Written with Mothergoddamn
Kurt sighed, fingers smoothing over the emerald pendant. Fabulous! It would look amazing with his Christian T'one blazer. Oh, and he could wear it tonight on his date with Blaine! And—
"That is darling!" Rachel cried, coming up behind him. "It would just- Kurt? It's stuck on your fingers." She gave a tug. "Still stuck."
"It's not stuck! I am holding it."
"Kurt!" She smiled brightly. "C'mon. Please? I've had the worst month in forever and this would cheer me up."
"You? You've had a bad month? Seriously? My bird died, Rachel!"
He pulled at the chain.
"It wasn't yourbird-"
She pulled it back.
"And now I'm back at McKinley! Away from Blaine, and stuck with Karofsky. Oh, and your pleat skirts! Do you know how heart wrenching all that is? How self obsessed are you? "
He gave a rough jerk.
"Well, Kurt Hummel! I think you're the self obsessed one! Everything's always about you being gay and how hard it is for you to having a doting father who gives you whatever you want and friends that stick by you! I have two gay dads, you know? They don't whine as much as you! But I'm constantly victimized, even by the losers at this school! For goodness sake, I'm stalked by Jacob Ben Israel!" She snatched at the chain. "Not only that, but Finn is avoiding me, Quinn keeps smirking at me, and Mr. Schue is borderline bullying me. You want pain? Try being me!"
"Are you gonna, like, pay for that?" They both looked up at the cashier, who was chewing gum with a bored expression. "Because my boyfriend is coming by soon and I wanna close up early so no one catches me giving him head in Children's Toys."
Kurt blinked. "What?"
"Uhm...excuse me, but this is broken? I mean, it's clearly defective and I don't think its very wise that you are selling damaged goods."
"This is a thrift store, lady. Either pay up or get out."
"Well, I think that's just-"
"Rachel, come on." Kurt slammed the pendant down on the counter. "Thanks but no thanks." He gave the pendant one last mournful look as the cashier slipped it back underneath the display counter, coiling it to disguise its broken chain. With a sigh he shoved Rachel out of the doorway and onto the street.
Barrie Berry smiled as he cleaned the plate. What a lovely day,he thought as he looked out the window, humming along to the radio.
"ARGGGHHHHHH!" The dish clattered from his hand as he heard his daughter, Rachel, screaming in a rather masculine fashion. "ARGGGHHHHH!"
"Rachel?" Fear clutching at his heart he ran from the room, taking the steps two at a time. "Rachel?" he cried flinging open her bedroom door. "What is it?"
She spun around, her mouth agape and eyes wide. "Who the hellare you?"
"Rachel? Did you have a bad dream, honey? Was it the one where you miss a step during Mein Herr and fall off the stool?"
"Dreaming? That's it! I'm dreaming!" She turned to the mirror and slapped herself hard. And again. And again. "Hmm, that is a painful and strangely satisfying. But I'm not waking up!"
They reallyshould have had that psych exam on Shelby Corcoran.
"Rachel! Stop that! You're going to bruise!"
"Look! I have a-" She pointed at her groin. "And I have these!"
"What am I wearing? Is this an heirloom? How is it managing to cover all my skin?"
"Stop calling me that! I'm Kurt! Kurt Hummel!"
"The kid from your class that is obsessed with you? And can't sing?"
"What?" She clutched at her hair. "Oh, my God. Why is this so thick? Does she inject kelp?"
"Is this PMT? I've read about this."
"Don't be stupid! I am not on my perio-" Her eyes grew wide and she looked down at her lower half in horror. "ARGGHHHHHHHH! That is disgusting!" She ran to the bedside table, snatching up the cell and biting on a fist. "Her phone! I can call me! Right? Right?"
"Get out! Get out! I'm making a private call! God, how rude are you?"
"Ah, okay, dear. I'll, er, come check on you later?"
Barrie backed out of the room as his daughter tapped her foot and continuously, angrily, grabbed at her crotch.
