Are people still reading this? If so, you guys are awesome. Honestly, with patience like that, you could be ruling the world right now.

I maybe have a plan for this story? Which includes (I'm estimating here) four more chapters? Don't hold me to that.

Despite the idea nearly making him sick, Kurt had to go back to McKinley. Not only was there Karofsky, but Puck would be there too. Telling Puck about everything made enough sense at the time, but every second after then he'd been waiting for some kind of reaction, probably in the form of public humiliation. Because he really needs more people harassing him at school.

Kurt didn't tell anyone about what Karofsky did, not even Blaine. He didn't know whether it was because he was intimidated (stupid, his rational mind told him, to no avail) or because he was ashamed (more stupid.) Blaine asked, when Kurt didn't text him again all day, if something had happened. Kurt couldn't tell him, could hardly text him back to lie, and that was probably the worst part about going back. Kurt couldn't text Blaine without thinking about what he wasn't telling him, and Kurt didn't think he could get through without Blaine to talk to.

But Kurt couldn't tell his dad either; he would get upset and storm the school and his heart and Kurt just couldn't. So he had to go back to school on Monday.

Maybe it just the cynic in him talking, but Kurt had a theory that at McKinley things were always at their brightest and most saccharine just before everything went to shit. Monday morning came with a beautiful blue sky, smiling faces, and a text from Rachel asking if he wanted a solo that week. Kurt made sure to wear his combat boots.

It didn't happen until the second half of the day, and then everything went sharply downhill.

Kurt ambled down the hallway as slowly as possible, stretching his bathroom pass for every last minute he could get away from French class and its crew of brain-dead stoners. With the halls empty, he could occasionally pretend he didn't entirely hate school. It was a rare moment of blissful nothing. Until he heard footsteps behind him.

Kurt turned, about to reach for the knife tucked in his boot. (He had learned the hard way not to carry one in his pocket, after a mishap that could have gotten him expelled.) He focused in on his attacker's face… and stopped dead. Because David Karofsky was following him around the school now, in an empty hallway.

The rational part of Kurt's brain tried to tell him he had no reason to be afraid of a high school football player. He'd been ready to kill the boy before he realized who he was, hadn't he? So why couldn't he do something, anything, now?

Karofsky glared at Kurt with a look he might have made fun of on anyone else. "Your little boy band keeps harassing me, Hummel. If you said anything to them…"

Kurt didn't like the smirk that came over Karofsky's face as he considered the end of that sentence. He swallowed hard and willed his legs to move. Finally, he got enough control over himself to turn and run around the corner.

When he fully came to his senses, Kurt found himself down the hall by the auditorium. He walked out the nearest door and, suddenly feeling like his legs couldn't hold him up anymore, sunk to the ground. Numbly, he grabbed for his phone and started to dial, hands too shaky to scroll through his contacts.

Blaine answered almost immediately. "Kurt? Kurt, are you all right? You haven't responded to my texts and I thought, after I told you to confront him… what happened?"

It took Kurt a moment to get words from his brain to his mouth. "Blaine," he started. He tilted his head back to the brick wall behind him, breathing carefully around the strange feeling attempting to crush his windpipe. "Friday. I confronted Karofsky," he managed, not able to explain further.

There was silence for a moment while Blaine tried to understand. "God Kurt, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you to do that, it obviously went really badly," there was another pause where Kurt couldn't say anything. "Kurt, you don't have to… if you can't tell me right now, you can call me anytime. If you want to tell me. I'll come over, and we can talk. I want to help."

Kurt nodded, even though he knew Blaine couldn't hear. It was comforting enough to hear Blaine worried; it helped Kurt ignore the voice in his head telling him he was stupid and overreacting. "I'll call you later," he said, feeling some of the tension in his body leave. He was worried about telling Blaine, but having someone else to help him figure out how to deal with Karofsky – just having someone who was concerned, actually – helped him relax.

And then, proving Kurt right yet again, McKinley swiftly crushed any happiness Kurt might have had in two strokes.

First, Santana Lopez opened the door, smirked, and said, "Lady Hummel, should you be in class shoring up that superiority complex of yours?"

Second, Kurt heard a barking laugh from a few feet away, and a familiar face emerged from behind a dumpster. Kurt took a moment to place this particular set of red eyes and pearly white fangs.

"Kurt, who the fuck is your stalker friend and why does he look like serial killer Justin Timberlake?"