"Are you sure you want to do this?" ask my father. He is tentative, but desperate. It breaks my heart, but broken hearts make you selfish. "I dont want to let you go when youre not ready," tells my father. I sigh heavily and play with the zipper of my hoodie. "I cant - be here anymore." I sound horrid. I am selfish, I know that deep in my gut. My father shouldnt be the one punished, but you cannot stop ripples. The good news is the water will calm eventually. When he pulls over at the train station, it all becomes too real for me and I crumble right before him. He wraps me in a hug and kisses my head, and then I realize just how much Im going to miss him catching me when I fall.

"Dont go yet. Stay. You have two weeks to go. Do you really want to leave things unfinished with Blaine?" he ask. The name that used to be able to make my knees go weak now only fills me with a painful venom - like being bitten by a python. "I want a head start at my future, dad," I tell him. The past does nothing but forces you to relive unwanted memories over and over again. What person would want that? A sadist maybe, but I am intolerable to pain and if given the choice to brave into something unexpected than to face something with a rough idea of how it would play out, I dont want the latter. Neither really is ideal, but I choose one that guarantees less pain. "I can still beat him up for you, if you want. Im sure your brother is going to," he tells me, then I turn to my father with desperation riddled in my eyes. "Do not tell him that Ive left. Please, dad. All Finn is going to do is tell Blaine, and hes going to look for me. Tell him that I ran away. Pretend to be worried."

"How does that do anything?" ask my father, with a deep frown creasing his forehead. I know what his response would be if I tell him - that this is childs play. I want Blaine to hurt just as much as it hurt seeing him kiss somebody the way he kisses me, touch somebody the way he touches me - share something I thought was sacred to us with somebody that isnt me. My father sighs and clasp his hand with mine. "I wont be pretending, you know." I always knew the hardest tether would be my father, but I never anticipated the resistor to be Blaine.

I wake with a jolt, beads of sweat clinging onto every inch of my body. Ive been having more and more vivid nightmares since I opened that Pandora box of Blaine. It has now flooded every second of my life and I dont know what it would take to contain them. Im lying. I know exactly what to do to contain them, I just dont have the nerve to do it. It felt like ages have gone by since I last woke up with the noise polluting factors in my New York apartment. Now Im back, and oddly appreciating my upstairs neighbor since never. I make the decision to not go back to sleep but rather brave the day headstrong. I pull together simple clothes after my shower and creep out to my living room where Finn is curled on the couch underneath a thin blanket.

Seeing him in his state sends a sharp jab to my chest, and a match under my hate fire for Rachel. The reality that this might have been Blaines state in our past sends a sharper jab, this time to my throat. I convinced Finn to not go back to their apartment after our Berry scavenger hunt. After Blaines truth, I dont trust people in a state of absolute abandonment.

That nightmare made me question my own conscious, teenage thinking. Did I expect any less than guilt from Blaine when I left? I didnt. I expected him to suffer and wallow in his own self-pity, but when I find out my sadistic decision actually did almost push him off the edge; the guilt is now unbearable for me. I havent talked to Blaine. I took Finn to the car immediately after the terminal and told Santana to find Rachel if it meant flipping over the whole of New York. She agreed, and then I left. My priority right now is the well-being of my brother, my own monstrous, soul sucking guilt has to come second.

When Finn stirs in his slumber, I rush to the armchair to wait expectantly for him to wake up, but he doesnt. He does open his eyes, but after a heavy sigh as if regretting the real world, he closes them shut and pulls the blanket over his entire frame, except hes too tall so his feet peep out at the bottom. I havent heard a word from Santana so Im assuming Rachel is still AWOL, and as long as she is, I have no way or words of comfort for my brother. I go back into my room and pull out my project for Hugh because the longer Im back in the city, the faster all my realities come rushing back to me. I havent checked my email since Chelseas blackmail, and I dont intend to. With the madness thats been going on in my life lately, the last thing I need is another reason to get all worked up. I hang the garments nearly on a rack and sit there staring at the fate of my future. They are beautifully intimidating, and it scares me to think how a couple of blouses and skirts ultimately decide your path. The world is frivolous, and I hate contributing to it.

I know that in order to push out some of my thoughts, I need a good distraction and these clothes are as good as any right now. I place an order for Pizza, mindful to get extra cheese and pepperoni on them in hopes that Finn would smile, before I pull my fanny pack around my waist that stores all my knitting essentials and play some music before I get started, dressing a mannequin. I leave the door cracked open to fill the misery energy outside my room. For the next couple of hours, I do nothing but cut and stitch and paste and sew, secretly wishing I had a team of mice helping me. The pizza came but neither I nor Finn touched it so now its just sitting on the kitchen counter, judging us. It is very rare that Finn turns down pizza, so for this to happen actually means his sorrow is monumental. I try to push all my thoughts out and focus on my work at hand because thats what people should do in times of stress -thats all you can do. But by late afternoon when the sky has turned my favorite color, I am exhausted, and famished.

