Love The Stranger (Glee)

How to Get Over a Traumatic Move

YALL I'm not editing this good until later BUT I wrote this a long time ago and have decided to finish the chapter and maybe... Go back to writing it!

“I was wrong to tell you that this is a story about the failures of love. No, it is about real love, true love. Imperfect, wretched, weak love.”

- Tara Conklin, The Last Romantics

...

Later that night

...

That cracked ceiling never gets old. One little crack, ruining things it doesn't know it's ruining.

A steady dripping of rain water from the storm drips from that crack. It falls into one of Kurt's Mother's old cooking pans. His Dad must've put it there when Kurt didn't come home in time to do it himself.

He smiles at that, throwing Sam's jacket (that he forgot to give back) on his bed. For some reason, he wants to laugh. He wants to laugh so hard, his ribs will break. He wants the whole world to hear his laughter. That's how much he wants to laugh.

Instead, Kurt splashes water in his face in the bathroom. The mirror shows someone -- a swollen pink- lipped, messy-haired -- someone.

A mess, his dad said, you look like you rolled in mud.

Oh right, that too.

It was pouring by the time Kurt let go of Sam's shirt. The rain water made their clothes stick to them as if wrapped in cellophane, but Kurt had nothing to be mad about -- for the first time in his life he felt something in his heart. He held his hands out for it just in case it would fall out. For it beat so hard against his ribcage like a puppy begging for a treat. He had never felt such...

There's no word for it. He had never felt it before this night.

While Kurt held his chest in his hand, he glanced at the mirror in his car: he was filthy all over, rain water dripping off his hair -- and yet, his smile was to one eye and back.

He felt he was floating on air. It was no longer bumpy hills, but a cloudless sky and air that kept him from falling. It was no longer the thought of death like it was no longer the thought of flying.

When he stepped out of the car, he noticed there was no music playing. For the first time in a long time, Kurt was enjoying himself without music to pull him through. Right then, he didn't know what to think about it. Had Sam simply made him go insane?

The bathroom shakes each time a lightning bolt strikes the ground. A smell of vanilla comes from Kurt's shampooed hair -- a reflection of him looks as happy as he feels on the inside.

At night when he tries to go to sleep, his eyelids stay open, and he can't close them. Sam's touch is keeping him awake. And his heart, thumping so hard he can feel it in the back of his throat.

He watches, instead of forcing the sleep to overcome him, the darkness above. And in that darkness, all that terror, all that shadow, he can see himself holding hands with someone of his dreams. When the gender question comes up, the picture goes away, a beating begins elsewhere -- his ears ringing.

Maybe sleep is the only cure to uncertainty.

Dare sleep when ones so awake and ready to be loved?

Kurt dares and sleep takes him somewhere else. Back to those bumpy hills, but it isn't blonde hair and green eyes he's seeing. No, it's curly dark brown hair and hazel eyes in his vision.