He slammed the door and leant against it, breathing hard through his nose. He would be calm, he would be calm no matter how much he wants to go out and fucking beat their brains into the carpet for being so patronising. 'He'll be fine. It's not that bad. You should get some sleep.' How could he sleep when his father's in the fucking hospital after a fucking heart attack and no-one's fucking telling him any-fucking-thing and the only thing holding him together right now is the little box at the back of his bathroom cabinet. Shaking fingers open the box and then the silver blade's in his hand and he's pressing down and it hurts but not as much as the panic and then there's a flash of red and the world's slowed down. He's calm again. The overwhelming urge to go out and kill anyone between him and his father's back under control and he leans back and breathes slowly. This is good, he's fine and he can handle anything, he's had plenty of practice after all what with Mom dying and coming out to the school and the daily dumpster dives and slushie facials and that fucking Neanderthal making it his fucking life's ambition to fuck up his already fucked-up life even more and then his sneering face appears and he wants nothing more than to just wipe his fucking face with the fucking floor and his breath's coming in gasps and he presses the cool silver to his skin again and there's another flash of crimson and the world's slowing down but not quick enough so he does it again and again and again but it's not working and he just wants it all to stop! The blade hits the floor as he curls up, clutching his head in bloodied hands and sobs uncontrollably. There's a knocking at the door but he ignores it because he's scared and tired and angry and doesn't he deserve some fucking peace and quiet after the fucking hell that is his life and nobody actually cared except for his father and he's in the fucking hospital after a fucking heart attack on the same fucking day that he decides his dad needs to watch his heart and if this is some kind of fucked up April Fools he is going to kill everyone responsible and fucking watch them bleed. Because it's their fault he's a bloodstained mess sobbing his fucking heart out on the fucking carpet and nobody knows all of him, everyone knows different sides and nobody knows the part of him that needs the bite of the razor and the scarlet drops because they'd all tell him he was fucked up and his dad didn't need a son who was fucked up in the head as well as being a fucking fag and if he was straight his dad wouldn't be under so much fucking stress all the time so it's his fault his dad's in the hospital and maybe if he wasn't there his dad could recover in peace without a son whining about being called a fag when that's what he was and –

The door slammed open and suddenly there's a voice above him and hands on his shoulder and a towel pressed to the bleeding cuts on his arms and legs and then there's a blurred face coming into focus and

"Santana?"

"Why didn't you tell someone Kurt?"

"Why do you think, I'm a fucking fag and if word got out I'm a fucked-up fucking fag my dad could hardly show his face anywhere in Lima and why do you care anyway you're fucking Santana Lopez, head Cheerio and all round Queen Bitch and I'm the weird faggot who fucking cuts himself to deal with all the fucking shit in my life and why are you pulling up your shirt?"

But the question's pointless because Kurt can see the faint crisscrossing lines covering her ribcage and belly and some of them are weeping slightly and why the hell would Santana cut herself when she has everything Kurt hasn't and there are voices in the hall and Kurt realises it's Finn and Carole and the thought of them seeing him like this scares the shit out of him and he looks to Santana desperately but she's already moving, pulling him up with her into the bathroom and hissing to hurry up and clean up I can only stall them for so long then she's gone, shutting the door and he hears muffled talking and he wonders how the hell he's got Santana on his side and his last coherent thought is that maybe his dad's heart attack wasn't inevitable and maybe he's going to end up friends with Santana.