Chapter 14: Don't Hurt Me

It’s getting tougher to get up in the morning. And it’s not just the unwillingness to face the bullies that makes Kurt linger in bed when he’s already supposed to be up. It’s growing difficult to physically get up. There are bruises all over his body. He can barely prop himself up on his elbows or hands, because his arms and shoulders ache almost to the point of the pain blinding him.

He puts up a face in front of people. There’s no way he’s going to let this cause his father another heart attack. Carole is lovely and caring, but she’d tell Burt, so confiding in her is no option at all. Finn and the rest of the glee club know things are bad, but none of them knows just how bad. Karofsky’s being careful not to let any of Kurt’s friends see most of it.

Kurt tries not to walk the hallways alone, but there are times when asking someone to accompany him to class gets suspicious, so he braces himself and goes on his own. Those moments he dreads the most. Those moments are Karofsky’s favourite to strike. Kurt makes sure to pick up the pace and turn corners warily, as he never knows what might be waiting for him around the bend.

One of those moments is when he walks from his AP English Lit to French. None of the other glee kids take French, so he’s bound to take that route alone from the point where Rachel turns left to go upstairs to her Social Studies class. He never knows why Karofsky seems to be constantly lurking somewhere between that staircase and the French classroom. But he is. Today is no different.

The hallways is exceptionally deserted, and it makes a shiver run down Kurt’s spine. He clutches his books tighter to his chest, the muscles in his legs tense, readying him to sprint should the need arise.

And it does, but there is no way he could run, because Karofsky appears out of nowhere right in front of him.

Kurt staggers backwards, horrified by the other boy’s closeness, before Karofsky shoves him aside without warning, and walks away quickly down one of the side corridors that leads to the locker room of the football team.

Out of complete nowhere, Kurt feels a wave of strength overcome him, and before he knows it, he’s running after Karofsky, rage replacing his fear. Adrenaline is pumping through his body, making his heart race and his head clear.

‘What’s wrong with you?!,’ he screams, as the locker room door bangs open.

‘Me? What’s wrong with you, fag?,’ Karofsky sneers, but his voice sounds strained.

‘I am not going to take your crap anymore,’ Kurt goes on, his rage still controlling him more than anything else.

Karofsky’s lips arch in a mocking smile.

‘Yeah? And what are you gonna do? You can suck my dick.’

The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and there are tears coming up to Kurt’s eyes, as his fear rolls back over him. What the hell does he think he’s doing? He’s alone in the locker room with the person he’s terrified of the most in the whole fucking world. He should be away from here, he should‘ve never followed him in the first place.

Kurt begins to retract his footsteps, his knees buckling beneath him, until they give in completely and he slumps to the floor, helpless.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?,’ Karofsky says, but the meaning of his words fails to reach Kurt.

Until his tormentor is standing directly above him with his hand hovering over his jeans’ zipper, and Kurt realises what he’s seeing. He almost chokes. Karofsky is definitely hard. At the thought of Kurt giving him a blowjob?

What the fuck is going on?

Is this a nightmare?

Kurt can feel nausea overwhelming him, and he never would have thought he’d feel sick at the thought of sucking someone off. Not that he’s given it that much thought, but he’s definitely considered it.

Only he would never imagine it this way. Not with Karofsky. Not in a stinking locker room. Not unwillingly.

He’s puking before he knows it. Thankfully, it’s just the floor that suffers and his outfit stays untouched.

But Karofsky wouldn’t let him get away with it like that.

His stomach is clenched from the hurling, so Kurt doesn’t feel much difference at first, when the foot strikes him, knocking him down. He lands with his face next to the puddle of his own vomit, the smell mixing with the usual stench of the locker room. It makes him even sicker.

Then, there’s another kick to his gut, and another. He whimpers, but he doesn’t have any more strength to fight the attacker off. He just lies there wishing for it to stop. He’s even considering if praying isn’t worth a try, but discards the idea; it’s ludicrous. How is almost getting raped and being beaten in a pool of his own puke a good occasion to start believing in God?

