Chapter 5

It had been a long time since Kurt could say he had honest-to-God fun. It was different – extremely different from the Skanks’ definition of skipping classes to get high off weed and coke and drunk on booze stolen from Quinn’s house. It was honest-to-God fun where Kurt smiled freely and could laugh all he wanted and say any random shit and Blaine would just laugh it off and say something even funnier.

He was beginning to, Kurt realized, become comfortable around Blaine. The disconcerting thing about it was he didn’t know if that was good or bad.

After the Deep Abyss they had hurried to try the other rides and only when Kurt looked back on it did he realize that he was the one pushing Blaine while the idiot – albeit a cute one – was grinning from ear to ear. There was a time when Kurt was running high on emotions and the impulse was so strong that he had to drag Blaine into the corner between the food court and dressing room to make out for a good ten minutes before releasing the boy and trying to make it look like nothing but a typical teenage moment.

Until Blaine kissed Kurt back and they ended up in the corner again for another ten minutes.

They’d eaten, rode some rides, made fun of people (technically, Kurt made fun of people while Blaine laughed uncomfortably because he was too nice to laugh at people and too polite to not laugh at Kurt’s jokes) and after their skins were prunes and Kurt’s fingernails turned blue and his hair was most likely permanently damaged with all of that chlorine, maybe his lungs too, they headed to the changing room to dry up and head home.

To end the day on an even better note, Peter was knocked out cold on the sofa and didn’t even stir as Kurt had a sudden craving for a chocolate smoothie and had to use the blender. He lit up with the windows open a bit and fell asleep dreaming about wet, brown curls and huge brown eyes.

*O*O*O*

When The Mack had a boyfriend, she made sure everyone who didn’t give a fuck knew about it. Another trucker of course, but apparently this one was “different” and “discussed his emotions with her” and also bought her roses for no apparent reason. She said the same thing for her last five boyfriends.

“He’s taking me to dinner tonight and told me to invite my friends,” she informed them as they sat under the bleachers, passing around a bottle of Chardonnay. When the wine reached in her hand, she took a long pull then sighed heavily. “He’s positively gorgeous.”

Kurt imagined in another life The Mack would be living in Texas on a ranch with a hillbilly husband and ten kids by age 30. She’d be immensely satisfied.

“What time?” Quinn asked. “My parents decided to see if enforcing my curfew would make me stop getting into trouble.”

“Since when do you care?” Kurt asked.

“I’m trying to get on their good side for a little money to stock up again,” she replied.

“It’s at Arby’s for seven. He loves steak and whaddya know, so do I!” The Mack laughed a little too loudly, the wine already kicking in. Kurt took one last sip and passed it on. “He already reserved a table for us. Such a sweetheart, right?”

They had no other choice but to agree.

“But speaking of money,” Ronnie began, “How’s your plan going with Blaine, Kurt?”

He turned towards her and pinned her with a stare. “We went on a date yesterday and I think he’s really comfortable around me. Maybe by next week I could introduce him to you guys?”

“That’d be great,” Quinn said.

Sheila spoke up. “How are you so sure he’s gonna accept us, Hummel?”

“Blaine wouldn’t kill a bird even if it was pecking his eyes out,” Kurt said. “He’s not very judgmental and any opinion he has he keeps to himself.”

“Smart kid,” The Mack said with another giggle.

Quinn snatched the bottle out of her hand and handed it to Kurt. “You look like you might need it,” she said. Confused but not wanting to ask in front of the others, he drank and took pleasure in the fire going down his throat and the burn in his eyes. He took the bottle from his lips and shook his head to clear the fuzz. The bottle was empty. Those things were tall but had enough wine in it as a 25oz water bottle.

He gave it back to Quinn and she either smiled or grimaced. She promptly smashed the bottle on the ground then scattered the shards and pieces with her shoes. She took the largest shards, broke them again then wrapped it in pages ripped out of her notebook to throw it away in the bin. The first time they’d done this the janitor had complained to Principal Figgins because the shards had cut through the plastic bag and leaked garbage juice and items small enough to fit through the holes all over the football field. It had dried the other morning but the stench was unavoidable. The Skanks were automatically blamed, given a month’s detention and as a result, learnt from their mistakes.

The bell rang and Kurt was the first to get up. Everyone stared at him.

“I gotta go meet Blaine to walk him to class,” he covered. “Yanno, as part of the plan and whatnot.”

