A/N: I'm sorry I haven't posted a chapter in such a long time and I'm sorry I kept you waiting but things have been hectic. I also had to rethink a lot of things about this fic. I've had a few reviews asking how far the abuse is going to go. Because of that, I had to change a lot of things in order not to make anyone uncomfortable. The warnings are stated below.
Thank you for all your support so far and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I previously wanted to write these chapters by age but I have decided that this Chapter would have a time jump to when he becomes 16 and leave his experiences when he was younger to flashbacks. They won't be graphic but they'll tell you enough.
I apologize for any errors made, spelling or grammar wise. I don't have a beta. I'll find one though. I'm from Singapore so I follow British spelling so that's self explanatory. On another not, enjoy.
To mzjem: I love you baby thank you. 3
To Azaelia67: Thank you for your review. It's very hard to write it. I can't show you how he grew up, but I can show you in the process of flashbacks how and what he went through as a child and how that added up to what he became today. It will affect him very deeply as you will read and if you'd join this journey with me, we can find out how it turns out. How about that?
Warnings: Dark content that may trigger. mentions of child sexual abuse. Self harm and eating disorders. Implied rape and penetration (not too graphic). I'm sorry if you have to drop this story. I would understand if you did.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters (you'd know if I did) but I do own Uncle Charlie *vomits*
Age 6
"Look Kurt, Uncle Charlie is here," those words always meant that his parents were leaving for work and wouldn't be back for a while.
It meant that he would be alone in the house with Uncle Charlie for about 6 hours before his mommy came home again and Uncle Charlie would have to leave.
It also meant that those hands would be touching him again. It meant that those lips would be on him again.
Uncle Charlie is nice, Kurt decides. He always came bearing gifts and toys for the little 6 year old when he visited or came to babysit him. Besides, he had kept to his promise of helping Kurt become a big boy. He had told Kurt many times that he could practically see Kurt growing up and "maturing" although he didn't know what that word meant yet, it was enough to satisfy Kurt's doubts. Kurt had heard him mutter to himself about how his plan was working which Kurt couldn't quite understand, but his 6 year old mind assumed that he was talking about Kurt's progress.
He had been at it for months, each time they were left at home alone, Uncle Charlie would waste no time in rushing Kurt to his room and taking his clothes off. For months they fell into a familiar routine of going straight up to Kurt's room once both his parents had left the house. Uncle Charlie would ask him to wait a couple minutes to make sure that neither one of his parents came back home unexpectedly and caught them. He would then ask Kurt to take off his clothes or he would do it for him just for the fun of it.
Those hands and those lips would waste no time in attaching themselves to Kurt's body and mouth. He often whined and complained about how all his mother's hard work to style his hair would go to waste because Uncle Charlie would forcefully run his hands through them. He pulled at them too and Kurt would always cry out because it hurt so much but again the little 6 year old would try to keep calm because it's all for your own good, Uncle Charlie had said.
If you want to be a big boy, you have to do whatever I tell you to, remember?
Oh, he remembered. He reminded himself every day.
It had been eleven years since the first time his Uncle Charlie had touched him. He was sixteen now, a sophomore in High School. He could honestly say his life was hell.
He was bullied in school constantly because of his sexuality.
He had lost his mother when he was eight in a car accident.
His father was trying but Kurt knew he was struggling to come to terms with having a gay son. Kurt didn't blame him.
On top of all of that, Uncle Charlie came by constantly to visit them, claiming he never saw his favourite nephew enough.
He learnt when he was ten that what Uncle Charlie was doing wasn't right but he didn't have the power to stop him. He was too weak, too small to do anything and over the years, as he grew up, Uncle Charlie managed to take away all his energy to fight back and his innocence at the same time.
Between being harassed in school and being tortured, abused at home, he had nowhere to run. He hated that he was the victim.
Why was he always the victim?
He's never told anyone about his time as a child, has never dared to. He hated his childhood. He hated that he had let Uncle Charlie take it away from him.
None of his friends needed to know, they were his safe haven. He didn't want, no, he couldn't mix his two worlds together. They just didn't match.
So there he was, on his bed; naked, wet and disgusting. Uncle Charlie had just left, knowing his father would be home in an hour. He had left Kurt on his bed, crying and in pain, his entire body sore and aching.
He had arrived half an hour earlier, without warning, dragged Kurt to his room, threw him on the bed and had his way. He complained about Kurt being a tease and how he hadn't been pleased enough and the way his eyes darkened just made Kurt sick.
He tried moving from his position on the bed to go to the bathroom but whimpered in pain as he fell to the hard tiled floor of his bedroom. He forced himself to crawl over to the bathroom door and pushed it open with as much energy as he had left in his body after the torture he just endured.
