"Kurt?" Burt knocked softly, worried about Kurt's soft sobs that emitted past the door. "Kurt are..you crying?" He shuffled nervously, he never had to deal with this. Elizabeth, his wife was the comfort in the household, always floating nearby Kurt whenever her motherly instincts told her to. She could tell the sadness behind Kurt's curved lips and the happiness dancing in his cool blue eyes on every occasion in Kurt's childhood. Ever since her passing, Kurt had mastered the art of disguise, adding on to Burt's difficulty in spotting his body language and almost left him alone everytime he managed he needed to cry into his pillow.
Kurt curled up against the covers, biting onto his lips and breathed. He turned on a cheerier mode and shouted, "Dad no..I mean yes, but I'm watching Meryl Streep on my iPod." He lied smoothly.
"Oh... Okay. Well alright, if you're like, crying crying you can find me okay buddy?" Burt relieved voice replied.
"Yeah dad. I will. thanks."
Kurt dug the heels of his palms into the groove of his eyes and wept away the tears. Why wouldn't the damn tears stop? He felt the ache of the locker shove this afternoon, and gently hovered his palm over his side. He walked stiffly to his full length vanity mirror, and slowly pulled the gray sweater over his head and flung it onto a nearby computer chair. His eyes floated at the marks, on his left a yellow healing bruise on his arm, and a fresh one on his right side, a large angry purple surfacing beneath his milky skin, almost scolding Kurt with its contrast.
He reached over to his first aid box, flipped it open and a tube of almost completely spent medicated rub rolled out. He squeezed the oily ointment out, and harshly rubbed it against the yellowing bruise, and spent the rest of the quantity gently massaging on the new violent purple ones, almost too pain to touch. He threw the rest of the tube into the box, joining the rest of 4 other empty oinment tubes of different brands.
"I should get more of this.. It works good.." Kurt mumbled and rubbed his right side with a little more force, a hiss escaping his lips. He bit on his left wrist and gave it a hard rub. It was the only way for it to yellow as fast as possible. He'll have to be careful to walk with lockers on his left side for the rest of the week, his right side might burst if he gets another shove.
Kurt's wrist was decorated with bruises and scars of different sorts, like the one when the jocks decided a double combo locker shove last week, yanking on the wrist and pushing him into the opposite row of lockers after the first one. There was a few small dotty scars from chicken pox outbreak when he was young, and one that he got scratched by a puppy attack and also, a row of new cuts that Kurt recently made. Himself.
Kurt knew that locker shoves and slushy facials were a norm. For him, the gay kid in all oh so big Ohio, it was almost a sin to the others to not punish him for his 'queerness'. Dumpster dives and occasional punches couldn't be avoided either. So, Kurt chose to be strong. He toughened himself, finding ways to break his falls and to minimize damage to his own body. He cut himself, so it wouldn't hurt that much if other people intentionally hurt him. He needed to get immune.
He pulled on his old sweater back on his body, feeling the cold winds of the incoming winter time through his window. He hears the dark clouds give a low rumble, and he soaks in the smell of rain.
"Thank you mother." Kurt whispered, hand clasped close to his chest. "Thanks for crying for me..But someday mom.." He touched the new and faded scars on his wrist looking up into the shrouded skies, "I'll be strong and you won't have to cry for me anymore. Someday, even if the world will be against me, I won't cry..and you musn't too.. Because it all wouldn't hurt." He choked as a silent tear slid from his beautiful eyes.