Time is Slipping Away

Chapter 3

Footsteps echo throughout the halls of Dalton. Leather shoes tap the floor sorely with each brisk step.

He makes his way through the crowds of boys, keeping his head high as he is met with grimaces and cold stares. He continues, brushing away the shoulder checks he receives as he makes his way up the grand staircase.

Tiredness is apparent, it is one of the first signs. His body wants to lay down; it wants him to sleep.

He makes his way into the empty dorm, he lets his bag drop to the floor and makes his way over to the bed. The single bed, it's twin sitting across the room, unoccupied. It is his room, a twin bedroom belonging to himself. He will never admit it, but he misses the company; he misses Cameron, his former roommate. He misses the talks they used to have, the exchanging of tips when it came to men, the fun. That was until the boy had joined the others in their hating and he had asked to room with Trent instead.

Despite being at a school full of boys his own age; most of whom are gay like himself, he feels more alone than ever.

He really messed up, he knows that. He managed to earn the curly-haired boy's forgiveness, but the warblers would need more than just an apology to convince them that he is truly regretful.

He will give in, but not just yet. His mind is wandering, he allows it to drift elsewhere.

He thinks about death, to most it is seen as dark, evil; to him however, it is an easy way out of this cruel life.

He begins to mentally write a checklist; Blaine Anderson being at the top. He wants his last few months to be special, he wants the warblers to go to nationals; although at this moment he knows it is not a possibility, a team worthy of a national championship have to be a team, not like a Nazi organisation obeying their Hitler; which is what the situation at Dalton feels like at the time.

A harsh rapping on the door pulls him away from his thoughts, he gives permission for the person to enter.

A short brunette, under the name of Nick enters the room; a flat look pasted on his face.

"Phone call for you"

He raises an eyebrow. A formal phone call, that would be right, probably from a doctor or counsellor; he didn't need to be dealing with this shit at the minute.

"Really. Who?" he asks, his eyes not leaving the other boy.

"Your mother"

His mother? Why would she call him through Dalton? Why not on his cell phone?

He sighs and shuffles off the bed, light-headedness washes over him as he stands up. He leans against the wall for support; this didn't happen often.

The brunette shifts his gaze, a hint of concern present in his eyes. He is unaware of his situation, yet he knows he can sense that something isn't right.

Mystery games. He likes them, he likes making people guess; making them continuously think over and over again until the stress of not knowing eats away at them and they eventually crack. Nick would be a victim to this game.

He exits the room, following the warbler swiftly along the corridor. Listening carefully to the noise that is erupting behind the closed doors of the dormitories. The talking, the laughing; he was probably the subject of their conversations. He doesn't care though, he lets them talk, he lets them laugh; he'll let them be sorry when it's too late to take it all back, he'll let them feel remorse.

He reaches the small office on the far side of the building and expresses a simple "thanks" towards the brunette, he tries to keep it civil between them. To be honest, he likes Nick, he likes how vulnerable and weak the boy is, he is an easy target. He just got too caught up with the rest of the groups tactics against the captain, that he failed to see sense. Pity, he would have made a good wing man to him. It's too late now.

"Mom?" he introduces the conversation, sighing as he prepares for the heartfelt talk he knows his mother is going to give him.

"Sweetheart is that you?"

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

"Your father and I are flying to Westerville at the weekend, there are a few things we need to sort out with you"

There it was, the formal stuff. It would be all the documents and crap he would have to sign, all the legal stuff any dying person would have to put the pen to paper for. It was going to crop up at some point, he just wished it wasn't now.

"Okay, I see"

"It shouldn't take too long, we don't want to keep you from your friends honey"

He couldn't help but scoff. Friends, what a laugh. The only friends he had at this moment had to be his textbook and his pillow. Real friends, he hadn't had them in a while; he thought inanimate objects were more easy to associate with, they didn't judge, they didn't take sides, they were just there when you needed them, to be used. They suited him perfectly.

"Yeah" he chuckled, whilst rolling his eyes

"So how've you been Sebastian? Is everything going okay? Are you keeping up with all the work?"

He loved how his education was more important, he supposed he did have to keep up a good grade record in order to be the 'perfect son' for his elite parents. The fact that whether or not he maintained a 4.0 average didn't matter to him, it's not like he will be going to college. He knows he will be lucky if he lives to see graduation. He still tries though, he doesn't want to be any more of a disappointment.

"I've been fine and yes mom, school's okay, i'm up to date with everything"

"Good"

He continues to answer his mother's ongoing questions, he expresses a fake smile every time she mentions his peers and how friendly they were. Were. The past tense.

The conversation ended after a long discussion about the Warblers, his heart swelling every time his mother mentioned how proud her and his father were that he had become captain of such a highly respected club. He needed to hear this, it soothed him, he knew that their approval meant more to him than anything, he would continue to be the perfect son until the day he died; he didn't have to keep this up for much longer.

"I love you too mom"

He hung up and sighed.

Fatigue washes over him once again, he feels like an early night. He has nothing better to do after all. It is early evening, everyone would be in the dorms by now; studying, socialising, the usual. He couldn't socialise with himself, and with his current state of mind, studying didn't seem like an option.

He makes his way back to his room, he quickly undresses and peers at the mirror in the ensuite bathroom. He admires his toned body, he knows it won't last long. He's seen sick people, how thin and frail they look; no matter how much he tries to deny it, he will become like that eventually.

He pulls on a pair of pyjama pants and a shirt. He makes his way over to the bed and climbs in. He doesn't care about brushing his teeth or scrubbing up, that can wait until the morning. He's too tired.

He pulls the duvet up to his neck, he shivers slightly. It doesn't take him too long to fall asleep, to give his body the much needed rest it deserves.

Thoughts and emotions encircle his mind, weaving in and out of his dreams. Faces appear, most cold and full of hate, but one in particular; Kurt Hummel.

He was the obstacle in his path, the wall he needed to climb. He had failed the first time, the slushie had missed.

He subconsciously smiles; he conjures up a cunning plan in his sleep.

Step 2: Remove the obstacle.