Locker Room Kiss
I hated Mondays already. Today didn't make them much better in my book. I was already pissed off thanks to the pop quiz I just had in Algebra. Stupid variables! What were letters doing in math anyway? They didn't belong.
Speaking of things that didn't belong, I noticed Kurt Hummel walking towards me. Or at least, in my general direction. He had this stupid grin on his face. Why did he deserve to be so happy when I felt so bad? Worse even when I didn't even know what was making me so depressed lately? Why did Hummel look so… misty? Yeah, that was the word for it. He looked content. Peaceful. Why did it bother me so much?
Why did I even care?
Whatever. Ladyboy Hummel hadn't gotten his daily visit with Mr. Locker yet, and now seemed as good a time as any. But for some reason, I wanted to destroy that stupid phone he was grinning at. It was the source of his happiness, and something about the text he could be reading pissed me off even more!
I slammed the phone down to the ground, and then shoved Ladyface into the locker with more force than usual. Satisfied, I headed to practice. I knew I was going to be early, but changing by myself in the locker room felt more comfortable, so I grabbed at the chance as often as possible.
As I opened my locker, I heard the locker room door slam open with an ear-splitting BAM! I would have turned around in shock, but I already heard Hummel's ridiculously feminine voice screaming at me, so I kept my cool, keeping my poker face to perfection. Secretly, I was panicking. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. I push him, I walk away, and he feels miserable. He comes to school the next day in another ridiculous getup, and we start it all over. But he was not supposed to follow me into the locker room screaming holy hell! Thank God no one else was there…
"I'm talking to you!" Yeah, I gathered that. Why? I figured if I outwitted him, I'd have a shot at getting him the hell out of there. A long shot, I know. "Girl's locker room is next door." Not bad.
"What is your problem?" My problem? Not cool. "'Scuse me?" He kept shouting in my face. "What are you so scared of?"
Well I was really pissed then, so I hit him with a pretty low blow.
"Besides you sneaking in here to peek at my junk?" I felt bad about that one. I knew that wasn't what he was doing.
After spitting that out at him, I did my best to avoid eye contact. Not easy when this shrill little fairy was practically screaming in my face.
He sounded sarcastic then. And to be honest, I didn't blame him. "Oh yeah, every straight guy's nightmare. That all us gays are secretly out to molest or convert you. Well guess what, ham hock? You're not my type!" I stopped setting my stuff on the bench and turned to face him directly.
Ham hock? Now that was just rude. And it felt like someone had punched me in the chest. I blamed it on the tots at lunch and spit back a biting, "That right?" Nice Dave. Real clever comeback.
"Yeah. I don't dig on chubby boys who sweat too much and are going to be bald by the time they're thirty!" I winced; silently hoping to God it was only internally. Why don't you pierce harder, Hummel? I don't think you reached my lungs yet.
The insults themselves didn't bother me so much – except for the bald comment.
Honestly, I'm really strangely obsessive over my hair. It was hard walking away that time he made the Supercuts comment. I told him they love walk-ins, but I honestly have no idea. Ever since I was old enough to get haircuts by myself, I've been going to an actual hairdresser. It's no big deal. I like my hair a certain way and Supercuts just didn't cut it – no pun intended.
My point is, I've had insults hurled at me all the time. My teammates, opposing teams, coaches. Why did it feel a thousand times worse hearing them from this little punk? Especially considering he had more than good reason for it? All I want now are for them – and him – to stop.
Threats usually work. "Do not push me, Hummel." I growled and raised my fist menacingly, warning him the only way I knew how. I saw his eyes flash down to my fist, saying "You gonna hit me?". I froze for a minute. Was he really asking if I would hit him?
Apparently it was a rhetorical question, because then he looked straight in my eyes and the next two words that came out of his mouth were "Do it."
WHAT? This kid was freaking crazy! He just wasn't going to be happy until I punched him in his big, fat, stupid, gay mouth! Well, far be it from me to deny him what he so clearly wanted.
I had to admit, though; as girly as he dressed and acted and sounded, Hummel was actually a tough guy. Not in the obvious way, but in a way that I definitely had to give him props for. He could stand up to me anyways. This was probably the first time I could easily think of him as a guy. The muscles in his neck and collarbone stood out and he wasn't smirking in that "I'm-Queen-of-the-freaking-world" way he always does.
I realized how tough he had to be, dealing with us every day. I never thought about it before, but he always seemed more concerned about his clothes than his actual safety. Was that stupidity, or… bravery? Why did he have to make things so hard for himself?
Either way, that was beside the point. Tough or not, he was soon going to get closely introduced to the Fury!
But I couldn't do it.
I tried to justify it to myself, the fact that I just couldn't make my fist hit his face, eventually deciding that I didn't want to get caught by Beiste, who had lately been all buddy-buddy with the Glee club coach.
Whatever. I'd just try scaring him again. He had to reach a breaking point eventually. Which made me wonder: What was my breaking point?
I slammed my locker shut, yelling back at him. "Don't push me!"
And he just kept going! "Hit me, 'cause it's not going to change who I am. You can't punch the gay out of me anymore than I could punch the ignoramus out of YOU!"
I could feel it coming now. My breaking point. I could feel it coming and knew it was going to be his own fault.
His face was getting closer and closer and I was getting strangely excited and nervous, because I honestly had no idea what was going to happen. As much show as I put on, I really didn't want to seriously hurt him. I told myself it was because I couldn't get suspended again.
