#12 – From Kurt, to Sebastian – Part 6
The Glee club had absurd choices when it came to song.
That was something that Kurt Hummel had realised the minute that he was made to sing "Le Chic" which was sure was only sung in the stone-age—then again, it was better than the debacle that was Rachel's idea of being sexy. Of course, his Father had heard of it, and now, Kurt was sitting behind the kitchen counter, trying to hide his face in the plentiful amount of honey-apple porridge he was preparing for himself.
He was cutting off slices of baked cinnamon apple filled with brown sugar that he'd prepared the night before. He'd made them just to avoid thinking of anything else. His anxiety levels were high, and his hands were shaking all of the time. He'd resulted into eating, eating healthy, eating junk food, just generally eating anything. His psychological hunger was getting to his pants yet again, as he'd gained a whole two and a half pounds in simply two days of excessive overeating.
He was trying to finish off the porridge as quickly as possible and head off before Burt can say anything. He was reading the paper, and Kurt had too. He knew it was about McKinley, and that was what he feared the most. He was just about to leave the room when Burt asked. "Kurt, what's the hurry? Sit down."
That voice – that authority-ridden voice that Kurt tried to avoid…he realised he couldn't. He finally gave in, and headed back towards the table, holding his bowl of porridge in one hand. His anxiety was running high. His heart was racing, his hands were sweaty, his hairline was filled with moisture and he'd been biting at his lower lip. He can feel the tremble in his knees, and the need to kill himself off. That sinking feeling in his stomach was just rendering him to painfulness. When he had such attacks of fleeting panic as a child, all he could do was curl up in his bed and hope to die.
Burt was cut off by Kurt, whose voice was ten times higher and faster. The air was knocked out of his lungs with every word that fell from his lips. "I swear I didn't know what I was thinking."
Burt was chuckling and Kurt felt the tightness in his chest getting worse, and he carried on. "Please, please, please, I literally did not know what I was thinking. Now, if you'd listen to me, you would've known that it was all Rachel's idea. All of it. I just was a victim, and I didn't want to be judged and I was scared and-and…"
"Calm down, sport," Burt placed his hand on Kurt's shoulder, earning a soft smile from the boy before him, whose eyes were beginning to fill. "Honestly, I won't talk about it if it's gonna trigger one of those, alright?"
Kurt nodded his head very slowly. Hot tears splashed down his face.
"You're going to school today?" Burt asked. Kurt commended him for not knowing how to handle Kurt when he was in this state.
Kurt still felt heart palpitations, and his hands were still jittery. His mind was still alert, but at least, he'd dulled down. His head was pounding, and he didn't want to go anywhere. "Yeah, I'm okay."
As Kurt got older, the world was more complex, and the depression seemed to get worse, switching from a mild state to a much more moderate depression. He remembered how he was as a child all the time. He did want to die, and he lacked pleasure but not to the point where he did not feel any happiness. He lacked pleasure most of the time, but swore to himself that he was only showing signs of depression at those stages. The thing about depression was that it was confusing. His state now was horrible compared to his state before, but it didn't mean his state before was not worrying.
He just didn't know, and he was fed up of this uncertainty that was in him right now.
"Kurt?" Burt broke Kurt out of his trance. "You sure?"
Kurt nodded his head, feeling dull. "Absolutely."
Burt sighed, shaking his head, and looking at his son with a raised eyebrow. "I really wish you'd tell me something that's true, you know? You keep on lying to me."
"I didn't lie!" Kurt snapped, his hands up into the air. "For me, this is a good state of mind. At least I'm not thinking of offing myself anymore!"
Burt stared at Kurt for a while, watching hot tears fill his eyes again. Kurt bit down his lower lip that was trembling far too much. He was humiliated, and he didn't know what to say. He felt like he was an attention seeker and a horrid son, but he didn't know what else to do. The amount of emotion he was filled with was weighing him down.
Burt sighed deeply, shaking his head. He was hurt too. "I guess you aren't going to school today." It was stated like a fact.
"Maybe not," Kurt responded softly.
Kurt's mood had stabilised after a few days. He took his pills, and he was in control for the most bit of his own emotions. He wasn't a representation of an empty body walking down the hallway with little response and emotion to everything. He had friends now, or the formation of some of them. He often still tried to avoid talking to Burt, because he didn't like the tension around them.
Kurt felt as if it was too easy to say something wrong, so he didn't. He didn't want to talk to anyone about his insignificant issues, most of which he made up in his mind. Speaking of said issues, they hit him straight in the face when he told Mercedes that he liked Rachel. That was such an anxiety inducing moment that he spat out the first name he can think of. He had honestly nearly dissolved into tears when she busted out his window. He remembered standing there in shock, frozen in state, and he found himself telling her that he needed to use the bathroom in which he dissolved into tears, wondering aimlessly why he can't have any friends, how wrong he was, how useless he was, how his crushes weren't important at all because it wasn't like Finn ever wanted to be with him.
His heart raced and he swore that his lungs were ready to pop out of his chest from how much pain they were in. He didn't know what to do. He just silently wept, wondering if his Father was ever going to forgive him for what he'd done.
Of course, when Burt saw the damage, the only thing he can do was glance at Kurt, rubbing his hand through the boy's hair, and shaking his head. Kurt said the story, spitting out the truth but excluding all parts of when he was checking out Finn. He felt filthy, and wrong for keeping that important part of it out.
"I was just talking to Mercedes, and she confessed to liking me but I didn't like her and I told her I liked Rachel because I do. I like Rachel, and then this had to happen, but I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I don't know what happened. She was really hot headed, and she busted the windows of my car. It's your fault anyway. I didn't say I wanted the car, but-but-but this doesn't mean I don't appreciate it, because I do—"
Kurt's throat was burning, and he didn't know what was happening. Hot tears were forming in his eyes for what felt like the five millionth time that week, and he swore he was fed up from crying. He was fed up from feeling so guilty all of the damned time.
"Calm down, kiddo," Burt shook his head, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Kurt, look at me."
Kurt looked up to meet with Burt's eyes, and then whispered. "Yes?" his throat was aching.
Burt nodded his head and then hugged Kurt as tightly as he could. Kurt nodded his head at Burt, whom was just rubbing Kurt's back as sweetly as he could.
"Good?" Burt asked.
Kurt nodded his head, feeling the worry in his chest die slightly. In ten minutes, he'd be less anxious. In an hour, he'd be fine again. He just needed to write a letter to distract himself, and he hadn't written to Sebastian in a while. "Yeah," his voice was raspy from all the talking.
"Good," Burt nodded once more, rubbing Kurt's shoulder. "Now, remember what I tell you about the ladies, alright? Don't piss them off."
Kurt snorted, appreciating his Father's attempts at making him feel better. "I appreciate your advice."
It's Peter again. Remember when you said that you didn't care if people saw us together as close to one another as we were and they'd think we were in love? Yeah, I do care. I care immensely for that. I am surprised that I can remember the smallest memories we have of one another, waiting for the bus stop. I'd always waited…every single day. Now, I drive my own car.
I've picked up a book again, something I've always done. Perhaps, I'd enhance my writing. Perhaps, it would always remain in this drab and monotone-like manner. I thought of you when Rachel was calling out her insecurities (gag—read: insignificant), and I thought of how you were waiting for someone to call you beautiful.
Love, Honour, Broken Car Windows (I may even tell you the story to this someday),