I leave my room to attack the now cold pizza, expecting to find Finn still sprawled across my couch, but he isnt. The blanket is neatly folded and placed on the cushion and the pillows are fluffed. Then I notice the window is opened and my stomach sinks. I am filled with panic for reasons beyond me and rush to the fire escape, only to find Finn on the stairs, smoking a cigarette. When he sees me, he fumbles with it and it lands on the gates, slipping into the hole and free falling off the platform. "Youre smoking now?" I say, pointing out the obvious. He sighs wearily as if my judgmental tone doesnt affect him. "Rachel can take off, but I cant enjoy a stick?" he snaps. I have no response. I sigh and lean against the rails, but immediately wondering if it is a good idea considering this whole structure creaks with the slightest motion. I decide to sit on my window ledge and watch Finn watch the sky.

"Any word?" I tentatively ask. I know there hasnt been any news, if there was Santana would have broken down my door by now. Finn merely shakes his head and I know that I need to stay clear of this neighbourhood. We are silent for a while, and I know that there are a lot of things to discuss, but I cant bring myself to talk about them. Not when Finn is staring into the sky hoping for some miraculous light to gradually cascade Rachel down from the heavens.
"Was it easy for you?" ask Finn, after a silence that dragged on for what felt like hours. "When you left Blaine."

Under normal circumstances, this would offend me to my bone, but for some reason it doesnt anymore. Ive been so conditioned to be defensive, but after Blaines side of our coin, I dont find myself the complete victim anymore. A twisted relief forms inside of me, but I choose to ignore it. I sigh and let my sight fall, watching the New York mass bustle beneath us. "It wasnt," I told Finn. "It hurt like hell. More than watching Blaine cheating on me. But it seemed the right decision at the time." Finn is quiet again, allowing the New York habitual symphonies fill the silence.

"Do you think not knowing her night-time ritual was a good enough reason to leave?" he ask, and I have to fight it within myself to not laugh. It should be a joke - in fact, it is, but Finn doesnt think so. I guess our problems never seem that monumental when perceived by people not in our zone. "Its a stupid reason to leave, Finn."

"But isnt it the same principle? You left because he hurt you. Rachel left because I hurt her -"

"By not paying attention to a stupid face cream ritual? Thats absurd," I tell him. In some sense, the base principles are similar but what Blaine did to me was far worse than what Finn did. In fact, Finn did nothing wrong and this isnt some bias propaganda because hes my brother. Ideally, one might preach that pain is pain no matter what the monumental levels are but reality is different. Perception is different. "Rachel is having cold feet, and we let her act on it. Shell come to her senses, Im sure of it."

"The wedding is in a week, Kurt," he tells me and my optimism deflates at the reminder. I can only hope that Santanas Mexican third eye isnt just a figment of her imagination. I try to assure Finn that it isnt his fault, but I know my words are hollow. Just as I need Blaines truth for closure is how Finn needs Rachels words for his ease. A part of me wonders how they are going to recover from this because clearly leaving a relationship with no closure has extreme repercussions in the long run. I reluctantly leave Finn to his wallowing and attack the stale pizza.

I pull out my phone and press call onto Rachels contact but it sends me to voicemail within a few rings. I dont usually leave voicemails, but for some reason this whole situation screams for one.

"Take it from someone who left a relationship before it ran its course - its not a good idea," I say and quickly press on the End call button when Finn clambers back into the apartment. "I think I should call my mom and Burt. Tell them whats going on."

"Thats a horrendous idea," I say without a moment of doubt. I know my father more than I know the difference between satin and silk. He treats Finn like hes own biological son; sometimes even like his biological son because he shares a lot of interest that he cant share with me, like football and he would flip out and hop onto the Red Eye to get here in half a heartbeat. "Give her a few days, Finn. Just a few days and I promise shell come back," I say but as I make that promise, even I dont believe me.

When the sun goes down, I am filled with a nauseating sensation in my stomach. For a while, I wondered if almost-drowning has finally taken a toll on my body, but then I realize its because my judgement day is drawing closer as we speak. One more day and all this - my whole career - will be defined by a few skirts and blouses. I dont sleep that night. I channel all my energy into getting my designs presentation-ready but as I stitch and sew, I no longer recognize them staring back at me. Ive kept Blaine out of my thoughts for as long as i can manage, but suddenly his words crawl back to me like a colony of ants to spilled coke. I cant afford to think like that. Theres a difference to how you perceive the situation and how someone else perceives the situation. Its easy for them give you a solution, a mindless, easy one but they dont understand the strings that are attached, they dont understand how it is like unraveling a knitted sweater. I dont know how long I worked, but I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I wake up, the sun is pouring into my room which is very rare.

