"What the hell is wrong with you?" hisses Rachel. She dragged me back into the house under the pretense to help her get ice when really, she wants the privacy and freedom to yell at me. I dont know why she does. She has no valid reason to. "I know youre angry with him but breaking his nose is going just a wee bit too far."

"We dont know that its broken. Calm down," I argue. He might have been bleeding through his nostrils but that could mean anything. Hes always had a sinus infection anyway, maybe I dislodged the blockage. "And why are you angry? I didnt do it on purpose, clearly."

"Wasnt it on purpose?" snaps Rachel. Her eyes are practically blazing with fire.

"Since when have I ever played ball sports?" I remind her.

"Thats not the point, Kurt. You had every intention of hurting him! Im not mad, Im just - between not having a wedding dress and my wedding planner driving me up a wall, the last thing I need is for people to be breaking their noses!"

Rachel seems more on edge than she usually is. Have I been too consumed in my history with Blaine that Ive overshadowed my best friends problems? I feel awful now. Im her maid of honor, or mister of honor. My job is supposed to make her life easier, yet shes been the one moving mountains to make my life easier. I sigh wearily and apologize, to Rachel. I rather eat Vegemite than apologize to Blaine. I cant say he deserved it because that would only make me look childish, but he sure as hell deserved it. Rachel returns back to the group but I refuse to give Blaine the satisfaction of my concern. I wait by the patio and watch as Blaine rises to his feet, brushing off sand from his sweaty naked torso, and a very concerned Rachel and Finn off his back, before he walks towards me. They would make incredible parents someday. Then I realize that Blaine is drawing closer to me, so I straighten my spine, cross my hands and legs and watch him walk towards the house, eyes watering, nose red and hidden behind his hand, and a much scrunched up expression riddled across his face.

"I didnt mean to," I say. He isnt startled by my voice, but looks rather tired of it. I shouldnt feel awful, but my gut tells me otherwise. "Ive never been very good with sports."

"Yeah, youre always the victim," he remarks. Its like I was smacked by that ball now. I scowl hard at me and ask, "What does that mean?" but he doesnt respond. Instead he just stalks off into the house and disappears upstairs. The victim? Its because I am the victim to his heinous, audacious heart. Has he truly outgrown me, and that all these things his done arent at all his attempt to make me see him as a good guy, but rather his attempt to put Finn and Rachel before our history? Does he actually hate me? My chest pumps harder just thinking about if hes the one that holds a vendetta. He doesnt have the right to.

Santana congratulates me when she returns to the house, telling me how I should have taken his whole head off. Right now, that seems like the perfect solution so I can dig into that brain of his and comprehend his thoughts. My brother congratulates me too, but mostly on having a good arm. Hes such an athlete head that is mainly the reason why we cannot bond much because he would be talking about good game strategies and moves while I would be discussing about the colour scheme of the athletes jerseys. Imagine my fathers struggle when the Super Bowl came around. When Sam returns to the house, I stop him to dig deeper as to why he suggested I smack the ball at Blaines face, and winks when Blaine emits a sky cracking scream.

"I just wanted to win," he shrugs, but before he could serpent around me, I grab him by his shoulders and sit him down. Sam doesnt do well under pressure, Ive seen him break when his football coach tried to get information out of him, and so I stare him down and imagine I have glaciers in my eye sockets. I know his reasons arent as simplistic as that. He eventually caves by sighing heavily. "I figured it was time team Kurt got a point."

"Team Kurt?" I question, my brow raising at him.

"Be honest, you know he deserved that hit. Im not a big fan of grudges, but when Santana called me yesterday and told me how you two were here - under the same roof - I knew it was your time to avenge your heart," tells Sam. For some awful reason, it is comforting to know somebody out there is rooting for me and my heart, but the notion of Sam painting me as this spiteful, bitter person makes me feel like Im less of a person. I sigh and take a seat next to him.

"Im the victim," I say, but for some reason I dont trust the words that come out of my mouth. What did Blaine mean when he said what he said? This retreat has surely twisted itself into a sole sucking time capsule that forces me to relive so many memories Ive kept hidden. "Yes, and victims deserve justice."

