It was four days before his final NYADA audition when Kurt committed suicide. Well, attempted suicide… technically. There weren't any rushed decisions, drastic yes, but never rushed. It had been months since the S-word was hanging over his head, clouding his every thought. Months of fighting with himself.
It all started as a normal day. He never started that day saying to himself, "hmm, what a lovely day! Let me get rid of myself this afternoon." He drove to school, went through his lessons, ate lunch with the glee kids, getting updates from them, with Rachel cancelling their NYADA-themed sleepover and Finn informing that he'd be having a late night call of duty marathon at Puck's, which was code for, "I'm going to have sex at Rachel's tonight." He drove home. Done his assignments, watched Rent, depressing but usual choice.
He had gotten into his bed, then, as he'd do most of the days. He started playing games on his phone. It was either Doodle Jump, Angry Birds or Subway Surfers, he doesn't remember and doubts it actually matters. He remembers thinking a lot during the game, nothing particular, just a cloud of sadness and general disappointment… over everything.
After a few rounds of losing, he had gotten up and sat on the floor beside his bed and drew a razor, just one slash, against his left wrist. And that's all he remembers.
Or at least that's what he'd told his therapist.
You couldn't forget an experience like that no matter how old or how deranged you become. A memory like that follows through your whole lifetime. A lifetime that Kurt had chosen not to have anymore.
He remembers crying a lot, tears that broke away the numbness, mixing with the blood running down, so much blood.
He remembers pain, raw and real physical pain that overpowered the emotional one.
He remembers slipping in and out of consciousness, hearing voices, which he later on found out had been Finn. He'd been kicked out of Rachel's house after Rachel's dads had made a spontaneous plan to take the family to the theater production of "Funny Girl".
He remembers waking up, confused and disoriented. Knowing he wasn't supposed to wake up, looking up at his wrist to see the bandages.
And then talking. Seventy two hours worth of talking.
No, he didn't leave a note. He didn't know what to say, "Sorry. I was too tired to go through another day" or "Don't miss me, I'm useless"?
Blame the society, high school and everyone for yet another statistic? A number?
No, he didn't feel like having another go at the whole killing himself thing. It just felt like another thing that he'd failed and had to live with the consequences.
What was he feeling? Nothing. Not a damn thing.
Why did he try to kill himself? It wasn't because he couldn't take anymore and snapped. Honestly, he was … bored.
So when he brought the razor to his wrist he'd thought to himself, "give me one reason why not?"
He'd had drawn a blank. So, instead of distracting himself, like many many times before, he shrugged to himself and just did it.
He'd gone to school after the weekend. Drowned in a haze of medication and rocking out long-sleeved shirts.
He didn't tell anyone what happened and why he'd taken a long weekend off. He had no comments on the fact that he'd blown off his audition. Absolutely none.
He guessed Finn must've talked or convinced Rachel to go easy on him, judging by the somehow mild version of Rachel Berry going on and on about how could he, how dare he ditch on her and how she'd blown the audition and Madam Tibbiduex away, without any actual resentment or anger directed at him.
The atmosphere in Hudson-Hummel household was... tense, to say the least. After getting discharged from the hospital and setting foot in his room again, nothing seemed to be the same. Not even his room and its newest addition, a simple rug.
He couldn't take Carole's gentle inquiries and not so subtle attempts to keep the peace or Burt's, his dad's, gaze full of questions and speeches and unsaid reassuring that "everything will be fine, son". Unsaid, because he was terrified of saying the wrong thing to set Kurt off. That was why Kurt was glad mostly for the stupor only pills could provide.
But then the blow-up happened. He remembered Burt's shouts, begs for him to say something and when he noticed his dad's red face and oh, no…his heart… he started to cry. The first time he cried since… He sobbed for his dad for having such a disappointment of a son, but not for himself, never again for himself.
How he managed to perform at nationals and then graduate was a mystery. As Puck sum it up nicely, "dude, you got the answers to the math test wrong. Now I'm going to fail. Even stoner Brett had more corrects than you. I should've copied from him. You sure you're ok?"
No, he wasn't ok. Even Mr. Shuester found his performance at practices cold and detached and put him in the furthest row from the audience. Well, at least they placed first and he didn't have to repeat his senior year. That's what mattered.
Summer started and now that he had more free time in his hands, his therapy sessions doubled. He managed to avoid the glee club so far. It was easy considering that most of the seniors had plans. While his plan … failed, miserably.
"How are you, son?", "I'm fine, dad."
"How are you?" "I'm fine, Carole."
And a simple grunt of acknowledgment was more than enough for Finn to start the car and drive him to or from his appointments. Thank grilled Cheesus that Finn stopped talking to him after...
The suicide attempt had been a mistake. He knew that much and that's all the progress he'd come to make.
He sat in his comfy chair, staring at the various painting hanging on the wall, shooting down the ideas, the attempts his therapist made to figure him out.
He glanced at the watch in front of him, learning his forty-five minutes session was up. He couldn't wait to get out of there. Back to the soft blanket only numbness would provide.
Thinking and pondering over reasons hurts.
He sits in the waiting room while the secretary's answering a few phone calls and looking through the huge notebook holding all the future appointments. A single text from Carole had announced that she's waiting in front of the building. Kurt wished they'd stopped babysitting him and let him drive. It's not like he'd drive himself off the bridge. The Navigator is too expensive for that, he chuckled darkly to himself.
Apparently he wasn't as quiet and sneaky as he'd thought. Immediately a pair of eyes shot up and met his briefly before widening comically and looking down again.
The owner was now clutching an upside down magazine and trying hard not to stare back.
Cute, he almost sighed… and then froze.
Alarms rang in his head and all his defense walls went up on a whim.
Not now. Please. Not again.
Typical Kurt. Falling for the first guy who smiles at his way.
He's not gay. Every cute guy who doesn't immediately insult or degrade him doesn't mean they aren't straight as an arrow.
And if he is gay… he's messed up. He's in a shrink office, for goodness sake.
He's not CUTE or GAY and Kurt's definitely not FALLING for him.
And if he by a snowball's chance in hell were all these things, no matter how messed up the mystery boy was, he'd never, ever, care for Kurt.
"Your next appointment is on Monday, sweetie." The secretary tells and that's it. He gets up. That's his cue to leave.
"You're up next, Mr. Anderson."
His path to the door is blocked by the mystery boy, Mr. Anderson, who's trying to head to the office.
The boy opens the door and steps behind, a slight smirk and a slight tilt of the head offering him to pass.
Nope, just a fairly cute homophobe, definitely not gay.
Kurt steps back and waits until the boy gives up and goes inside.
Kurt sits in the car, trying to forget the entire hour and how he imagined the boy's eyes turned sad before he left.