#solo 1

It wasn’t often that Kurt found himself alone in the apartment he shared with his husband. Without Isaac or the company that almost always occupied its rooms, the vastness felt daunting, an empty shell of a home. Despite all of the beautiful things that they’d acquired over the course of their time there – lush rugs and blankets, ornate gold and glass chandeliers, furniture that you could sink into, bottles of vintage cognac and wine – it had never felt warm. Luxurious things were overrated and he’d be just as happy in a (properly decorated) downtown studio apartment with creaking floorboards and deteriorating brick. It was easy enough living in Lima and dreaming about beautiful things, but none of it was worth much when he wasn’t happy.

Are you going to be home soon? he punched the message into his phone before tossing it on the bed and walking out of their shared bedroom to find something to eat in the kitchen. It was late, close to midnight, and he’d had little to eat between meetings all day. Kurt had finished his most recent project and was working with editors to refine the script before deciding whether or not he’d be workshopping it around. It would be easy enough to give the script to Isaac; he’d agree to produce it and find a director, but this one was different for Kurt. He hadn’t told his husband about it at all, keeping the file and everything about the project out of his reach until he was sure that it was something he wanted to broadcast. The subject, a group of teenagers murdering their teacher and burying him under the football field, was close to home. Dangerous, touchy, and personal. And he wasn’t sure he could trust Isaac with this one. He wanted to do it on his own. If he decided to move forward with it at all.

With a box of cheesecake bites that he’d pulled out of the freezer, Kurt walked back across the apartment to the bedroom and sat down on the floor in front of the wall lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, inches from the glass. The only part of the apartment that he’d ever truly loved was the view. After years of dreaming of the city, he was finally there, with the best view that he could possibly imagine (of course, he’d also always liked the view from the viewing deck at the Empire State Building just a little bit more). He was seeing his ideas coming to life on stages, thanks to Isaac’s money and the influence he had as a much-credited producer – Isaac liked to remind him that it was why anything had ever worked out. Regardless, they were still his. Kurt pulled a small square with lemon iced into the top of the cake from the box and popped it into his mouth. His phone buzzed from where he had left it on the bed and he ignored it. 

It felt like hours had passed before he heard the front door opening and the heavy footfalls moving across the slick wood floor. Kurt licked the crumbs from his fingers and turned in place to see Isaac coming into the room. “Hi,” he smiled widely, just happy to not be alone anymore, but keeping his place on the floor.

“Get up,” Isaac’s voice was thick and heavy, syrupy, like he’d had too much to drink again. “You look like a child.” Making Kurt feel small always seemed to make him feel bigger.

“It’s really beautiful out tonight, isn’t it?” He’d turned back to look outside, watching the light bouncing through the shadows around buildings as taxis and cars whizzed by below. “The sky is so clear too.”

“Right,” Isaac pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor before walking up behind Kurt and pulling him to his feet with a hard grip on his arm. He pressed a firm kiss to Kurt’s temple before pulling him toward the master bathroom. “Come on.” 

Kurt stumbled on his feet as he was pulled across the room, but didn’t resist. Isaac was always much easier to deal with when he got his way. They entered the bathroom and Isaac released him, the force pushing Kurt hard into the counter. He was always unaware of his own strength when he wasn’t sober, occasionally leaving bruises on Kurt’s skin after getting a little too rough when they had sex. But he’d never pushed him around much before. He brushed a hand through Kurt’s hair before opening a drawer and pulling out one of the bags of needles that Finn had left last time he’d visited. Because “at least he could be safe about it.” 

“I don’t want to tonight. I’m tired.” Kurt yawned to emphasize his point and shifted to go back to the bedroom. 

“No.” Isaac’s voice, while slurred and thick, was still firm. He pulled Kurt back toward him by the hips and lifted him up onto the counter. He pulled a small vial from his pocket and filled a needle, offering it to him. 

“Not tonight, okay? Maybe tomorrow. We’ve got all day tomorrow. I can cancel everything.” He shook his head as Isaac ignored him and pushed Kurt’s sleeves up to expose his forearms. “We can just stay home,” he started, wincing and falling silent as his arm was held down and the needle pricked his skin. It was worthless to fight him. When he’d finished with Kurt, he tossed the needle to the floor and pulled out another to take care of himself. 

“Get in bed,” Isaac grinned, his face going flush as the drugs entered his system. He pulled Kurt toward him and pressed their hips together hard before pulling back to unzip his jeans and step toward the toilet. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Kurt shook as he slid from the counter and moved quickly to the bed. He grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it earlier and looked behind him before hurrying out of the bedroom, across the living room, and into the smaller bathroom they’d reserved for guests. Locking the door behind him, he quickly punched in a familiar number and sunk down to the floor. The tile was cold.

Effie knew that it was a fluke that she had moved on during the swimsuit competition. It didn’t take anyone with half the amount of brains to figure out that she was one of the ones that were considered dead last. Not to mention the guilt that was involved with almost killing someone—she was a part of the statistic that purely dealt with electricity. She stopped someone’s heart and they couldn’t get it back started again. She nearly killed this Zeke person. But at the moment, this wasn’t the most important thing.

The most important thing was winning.

Mazes were supposed to be easy. You put one hand on the wall and trace your way through until you find your way out. That’s how she did it whenever her family would do those stupid haunted corn mazes—well, when she wasn’t chasing around Eva and Emme for scaring other people in the maze. It wasn’t supposed to be… Well… This.

The loud horn blaring over the loud speakers almost sent Effie straight into the glass that blocked her path before it could fully move out of the way, and suddenly, she was sprinting through the maze, forgetting about her hand theory. She darted left and rights and—

What the fuck was that?

A watermelon? The hell? 

Something  round with teeth? 

It was a watermelon with teeth. Against her better judgement, Effie punted it down the rest of the way, and booked it the other way, hanging another left. Once again, the logic wasn’t there—she knew this was stupid and wrong and there was something fucked up about this maze (about this pageant) but the need to win just pushed her faster.

God. She felt so fucking claustrophobic, with the tall walls of hedges.

She wanted out of here. Who were the other contestants? She thought a couple people she spoke to on the internet— maybe that guy with the hair- but she wanted to win and get out before she got sick.

She paused briefly at an intersection to catch her breath. Okay. Calm down, Effie. Everything is fine.

Everything was not fine, she was pretty sure she had trampled at least four other watermelon with teeth and one had bit her—

She had to win the pageant, she had to win this round, she had too. That was all she wanted in the whole entire world. Effie was still running on adrenaline and she was pretty sure she was screeching pretty awfully about the fucking Mario plant that was following her.

Why is someone saying ‘Attack’? Could they please shut the fuck up?

Why didn’t she listen to her father? Why didn’t she know anything about other supernatural plants. And then something caught her around the ankle and she hit the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Effie knew she was going to get bitten by the plant with fangs. It was inevitable at this point. She was on the ground, out of breath, anxiety pooling in her stomach between losing this round and the fact that the walls were closing in—no they aren’t, get a grip­—the walls felt like they were closing in were making it harder to get up.

So, for the second time in the last few days, she relinquished control of her powers. So the second dthe damn thing pounced on her leg, a strong electrical shock surged through her and into the fly trap, causing it to hiss away.

It was then when the horn started blaring and the winner was announced. She had lost. She was dirty, sweaty, in pain, and bleeding, and she had lost. Her legs were awfully cut up and she could feel little cuts and bruises everywhere else. The fall had caused her to have nasty scrape on her forehead. 

But that didn’t matter because she lost. Effie was supposed to win! 

Damn it.