Falling. It was like falling. His body was ice cold, numb, and unprepared for the feelings raging inside of him and then he looks over and sees her with her all-too-practiced face of worry and discontent.
“I got in”
He had to leave, he couldn’t deal with it then. Not even with Rachel and Finn’s collective yells of “Kurt, Kurt come back!”s and “I’m sorry”s,
First came the falling, falling and descending into a space of nothingness. Alone and cold.
He had nothing.
He got home somehow, ignored his father and walked into his room.
Posters.
Wicked, A Chorus Line, Cats!, Funny Girl, Cabaret, even his poster of Patti Lu Pone in Anything Goes was a mockery to everything he had built. He looked around his room. Stupid pictures of ‘friends’, memories, and accomplishments; now just a cruel reminder of what he could have had, who he could have been.
It all had to go.
He screamed, he fucking screamed, and yelled and cried. He ripped the posters, tore the paintings off the walls, went through his closet and heaved half the stupid shit that got him thrown into lockers in the first place around to the floor, out the window. He saw nothing but his room, his life, silently mocking him. Mocking who he thought he could be, had he only been good enough. No he was nothing, Rachel would go to NYADA, he would be stuck here another year, everything was over, and he wasn’t just destroyed, he was angry.
--
Downstairs Burt Hummel could hear his son’s cries and screams, yells of rage, and smashing of something he hoped wasn’t too expensive but at the moment he couldn’t care. It was obvious what had happened, the extent of what happened still was yet to be determined but he knew that his son had just had his hopes and dreams crushed not for the first or last time.
So for once, he didn’t intervene; there was nothing he could say. He let Kurt ruin his room, trash it, scream, and cry. When he was ready to talk he would. And right now he wasn’t close.
--
Kurt made a pact to himself that day, to stop caring about what other people think and want, to stop trying to be something he isn’t because he tried the music theatre thing, and got beat out by Rachel-fucking-Berry, he tried being something else and failed. And besides, he’d never actually had a rebellious streak…
He walked out of the house the next day, dressed in nothing but a t shirt and jeans, unkempt hair. He didn’t look like Kurt Hummel. But that was just it. He wasn’t Kurt Hummel anymore, not the one everyone knew anyways.
In hindsight it probably wasn’t Kurt’s most mature decision to dye his hair pink (at a salon; if he was going to do this he was going to do it right god damn it) and pierce as much of his ears that he could pay for out of the pocket cash he brought with him on his endeavor. After the mild discomfort of getting three small random silver hoops and studs in each ear, which really didn’t hurt that much, he felt a bit better, after the dye job he couldn’t even recognize his face in the mirror.
It was perfect.