"Get out of my face!" I pointed to the door, but he continued to stand his ground. I could almost feel the fury burning my face from his flashing gray eyes.
That's funny. I could have sworn they were blue before. Yeah, they had definitely been blue. When Azimio and me vandalized the Glee club picture in the yearbook last year, I remembered thinking how blue they were, staring up at me from the unusually happy Kurt in the picture.
Well, it was unusual for me anyway.
That was the first time I ever really felt guilty about all the things I had ever done to him. Not that it had stopped me. The only thing that had ever halted my attacks was that time his dad was in the hospital. Poor guy had had a heart attack. I only knew because my dad took his car to Burt's whenever he had a problem with his engine.
At school, Fancy looked like anything could push him off of his mental cliff. I knew I couldn't live with myself if I landed Hummel in the crazy house. But that break ended when his dad got better. As soon as everything was back to normal, everything was back to normal. I couldn't let anyone know I had felt bad for the kid.
My whole point was that his eye color must change with his mood. And gray must equal pissed the hell off.
But as pissed as he was, it didn't seem like he had a breaking point. He just kept at it, and screamed, "You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ORDINARY you are!"
And that was it. I snapped.
But not the way I thought I would. I didn't hit him. I didn't even shove him like I normally would have. It seemed my brain had other plans. I thanked it later, knowing I could have never and would have never done this without its help. Because it knew what I didn't consciously know. That I couldn't hit Kurt.
I cared about him too much.
So instinctively, the way you jump for something that falls off a table, even though you have absolutely no chance of success, I took the hand that was still pointing to the door and, within the smallest fraction of a second, had pulled Kurt into the most amazing kiss.
If I really wanted to admit it to myself – which I figured I might as well at this point – it was amazing because it was with him.
It was hard to believe how much I had wanted him. It was news to me. Whatever I had felt for him, I must have just misinterpreted it as disgust for what he was and satisfaction at trying to squash it out of him.
But what I really realized at this moment was how in awe I was athis complete lack of care at what everyone else – including myself – thought. How jealous I was of that freedom.
And it was literally impossible to think of anything else in that moment, least of all the fact that my entire life was over if I was caught in the middle of the day, in the middle of the public high school, in the middle of the locker room kissing McKinley's resident homo, Kurt Hummel. It was impossible to think of anything but his soft hair, skin, and lips.
Or the fact that, for these short seconds, they were all mine.
After a second of this blissful haze of thoughts in my head, I realized how completely unprepared he was for this. I mean I sure as hell didn't see this coming, so how could he? I wondered what he could be thinking about my… attack.
Oh my God, I just attacked his lips!
It was hard to pull away from the kiss – that, though it felt like it could have lasted hours, had actually only lasted about two seconds – but I didn't let go. I let one hand slide from grabbing his face to resting on the side of his soft, soft neck. I let the other slide down from his face, down his chest, and let it rest on his hand that he still had up in front of him from when he was shaking his finger in my face.
His face was shocked. What else could I expect? But instead of rationally analyzing the situation and coming to a logical conclusion about why his expression looked the way it did, my mind wandered to more pleasant things. Like the way the usually unflattering locker room lights hit his chocolate colored hair and – now blue – eyes in an extremely flattering, attractive, way. And the soft, flushed color of his extremely kissable – I now knew by experience – lips.
Everything came together in this small package that had seconds before been screaming in my face. His mouth and eyes, already wide open from shock, fell open slightly more when he registered what had just happened. All I could think about was how adorable he was and how great I felt after that kiss, and – without stopping to think again – leaned in for another one.
Because I wasn't thinking rationally like I should have been, I had completely forgotten that I had made this boy's high school life miserable and he more than likely hated every fiber of my being. I shouldn't have been so surprised when his small hands started to work again, pushing me away with as much force as he had. And because I completely deserved it, it shouldn't have hurt so much.
But it did. Especially when I saw his expression clearly.
He looked disgusted. There really wasn't any other word for it. It hurt more than I could ever possibly say when he just stared at me with his hand over his mouth, like he was protecting it. He looked so… violated.
Then I realized why.
This was probably his first kiss, too. At least, this kind of kiss. I hadn't really thought much about it – being so distracted by other things – but I was pretty sure he didn't have much opportunity for relationships. Or kissing.
If that was true, then I just screwed up that should-have-been-perfect moment for him. This should have been the moment of his life that he looked back on with pleasant thoughts, maybe even laughing at any slight awkwardness there may have been.
What Kurt got for his first kiss was an unwanted attack by a homophobic, – apparently closeted – nut job who was chubby, sweat too much, was supposedly going to be bald by the time he was thirty, and had made it his life's mission to make Kurt's life miserable hell.
The kiss was amazing for me, but he deserved much, much better.
It finally dawned on me what I'd just done. I finally realized how enormous of a mistake this was, no matter how amazing it was. That, on top of the fact that I had not only just been brutally rejected, but that he could actually tell someone, didn't make me the most calm or the most rational person in the world.
I knew I had to get out of there before I did something else I would regret later. Not that I regretted this in the slightest. Ugh.
I was scared and confused and really needed to hit something. That thought right there scared the hell out of me. I slammed the locker, threw one more look at the boy standing in front of me, and walked out, trying more than anything not to think of what had just happened.
Yeah, like that was going to happen.