thing to do for a person who has hurt you in the past was to be nice, but evidently human beings are unpredictable. I wonder if that ball hit didnt only break his nose, but destroyed the wall he build up to keep his real feelings. Now that hes out, I see him for what he truly feels about me, but the bigger question is why does he resent me? What did I do to make him the victim? He was the one who tore my heart right out of my chest and fed it to the stray dogs. I toss my whole weight onto my mattress and let myself sink in, with a small part of my heart hoping that it would swallow me entirely and suffocate me. The door creaks open then and my brothers head peers in. I groan and demand he not bother me, not now when Im feeling violent again - not that I would ever hurt Finn. We did have our brotherly squabbles when we were teenagers, where I once cut his lip when I threw my hairbrush at him for telling my father what he saw Blaine and I did in the car, but thats far behind me, along with the idea of ever touching Blaine.

"You alright, little brother?" ask Finn. He takes a seat at the edge of my bed, and even taking bated breaths. Finn might be more intimidating in size, but when it comes to inflicting fear, my drama queen ways have earned me the title. "Ive reminded you time and time again, Finn. Im older." I am about a year older than Finn but because hes taller, he sought his role as mine. I dont really care for it. Its nice to be feel like the younger, more protected one. I press Finn by asking what he wants, that he should be downstairs instead making sure his bride-to-be still has a head intact and not in bits from the impending implosion. "You looked pretty upset down there. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." I feel it again, my rage threatening to see the light of day, and Finn is in the line of fire. I push myself up and look at my brother straight in his light brown, unguarded eyes.

"Its a little too late to wanting to make sure Im okay now, isnt it?" I snap. He looks confused and points out that my little spat with Blaine happened not 5 minutes ago. "I dont mean that! Why the heck did you invite him to begin with! Youre my brother, you saw what happened between us and you saw how upset I was after the break up, yet you have the nerve to be secret pals with him behind my back. What the heck kind of move is that, Finn? I thought you had my back! If youre my older brother I should be able to count on you to have my goddamn back but you dont, so stop trying to pretend that you give a flying crap about my okay-ness because having him here is not okay!" I am practically heaving by the time I blow up at Finn.

Finn has a distinct sad face. He can never really hide his emotions, it is always riddled across his face. Its one of the reasons why I envy Finn. Having an honest face makes you better than at least 50% of the worlds population, because it makes you a real human being and evidence that the crap you go through in life hasnt dehumanize you to a certain point where youre ashamed to show it. I call it Area 51, because whatever is behind that line is a mystery. I sigh heavily and let my head hang. Finns not the one I want to set fire to, he just happens to be here. Truthfully, the person I want to set fire to most is myself.

"Im sorry," I exasperate. A sad Finn is something nobody wants. He gets very sulky when hes sad. My apology is hallow because sometimes you cant deal with the drama that ensues so you apologize for the sake of it. Finns shoulders rise and crash. I can tell I basically punched him in the chest. "I do have your back, more than you know. I would never do anything to hurt you, but Blaine is my friend."

"Yeah, I heard the same thing from Rachel. Just leave me alone-"

"Please listen," he interjects. I hear the frustration in his tone. Finn rarely gets frustrated with me, its always the other way around so of course he garners my attention. "He loved you just as much as you loved him - maybe more even. You never had the decency to hear him out after what he did, you took off for the city and left him. None of us knew where you were for 2 weeks, Kurt. I know what you felt was real, but his feelings are real too. Im not saying you didnt have the right to be upset. You absolutely do. Im just saying - dont think he wasnt hurting too."

I cannot form words for my brother. Believe me, I want to desperately. I want to scream at him, tell him how dare he say that Blaine and I stood on the same level of pain when in fact, we did not, but I cant find the words to mainly because Finn makes it a point to not get involved in my problems, so for him to sit here and say what he said, it makes me question whether I left something unchecked before locking my past in a box.