I should have known that he was agony. I had been slowly noticing the pain behind Kurt’s beautiful ocean azure eyes over the last couple of weeks. He would just watch me with this blank expression, but just behind the collected surface I could see the storm build. Today I finally decided that I needed to understand what was torturing my angelic friend.

I should have known the signs of depression. Ever since the day I met Kurt on those stairs I was enraptured by his mere presence. He reminded me so much of myself at a slightly younger age. He stood out. He demanded attention. He looked defeated. Even with that fake smile plastered on his porcelain face I could still see the furrowed lines on his face from severe frowning. I used to have those lines. I used to show my displeasure. I used to be human.

I should have known that I could never really be classified as his friend. At first I could be a helping hand and a mentor to Kurt. He deserved for there to be at least one person on his side. And outside of the halls of Dalton; I could be exactly what he needed, exactly who I wanted to be, exactly who I am. I was wise, yet understanding. I was fun and playful and flirty. I was laid back and easy going. Yet everything had to change when Kurt was brought into my world.

I should have known that it would have been better to just explain everything to him. I love him. He is like air and sunshine and music and the smell of grass after rain. Even tainted, he is eerily haunting. But I can’t love him. I am at Dalton for one reason. I am at Dalton to escape my past harasser. I am at Dalton to escape my father.

I should have known that I could never escape my father. When I was five my father started drinking, my father is not a happy drunk. When I was seven, my father got so angry at me that he picked up my dog by its throat, strangling most of its life out of its body before my eyes. He just kept repeating, “Life is precious son, and some beings are not worthy of living.” His eyes were cold and black and without emotion. His eyes were boring into my scared and blood shot and crying eyes. He killed my dog by snapping his neck in front of me. I still hear that sound every time I close my eyes to try and sleep.

I should have known that my father would never love me. I realized I was gay at the age of eleven. My best friend Michael had really nice hair. I have always hated mine and just the fact that Michael had really nice hair and told me that I should sing more often left a funny feeling in my gut. Not the kind that I got when I had tummy aches or the kind I got when my father would look but the kind that me feel like I could fly. Michael was my first boy kiss, I was his last. The day after our little experiment he told my father about me liking boys. My father threw me against a wall that night. I went to bed with my hair matted down in blood. I pissed blood for the next two weeks. I started dating a girl named Ashley. My father loved her.

I should have known that I couldn’t protect Kurt from myself. I thought that ignoring Kurt during school hours, yet remaining his friend outside would be the best scenario for both us. That way no one would be able to tell my father about him and me, but I could still keep him. I should have just told Kurt that. I didn’t want him to leave me because of my past and I really didn’t want him to think of me as an abused child still under the thumb of his oppressor. Dalton was supposed to be his sanctuary. Even though I was trying to protect him, I still managed to destroy him.

I should have known that when Kurt didn’t answer his door when I knocked, that something was really wrong. It had always seemed like Kurt was waiting right behind the door for me to arrive. I used to sneak to his dorm right after Warbler practice every day to see him. We would talk about anything and everything, never stopping until the alarm on my phone would go off signaling my return to solitude. Today was different, there was no answer.      

I should have known that something was wrong. I kicked down the door after the 4th set of knocks. I knew he was in there, he was always in there. He hated the librarian that worked the night shift, her clothing choices are atrocious, so he would never go there and I was here. I practically ran into the room, taking in the sight in front of me. The room was dark, but I could still make out what I was seeing. Everything was packed away in boxes, all of them with a different name on them. Some of them I knew like Mercedes and Rachel and Finn. Others were foreign like Mr. Schue and Sue Sylvester. The box with the elegant scrawl entitling it to me was the only with a letter taped to the top. I started to move towards when something caught my eye. It was then that I saw the miniscule thread of light peeking out from the bathroom.

I should have known what I would find. Snapped out of my revere I rushed towards the bathroom door and pushed it open. There was Kurt, as beautiful as ever in the soft glow of vanilla scented candles lit all around the bathtub in which he resided. Clothed in all black garb, his hair falling perfectly against his forehead, his skin a pasty yet still enchanting white, his lips a bluish purple. His entire form contrasted greatly against the burgundy red of his blood, now only dripping from the long slit up his arm. What was probably close to the rest of it flowing down the formally pristine white tub. It took me only seconds to take in the gruesomely stunning sight.

I should have known that I would be too late. By the time I had found Kurt and called 911 he had almost no pulse. His breaths were so shallow that I could barely feel them ghost across my ear when I lowered my head to listen for it. He never moved his eyes even when I placed my hands on either side of his forearm pushing the incision closed. I tried to keep pressure on the entirety of the wound, but the gash was just so long, reaching from his slim wrist all the way to his elbow. He had obviously started at his wrist and steadily ripped upwards. There was a puncture mark at the mouth of the opening, right above one of the larger veins.

 Kurt never half – assed a performance, I should have known.