Kurt stared into the mirror, and smiled. His cheeks were rosy and red, and he pinched the fat that squeezed together at his cheekbones.
"Fat." He repeated. He continued smiling, poking and jabbing at his face when the cheeks were touching his black rimmed spectacles that was sitting on his nose. This is unbelievable, how can anyone's face be that fat? He tried dieting, and failed. He tried exercising, and failed. He just did not have enough determination and when the scales went over 135 pounds, he completely lost it. He substituted meals with water, with salads and juices and occasionally skipping a meal for multivitamins because he was just too guilty. And too fat.
Kurt stood up, and lifted his T-shirt that bunched around his armpits. His pale hands glided around the tummy that protruded out, a fairly slim waist and groped his saggy butt. This wasn't the body he wanted. He pictured Mike in the football locker room, lifting the jersey off his head and a well toned ab-bulous body came to view. Mike was receiving so much compliments and was object of envy of many buffier footballers. Well, except himself. The small, flabby, fat kicker. He quietly slipped away that day, out of the many. He starved himself for 2 days before giving in when he almost passed out at home.
He felt sick. He felt sick at his own repulsive body. Which male would look like him? Which sane person will fall in love with someone as disgusting as Kurt? He rubbed the tears off his cheeks and looked straight into his own eyes. He had to admit, he had beautiful eyes. Those gray-blue eyes now rimmed by red was a gift from his mother. Why couldn't his body be more beautiful like his eyes?
Kurt clenched his fists, feeling his fingernails dig into his palms painfully. He flung the shirt away, tears spilling madly down and stabbed his fingernails into his waist, and clawed across. It intersected with the path of his teardrop that slipped from his chin. It was painful. It hurts, but he needed it. That was his punishment for not able to control himself. The marks were not even deep enough to last a day but the pain for now was enough. He clasped over the three scratches, now burning dully. He quickly slipped a shirt back on. What had I done.. He never went as far as this. Sure he sometimes sank his fingernails too hard in his thighs or his wrists, scraped his left wrist with scissors just enough to break the skin, always hidden under clothes or with a wristband, but he didn't hurt himself so much like this.
But it was a painful relief.
The ache that reminded that he needed to be more perfect, closer to perfection. Away from what he is now. This fat, ugly monster.
He couldn't bring himself to see the damage he'd done. Only the pain mattered. The throbbing ache was still there. He derserved this, he needed to be more disciplined. He stiffly went up the weighing scale again. The numbers stayed the same as yesterday. He didn't feel as bad when the pain was searing on the surface of his stomach. It seemed that...his weight was justified by it. Yeah, he was getting punished for his weight loss failure, all he had to do now was to succeed. He threw the scale under his bed and curled up in bed. The scars felt warm and feverish, bringing comfort his heart that was sealed off. Cold, and hard like the scraps of food left at the back of the fridge. Something that people didn't want but too lazy to thrash them.
That's what he was. Scraps that nobody even bothered to clear.
A/N: This fic is kinda personal to me, it's based off me, as Kurt, today. Umm well this is kinda angsty, kinda sad, but it's the truth that many of teenage girls and boys, even adults, that are struggling with how they look. I will probably make a sequel to this, but I will not know how Kurt will change things. Reviews are much appreciated. Thank you.