Page 19 of Hurt

Willow froze. Just hearing his name opened up a range of emotions she didn’t know how to process. Irritation being at the forefront.

“He hasn’t come back since you kissed him.”

Willow gritted her teeth. “I’ve noticed.”

“Do you really care?” he asked, crossing his arms and still refusing to meet Willow’s eyes.

“Yes,” Willow admitted honestly.

More silence. They didn’t even have the luxury of using patrons or work as an excuse to look away or change the topic. It was still early afternoon, and while the bar was technically open, no one had come wandering in yet.

“He’s a Weaver, Will,” Kurt said stiffly. “You shouldn’t get involved with him.”

Willow shrugged. “Weaver. Elliott. Vega. They’re just people. What’s the big deal?”

Kurt's knuckles cracked as he clenched his fist tightly. The color drained from his face, and Willow watched as his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed several times.

“Look, I know how you feel about the gangs, but he’s—”

“You don’t know shit, Willow,” Kurt snapped. “You don’t have any idea how hard I’ve worked to keep you away from them.”

Willow stared back at him, for once at a loss for words. “Wait, what?”

Kurt looked away. “Just stay away from them. All of them. Better yet, get the hell out of here.”

His words hurt. Like tiny little knives hurled at her. Each one penetrating him deeply and twisting.

“I came back for you.”

“Who the fuck asked you to?” Kurt roared as he turned back to his sister. His eyes were wild but not with anger. Willow had seen him angry a lot. What she had never seen was this strange, desperate look in his eyes.

“What choice did I have? I had to stay for you!”

The moment she said it, she realized it was the wrong thing to say. Kurt rocked back as if he had been hit. That strange, desperate look faded from his eyes, and that ugly cool expression slipped back. The mask that Kurt had taken to wearing, the one that Willow couldn’t stand because she knew it was a lie. An impenetrable shield hiding Kurt from the world.

“Kurt, I didn’t mean it like that.”

He stared at Willow with that blank expression. “Right.”

“Please don’t do that,” Willow pleaded. Her hand extending toward her brother in a subconscious move for help. “I…”

Kurt left.

Willow crumbled in on herself. Head on the bar and eyes closed. Any leeway she made earlier had been dashed the moment she opened her big mouth.

Her hands were trembling, and her mind went back to that night. The night when she wrapped her fingers around Kurt’s bleeding wrists and begged him not to leave. His eyes had opened, and he stared up at her. Willow thought she would see something like regret in his eyes or a renewed effort to live.

Instead, Kurt had parted his bloody lips. “Go away.”

There was a small part of her brain that she wished she had. Had let go of those wrists and let her brother die like he wanted. Then she could remember him the way he had been that night by the lake—smiling so wide his eyes disappeared with music in his soul.

The lights were bright in her eyes, and she didn’t hear the music. Willow knew she was messing up. She knew it was a garbage dance, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Kurt hadn’t looked at her since their fight that afternoon, and she forgot just what a brick her brother could be. The man could go days without talking and then would pretend like nothing happened. It was a familiar act, but it still pissed Willow off.

Her song ended, and before the final note cut off, she slipped off the stage. Wiping the sweaty glitter off her brow.

“Are you okay?” Sid asked quietly as he stuck his head backstage. He had one hand cupped over the right side of his face, so he didn’t accidentally see into the changing room.

Willow smiled faintly. “No one is changing, Sid.”