Ronnie said something that was probably degrading but Kurt was already walking away because the stares were starting to get to him. He walked to his locker to pack his books and like a sixth sense, his skin prickled and he looked up.

Karofsky and his jocks were surrounding him.

“Hey, Hummel,” Karofsky sneered. “Haven’t bothered you in a while, have I?”

“Do we really need to do this, Karofsky?” Kurt asked. He closed his locker. “It’s getting kind of old, don’t you think. No one cares anymore that I’m gay. You’re making a big fucking deal about nothing.”

He leered and scrunched up his face but he had nothing to say.

Azimio spoke for him in his heavy, stupid voice. “Slushie facial it is, fellas!”

The cold didn’t affect him until the slushie started seeping through his tee and somehow found its way in his pants. They laughed their jeering laughs, banged up the lockers by his head and walked off. Karofsky remained.

“Embarrass me in front of my friends like that again, ever, Hummel and I swear to God I will kill you.”

He shoved Kurt’s shoulders, grunted in his face and stalked off. Karofsky’s words rang in his ears. That was the first time the jock had gone so far as to give a death threat. He measured up the guy, wondering if he had the nerve in him to go through with his plan. Maybe with some peer pressure he might but Kurt doubted. He still had a nagging feeling that he should tell someone though, but who? He basically had no one and Principal Figgins was a waste of time. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut to stop from crying. Why would he cry anyways? He had years of experience of ignoring the bullies, so why now were his emotions acting up?

“Kurt…” a soft voice called. He looked through tears to see Blaine standing in front of him with those doe-like eyes shimmering as though he were the one crying. “I can’t believe-“

He pulled his satchel against him and walked off. He expected Blaine to leave him alone but the kid followed him straight to the bathroom. From the moment his skin pricked he had begun packing all the things he would need to clean up after the infamous Slushie Facial. Kurt took out his things and silently, Blaine wet a washcloth and placed it next to the satchel.

Blaine and Quinn were alike in some instances with their silent assumptions and secret deductions. It unnerved him.

“At least let me wash out your hair for you,” Blaine offered. Kurt looked up and his glare melted. Blaine’s eyes were too large and shining to deny.

“Sure,” he croaked. “Let me change my shirt first.” He headed into a stall with a new tee and the wet washcloth. He wiped himself off, changed and came back out. Blaine had already dragged a chair from a nearby classroom and was sitting on the sink with a bottle of grapefruit-scented shampoo.

Kurt allowed a smile. “Grapefruit? How do you know I love grapefruit?” He sat down on the chair.

Blaine shrugged. “Lucky guess.” But Kurt figured that Blaine just knew because…it was Blaine: the guy who made having fun look easy.

The water came on and then Blaine’s fingers were running through his hair, wetting the strands and then a pause and when they came back again he could feel the shampoo being massaged through his scalp. Kurt closed his eyes and concentrated on the nostalgic feel of someone washing his hair, painfully remembering how his father used to do the same when Kurt begged him too because he thought larger hands would get the job done faster. The grapefruit scent flowed to him and his throat closed up.

He hated grapefruit. It was his father’s favorite but he had forced himself to come to terms with the scent so he would be prepared for a situation similar to this. He wasn’t and he doubted he ever would be.

Blaine rinsed and tapped Kurt lightly on the cheek. He opened his eyes. “Do you want a second rinse or should I just go ahead with the conditioner?”

The question was so far from his thoughts that he had to laugh. “Are you willing to reach late for History class?”

“I don’t think Mr. Burton would really care…”

“Then why don’t we just skip the next two periods all together?” Kurt proposed.

Blaine’s eyes reflected panic. Shit. Too fast, too soon.

“Maybe another time then,” he quickly added. “When you feel crazy enough to do it.” Kurt winked, Blaine grinned and things were back to normal.

A second rinse and some conditioner later, Kurt was combing through his hair in the mirror with Blaine sitting on the sink next to him, watching intently. Occasionally he would glance at the brunette who didn’t take his staring as slightly offensive but only smiled adorably and went back to staring. Kurt gave up with the mental messages.

He peeked out the bathroom door first and told Blaine the coast was clear. Before he left, though, Blaine pulled him back with this serious look on his face. Kurt’s stomach dropped. He dreaded this moment.

“How long have they been doing this to you, Kurt?”

He tried for casual. “Since the beginning, I guess. I came to high school openly gay and I knew the consequences but honestly, I didn’t care.”

