Kurt slowly opens his eyes. The morning is bright, cool. He glances out of the window as soft, white snow fell lightly. He sits up slowly and wipes the sleep from his eyes with his fists. He turns to look at Blaine, who was lying fast asleep, beside him. He reached over and brushed a curl away from his forehead, trying not to wake him. His sleeve rode up slightly to reveal small scars along his wrist. He moved his hand back toward himself and fixed his sleeve so that they did not show.
He turned and moved the blanket off of his body without a sound and placed his feet on the hardwood floor. The cold chill beneath his feet sent small shivers throughout his body. He firmly placed his hands on either side of him on the bed and pushed himself up to stand. He stretched silently and made his way to the bathroom.
He closed the door behind him and turned to look at himself in the mirror. His hair was limp and lifeless. His lips chapped. Dark circles and bags collected underneath his eyes. His face was pale. He lifted his shirt and twisted his body, his skinny frame noticeably slimmer. He dropped the sweatshirt over his stomach again.
He looked down at his arms and pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. He examined each cut, old and new, and looked back up at himself in the mirror.
Look at yourself. You're a mess
He quickly directed his attention to the sink, avoiding his reflection. He turned the water on to wash his face. He grabbed the towel off the rack and dried the water off of himself.
You don't deserve Blaine and you know it.
He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. His heart rate began to grow faster.
You're such a piece of shit boyfriend.
The boy moved and gripped the sink until his knuckles turned white.
You're nothing.
Kurt's eyes shot open immediately. He quickly yet quietly pulled open the drawer beneath the sink and began rummaging through it. He sighed softly when he saw it. He pulled out a small black box and set it on the counter next to the sink.
He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside with haste before refocusing his attention back to the box.
He opened the tiny container with shaky fingers and pulled out a silver razor. He looked up at his reflection and brought the blade to his stomach.
He doesn't remember the way his smooth ivory skin turned red at the flick of the razor. He doesn't remember the silent tears that escaped his eyes and fell to his chest. He doesn't remember the blood dripping to the floor. He doesn't remember gasping when he went too deep. He doesn't remember the pain at all. It was as if his mind was completely numb.
Thirty minutes past.
Kurt looked up at himself once more. Blood covered his torso. He read the engraving across his stomach:
'Imperfection.'
He dropped the blood-soaked razor in the sink and let out a long breathe.
You deserved it.
His eyes fell down at his body again.
"Yeah, I did." He whispered to himself.