November 22, 2010
Dave swaggered to the bathroom, keeping up the pretense as long as he could. The second the door swung close, he began to hyperventilate. What had he just done? Why had he just threatened Kurt…again? He was spinning, and the mirror offered no solace. He saw his own overweight, sad, scared mug staring back at him. What had Kurt called him? Chubby, sweaty and balding. He was all those things. How was it that this guy could see right through him?
He crashed into the last stall and sat down in the shadows. He brought his fist to his mouth to keep from screaming. It just keeps getting worse, he thought. I can't control myself. Not around him. I see him and I just forget myself. A mental split happened and on the one side, he wanted to beat the kid to death for being who and what he was and so happy and so perfect and so…perfect. But Dave knew the other side well. He knew what the other side was.
He remembered the dreams he'd started having about Kurt. Innocent and playful and then successively more potent and sensual. He'd never felt so alive as he did in those dreams, and yet he always woke up. Crying, usually, when he realized it wasn't real. It would never be real. Kurt hated him, and had reason to. Dave was a monster. Jekyll and Hyde. Kurt would never let him hold his hand, or take him to dinner, or listen to Dave sing.
And besides that, Dave's father would beat the shit out of him. He'd heard for years about the damn gay agenda and the faggots and the fairies. He believed right along with him. Until Kurt. Until Kurt smiled and flipped his hair and sang in his haunting voice and Dave was dying and yet alive. What was wrong with him? This skinny little kid wears a new pair of pants and Dave wanted to follow him like a puppy. And now he'd done the worst. Not only did Kurt know, but he rebuffed him. He even brought that Blaine kid to "talk" to him and "help" him.
Yeah, I bet Blaine wants to "help" Kurt alright. Help himself to Kurt is more like it. And why not, Dave thought bitterly. He's hotter than I am, smarter, nicer. I wanted to kill him, not Kurt. Kill him to keep him away from my…the guy I…He couldn't say it. Not even to himself. It was too strong, too terrifying. Dave's panic level rose. What if Kurt leaves to go to Blaine's school? I'll never see him again. I'll never have a chance…I don't have a chance now. He hung his head and thought. Thought and thought.
Of course, the suicide thoughts came. He'd had them before. Anytime his father started railing against the gays. Everytime his little sister cried because he'd scared her by accident. Every time his Mother took another drink and ignored him. And Kurt had been his hope. Even in the worst moments, when he was so jealous and mad at Kurt that he pushed him and called him names and threw Slushies at him, he'd dared to hope. He'd thought, maybe he'd care about me.
Dave had seen Kurt pine away after that dumbass Finn all last year. And strangely, now that their parents were involved, it seemed like Kurt had gotten over it. Even when that Sam kid showed up, Kurt still didn't really bat an eye. But he had looked so sad, until Blaine showed up. And now he was all smiles. Laughter. Singing better than ever. And Dave was furious about it. Would Kurt ever act like that because of him? Could he? What can I do? What's wrong with me?
Miss Pillsbury would be no help. She was nice, but about as deep as a puddle. And no one could know. Kurt and Blaine knew already and that was one too many. Dave wanted to track that blackhaired freak down and beat him senseless. Then Kurt would like him. Survival of the fittest, winner takes all. And then Kurt would never speak to him again for hurting his friend…his boyf-NO, Dave thought. Not while I can breathe. But why bother?
He wanted to retreat to his thoughts, his memories of his dreams, his waking fantasies. They were his only escape, but they were all centered on Kurt. Had been for some time. Was this obsession? Dave shuddered at his own musing. I need help, he thought. He'll never want me like this. I can lose all the weight I want and change my attitude, but he won't want some schizo. No one does now. He leaned back to stretch and then leaned against the cold concrete wall. It was freezing against his moist skin.
His favorite dream was walking up to the Hummel house and ringing the bell. He held a plastic box with a purple orchid in it. Orchid because they're hard to grow and rare and valuable. And Kurt's Dad would answer the door and smile at him and welcome him in, like a real father. And then he'd wait and suddenly Kurt would be at the top of the stairs in a form-fitting black tux, of a fashionable sort that he would like and would be the only one who could pull off.
He'd say hi and that Dave looked great and maybe even kiss his cheek and Dave wouldn't wipe that kiss away ever. And Mr. Hummel would take their picture and then they'd ride in a long black limo to the Prom, huddled together, whispering, laughing, maybe stealing another peck on the cheek. Or on Kurt's lovely soft hands. They'd walk into the dance and the whirlwind of the evening would start. Dancing to the stuff Kurt loved and Dave secretly loved, like Lady GaGa and Madonna. And then they'd slow dance, Kurt's soft head leaning on Dave's strong shoulder.
And they'd be announced as the first ever Prom Kings, and get matching crowns. And then it'd be midnight and the car would take them from party to party, before Dave whisked Kurt to a beautiful, luxury hotel room. And they'd walk in and Kurt would spin around slowly and look at Dave with such…love…Dave realized he was crying again. Softly, and then remembered again what he'd just done.
He jumped at the sound of someone coming in. He also jumped because he knew he had to do something. He had to change. He had to get help. He had…to win Kurt. He had to earn the love he felt. He didn't deserve Kurt, but he knew he could. He wanted to try. He slammed out of the stall, almost upending that Artie kid in the wheelchair, and did something he'd never done. He apologized. Artie froze, expecting the worst, and Dave just winked and ran out. He'd winked earlier. And it meant even more this time.
He ran to his locker and grabbed his hockey stick. He wasn't ready to run into Kurt again, so he took the side door to the student lot to get to his truck. Hopping in the front seat, he revved the pickup to life and flipped the station away from the grating guitar rants and carbon copy rap he pretended to like and found something joyful. Katy Perry of all things. Teenage Dream, indeed he thought laughing. He wheeled out of the spot, almost slamming into Puckerman and his beat up Dodge, but he waved and shrugged and moved on. As he pulled out of the school lot, he saw Kurt walking sadly to his own truck. He never realized Kurt also drove a truck. Everything in him ached to go back, to apologize, to smother the boy with kisses.
But he knew he had to bide his time. It was going to take a miracle to undo what he'd done. But then, love was a miracle, wasn't it? Kurt was worth fighting for and waiting for. Dave began to sing full-throated as he headed for hockey practice.