Blaine’s scalene eyebrows drew together. “How could you just take that? And why is it that a teacher never saw this?”

“They do see things. They just don’t see things, if you get what I mean.”

The brunette shook his head. “No I don’t Kurt. That guy threatened to kill you.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe Karofsky went a little farther than usual but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“If you can handle it then why are they still doing it?” Blaine placed his warm palm on Kurt’s shoulder. “I think you should tell someone, Kurt. I’m scared…for you. I know what bullying is like and what it could lead to and I don’t want to see you go through something that awful.” He shook his head like if he was trying to clear an image from his brain. “Promise me you’ll tell someone? You should try Mr. Schue-“

“No, Blaine, please,” he begged, “don’t come with that I should visit a guidance counselor bullshit. ‘Cause I’ve done it Blaine. I went to the counselor once and it didn’t fucking help.” His voice hitched and he could tell he was getting louder but he couldn’t stop. “All they do is make you bring up all these bad memories and when you break down they tell you to “let it all out”; but when does it ever stop Blaine? When does the letting it all out stop? How come they could never help you with that?” He wiped away the tears angrily. “I’ve learnt to accept it now and so far, I’m still alive, aren’t I? So please, leave me the fuck alone about my problems and I won’t bother you with yours.”

The words were harsh on his tongue and he felt so awful for telling Blaine this but it had to be said or else the boy would continue pitying him where pity wasn’t appreciated.

Blaine gave a sad smile. “You’re a lot stronger than I am, you know that? A lot stronger…” Kurt stared, a little shocked that Blaine wasn’t as upset as expected and at the sudden respect. “And I’m sorry for doubting you even for a second.” He tipped forward, kissed Kurt on the corner of his mouth then left.

The bell went signaling the end of second period.

*O*O*O*

Looking through a closet was tough, especially when you had literally nothing to wear. In the far back where all useless-but-too-precious-to-throw-away things were, he found a black and blue plaid shirt and matched them with a pair of black pants. He held the shirt up against his chest and instantly liked the way it brought out the blue in his eyes.

Peter wasn’t home as usual so he had Florence and the Machine blasting in his room. The lyrics of Cosmic Love rose and fell with Florence’s beautiful, haunting voice which made Kurt wonder why the Glee club never did a cover of her instead of the trashy pop songs they had started clinging too. Maybe he’d appreciate them a bit more.

His phone beeped. A text from The Mack. Change of plans. Arby’s is full so we’re heading to Dave’s Steakhouse instead. Mucho better. Of course, the reservation had fallen through. The Mack would be making up an excuse for it all now.

He headed outside with a pack of cigarettes. He sat on the bench in the car park and lit one to keep him warm in the chilly, night air. Pulling the beanie lower on his head, he watched the various residents leave and enter the complex at this time. He always made it a job of his to learn his neighbors so he’d separate the poverty-stricken from the ones who just got out of jail, and know who to keep away from.

Quinn’s Sedan pulled up and he hopped in. Dave’s Steakhouse was some distance away so the silence in the car had enough time to become uncomfortable. It got to Quinn first.

“You and Blaine had a fight?” she asked and Kurt’s head snapped towards her from gazing out the window. She glanced over at him then focused on the road.

There was no use in lying so he nodded. “How’d you know?”

She laughed. “Heard you two arguing while passing the bathroom. Something about a guidance counselor?”

Kurt pursed his lips. “I got a slushie facial and Blaine happened to see. He got all upset about it and wanted to help me so I told him not too.” He inhaled the smoke. “Just a mini-fight. I’m sure by tomorrow we’ll forget about it.”

“Just don’t get yourself in too deep, okay? You have enough trouble on your hands.” She took a sharp corner and swung again into Dave’s car park. They got out and Kurt cursed into the night air, wishing he had brought a jacket. He stomped the cigarette with his boot and together he and Quinn went to the front of the restaurant.

“One more thing,” Quinn said with a tight grip on his arm. “Try not to talk about Blaine in front of the others, ‘kay? They’re kinda closing in on us.” His face measured surprise. If they were trying to close him off, he would understand, but not the leader too. He looked at the black ballet skirt, peach cashmere sweater with the ballet flats and her pretty hair in a high ponytail. In another life, Kurt thought, Quinn would have been beautiful.