I decline Santana and Rachels offer for that seaweed massage. I dont think doing absolutely nothing is what I need right now. I need to preoccupy myself, dive into something that requires my full attention and energy, so I go back to my room, lock my door and pull out a small tube of lubrication I packed underneath all my clothes. I used to think people who brought condoms or lubes were presumptuous and a little too overconfident with their fantasies, now I think its essential and smart. Blaine was the only person I really had sex with. Since then, Ive had a few one night stands but working at Hugh Shepards drained all my time for sexual engagements that I forgot the human body has more urges that stretches beyond success. I squeeze out a generous amount of transparent lubrication and rub it down my member. The cold resonates well and I am instantly erected. My mind wanders off into a blank for a while as I stroke myself, my body squirming from the sensation.

Then my subconscious overpowers me and I find myself wandering back to the beach where I see Blaine, his bare torso glistening under the sunlight, his arm muscles tightening when he jumps for the ball, the gentle inward curve of his spine as it rises again to form his perky bum. His winning smirk, the way his eyes shine brighter, almost sparkling. The heat builds up at the bottom of my stomach and I release, my body twitching with a mind of its own, with the mental picture of Blaine smiling at me. I lay there after, disgusted with myself. Now Ive allowed Blaine to take control of my sexual thoughts? We arent even together anymore and I borderline hate him. How can it be possible that one person can literally hold your heart in a leash, and you dont even realize it? I go into the bathroom and wash myself off because these evidences of pleasure are caused by Blaine, and that is something I thought Ive purged myself from. When I emerge out of the bathroom, my phone rings and I answer before looking at the caller ID. I should really start making it a habit to check my caller ID before answering my phone calls because I wish I had buried this phone than answer this call.

"Kurt, Im glad I caught you. Its Chelsea," says the woman across the phone line. This call is so inappropriate considering Im not working for Hugh anymore, and shes not my manager anymore. "Did I forget to sign my letter of release or something?" I remark. Im not trying to sound irritated, but I thought this retreat was to be away from the bullshit in New York.

"Nothing like that," she assures. Beating around the bush is a waste of time, so I ask her why shes calling. Did she think we were friends? The whole time I was at that company fold, she would either scream at me for not producing work that appeals to Hugh, or scream at me for leaving my mug in the sink at the pantry. Shes a real bitch, and one of the small reasons why Im glad I wont have to return. "I just wanted you to know that letters of recommendation from me can take people very far. I dont know if you know this, but I hold a sizable stake in the glamorous world of fashion."

My senses fail me - is she genuinely trying to help a fellow designer, or does this have an agenda behind it. You can hardly trust people in the workforce anymore, which shouldnt surprise me because 5 years ago, I would have done anything to get to the top, now I think my ethics have graced me, but I cant say the same for other people. "Thats very nice of you, Chelsea."

"So youre saying you want one?" she presses on and at this point, I am sure she has a hidden agenda. I dont point it out. I clearly cant trust my gut anymore. I thought Blaine was playing one game, now I dont know why the hell hes so nice to me. I politely say yes and thank her for the offer, but just as Im about to hang up, she startles me with an assumption. "Great, then Ill just tell Hugh that youve decided to drop out of the competition. Youll be receiving your letter by email. Whats your email again?"

"What are you talking about?" I snap.

"Well, in return for my very kind words about your talent and work ethic, you drop out of the competition because lets face it, youve never quite been much of a contributing factor in the Hugh Shepard brand," she tells me. Albeit its true that I barely produced anything, there has to be a reason why Hugh picked me to be one of the five. Then it hits me. "Who are you helping?"

"Now Im the one who doesnt know what youre talking about," says Chelsea but she sounds like a child trying to deny to her mother that she drank milk from the carton. I press again, demanding to know the skeletons in her closet until she caves and shouts at me, "Rebecca deserves it! I dont know why the hell Hugh chose you. You havent done a single thing for his company yet he gives you an equal chance with the only person who has done something."

I have had just about enough of people and their assumptions about me. "You know, Chelsea, I may not be better than Rebecca or perform as well as she did, but Ill tell you Im a lot better than you because you will always be that bottom feeder that nobody knows. You will always be feeding on the scraps and dust of everyones stars because you know you cant make it. You have no talent and what youre doing right now is feeding on someone elses potential breakthrough for a wormhole of your own success. I dont know what deal you have with Rebecca, you could be eating each others cunts for all I care, but the fact that youre trying to negotiate with me to get me to step down so Rebecca can have a smooth road proves that you think Im at all competition for her. Very flattering. You can shove your letter right up your-"

"It doesnt matter at this point," she interjects. "The rest have agreed on my terms and have quit the race. I hope you designed some running shoes, Kurt, because there is no way youre winning this race." The line goes dead and I thrust my phone across the room. Now my future lies in the hands of a fashion God that has a devil whispering in his ears. I throw myself onto the mattress and scream harder into my pillow. I was stupid to think this retreat was supposed to be good for me, that it could make me have a brand new perspective. I do now, but the vision isnt at all comforting. I go out to the balcony where the sun has slowly sunken into the horizon and I wish to get it would set and take all my problems away.

