This little bunny just came to me and I had to write it down. I'm sure it's been done before but this is just a little inside to Karofsky's head. Hope you like it. :)

Warnings: A bit of mentioned sexual abuse, but that is all.

I was just a little boy. I knew my ABC's and how to add and what trees at the park were the best for climbing. But I was skinny and weak and I thought all mommies played kissing games with their sons.

And I thought that all little boys had "Naked Night" when their daddies worked late, and that it was normal for mommies to snuggle up real close with their sons without any clothes on during this time. And kiss them. And touch them.

All little boys sucked from their mommies' breasts, even when milk stopped coming out, and touched parts of their bodies that 'made them feel good.'

That is, I thought it was normal until my dad got home early from work and saw mommy and I, and told me to put my clothes on and get in the car, and then drove just the two of us out to a hotel, while my mommy stayed at home by herself. And then when we went back home, mommy and all her stuff were gone, never to return.

This did not "make me gay." It did not even make me realize that I was gay. It just made me hate my mom.

My dad never hit my mom, or asked for any child support, because he said he loved me so much that he didn't want to involve any one else. So he told me not to tell anyone at school.

I wouldn't have anyway.

No, these incidents didn't turn me gay. They just made me ashamed. They made me feel ugly, unwanted, but worst of all, different.

I hated feeling different so much, and I knew that I would never let anyone hurt me the way my mom had, that I knew I had to grow strong. I had to run the fastest. Jump the highest. Hit the hardest.

Football was my escape. I joined in 6th grade, and by 8th, I was the biggest and strongest kid in my school. I was tough because I was built that way. To my good fortune, I turned out to have my dad's features after all. I had forced myself into a jock.

The one thing that jocks had that I didn't, however, was a girlfriend. And I wanted one so bad. More so, I wanted to want one so bad. I wanted to have crushes on girls and want to play footsie under the table in science lab and want to ask a girl to be my date on Valentine's Day.

But no matter how much I wanted to want those things, I couldn't. Because girls reminded me too much of myself. They were weak and fragile and so damn mysterious. Guys were strong. Guys could handle any situation without having their hand held throughout the whole thing. But most all, and this I hated to admit to myself, guys were really freaking attractive.

And not just the big, muscular, tanned men that were in magazines, but the guys with cute button noses, or big blue doe-eyes, or silly cowlicks in their hair.

I found myself often looking at the differences between boys and girls. How they walked and sat in class and raised their hand and talked to each other. And as much as I wanted to find Quinn Fabray or Brittany Pierce cute or "sexy," I shuddered at the thought of kissing them or just being called their boyfriend.

But I couldn't tell people I liked boys, because even if I did, there was no other guy in my school that did. I would be alone, ostracized and most importantly, different. And I remembered how it felt to be different, and it scared the hell out of me. So I pushed any 'odd' feelings out of my mind, and focused on being tough.

I never really found enjoyment in beating people up or taking their money or throwing them in garbage cans. It was just something to do. Something to make me cool. And not different.

But in sophomore year of high school when news got around that a kid in my school, Kurt Hummel, had come out of the closet, something came over me. Boys who liked boys weren't normal. I wasn't normal. So what gave this guy the right to flaunt his sexuality around like it wasn't a big deal? If I couldn't be brave enough to come out, then he shouldn't either. And anyway...

He was just a little boy. He knew his conjugations and the periodic table and which stores at the mall were best for shopping. But he was skinny and weak.

And I thought that someone who was that... that innocent didn't deserve to be happy. He should have to suffer like I had to suffer.

So for over a year, I tortured him.

But the same time that I was torturing him, I was watching him. How he walked, talked, sat with his legs crossed and how he raised his hand in class with the correct answer almost every single time. He wasn't perfect. No, he had many flaws actually. But he was like me. We were different from everyone else, but that made us sort of, like, the same.

I think I was more attracted to that little fact than I was to him.

Sure, he did have a cute button nose and big blue doe-eyes and a silly cowlick in his hair. But by the time I kissed him in the locker room (and then threatened to kill him if he told anyone), I knew that I did it because it was safe. He was safe because he was gay. I couldn't have kissed Finn Hudson and gotten away with it. It was just Kurt and I who were different.

Kurt and I who were also kind of the same.