TRIGGER WARNING: BRIEF THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE

~.~.~.~

It was a long walk from school to the low income side of town, just long enough for it to hit me that oh my god, my soul mate hates me, at which point I became violently sick in the thicket of trees beside the road.

The street was thankfully deserted, only one shabby, lonely house all the way at the end of the road. I expelled the measly breakfast I'd managed to scarf down this morning before my dad got bored and started using me as stress relief.

At some point that I couldn't define, my dry heaving turned into wracking sobs.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Being despised by my other half was even worse than being sure I didn't have one – at least before I could fantasize about finding the perfect guy. All those times I'd dreamed about sneaking out of the house to see him, because I would never be able to tell my dad about him, and going on normal dates to get coffee or see a movie, because it had been so long since anything in my life felt remotely normal…all of that was gone now.

It was hard for me to accept that as beautiful as my soul mate looked on the outside, on the inside he was just like everyone else that judged me at first sight. Why did we Connect, then? What set Kurt apart from every other judgmental person?

Kurt. The name rang in my mind, resonating in the background like an annoying song, except it was anything but annoying. It was my soul mates name, I was positive, but…I hadn't heard his name, had I?

It struck me then how little I actually knew about Connections. Parents usually explained them more in-depth to their kids at the same time they gave them the sex talk, because some of the themes were a bit too much for kids to handle, but I hadn't had either of those awkward discussions. Some Sex Ed classes taught about Connections too, but I'd never been to a school that offered one. Automatically knowing your soul mate's name must've been a side effect of Connecting.

I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my jacket, reminding myself to wash it later. I already had very few clothes as it was. Once I calmed myself down, I started walking again in a zombie-like state, not even noticing the cold. Thankfully my dad wouldn't be home for a few hours – he worked a minimum-wage factory job that he could only keep because his friend ran the place and there were tons of guys to take up his work on the days that he decided not to come.

We lived in a very dingy, disgustingly filthy third-floor apartment. Our complex had a high crime rate and the whole parking lot smelled of smoke, but not as bad as inside our apartment.

Nothing in our very small living space was clean, all stained or burned or coated in a sticky layer of beer. I'd gotten used to the smell, having been exposed to it since I was seven, but I missed the feeling of cleanliness. The old TV set didn't work and there was no hot water – most days I opted to shower in the school lockers. My dad had taken the only bedroom as his own, leaving me to sleep on the couch.

Out of habit, I slid my backpack under said couch as soon as I locked the door behind me. Over the years my dad had hocked most of our belongings for booze, cigarettes and rent, so anything that I wanted to keep had to be hidden, aside from the clothes in our shared dresser.

I sank down onto the sagging couch cushions, burying my head in my hands. I couldn't get the image of Kurt's face out of my head.

Kurt, my brain echoed. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt Hummel, soul mate, perfect, Kurt…

I groaned and attempted to drown out the childlike voice that had taken up residence inside my head. I wondered if this was how I was doomed to live my life, trying to drown out desires that I couldn't act upon because Kurt wanted nothing to do with me.

Would it kill the universe to just let me have one ounce of good luck?

"Kurt," I whispered, as if saying it aloud would help the voice trapped in my mind escape. It felt right on my tongue, natural, like I'd said it a million times even though I was pretty sure I'd never known someone named Kurt before. "Kurt," I said again, louder and more desperate-sounding. "Kurt, please…please…"

I didn't even know what I was begging for, but then I was crying into my hands. Maybe for him to just give me a chance. Maybe for him to have never existed.

My arms started to ache with the effort of holding my head up and I curled up on my side, closing my eyes and wishing I could just disappear. The world would be a lot better off if I did.

~.~.~.~

Evidently I drifted off, because I awoke to a swift blow to my already bruised ribs.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" my dad slurred, his voice raspy. "Where are my goddamn cigarettes?"

He was standing over me, ironically holding a cigarette in his teeth, his bloodshot eyes livid. Often times he expected me to steal him things after school, but cigarettes and beer were the hardest to get a hold of. I much preferred stealing food.

"Y-you didn't tell me you wanted-" I stammered quietly, but I knew it was too late.

A sharp slap stung my face, but his aim was always off when he was drunk, so I didn't get the full brunt of it.

"I'm sorry," I said in barely a whisper, my voice shaking. I kept my eyes averted, wishing desperately that I could vanish. "I'm so sorry…I-I'll get you some tomorrow…promise…"

I heard him sigh exasperatedly, muttering about needing a beer as he lumbered off to the kitchen.

I didn't like looking my father in the face because he looked incredibly different from the man he was ten years ago. Most people who knew him back then wouldn't recognize him. His hair used to be full and well kempt, his teeth white and eyes bright. Drugs had turned him rather nasty looking, and if there was anything that could turn you off of using substances, it was watching them slowly eat away at someone you loved.

Most of the time I was sure my father knew I loved him still. He used it against me on purpose a lot of the time, and it felt like a knife was being driven straight through me when he did.

In a way, it was similar to how I felt when I saw Kurt's true colors. I had come to love the idea of a perfect soul mate, and because I had, it had hurt so much more to find out that he wasn't. I almost felt ashamed, because if there was one thing my parents had taught me, it was that loving someone only got you hurt. You got too attached, and then they either abandoned you or used your love to hurt you.

So from here on out, my task was simple: don't fall in love with Kurt Hummel.