When I return downstairs, I hear the sound of a television coming from the end of a long hall across the entrance door. I dont know if I want to know who is there because if its Blaine, I am in no mood to see him. Not yet anyway. After his whole Victim remark, who knows what Pandora box I would uncover. I walk ahead anyway, to find Sam watching some police reality show. He smiles when he sees me and I fall into the empty seat next to him. This room is still as lavish as the other rooms in the house. The TV stretches from the ceiling to the floor but is still so HD I can describe the pictures in great detail. The floor is covered in the same cloud material and the couch is bright red and I think is designed for a giant. I ask Sam where everyone is and he tells me that Finn and Puck went to a bar, the girls are still at their relaxation time and Blaine left for the city.

"He - left?" I ask. Did I push it too hard by breaking his nose? My stomach does a 360 degree spin. I feel awful.

"Yeah but its not what you think. He was paged to go back to the hospital. He said hed be back by tonight," tells Sam. In hindsight, maybe its a good thing. I dont want to see him, not yet. But also in hindsight, I wonder why I didnt just ask Rachel and Finn to kick Blaine out from the start. If my presence meant that much to them, they should have known better not to bring him here but I should digress. I have far pressing matters to deal with than an ex who is lingering around. Then I remember how I masturbated with the thought of him and realize he is a pressing matter. Then again he has always been a pressing matter. Maybe remembering how good he looked without a shirt on brought me back to the times when Blaine and I were intimate and how great it was. My mind is a turmoil. To think this retreat was supposed to be carefree is now a comical thought.

"Are you alright?" ask Sam. His baby blue eyes are trained on me whilst I was deep in reverie. For some reason, I laugh at the question. Are people ever just alright? You survive, you live, but living is not a synonym for alright.

"I just realized that Im living a horrible reality show that is filled with mildly relentless but pointless drama and feels like its never ending. Kinda like the Kardashians show," I tell Sam. I laugh more at the thought of it, which deepens the concerned frown on Sams face. "Im an open ear," he offers but I tell him that its okay, that I dont want to cast any more characters into this show. Then he turns the television off, faces me and tells me to bear my problems onto him. The idea is appealing, to let someone else carry my baggage with me, but I throw my head back in exasperation and tell him to save himself.

"Please tell me," he says in a gentle tone. I forgot how persuasive Sam can be. I guess when youre attractive, you can pretty much move continents. I sigh tiredly and before I can hold my words back, they come flooding out of me like a broken dam. I tell Sam everything, from facing unemployment, to how I feel having Blaine here, which is a very complex topic because Im amused that his here but that by the same token I want to plunge a butter knife into his eyes, especially now after he said what he said. I dont tell Sam certain things like still being able to have an orgasm with the mere thought of Blaine, and what he said about me being the victim. I dont want other peoples thoughts on it yet, not until Ive analysed it myself.

"Sounds like a great deal of crap," he tells me. For some strange reason, it is comforting to know that Im not the only one who thinks so. It makes the shit you deal with more worth freaking out about when somebody agrees with you that its shit, otherwise youre just an overacting drama queen. "Theres this thing I do before every photo-shoot or runway show. I take a second and I breathe in deeply, I hold it in until they call for me." I frown at him to express my confusion. "Being in front of a camera like that, being exposed to the publics eyes, theres a lot of pressure. Every step and every pose garners some form of reaction, not all of them are positive. Breathing in before all of that pressure calms you down and makes you focus on whats really important, my quest - for me, its the money I get from this to help my family. You have to figure out whats your quest, so right when youre about to walk your runway, you breathe and remind yourself what youre doing this for. Theres always a quest."

Sams theory might have some truth to it, but quests are overrated. Sometimes people do things for spontaneity, sometimes for the heck of it or sometimes for a purposely reason to remind yourself that you are relevant. I sigh and tell Sam that taking a deep breath might be a little too soft a tactic to deal with my problems. Maybe a tranquilizer shot. He looks disappointed that he couldnt help me in any way, so I assure him that its fine. He still wears a concerned look in his eyes which comforts me to know that there are people concerned for my well-being. Sams eyes are comforting to look at too, so blue like the ocean at a tropical beach.

But then Sam leans in, slides his hand to the back of my neck and presses his lips onto mine.