He vomits quite disgustingly; maraschino cherries are vile coming back up and the red flecks of the partly digested food looks like blood. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve - as if he'll ever wear this shirt again - crawls in the car and sits there shivering for 15 minutes even with the heaters going at full blast. His thoughts are slow and confused and he blinks stupidly at the red clock on the dash. It's late early? He needs to go home, shower, trash his clothes, sleep and forget this long awful night for a while. Feelings bubble up through the mud like air pockets in a swamp but he lets the black mass become placid again. He'll deal with feelings tomorrow when he's rested and clear-headed, he'll deal with fear and betrayal and then he'll figure out how to tell his family that Blaine is out of his life. Because they'll ask questions, they'll push and wheedle because they like Blaine, they love and trust him and 30 minutes ago, so did he.
He lowers the windows of the car, turns on the radio very loud and drives away from that sad parking lot.
With the help of a very welcome Ambien, he manages to finally drop off in a deep dreamless sleep. He shivers all night.
He wakes around noon on Sunday, sunlight streams in through the windows and turns the harsh white of the room so much softer.
His mind is sharper now but he still doesn't want to deal with feelings yet. They're too messy and he needs a sharp mind for this. He hasn't had to do this in almost a year but needs it now so he doesn't' fall apart. He lets the old icy armour slip in place, couching what he knows a raw bleeding emotions under a layer of permafrost. He needs to be together for this and assess the situation coolly. Blaine sexually assaulted him. Oh no, he will not tiptoe around the facts. Blaine grabbed him, groped him and restrained him and only stopped when he forcibly removed himself from the situation. If Blaine had flipped him underneath his body, Kurt knows he might not have been able to fight him off. Blaine is stronger than he looks. He's short but a compact bundle of well-trained muscles. Blaine boxes, plays soccer and rugby. Blaine is strong. Blaine could've raped him. He suppresses the rising nausea - tundra, Himalaya, iceberg - and shudders only once.
He's been victimized twice now, assaulted by two different people in less than six months and this time he has no reason to keep secrets. A coil of deep anger burns inside of him. He's pissed and frustrated because legally he's got no leg to stand on; in this town no one will accept a fag's word. It'll be ridiculed as a lovers tiff gone a bit violent, he has only minimal bruising after all and no witnesses and he may have been victimized but he refuses to be a victim ever again.
Just then, Finn knocks once on the open door and pokes his head around the frame: "You up, dude?".
The gaze leveled at him must've been ferocious because his eyes widen in surprise and he holds up his hands pleadingly.
"It's just that, you're never up this late. Are you sick?"
Kurt feels his lip curl is disgust, his fingernails bite in the palms of his hands.
"Blaine and I are done."
He hardly recognizes his own voice. From the corner of his eye, he sees Finn sit down heavily on the bed.
"What happened, dude? I thought you were doing good together weren't you?"
There's compassion in Finn's voice, bewilderment and incomprehension.
"Oh, everything was going swimmingly until he got blitzed and tried to rape me in the backseat of the car last night." Harsh, cold, angry, raw and he doesn't want to hurt Finn but he's so mad right now, "I guess you were right, we just don't get it when no means no."
The breath is knocked out of him when a pair of freakishly long arms encircle him and pull him tight against a strong chest. Fleetingly, he realizes he's not even remotely afraid even though Finn could overpower him much easier than Blaine. Finn is crying, head tucked in the curve of Kurt's neck, tears leak uncomfortably down the collar of his shirt. Finn drags him closer and he feels his brother's sobs resonate through his ribcage.
He still feels like a volcano under an ice cap though, enraged but so remote. Finn's big clumsy hands pluck at the front of his shirt as the boy tries to get himself under control again.
Finn's eyes snap up and their gazes lock in the mirror of the vanity, Finn's volcano is not buried at all, his brown eyes spit fire and hate.
"I'll kill him for you." Low and deep with broken glass in it.
Labradors have teeth too.
Kurt feels his body relax minutely in Finn's embrace.