Its been three weeks since the incedent at scandals. 

Three weeks of pure sex-less.. loveless.. lonlieness.

All Kurt could hear was the click, click, click, of his boots echoing around himself. Along with his heart beating through his skull. Why am I feeling like this? Kurt thought. Hes my ex, its over. He doesnt care anymore.

The hallway smelt damp. But not, damp, just. Damp. Sort of a dull feeling. He was so used to walking hand-in-hand towards the choir room with Blaine. But now he was on his own, walking on his own to the choir room hand-in-hand with a bottle of juice that was laced with vodka and tequila.

He had hit rock bottom. Hes never been like this before, he swears. He hasnt been sober for over 7 hours starting two weeks ago. The only way was up. Or sideways. Or more alcohol..

He knew what he was doing to his body. He knew what he was doing to his baby... Their baby. But Kurt didnt have any brain cells left to comprehend what might be happening inside his womb right now.

His doctor reassured him that it would take 2 months of constant drinking to harm the baby. He had tried to sign him up to some horrendous therapy classes. Kurt had most impolitely declined and pushed out of the room. Which apparently, didnt stop the doctor constantly ringing him for 1 hour straight offering him different classes.

He gave up caring.

Taking a glug of the drink and mentally preparing himself. He walked or, well, stumbled, into the choir room. His boots hitching up behind him making him fall more into the room.

The wall was cold. Really cold. It was damp.

Moving his head up from where it dropped, Kurts eyes first landed on Karofsky. Why was he in here. His insides felt crowded. Tight.

He could feel dozens of eyes looking at him. Targeting him, judging him, watching.
His limp bones were about to collapse on themselves, just like Kurt wished they had three weeks ago.

Everyone knew.

Everyone knew about the stick.

Everyone knew about the baby because Kurt is one of those people. That when they get drunk, they send and receive copious amounts of text messages and skype calls. It was a hideous trait he had accumulated from when he and Rachel Berry used to tip sparkling gold vodka down their blood stream in the apartment.

Everyone knew apart from Blaine and he couldnt bare to be the person to tell him, but he couldnt bare to be the person that didnt inform him.

But Karofsky knew. Karofsky always knows.

Looking up more firmly into the room now, Kurt took a step forward. Trying to remember how to walk, talk, use his brain. But it wasnt working, he just slumped around, walking like a drunk squirrel. He could feel his eyes start to roll to the back of his head, due to having one nights sleep in the space of 10 days.

But he couldnt back down now, he had to prove to everyone. Or make them atleast believe that he wasnt breaking down. That he was actually okay, which of course, he wasnt. It was like looking at someone getting brutally murdered and asking if they were surviving alright? The answer will always be no. Sometimes you cant even ask them before the blood has all poured out, and your left with a lifeless soul.

But it didnt work. Not for one second—

"You look awful, dough face." Sue breathed out from the opposite side of the room, snapping him out of his drunken phase. She never called him dough face without shouting it, or proclaiming it over the school speakers. His heart snapped ever so rapidly, not as awful as his heart had fractured over Blaine though. Blaine.

Blaine looked so gorgeous, his deep brown eyes caught him, as usual. For one, two, seconds.

Picking himself up, he plushed himself down and murmed a "thankyou". Then situated himself on the piano stool, simply because he couldnt tumble towards the choir room seats.

"Kurt!" Rachel screached, rushing over to him. Giving him quite the fright. "Dont you think that you shouldnt be drinking?"

"I thinnnnnnnk—" He slurs. Keeping his air outtake to minimal. "That you should not talk anymore"

He took another swig of his drink, gremacing at the taste. The vodka and tequila had traveled down to the bottom of the glass bottle. He was struggling to hold the bottle, getting palpuations of the heart. No big deal, he thought.

Everyone deeply sighed in union. Blaines eyes started to travel towards him again in despare. He felt his eyes prickling, because this was just too much to watch. 

Kurt hadnt been in his presence for more than 5 minutes and he already wanted to punch through a wall, build a house made out of steel and completely wreck it. Just like Kurt had done to his heart.

"Thats not a nice thing to say to your bestfriend, Kurt. I am the leader, of this group and I will not—" Rachel was cut off by Kurt half-heartedly taking another sip. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course hes not, Berry. Look at him, hes a train wreck." Karofsky beamed, feeling quite proud of himself, he felt a warm bubbly feeling come up in his lungs. The feeling he used to get whenever he pushed, shoved, or shot dirty looks towards Kurts presence.

Blaines head quipped up, shooting said dirty look towards his boyfriend. "Thats not a nice thing to say, David." Blaine mimed what Rachel had said, then gingerly removed the mans arm from where it lingered over his shoulders.

Kurt took a swig. He suddenly felt temperate, hearing Blaines voice. But it was still like he was stuck in a small box, with no light, day or existance. No air, god where is the air in this room?

"What do you care?" The large man breathed out, perching himself so he was completely facing Blaine. His eyes were questionable at a glance.

No answer.

"Alright baggins, no need to start anything here. Kurt and Blaine have obvious history if you havent been around for the past 3 years." Santana chimed in, her legs hooked over Britts, using her hands as her props.

Blaine swallowed, letting his gaze flicker over to where Kurt — drunk Kurt — was sat, for three, four, five, seconds.

Pivoting himself on the plastic chair, Karofsky stared down Santana. "Oh, trust me. Pretty face, I know that. Thats all I ever hear"

Kurt couldnt breathe, he couldnt push himself to continue.

Muttering a thats not true, Blaine closed his eyes. Just letting himself exhail and take in the alcohol decayed air.

"Oh thats not true is it? Sure, tell that to when you woke up calling Kurts name because you thought you were lost!" Karofsky had burst like a bubble. "In our own apartment!"

Kurt fell forward a fraction, his heart rate getting slower, slower, slower, stop. Sue ran to the front to lift him up, whispering its okay. Its going to be okay.

"Look, friendly giant." Santana moved her legs off where they were rested. "As you clearly cant see, my boy Kurt over there is a state. There are sides to Kurt that I had never wanted to experience before, but I had to; because living with him, Berry and old bowtie made me realise how much those two loved eachother. Theyre over now, correct. Doesnt mean that some feelings cant—"

"Dont talk to me like I dont know that fake boobs—"

"Guys please stop—"

"STOP ARGUING—"

Everything was muffled.

"KURT?"

"Kurt, baby?" Blaine.

"Kurt— Are you okay?"

"Of course hes not. Hes pregnant." Karofsky breathed out.

And with that Kurt fainted. His head got hit painfully hard against the cold, tiled floor. The glass got smashed by the piano foot as everyone was pushing to help Kurt up.

But it was no use.

He was out cold.