I have lace detailing imprinted on my cheek from the piece I slept on. For a split second, I think judgement day is here but it isnt. The mere thought of tomorrow scares the life out of me so I jump into the shower hoping the water can seep into my brain enough to wash my memory out. When I come out of the room, dressed and ready for the last day of preparation, i find Finn - dressed and prepared for something too.

"Going somewhere?" I ask, practically gawking at him in worry. I notice my couch is in its normal tattered state again except with all the pillows and blankets folded neatly. "Im going back to my apartment." He says and I immediately run to the door, stretching out my limbs in every direction to block his path. "Not a good idea," I tell him. I know I cant stop him. Itll be like a mouse trying to stop a giraffe from reaching an apple at the top of a tree. He sighs wearily and sits on the bar stool of my kitchen.

"I cant keep moping around. I need to get out and find her, Kurt," he tells me. It is definitely a correct state of mind, but a part of me feels that Finn shouldnt be left alone - or at least, recent events have shaped this new perception.

"Ill follow you-"

"You and I both know you have a lot of things on your plate right now. My missing fiancé should be the least of your concerns," he says to me. I am offended he would think that way, but I also cannot deny that I am swamped to my knees. Although I do think Finn means more than just my dangling career. He hasnt said anything, but he knows my plate is full with Blaine-dishes too. "Ill be fine, Kurt. I just - need to sort things out."

"That does nothing to assure me," I tell him and he sighs, his breath wafting to my face as he walks forward to me. "If it makes you feel better, Ill call you-"

"Every hour? And if youre feeling down again, you come back over," he studies me as if the words I just spoke were a foreign concept.

"My fiancé is missing. Theres not much feeling up, you know."

I feel like a complete idiot. My mind is a great storm right now with the thick drops of rain clouding my every vision to judge. I let my limbs fall and pull open the door for Finn. He gathers me in his long arms and I bask in his warmth because as much as he needs me, I need him more. I decide to try Rachels mobile again once Finn has left but the call sends me straight to the abyss that is voicemail. I leave a partial desperation message, telling her to snap back into her senses. I preoccupy myself for the day, pushing all thoughts of Blaine out of my mind. Im surprised he hasnt called me. The way we left things were once again in ajar. I keep wanting to call him, but then I dont have his number. In the turmoil of Southampton, I never once traded contacts with him. I have resources to get to him, of course, but truth of the matter is Im not ready to face him because facing him would mean finding out every detail of the state I left him in that drove him to want to kill himself. Im not ready to find out what I left in my wake after I left him. The reality of it is just too heavy for me to carry - at least for now.

Later in the day, a postman comes knocking on my door. I notice the logo stamped onto the parcel, it is Hugh Shepards company with the initials under a sunglasses icon. I dont know what to expect when I sign for me, so I just let it sit on my kitchen counter while I stare at it from afar, expecting the contents inside to explode to kill me. I decide that I really am going crazy, so I open it up and am surprised to find that theres only one item inside. No wonder it felt to light - theres only a small piece of paper inside the forearm length box. The note is blank on one side, but the other side has a QR code printed onto it. At first, I stare blankly at it, wondering what the heck this is supposed to do, then I decide to take a picture of it with my iPhone and it reveals a PDF document.

Your time has come.

Be ready tomorrow at 8AM. There will be a van picking you up from your apartment building that will take you to Hugh Shepards quarters.

Your prep room will be (148C).

There, you will find models waiting to be dressed by you. You are to stay inside your prep room until your showcase, which would start promptly at 1PM. Be advised that if your models wander about and your designs are seen by Hugh before the showcase, you will be disqualified from the competition.

We expect nothing less than the Shepard quality.

I grunt in displeasure and toss my phone aside. As if the clock itself isnt enough impending reminder, now he sends a registered parcel to me doorstep? The simple notion that the delivery man managed to get into my building makes me eerie of how much power Hugh has. I dont need another reminder, so the rest of the day I spend cooped in my room. Theres nothing left for me to work on besides my design rationale. My designs have been sealed and packed in a suitcase and ready to take off, now all I need is a ground-breaking justification but nothing comes to mind. I have no idea how to speak about a craft that wasnt derived from passion as much as it was derived from fear of the unknown. Later in the day, I receive another email from Chelsea - no salutations whatsoever. It just has the words; last chance. I lingered longer than I should have but eventually closed the virtual window and focused on the task at hand.

