Black Comedy

It's not how he wants it to end. Preferably, he would have liked to die in a much more...'extravagant' way then the way he's about to. Something much more like in 'The Notebook', where he could pass away silently in the arms of a lover after living his life to an elderly age. Something cliche but extravagant. Hell, he'd have preferred a tragic car accident with someone else rather than this. Being alone in his upstairs bathroom with his father's pistol.

He knows there will be people who are going to miss him. His father for sure, but he's got Carole and Finn now. They'll be there for his dad after he's gone, but he knows that it will be hard for his father to deal with his death. His mother passed years earlier and now the last living reminder of her existence on the earth is about to blow his brains against the ceiling.

He can't really blame anyone for this, except for maybe himself. Well, if he actually thinks about it, it is all his fault. He had to be gay, he had to sound like a girl with his stupid counter-tenor voice, and most of all, he had to practically out David Karofsky in the boys locker room. Sure, no one else had been there, but he should have just left well enough alone. He shouldn't have kept yelling at the bigger boy when it became apparent that the situation was about to reach its boiling point.

Even though it is almost two hours later, he can still feel the other boy's lips on his and it makes him feel disgusting. Maybe that's the supposed punishment, forever feeling like a worthless piece of crap that no one is going to want because he's used and broken. If something so important to him like his first real kiss was stolen so easily, then what could be the next thing that he gets stolen from him? He shudders at the thought.

He's not going to give him the chance to. He's not going to let Karofsky get close to him ever again. He doesn't think he could ever handle seeing him again or even being in the same building. He's not going to give him the chance to spread lies about him should anyone have seen the confrontation and tarnish his sterling reputation. He's not going to give him the chance to hurt him again.

The bullet lays on the porcelain sink, staring back at him, and he can't stop his hand from gravitating toward it. That's all it's going to take, one bullet to the head and it's over. Everything will be over. The name calling, dumpster tosses, slushie facials, locker shoves, and the constant fear of whether the person he's talking to is going to join in harassing him once they find out that he's the school's resident rainbow flag.

He's loaded it now. His dad taught him how when he was younger in case there was ever a time he would need to defend himself when he was alone. He doesn't think it was ever intended to be used in this mindset of defense, but it's what is gonna keep him safe forever. He can't help but be a little overdramatic when he loads it, putting the bullet in the correct hole and the making the cylinder spin around like he was in a movie. Even moments before his death, he's still a drama queen.

'It's going to be better this way', he assures himself as he points the barrel of he gun underneath his jaw. He'll be safe and no one will have to worry about their secrets getting out to the public, life for his family will be easier without them having to worry about him all the time. Everything would be better in the long run if he just ended it right now.

He took a few deep breaths, savoring the feeling of his lungs tight with air. He'd never feel it again and at that moment, air never tasted so sweet to him. The house was absolutely silent and it just made everything in his head so much louder. It wouldn't be much longer until someone came home, so he had to hurry. He guided his finger towards the trigger and gently placed it over the slender piece of cold metal. Just a little more pressure was all it would take to end him. Just a little more.

He was startled at the voice of Barbra Streisand and pulled the trigger.

.

.

.

.

Nothing happened.

He was still alive and his phone was still going off. He dropped the gun quickly, hearing it clatter against the cold tile floor, and answered the call.

"H-Hello?" he asked, not having looked at the caller ID.

"Hey Kurt, it's Blaine. Warbler practice is going to be over in about an hour, if Wes takes it easy on the gavel today, and I was wondering if you'd like to go get a cup of coffee with me." Kurt choked up on his words, staring at the gun on the floor and listening to the background noise from the phone.

"S-Sure. Sounds great. So, in an hour?" he managed to get out, eyes still not leaving the gun.

"Ummm... Actually, Wes looks a little peeved at some of the others, and that's bad news for ALL of us. So give it an hour and a half ... Maybe two." Blaine laughed and Kurt could tell he was smiling.

"Alright... I'll s-see you then." Kurt mumbled and made to hang up the phone.

"Hey Kurt?", Blaine asked.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay? You sound down. Did something happen at school today?"

"I'm fine Blaine. Nothing too bad..." The text Blaine had sent him suddenly popped into his memory. He felt something in his stomach drop. How could he even...

"Okay," Blaine didn't sound convinced, "You know that if anything bad happens, you can always talk to me. I'm here for you, Kurt."

"I know. I'll see you in a little while."

"See ya Kurt." He muttered a quick goodbye back to Blaine before hanging the phone up and going back to staring at the gun on the floor. He was so close to ending it all.

He stared at it as if he was waiting for it to jump back into his hand. Blaine's phone call had brought him back into reality, into a world that wasn't absorbed in the multiple terrors he'd faced today and would continue to face everyday. Kurt started to cry because everything was now coming over him in a giant wave if emotion. The people he would have left behind, how they would feel about his death, about the life he was about to just toss away because he was scared to face the world again.

His legs couldn't hold him up anymore and he fell to the cold tile, his face looking almost directly down the barrel of the gun that, if had just pulled the trigger again, would have ended his life. He was crying harder than he ever thought he could and it just didn't seem like it was ever going to stop. He felt like his body was going to just fall to pieces that no one was ever going to be able to put back together again.