Kurt looked up when the metal door slid open with a clang.
"Hi Dad." He went back to occupying himself by engraving his name into the cement floor.
"How are you?" Burt looked at him sadly.
"Just peachy. Absolutely fabulous." Kurt said sarcastically.
"Look. The reason I'm here is because I found someone who'll come visit you every day after school to keep you caught up with at least some school work. I don't want you wasting away in here…" The older man trailed off. He knew Kurt was innocent; he hadn't lit the building on fire. But he had been thrown in prison anyway.
"He's going to come by tomorrow after school. He'll be here at three. He's very nice."
"Okay, okay. I'll try my hardest not to scare him away. But I hate being here. I shouldn't be here. It wasn't me." Kurt sighed. Fine. Whatever. He knew he was considered an accomplice. But he wasn't the one that set the fucking place on fire. And to make it worse, he still had eight to ten months left in this goddamn place.
"I know Kurt. I know," Burt gave him a sad look. "I have to go now, though. Blaine will be here tomorrow at three. Don't forget!" Burt gave him a hug, left the cell and walked back down the corridor.
Kurt was now alone with his thoughts. The last tutor Kurt had had only lasted for three days. Kurt had gotten pissed off over a calculus problem he couldn't solve, and flipped the table. The kid grabbed his books and fled. That was five months ago. Now, Burt and Finn were the only ones who ever visited anymore.
Rachel and Mercedes used to come, but after about a month, even they gave up. But who the hell cared? Not Kurt. No, he had stopped giving a fuck about three years ago. That was when he had gotten his ears pierced and the tattoo. He started wearing tight black jeans and leather jackets. Bought himself a motorcycle. He just didn't give a fuck anymore. He didn't need anyone or anything anymore. As soon as he got out of this place, he was leaving and never looking back. He was going to New York, where he could do whatever the hell he wanted.
When Kurt woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of his security guard, Rob, yelling his name down the corridor.
"What the hell, Rob? What do you want?" Kurt said, annoyed.
"I'm supposed to remind you that you are going to have a visitor in two hours."
"Right. Okay, thanks." Kurt lied back down. So it was one o' clock. Kurt rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour. At two, he got up and asked for a shower. He always got one on days he had a tutor coming. Half an hour later, Kurt was showered, dressed, and not looking forward to meeting Blaine at all.
At three o' clock on the dot, a guy walked down the corridor. He was wearing a grey sweater vest and tight blue jeans. His hair was slightly gelled back, and he was quite short. Rob slid open Kurt's cell door, and Blaine walked in. He threw his backpack on the ground, and held out his hand.
"What do you want me to do with that?" Kurt asked. He knew he wasn't being fair to the kid, but he was in a shitty mood.
"Shake it." Blaine answered. Kurt ignored him and sat down.
"Right," Blaine said, blushing. "I'm Blaine, as I'm sure you know. I'll be stopping by everyday to catch you up on whatever it is you need catching up on. So let's start."
Kurt looked at Blaine. He was opening a history book up, and taking out a notebook for Kurt.
"Here. Take this and use it to take notes."
Kurt folded the notebook back and took the pen Blaine offered him.
An hour later, Blaine's phone started ringing. It was some song Kurt had never heard before, but in prison, you didn't listen to music much. It was some annoying pop song, but that's all Kurt knew.
"Aren't you going to answer that, kid?" Kurt was tired of listening to it replay over and over and over again.
"Nope." Blaine responded without even looking up from reviewing Kurt's notes.
"Then shut the damn thing off. I'm tired of listening to some chick sing the same verse repeatedly."
"Some chick is Pink. But fine." Blaine took his phone out of his pocket, turned it off, and placed it on the table. Kurt shook his head and took his notes back.
"So, your notes are fine. But let's take a break. This is boring me." Blaine said
"No shit, kid. Studying in general is boring. I don't understand why I have to study when I'm in jail but whatever. It makes my dad think that I might have a chance in actually being someone once I'm released. I figure I'll humor him."
"You have a chance of being someone, why wouldn't you?" Kurt snickered. How naïve was this kid?
"I'm in jail if you haven't noticed. Once I get out, anywhere I go, I'll be shut down, shut out! I'm in fucking jail, kid. No job, no career in my future. I'll be released, get my own apartment, and waste away there instead of here. I lost my chance for a future. But like I said, it's whatever. I've come to terms with that."
"You've given up, you mean. If you actually wanted to be someone, you could be." Blaine looked sad. Like it was his fucking future Kurt had given up on.
"Look, kid-"
"My name is Blaine, you know." Blaine said quietly. Like it disappointed him that Kurt didn't call him Blaine.
"Look, Blaine- the second I stepped foot in this hell hole, my future flew out the non-existent windows. I'm a screwed up mess. But I don't care. Caring gets you hurt. It's easier not to give a fuck. So, here I am. Now, you on the other hand, are not here to lecture me about my future. You are supposed to tutor me. Nothing else. So how about we get back to that?" Kurt took a deep breath.
Blaine looked at Kurt for a long time. Finally, he shrugged and went back to the history textbook.
"Here. I'll be back tomorrow at around 3:00pm. I want you to read the first two chapters of this." Blaine handed Kurt a battered copy of Wuthering Heights.
"Why the fuck would I read this?" Kurt threw the book back on the table. Blaine blushed.
"Uh. I dunno. I thought that y-you should. I-it's a pretty good book, and w-well you d-don't have much else t-to do…" Blaine stuttered.
"Well, I'm not going to fucking read it, so take it back with you." Kurt snapped.
"Okay." Blaine picked it up and walked out.
Kurt watched Blaine's back disappear down the hallway. He knew he was being unreasonably bitchy, but he couldn't think of a reason not to be. He sighed, and suddenly wished he had Wuthering Heightsto read. Blaine had been right. He had nothing better to do.