The Return

November 25, 2010

Dave swung his truck into an open space, narrowly missing several terrified freshmen. He bounded out of the front seat, a smirk already plastered on his face. He even dared to almost strut. His mind wasn't so quiet behind that mask, though, and his heart was jumping to and fro. He'd had several days to think, to plan, to plot. What he knew was this…he was either going to kiss Kurt or kill him. But then, even in Dave's mind, kill was just a word. He was so overdramatic these days. One of those latent homo things, he chuckled to himself.

Just feet inside the door, he was greeted by a group of his teammates, Azimio included, and they all high-fived him and laughed and roared and congratulated him on getting back and taking care of things. Dave paused, what had he taken care of? He brushed through their shoulder punches and headed for his locker. After that warm greeting, there was a shift. And then the walls closed in.

Everyone was staring at him. Glaring. Shaking their heads, whispering. Ms. Sylvester looked like she could flay him alive as he moved past her office. Did that fairy say something after all? I thought he and I were finally maybe cool after he didn't…out me. Shit, what the hell? He had enough time to drop his things off in his smelly locker and still blow past where Hummel's was. He had memorized that much long ago. He passed a few familiar faces on the way. Hudson and Berry were staring daggers into him. The wheelchair kid and Brittany changed their route to avoid him.

He rounded the hall and came to a stop in front of Kurt's locker. It was open. And it was empty. His mouth fell open as he felt his temperature going up. He stumbled forward, not really seeing, not really believing. It's just a joke, he's getting back at me in his lame, gay way. He's not…Dave was at the locker. The only thing left was residue from the tape that had held up that lame preppy's picture that was probably Kurt's little pansy boyfriend.

But before he could even launch himself into the hate, the smell hit him. Kurt's smell. Something clean and fresh and just so slightly intoxicating. Dave knew that smell, he'd inhaled it when he stole that first kiss. The remnants of it now made him want more and NOW. Before he know what he was doing, he crammed his entire head into the locker and sucked in through his nose like a lost puppy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, punk ass?" Dave slammed his head on the locker and as he jerked around to face that black diva bitch, Mercedes. Shit, Kurt's friend. Be cool, be cool, Dave. "I, uh, I was just, I…what's it to you?" Dave tried to sound big, like his old self. Confident, nonchalant, cruel. But his eyes betrayed him, like they always did. Mercedes saw right through him.

"You asshole! You made him leave! You scared him so bad. You hurt him so much. What the hell is wrong with you? I lost my best friend, and it's your damn fault. You bigoted, cowardly, dumbass…" Dave didn't hear the rest. Kurt was gone. Kurt was gone. He grabbed his chest. It ached violently, suddenly. Mercedes stopped her tirade in wonder, or shock or annoyance. But she watched him. "He's gone…he's really gone…" Dave kept saying over and over. No more kisses. No more chances. He'd blown it. Kurt was probably already in that jacket-wearing prettyboy's arms.

He didn't realize he'd fallen to the floor. He didn't realize. He never realized…he really loved Kurt. He wanted to hurt him to make him feel as bad as he did because he could never be him. Never have him. Never love…Mercedes' face appeared directly before Dave's now sweating, panting face. "My God. That's why…you like him…you…Oh HELL…Why didn't I see this? He's my best friend dammit!" She grabbed Dave by the scruff and with unnatural strength wrenched him up. "Come on MeatMarket, we're blowing off first period…You've got some talking to do…:

Dave went with her. Numb. Kurt was gone. And Dave wanted to die. It was his fault and it was too late.