Kurt tried to keep his head high as he drove to his third job interview of the day. He had already searched for jobs at public schools, private schools, and various religious schools. No one would hire him. He was qualified, but people generally didn't want him around children. They took one look at his scarred wrists and designer fashion scarf and knew that he was different. The world is often cruel to people who are different, and this was no exception.
He had heard of this school that was different, like him. He'd heard rumors of the young man with coffee colored eyes who ran it. Kurt didn't really care where he worked, as long as he worked. The roads were getting twisted, and rain started to fall as Kurt traveled north to the school. He knew that working in northern Maine would keep him far away from his home in Ohio, but maybe that was a good thing. Kurt wanted to escape his past.
The rain was pouring by the time he reached the road that would take him to the school. In the strong wind, the trees rustled. Kurt shivered and turned the heat up in his car. He looked in his rear view mirror briefly, but when his eyes returned to the road in front of him, there was a young girl standing there. He slammed on the brakes and the car slid in the muddy road. The girl stepped away from the car until it stopped. She ran up to the driver's side window and Kurt rolled it down to talk to her.
"Hey! Do you go to school here?" Kurt asked.
"Yes, sir. Are you here to meet with Blaine for the job opening?" she inquired with wide eyes that showed a level of curiosity and innocence unknown to Kurt.
"Yes, I am. Sweetie, it's pouring out. I know I'm a stranger and whatnot, but do you want me to drive you to the school?"
The little girl ran around to the other side of the car, and Kurt unlocked the door to let her in. She sat in the seat and stuck out her hand for Kurt to shake. She had a firm handshake, much like Kurt's father's.
"I'm Amelia Anderson. I'm eight years old. Welcome to the Broken School." Amelia's voice was steady and fearless.
"I'm Kurt Hummel. Let's hope I can get a job here," Kurt's thin lips pulled into a smile, but as Amelia's eyes scanned his arms, she started to frown. Kurt followed her gaze and found it fixed on his self-harm scars. He quickly pulled his sleeves down and started to drive again.
"My brother has scars like that, too," Amelia whispered.
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They rode to the school in silence. When they arrived, Kurt was startled by the small building How could it be a boarding school? Of course, the surrounding view was amazing. Despite the rain, which had lightened up slightly, the air was warm and the sky was full of a light grey mist. In one direction, there was a huge field full of vegetable and flower gardens and a large barn. The barn was painted a dark shade of red and chipping. The drying rain made it shine in the new sunlight. The gold-yellow sign hanging over the wide doors proudly read "COURAGE." On the remaining field, small pastures sat side to side like cubicles in an office.
To the left of the field, there was a beautiful beach. The Atlantic Ocean, Kurt assumed. He had never seen the ocean before. The dark, angry waves crashed into white foam upon contact with the rocky beach. Large pieces of wood and seaweed lightly littered the beach. The water looked cold and rough, yet very relaxing. The bright sun barely poked through the clouds on the horizon creating a scene of fierce colors and strong emotion. Kurt studied the many rocks on the beach. They were all different colors, different shapes, different sizes-some were even scarred and broken.
The remaining scene was quaint. It was just a simple farm house, maybe two stories with a basement and an attic. Behind it, thick trees created a dense forest. The forest covered the mountainside. The trees whipped back and forth in the wind.
Amelia grabbed Kurt's hand and pulled him towards the front door. She held open the interior screen door, although the wind fought to close it. Kurt escaped into the tidy mudroom, closely followed by Amelia. On the mat, there were nine pairs of shoes: four children's sneakers, three children's boots, and one pair of adult sneakers and boots. Amelia slipped off her boots and placed them in spot for the missing pair of children's boots. She then removed a small mat from the closet and placed in on the ground.
"You can put your shoes here, Kurt," she said as she approached the door separating the mudroom from the house. She twisted the doorknob and stuck her head in yelling, "Blaine! You have a visitor!"
Kurt winced at the surprising volume of the scream. She turned to Kurt and waved him inside. Amelia closed the door behind them. They now stood in a small kitchen painted red. The window was adorn with little rocks and button and little plants. The counter had a few dirty glasses on it, as well as some clean plates on the other side. On the wall, there were several pictures. One or two showed all the children: Amelia and three others. One showed Amelia and a grown man with her brown eyes hugging tightly. Some showed the man with the children riding horses, hiking, cooking, and studying. Kurt's favorite picture showed the man, who he now guessed to be Blaine, sitting at a piano while the four children stood around it, obviously singing.
"Hi," said a deep voice behind Kurt. "I'm Blaine."