~.~.~.~

I dreamt of drowning that night, but drowning had never been so beautiful, nor more appealing. I was drowning in a sun-streaked ocean of blue and green, silvery fish darting so quickly around me that they were blurred. A sweet voice sang to me as I floated, my mind growing more and more fuzzy, more blissful. I was teetering on the edge of life and glorious death, the warm waters gently embracing me.

I woke up crying.

~.~.~.~

The next day I walked to school, taking as much time as I could so that I could postpone seeing Kurt again as long as possible. If I was lucky, he'd hate me so much he'd get a transfer.

What would happen when I did see him eventually? Would he ignore me? Confront me? If he did…I honestly had no idea how I would react.

Just use the same attitude you use with everyone else, I reasoned. Why should he get special treatment just because he's your soul mate? He certainly isn't giving you any.

I supposed that was the best way to prevent myself from getting hurt. If I didn't open up to him, he didn't have anything to use against me, right?

I kept feeling sharp pains in my arms all day, every hour or so in spurts. It would just suddenly hurt in my upper arm and shoulder, and I couldn't figure out why. Sure my father grabbed me there often, and thus those areas were often bruised, but they usually only hurt when I touched them. This kind of pain was so random and potent that I occasionally winced. Maybe I'd slept on them weird last night or something.

By the time I eventually meandered my way to school, it was after lunch. My dad had left early this morning to buy beer before work so I'd gotten to sleep in a bit. I knew my teachers wouldn't take kindly to a new student showing up late for their class after skipping the day before, but at least it was uniform with my criminal image.

Was it an image? I felt more and more like a hopeless case juvenile delinquent everyday.

~.~.~.~

I dropped my stuff off at my locker after a quick look at my schedule – English with Mr. Randy had started five minutes ago – and went to find my classroom in the deserted hallways.

The door was shut, but I could hear the droning voice of the tall, balding teacher and see him gesturing to the blackboard in the window. I opened the heavy metal door and he fell silent, all eyes turning to me.

I automatically dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to handle seeing their disapproving glares identical to Kurt's right now.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Anderson," I heard the teacher say critically. "Glad you decided to join us today, although I expected you yesterday."

Guilt flooded through me before I could stop it, but it dissipated quickly. Shoplifting since you were thirteen did that to you.

"Since both you and Mr. Hummel were absent when we partnered up for peer editing our persuasive essays, you can work with him."

I froze, unwilling to believe that he'd actually just said Hummel. Working with Kurt would be the exact opposite of what I wanted right now, when what I really wanted was to not be reminded of how inadequate of a soul mate I was.

"Mr. Hummel, will you please raise your hand so Mr. Anderson knows where he'll be sitting?" I vaguely heard Mr. Randy say, and then it hit me that I would actually have to look at Kurt – look at his damn perfect eyes and perfect face and clothes and body.

Well-practiced at avoiding my father's gaze, I glanced up quickly at the rows of students to pick my soul mate from the crowd. It wasn't hard because my eyes seemed drawn to his like a magnet.

The expression he was wearing was not at all what I expected. He looked shocked, almost panicked rather than disgusted. Perhaps he was worried his reputation would fall if he was seen with me.

As soon as I figured out where my new seat was I let my gaze drop again, keeping my eyes on my dirty Converse as I sat in the desk to Kurt's left. I could feel his gaze on me, but I resisted meeting his eyes again.

"Yesterday we edited our peer essay rough drafts," the teacher explained to us after he'd set the class to work. "Mr. Anderson, you'll have to write one for homework since you just transferred." I could tell by the glare he shot my way that he'd assumed "transferred" meant that I'd gotten expelled form my last school. He assumed correctly, but it was a sharp reminder of how little people thought of me. I couldn't bear to look at Kurt's face to see if it held the same belittlement. "Once you've done that, you two need to get together on your own time to edit each other's. Today we're working on this."

I glanced down at the stack of papers Mr. Randy had been piling on my desk as he talked – a syllabus, rubric, and a question packet for the book Catcher in the Rye.

"Do you need a copy of the book, Mr. Anderson?" Mr. Randy asked.

"I've read it," I replied. Catcher in the Rye had been one of the many classics my mother adored that were lying around the house before she left – I had devoured every single one as soon as I could read.

The teacher nodded and retreated to grade papers, leaving me alone with Kurt. Well, technically we were in a class full of other students, but it felt like we were the only ones in the room. I started to work on the question packet, hoping to distract myself and maybe finish early so I could catch up on some sleep.

I was rather surprised when Kurt spoke.

"So," he said uncertainly, "should we meet at the public library after school on Friday?"

Holy fuck his voice was gorgeous. Was that even legal? He should have warning signs on him somewhere. It felt like my ears had waited my whole life to hear that sound.

"Thursday," I decided once I had regained the capacity for speech. "I'll be done by then." Why on Earth would it take me three days to write a rough draft essay on a book I'd already read? Delinquent didn't mean stupid.

"I can't Thursday, I have Glee rehearsal," Kurt said, sounding taken aback.

"Tomorrow, then," I compromised.

Kurt let out a huffy sigh, and for some reason the sound really pissed me off. Did he honestly think he had the right to be frustrated with me after what he did to me?

"Fine," he snapped. "Meet me there at four."

I nodded, not trusting my words to be civil if I spoke.

~.~.~.~

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