He crawled further into the bathroom towards the toilet; his hands clenched the cold porcelain of the toilet seat as he threw up the contents of his non-existent lunch. He puked until his stomach was full of nothing but air and acid; even then he continued to throw up. He was used to this, though.
He continued kneeling on the bathroom floor until he felt like he could move again. He stood up slowly and made his way to the bathtub, filling it to the brim with hot water before entering, hissing as his butt hit the bottom of the tub.
He grabbed his loofa and scrubbed himself as hard as he could until his skin was an angry red. Hot tears streamed down his face as he tried hard not to scream in agony at the unfairness that was his life. He continued scrubbing and occasionally let out a few sobs as he went through what he liked to call his 'Post-Rape Breakdown'.
After a while, he let the loofa slip out of his hand in defeat and banged his head against the concrete wall behind him, not even caring how hard he hit or how much it would hurt. He just wanted to get rid of the feeling of him. Of him in his body, breaking him from the inside.
He desperately reached for a box on his soap shelf and opened it with shaking hands. Inside it was several small bottles of his facial cream but he wasn't looking for that. He dug deeper until he could feel the smooth metal of his razor at the tip of his fingers. He knew his father wouldn't look there. He wouldn't have a reason to. He took the sharp razor blade in his fingers and stared at it longingly. He kissed the sharp end of the blade and brought it to his forearm, already scarred with dozens of other cuts, aligned neatly, each cut parallel to the next.
Unlike his life that was messy and out of control, he needed his cuts to be neat. It was the only thing he could control. His cuts represented how he wanted his life to be.
He brought the sharp end of the blade to his skin, where he left off his previous cut from last night, and pierced his flawless porcelain skin. He closed his eyes, both in pain and pleasure at the same time. When he opened them again, there was red liquid flowing from the cut, down his arm and into the tub, the red immediately spreading and swirling with the water.
He watched in amazement as the blood continued to flow, slowly but steadily and brought the razor to make another cut in his skin. And in that moment, he forgot about the pain of the outside world and the pain he just endured in the comfort of his own house, his own room, his own bed. He could just focus on the sting in his arm and his head. He felt numb to the world.
He made a final cut before he decided it was time to go. His father would be back soon and he wouldn't be happy to see the condition his room was in, or his son in a bathtub of his own blood with his arm bleeding and a razor blade in his hand. That wasn't something his father should have to see because it isn't his fault his son is fucked up. Not at all.
He grabbed a towel at the side of the tub and dabbed at the cuts. It didn't hurt anymore. Not much anyway. He got out of the tub and drained the water, watching as the red swirled down and disappeared down the drain.
He washed his razor blade carefully before stashing it back in the box. He wanted pain, not an infection.
He got dressed quickly, in a long-sleeve shirt with a cardigan over it and loose pants. He was not in any condition to wear skin-tight jeans. He would heal up by the next day though, he knew it. He was too used to this. He hated that.
He changed his sheets to brand new ones, he had bought a lot of extras when he was fourteen just so he didn't have to reuse them when Uncle Charlie came over. He had done that many times before and all it did was make him hate himself more.
Not long after he was done cleaning up, he heard the front door open and close.
"Kiddo, I'm home! You there buddy?"
"Yeah, dad! I'll be down in a second."
He looked at his mirror and adjusted his clothes before making his way downstairs. There was no excuse for looking unkempt and he wouldn't have that.
"Your dinner is in the kitchen, dad." He was lucky he remembered to prepare his dad's dinner beforehand. Way beforehand. Like he said, he was used to this.
"You not eating bud?" There it was. The question he hated to answer.
"I ate just before you came back, actually. I would've waited for you but I didn't know how long you'd be."He hated lying to his dad but he didn't have a choice. It was so easy it scared him sometimes. He used to be bad at lying to his dad as a kid. His dad would always know when he was lying.
He didn't anymore. Like they said, practice makes perfect.
And he had a hell lot of time to practice. He hated that too. He hated himself more.
Kurt was 6 when he first saw someone else's "male part".
Kurt was 6 when he felt those lips on his "male part"; his first blowjob.
Kurt was 6 when he officially lost his innocence.
A/N: Well that was intense. And longer than the previous Chapter. I'm sorry if I got carried away. I just needed that off my chest. I just wanted you guys to know some of the details in his self harming. It won't be as bad in the next chapters, i hope anyway. I can't promise anything. See what I said about no details on the abuse? I hope you liked it.
PLEASE REVIEW. I'm begging because I need as much feedback as I can get. The previous Chapter's feedback definitely helped a lot and reviews might help the writing process speed up. Thank you for your time. And thank you for reading. I love you all.