If he ever had faith, that would probably be the moment he’d lose it.

The bell ringing reminds Karofsky where he is and that someone might notice he’s gone. He sprints out, leaving Kurt alone, curled on the floor in pain.

Once the first shock is over, the pain grows stronger. All Kurt can do is curl into a ball and cry. Someone has to realise he’s gone at some point. His French teacher or his friends at lunch, anyone.

But he can swear it’s been hours when he finally hears footsteps. He knows there have been a few bells since he’s been lying here, but he’s lost count. He tries to move enough to be able to maybe see the door, but the pain in his gut is too severe. For all he knows, he could be dying right now.

‘Kurt?,’ comes a breathless whisper from the locker room door. ‘Kurt!’

He’s only able to lift his eyelids enough to see his brother leaning over him.

‘Don’t step into the vomit,’ he mutters, like the cleanliness of Finn’s shoes is the most important thing in the world.

‘I don’t care. What happened?’

Kurt tries to shake his head. The movement is hardly noticeable.

‘K-Karofsky,’ he chokes out eventually. There’s no use saying nothing happened. The state he’s in, the puke, it all points to something.

Finn might not be the brightest, but he can see clearly that somebody beat Kurt up.

‘Karofsky did this?’

‘Yes.’ Kurt swallows; the bitter taste of vomit persists in his mouth. ‘Could you get me out of here?’

The situation threw Finn off guard so much, his mind doesn’t operate properly.

‘Can you walk?,’ he asks inanely.

‘Do you think I would be here, if I could stand up?,’ Kurt asks, mustering the most casual tone he’s capable of.

Finn leans further, gathering Kurt in his arms. He’s heavier than Finn expected, especially the way he’s slumped almost lifelessly against his body.

They barely make it outside of the locker room when a sharp voice stalls them.

‘Hey! Finn, what are you doing?!’

Coach Beiste emerges from around the corner, headed undoubtedly for her office right next to the locker room. She frowns at the two brothers at first, trying to make out the shape curled in Finn’s arms.

‘Oh my God, is that Kurt?,’ she asks, her voice as shocked as terrified. ‘Lay him down.’

Finn obeys and puts Kurt gently against a wall in a sitting position. He’s pale and clutches his stomach with both arms. Everything hurts, but the stomach is literally killing him.

‘What happened?,’ Coach asks, her eyes swiping between one and the other.

‘I don’t know, I just found him,’ Finn mutters.

Coach Beiste looks back to Kurt. The boy seems to be in a great amount of pain. His face is usually fair, but now it’s like a ghost’s.

‘Kurt?,’ Coach says soothingly, kneeling next to him. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

‘Karofsky,’ he murmurs. He can barely hold on to any thought, the pain occupying his attention. ‘He-‘ The memory of Karofsky’s crotch inches from his face makes him shiver and he almost pukes again. There’s no need for them to know that detail. He can say he threw up because of the pain, can’t he? ‘He- attacked me.’

***

The broken rib heals slowly. The bruises fade, yet somehow the pain doesn’t seem to cease. It takes time to convince himself that not everybody who comes near him wants to hurt him. It’s relatively easy with his dad, Carole and Finn. Someone must’ve warned his friends not to get to close, though. Kurt knows they’re afraid to be around him. Afraid they’ll say something they shouldn’t, afraid to laugh, afraid he’ll freak out at the slightest touch.

Kurt also knows that they’re probably right.

He comes back to school a month later, his body almost healed, but his soul as broken as it was. It seems gluing it back together is more time-consuming than letting the contusions disappear.

People eye him furtively, as if catching his gaze was deadly. He hates it. He hates every second of it.

But at least everyone seems to be moving out of his way, so he doesn’t feel threatened. At least not as much as he feared he would in a hallway full of people.

Kurt walks up to his locker warily; there’s no guarantee they didn’t seize the opportunity to write something offensive on it. The locker’s metal door is clean, though, and he breathes out in relief.