Around nine in the evening, Santana calls me in a panic. My blood runs cold as my mind starts picturing all these horrific scenarios in the short gap after her, "Oh my god!" I hold my breath waiting for her to continue. "Im about to have a panic attack. Rachel still hasnt had her fitting yet!" she shrieks into the phone. I moderately envy Santana for having such a small portion of worry on her plate. I wish we could swap for a day.
Albeit knowing Santana, she probably thinks my problems are minimal. "I dont think thats the biggest problem right now. You kind of need a present bride to be able to worry about the fitting," I sarcastically point out. She exasperates a frustrated groan. "Ive been leaving death threat voicemails."

I fight the urge to say that that problem adds more kerosene to the fire than helping to put it out. She ask me if Ive heard anything at all and I shamefully say no. I have a theory that theyre all expecting me to do something about Rachels AWOL status because Im the closest with her. I cant say I deny. In fact, out of all our friends, I should be the one with the most lead. The situation just is a little too close for comfort for me - but this time Im across the line; seeing the wake of an abandonment.

"How are you doing?" she suddenly ask. My tongue is tied. I dont think I can ever answer that question anymore because at this juncture, I dont think I can ever feel Okay again. Maybe tolerable; Okay seems like a stretch. I lie anyway, telling the girl that Im fine. I can hear the suspicion in her silence, her slow breathing as if digesting and analyzing my words. "You know it wasnt your fault, right?" she says. Ive tried to push these thoughts away so much that they now seem like a foreign concept to me. I sigh audibly, at a loss for words.

"It kind of feels like it is," I timidly say, the truth so resounding in spoken words. I cant deny that its not eating away at me; the guilt. I can feel my days with all the activities I want, but those are merely physical distractions. Your mentality stays intact, which right now is a definite curse.

"You cant blame yourself for someone elses decision. You did what you needed to do," she tells me. Her words are comforting, but another thought bubble forms. "That only makes me selfish." I dont think there is a version of this where I come out the better person. Maybe in some ideal world, I am, but this is reality. My reality, at least. Santana doesnt say anything and I keep wanting her to change the topic to one less somber. When she does, I praise the non-existent heavens up above. She tells me all the ways shes going to slap Rachel when she sees her and I am thankful for the humor, slowly letting my thoughts fade into an abyss.

"I better go," tells Santana. "I got to find a way to postpone this wedding by making the caterers think its their fault. Im thinking sexual harassment." With that, she ends the call and my thoughts come flooding back into my mind. My efforts to block them out and deteriorating. Sooner or later, I have to face them.

I barely got any sleep last night. Between my career hanging by a very thin thread, and thoughts of Blaine and Finn and Rachel. Im a walking time bomb and what needs to happen is for me to be removed from the city to reduce the number of casualties for when I eventually snap. Somewhere in the night, I manage to slip into slumber only to wake up screaming and thrashing from seeing Blaine hanging from the wooden panels on the ceiling, his neck securely attached to the belt I bought for his birthday. I didnt manage to catch any sleep at all afterwards out of fear that I might see him again.

By the time the sky outside starts to gradually brighten, I am out of bed and gathering my stuff together. I try my hardest to ignore the rapid thumping in my chest, the mere reminder of what entails today pushing me into cardiac arrest. When the buzzer sounds, my heart almost jumped out of my chest. My words are lodged in my throat, unable to even articulate the words, "Ill be down in a sec."

A man dressed in a slick black suit is waiting for me at the bottom of the steps outside my building. Hes attractive in an older guy kind of way, with creases on his forehead that tells the tale of many worries. He smiles politely at me when I ask if hes here to pick me up. "Yes, Mister Hummel. We have the van parked over there. Let me help you with your things." Im surprised that politeness even exist in a company fold dictated by the left shoulder of Satan. The drive to the building is a short one and in no time at all, the van drives down to the basement car park and I am led to where my prep room is. We are so deep underground that the idea of the layers of concrete above me is semi suffocating me.

Multiple lumps have formed inside of my throat. A woman came into my prep room an hour later as I was trying to fit a dress onto a model who weighs like a feather and has curves like a straight branch. She explains to me how the presentation would work and who I will be presenting to. Beads of sweat have formed at uncomfortable places of my body. Thoughts of Blaine and Rachel have wafted so far into an abyss which should be a good thing, but now my mind has nothing to do but worry about my career that I can feel the spark reaching the end of its string. The wait is excruciating and all the while, Im deciding if this really is the wisest decision.