I have no excuse for this. I just felt the need to write something dark and angsty because I've been writing fluff for O.K. This is not for fans of Finn. But there is brief Puckurt at the end. I normally don't ask for reviews, but input on this would be greatly appreciated to see if I've managed angst well. Thanks lovelies. –Insert Disclaimer-
Even when you're lying broken on the floor, strings cut and tangled in a heap, bruises forming on you porcelain skin. All you can think was that you deserved this. You should have never tried to break out of the mold.
He was the marionette of the entire show that was your life. They pulled the string and your hand would raise. The puppeteer manipulated every movement. Every smile, every word.
You were nothing but a toy.
And now your strings were cut and you're lying in a heap, porcelain limbs broken, lying in angles that shouldn't have been possible.
Your pale skin that was always shined and cleaned twice a day is battered, bloody, and bruised.
The false smile always painted on your face has faded.
The brown locks brushed on the top of your head to perfection are caked down with metallic, warm liquid.
You are nothing but a marionette.
Your movements stiff and controlled.
You should have never tried to break away from what you were born to fit into.
He promised you love, then took a hold of your strings and pulled and tugged and manipulated them until you were nothing but a shell.
A porcelain figure, empty inside.
Hollow.
You can only watch through your empty eyes as they all walk away.
The ones that cut your strings.
You always hated those letterman jackets.
The one who promised you love wore that jacket.
You should have remembered that your love was impossible.
What he promised you was a lie.
You should have remembered those words.
But instead you let him be your master, your puppeteer.
All you can remember is that it felt so good. So good to feel loved.
If only for those brief seconds.
You remembered Finn's words.
That one that broke you and hurt you. Cut at you until you couldn't breathe anymore.
But your heart was nothing.
It was never carved into your body.
Because marionette's were for nothing but display.
Made to look pretty and be controlled.
You got ahead of yourself.
"Hey, Kurt? Kurt?"
You open your eyes, feeling the cool water seeping in through your bloody and battered clothes.
That boy. The one who promised you love then ripped it away.
The one who gave you false hope.
He was walking away.
The bloodied and battered bat the only evidence that he was even there as he swings it in his hand.
You can't even believe that the one saving you would be another one of those letterman jackets.
"Noah?"
You whisper softly.
He smiled and nods his head.
"I've called an ambulance, everything's going to be okay. Just hold on, alright?"
You feel broken and alone, even with the last person you ever expected to help, holding you.
"He was right, Noah."
You whisper.
He looks down at you, confusion and worry etched in his features.
"Who was right?"
"Finn."
"What about him?"
"I was nothing but his marionette. His toy. And sooner or later, children get bored with their toys, and they throw them out."
You whisper the words, laced with hurt and acceptance.
You plaster that smile on once more as you hear sirens in the distance.
"Kurt, just hold on."
You hear the desperate pleas. But you've already accepted what's supposed to happen.
Your strings are cut.
You are no longer being manipulated.
"It's okay Noah."
You whisper, surrendering to the darkness, your last words leaving your lips like a prayer.
"I'm free now."