He opens his locker, and for a moment everything seems fine, just like it used to feel before anything happened.

Something jumps at him from behind and he screams, falling into the wall of lockers and freezing. He can’t even bring himself to look around. He can hear someone is speaking frantically, but he can’t catch a word of it. He can feel he’s been left alone, clutching at the edge of his locker like he was hanging from the edge of a precipice.

Kurt tries to breathe to calm himself, but it’s not working. He feels like he’s drowning, every sound is muffled, every intake of breath is painful.

Suddenly, he realises there are no more sounds, only the frantic beating of his heart. Sharp pain goes through his fingers. He lets go of the locker, expecting a long fall and lethal impact when he hits the ground.

But he’s still in the McKinley High hallway, leaning on the line of lockers. His knees are about to give in, and he lets them.

That’s when he notices Rachel, with her hands over her mouth in horror, and Finn keeping her firmly away from his brother.

‘I’m so sorry, Kurt,’ she whispers in the eerie silence that fell over the hallway. ‘I didn’t mean to- I forgot that you- I’m so sorry.’

***

Telling Dr. Peterson that story felt strange. Kurt had never been in therapy, not really. Those few sessions with Ms Pillsbury and her pamphlets could hardly qualify as therapy. And reliving the nightmare of those few months was harder than ever now, when he'd almost pushed it out of his head.

'Did you seek help?,' she asked quietly.

'No.' Despite the tears that were still streaming down his face, the answer was firm.

'Why?'

'I got over it.' Kurt shrugged, cursing how easily he broke down into tears.

'Clearly, you haven't,' Dr. Peterson said. 'Not really, anyway.'

Kurt forced himself to roll his eyes.

'So now what? You want to psychoanalyse me or something? Do you want to be my shrink, too?' His voice became involuntarily icy. ' Or do you want to tell me I'm no good for Blaine, because I've got my own issues?'

She listened patiently until he stopped. Her expression didn't change; it was still the same look of sympathy and understanding she'd been wearing while listening to Kurt's story.

‘No, Kurt, I wasn’t going to say any of those things,’ she said. ‘Dragging someone to therapy against their will is nothing but counterproductive. And I think that what you’ve just told me gives you an insight into Blaine’s condition that only someone with a trauma of their own is capable of.’

That was an answer Kurt didn’t expect in the slightest. He was afraid his visit to Dr. Peterson’s office would end badly, if not for him or his relationship, then definitely for Blaine.

‘So- what exactly are you trying to tell me?,’ he asked, frowning in confusion.

‘That you are probably the best boyfriend Blaine could ever wish for.’

Kurt gaped at her for a moment, lost for words. That was something he never expected anyone to say, let alone Blaine’s therapist.

‘Th- thanks, I guess,’ he mumbled.

‘You’re welcome.’ Dr. Peterson paused to think, before asking, ‘Have you had another panic attack like the one you just told me about since then?’

Kurt shook his head.

‘It was just this once. I told you, I’m fine.’

‘But you are aware that it was post-traumatic stress that caused it?,’ she asked softly.

‘I guess.’ Kurt shrugged. ‘But I really got over that. Even though it was tough being stared at and called “psycho”. At least they got a different name to call me, aside from “fag” and “homo”.’

Kurt winced at the memories. It had been a long time since he ventured a journey down that path. Coming to New York was his fresh start, and it was a good one. His college years were probably the best he’d had since his mother’s death and until now, when he had Blaine.

‘This is what I mean, Kurt,’ Dr. Peterson said. ‘You know a little of what it’s like for him. Your PTSD might have not lasted like his has, or like his DID will likely last, but most people don’t have any such experience, and few are truly capable of empathy and understanding. Most can only pity.’

‘Does that mean that- we have your blessing?,’ Kurt asked uncertainly.

Dr. Peterson gave him a warm smile.

‘I’m not sure I’m the right person to give you a blessing, but I guess you do.’