The doors swung open. Steak and beer was naturally the predominant smell in the restaurant. On the left was the bar where each seat was already occupied by groups of hardback men in flannel shirts and goatees. To the right was the dining area where men who couldn’t fit at the bar resided and women in high boots and midriff tops sat or danced on their laps. In the back was the kitchen from where waitresses on roller blades flowed back and forth through. A jukebox blasted Tim McGraw’s Friday Night Lights, even on a Monday.

A hand waving vigorously in the air towards the back caught Kurt and Quinn’s attention. The Mack was waving and screaming at them from atop her boyfriend’s lap. Her body blocked him so Kurt couldn’t make any assumptions yet. When they drew closer, Sheila and Ronnie were whispering in the corner but stopped when they saw the pair. There were six beer bottles already empty on the table and Kurt had no doubt the The Mack had drunk at least two of those.

“Hey guys!” she greeted then slid off her boyfriend’s lap. Kurt was caught unawares. The trucker was half the age he was thinking of and was actually good looking. He looked to be in his late-twenties, early-thirties with a patch of black beard and light moustache, a wide forehead and black hair swept back naturally. His eyes crinkled as he smiled and he held out a veined arm for Kurt to shake. He took it, forgetting to smile and sat down next to Sheila. Quinn squished him in so the six of them were facing each other.

“This is Avery, you could call him Ave,” The Mack said loudly. “Ave, tell my friends a bit about yourself. They already don’t trust me on getting a good boyfriend.” She laughed and hiccupped. Kurt studied the bottles on the table and saw one was by Sheila, two by Ronnie and another two by Ave. Only one was in front of The Mack which meant she was pretending to be drunker than she really was. The Mack was nervous for some strange reason. He glanced over at Quinn who had made the conclusion already. And Kurt thought he was good.

“I’m thirty-one, I’m a trucker on I-95, met The Mack at a pit-stop in Caldertown and we hit it off from there.” He smiled but his lips were too tight and his eyes too harsh.

“Aaaannddd he’s pursuing a degree in Criminology!” she boasted. “So yes, he finished high school.” Her words weren’t slurring as a drunken girl’s would. The façade was slipping. There were more nerves.

“When are we gonna start eating?” Ronnie asked. Everyone looked at her and laughed, including Quinn, so Kurt went along. They ordered a large platter of Cowboy Ribeye – some sort of steak Kurt never heard off – and a cocktail for each person. Kurt took a Godfather, because of the name.

The conversation continued with The Mack gradually getting sober. Kurt kept his head down and when Ave wasn’t looking, glanced at the man to pick up things about his personality. But Ave was stiff, smiling when necessary, talking when necessary and never taking his eyes off his girlfriend. Maybe if he overanalyzed the last one he could say that Ave was overprotective, but that was wildly guessing and Kurt preferred to be certain.

When boredom hit, his mind strayed and he thought about the fight with Blaine again. He would definitely go apologize tomorrow because truthfully, it was eating him up. And Blaine’s final words were too confusing for him to make much of it. The brunette was bullied, he surmised, but it couldn’t have been in that preppy school. This meant he had been in a public school at first, transferred to Dalton and then his dad had shepherded him into McKinley.

The apology wouldn’t be grand since Kurt never did well with those. A simple “I’m sorry” would get things going and then they could restart their early morning meetings, on Mondays and Fridays, at the Lima Bean. It was nice going to the coffee shop and not having to spend his money. After the fight had died down, maybe he would ask Blaine to pick him up every day for a cup of coffee. That’d be nice. Unconsciously, he smiled.

“What are you thinking about?” Quinn asked. He shook his head and she knew.

The platter arrived along with their cocktails. They each had to give a toast and in the end, Sheila’s was the best.

“To hot sex and wild nights!” they hollered and knocked their glasses. Some drinks spilled but Kurt couldn’t mind less because his tongue was itching to taste the fire. It was thick and strong and hard to swallow but he made it. Four rounds later and all of them were shit drunk. The jukebox switched from country music to a smash of techno and dub step. The beats pulsed in his chest.

The energy of the people around him vibrated and resonated and he felt it starting to bubble up inside him. The vitality was streams of colors of purple and pink and yellow and they all merged in the center of the restaurant where the waitresses were clearing the tables to make a dance floor, already pooling with people. He felt his head bobbing, and then his body moving in the seat and when he looked at his friends the same effect had captured them. The colors called to him and the dancing people seemed to beckon him even further. He finished the rest of Sheila’s Godfather - or maybe it was a Bloody Mary since everything tasted the same to him - and followed his blue streak towards the heart of the dance floor. He lost himself in the spectrum.