Kurt slowly turned and man behind him extended his hand for Kurt to shake. Kurt placed his small, soft hand into the man's bigger, calloused one. The firm handshake was like the one he'd shared with Amelia.
"Follow me." Blaine said, cocking his head to the right. Kurt dropped Blaine's hand and followed him down a short hall into a very large office.
There were two doors in the office: one they came in through, and one on the front wall next to the desk. The desk was made of a dark stained wood and had two chairs in front and one behind. Blaine gestured to the chair in front and Kurt sat in one. Instead of sitting behind the desk, Blaine sat next to Kurt.
"I assume you're Kurt Hummel?" Blaine said brightly.
"Yeah. This is a beautiful piece of property." Kurt said politely, holding steady eye contact with Blaine, who wore a pair of dirty tan cargo shorts with a red v-neck tee shirt. His dark curls were a mess on his head. On the bit of Blaine's collar bone that was showing, Kurt read the word "courage" tattooed on to his tan skin. Blaine cleared his throat when the silence became suffocating.
"Are you too warm?" Blaine asked with a knowing smile.
Kurt nodded.
"Why don't you roll up your sleeves?" Blaine looked briefly at Kurt's covered wrists. At his shielded wrists.
"I'm sure I'll adjust. It's fine," Kurt quickly stated. His voice cracked.
"Kurt," Blaine whispered, leaning forward, "this is a judgement free zone." He held out his wrists for Kurt to see.
What Kurt saw amazed him. From the base of his hand to his elbow scars of various size and length covered Blaine's arm. Some crossed over each other. On his right wrist, the word "broken" was carved in tiny letters.
"We all have our demons," Blaine whispered, leaning back in his chair.
Kurt nodded and rolled up his sleeves.
"Ah, there it is," Blaine said. "Do you wanna tell me your demon, Kurt?" Blaine offered, his eyes empty and hard to read.
Kurt shook his head no, not looking up at Blaine.
"I'll tell you some of mine, then.
"When I was seven, my dad hit me for the first time. He was drunk, I had lost a soccer game, he was pissed. He said I was worthless. 'Too damn girly to score a fucking goal.' So he hit me. As if that would make me a man. But I was young. I didn't tell anyone. He hit me a few more times, here and there. Then, when I turned 14, I realized I was gay. I tried to hide it, but he knew, he could tell. Called me his 'little fag'. That hurt, you know. I think it might have hurt more than the nightly beatings. He'd started kicking my ribs, punching my back. He wanted to damage me in a way no one could see.
"When I turned 15, my little sister was born. You met her, Amelia. He stopped hitting me for a while, but when he couldn't deal with the baby crying, he'd hit my mom. When I turned 18, I took Amelia and ran. I used my trust fund to buy this land. It was the only thing that damn money was good for. I got a teaching degree and started this school. I cut until my 18th birthday. The first time was when I was 11. It felt so good, but I don't need to tell you that, Kurt. You know."
"I hate that word," Kurt whispered.
Blaine's eyebrows drew together in confusion.
"Fag," Kurt said, his voice steady and louder. "It's such a nasty word, so full of hate." He looked up into Blaine's eyes. "I don't think I can tell you my demons yet, Blaine." A single tear rolled down Kurt's face.
"Do you have any bags in your car?" Blaine asked quietly.
Kurt nodded.
"Follow me."
Blaine took Kurt's hand and they went through the door that was next to the desk. It lead to a wooden staircase. The climbed the stairs in silence. At the top, there were three doors. "This is my bedroom," Blaine said, pointing to the door on the left. "This is the bathroom, no razors in it however," he said pointed to the door in front of them. "And this is the spare room, which is where you'll be sleeping tonight." Blaine opened the door and gently pushed Kurt inside before he could protest. "I'll go get your bags. You stay here. Keys?"
Kurt took his keys from his pocket and handed them to Blaine.
Blaine disappeared down the stairs, and Kurt heard the front door open and close. He started to walk around the room, looking at the old books and pictures. There was a record player with a few records in the corner. Kurt lost himself in the records and before he knew it, Blaine was back.
"Here are your keys. And I didn't know which bags you would need, so here are all of them. Nice choice by the way." Kurt raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Gucci." Blaine said, nodding towards the bags.
Kurt smiled widely, blushing.
"Good night, Kurt. I'll see you in the morning. If you need anything, I'm down the hall."
"Thank you. Good night, Blaine."
Blaine left the room, and Kurt closed his eyes and collapsed onto the bed.