Sometimes he wished they'd gotten that yacht instead of a baby.
Burt Hummel was an understanding man.
The first time he heard his son ask for a pair of sensible heels instead of a fire truck for his birthday, he had shrugged his shoulders and searched for a pair of Princess Belle jelly wedges without marabou feathers because "They're silly, Daddy!"
When Kurt had told him that he was straight and into Mellencamp, well... he knew he was lying, but when Kurt was ready to accept himself again he would be there with open arms to tell him it was alright.
But having his 16 year old son in a heap on his bedroom floor blubbering, wailing loud enough to scare a banshee and pulling open the waistband of his pajamas, only to scream and clap a hand over his eyes again, was more confusing than anything he could ever have imagined.
"Oh my god, oh my god. Santana was right. I was born a man. Oh God. Is that what they look like?" He whimpered. Peeking through a gap in his fingers he peered inside his pajama pants a second time. "Oh God! OH GOD, WHY DID I LOOK AGAIN?" Kurt screamed and threw himself into his rug, pounding the floor with his fists. Burt rapped on the door to get his attention.
"Kurt? What's wrong? You're being kinda loud." Kurt's head snapped up, eyes wide and red, and his jaw dropped.
"KURT? WAAAAAUUUGHHHHHHAAAAA!" He screeched, scrabbling at his face with his hands. "Mirror! I need a mirror!" he spluttered, grimacing in a really odd fashion. Burt stared, scratching the back of his head. "NOW Mr—" Kurt hiccupped and sniffed loudly, "—I mean, Dad. Please." Burt frowned. He was really going to have to start laying down some ground rules for Kurt, he was getting a bit too big for his boots.
Crossing the room to Kurt's dresser, he handed him a small mirror on a stand. Kurt snatched it eagerly from his fingers and stared at himself for about 3 seconds before throwing it away in disgust. Or was it fright? Burt looked at his son, arms now wrapped round his legs, rocking backwards and forwards.
He had read about this in those pamphlets Kurt's guidance counsellor had given him 'So, Your Son Likes Cher' and 'Boys Will Do Boys', Kurt had obviously been pressured by the media and gay culture into believing he was fat. He crouched down next to his son and squeezed his shoulder.
"Kurt?" He sobbed louder at the sound of his name. "Kurt... are you suffering from Body Dyslexia?"
Kurt's crying trailed off into snotty spluttering.
"I read about it. The magazines, the male models, the fashion designers, that Jake Clippers... you know? From those Scissoring Twins...they've given you a negative body image and you think you're fat. And/or ugly."
Oh God, his poor kid. He wanted to punch the person that put these ideas in his head. Was it that curly haired slut that came loud-mouthing about sex? Burt clenched his fist at the memory.
"Do you mean dysmorphic?"
"Same difference." He shrugged absently. "Is that what this is about though? Because I gotta tell you, Kurt. You're a good looking kid." Kurt looked up at him with those blue eyes, his cheeks streaked with tears and smiled. See? He had a good looking kid; he would defy anyone to tell him otherwise.
"No... no. I don't think that..." Kurt's bottom lip trembled again he threw his arms around Burt, almost knocking him over.
"Oh, Daddy!" He hiccupped into his neck, sniveling slightly.
"Are you going to be okay? Should I get you something?" He unpeeled the sobbing Kurt from around his neck, shooting him a worried glance.
"Some water?" he asked, wiping his face with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm thirsty."
"Okay." He smiled sadly and nodded towards a pillow that was quietly singing about how it wanted his love and revenge. "Your phone is ringing, by the way."
Kurt's eyes widened and he scrambled onto his bed and picked up the phone; on seeing the name, his eyes narrowed and he jabbed wildly at the screen.
"What have you done to me, you horrible little man?" he snapped into the phone, before promptly bursting into tears again.
Burt's jaw hardened. Definitely the curly-haired slut.