"Well, it took you long enough," Kurt's dad, Burt Hummel, said as Kurt descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen.

He put down the newspaper he was reading and raised a questioning eyebrow at Kurt. "Are you okay, kid?"

"Dad," Kurt said. "What's going on? Why are we here? Did you and Carole fight or something?"

Kurt poured himself a glass of water, chugging it down in two gulps. If Burt and Carole had fought, why didn't his dad give him enough time to pack clothes that actually belonged to him? Kurt looked down in disgust at his outfit, which consisted of dad jeans and a McKinley football jersey he figured could only belong to Finn. "Well?" Kurt probes. "Did you guys have a fight, or what?"

"Kurt," his dad finally replied, his voice laced with confusion.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Who's Carole?"


Kurt hugged the steering wheel of his Navigator.

At least he still had his baby. At least she was still there.

Who's Carole? If this was a joke on Kurt, it was getting sicker and sicker with each passing moment. Why was his dad in on the joke? How could he even joke about not knowing who Carole was? Kurt sighed in frustration and turned on the Navigator. The stereo was up full blast and it was playing… country music. Not only had he woken up in his old house, surrounded by pictures of girls, in bikini's no less, with nothing to wear but sports jerseys and dad jeans and Rachel pretending to be his girlfriend. But they were messing with his radio stations?!

That was the last straw.

Instead of going to school Kurt drove to his house—his house, the one he lived at with Finn and Carole and with his family. Kurt got out of the car and began marching furiously towards the door. He didn't care how big the argument was, it was getting ridiculous and he needed to change his clothes.

"Carole!" Kurt beat his fist against the door. "Carole, open the door!" Kurt knocked over and over again, hitting down heavier on the door with each knock. "Carole, this isn't funny anymore, let me in!"

The door opened and relief flooded through Kurt. That is, of course, until he found a very pissed off elderly man in the doorway. "Who the hell are you?" Kurt asked.

"Excuse me?!" the man yelled. "You're beating down my door, screaming bloody murder at seven-thirty in the morning, and you have the nerve to ask me who I am? I should call the cops on you."

"Where's Carole?"

"Are you on drugs, kid? There is no Carole here. Carole doesn't live here. She gave you the wrong address or something. There. Is. No. Carole."

"But… But this is my house."

"No," the old man said, his voice filled with frustration. "This is my house, and I suggest you leave before I call the cops and tell them some weird kid, who I highly suspect is on drugs, is trying to break down my door and get in my house searching for a woman who doesn't even live here."

The door slammed in Kurt's face. He should probably leave, get into his car and drive off to school, but he couldn't. It was as if his legs were suddenly made of lead and he couldn't bring himself to move them. He stood there, wide-eyed and filled with shock.

You wanted a new life, Kurt thought to himself. Well you got one. Way to go, Kurt.


"KURT. HUMMEL." Kurt turned around as fast as he could manage, still shell-shocked by his encounter with the elderly man living in his house. Rachel Berry was marching dramatically over to Kurt from the opposite end of the hall, her fists balled up at her sides.

"Guess who had to walk to school today?!" Rachel yelled at him, her arms flailing above her head.

"I don't know," he answered. "Who?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth was opened in a large O shape, shock and anger mixed up into one facial expression. "ME, KURT!" Rachel screamed at the top of her lungs and everyone in the hallway began staring at them. "I HAD TO WALK TO SCHOOL TODAY, KURT. YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE MY IDIOT BOYFRIEND DITCHED ME AND DIDN'T GIVE ME A RIDE!"

"Rachel," Kurt whispered as calmly as possible. Kurt always tried his hardest to stay under the radar, and Rachel screaming and yelling at him, announcing to all of the school that he was her boyfriend was definitely not the way to do it. "I'm not your boyfriend."

Rachel's jaw tightened as she stood up straight. She was so angry; you could practically see the steam rising from her ears. She nodded her head, pulled her hand back, and slapped Kurt right across the face. A slap so loud, Kurt was sure people in Africa could have heard it. Kurt covered up his cheek and stared at Rachel, a stinging pain running through his right cheek. "You're a jerk, Kurt Hummel!" Rachel yelled before storming off into the crowd that had formed around them.

He heard someone behind him inhale a sharp breath before hissing it out. "Ouch, man," David Karofsky said. "She effed you up pretty good, huh?" he looked pained, as if he were the one who had just endured the slap heard around the world. He certainly deserved to have been the one to receive it.

Why was Karofsky acting like he was Kurt's friend? This was David Karofsky, the boy who made Kurt the football team's Public Enemy #1. This was the boy who had made Kurt's life a living hell for the past two years. Kurt took in deep breaths, trying not to let Karofsky get to him before turning around and walking in the opposite direction of the bully.

"Hey, what the hell is your problem, Hummel? Why are you being all… weird?"

"You're my problem, Karofsky," Kurt yelled behind him, continuing to put as much space between him and the bully as possible. "Now leave me alone."


"Damn, man, I heard you broke up with Rachel," Puck said, sitting down next to Kurt on a bench outside of the school. "I also heard she slapped the shit out of you."

"Leave it to Rachel to always turn things into a soap opera," Kurt mumbled, rolling his eyes at the thought of Rachel.

"Well, I have a present for you," Puck cheered, slapping Kurt on the back. "It's sure to make you feel better!"

"Why am I scared that this isn't going to turn out so good?" Kurt wondered, standing up and following Puck.

"Nah, man," he assured him. "You're going to love it! It's, like, your favorite hobby."

What, the, hell? Kurt thought as Puck led him to the dumpster at the side of the school, yelling 'Ta-da!' to show the whole football team standing in front of the dumpster. "What is this?" Kurt asked.

The crowd of football players split to show two of the football players holding a kicking boy in place; a kicking boy who looked an awful lot like Blaine.

"It's your present!" Puck yelled cheerfully. "Come on, we chose him just for you. Would you do us the honor of tossing him in the dumpster?"

Blaine was struggling against the two football players holding him. He was so small compared to them, short but definitely not weak as Kurt observed the veins and muscles in his arms flex as he tried to break free of their hold. He had several small curls popping out of their helmet of gel as he shook his head back and forth, struggling against the football players. "Let me go! Why can't you guys just leave me alone?" he yelled.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Kurt yelled angrily. Whatever life this is, Kurt didn't want it. He couldn't live in a world where he was the one picking on someone. He didn't want to live a life where he was the bully who had made his life a living hell.

"Come on, dude, quit being a fag," Puck retorted. "Throw him in there!"

"What did you just call me?" Kurt balled up his fists, swelling with anger. Puck, who had been one of his main supporters in his journey through the hell that is McKinley high school, had just called him the worst possible thing he could. Puck, who was always there to defend him whenever and however he could, had just called him a fag.

Puck, who he thought was his friend.

Kurt turned to the two football players holding on to Blaine's arms. "Let him go," Kurt's voice was hard, and it was clear that he was not a force to be reckoned with right now. But still, the football players didn't move. Instead they looked at Kurt questioningly, raising their eyebrows and looking back and forth between Kurt, Puck, and Blaine. "Now!" Kurt boomed.

The two boys immediately dropped their hold on Blaine, who began rubbing his wrists. "What's your problem today?" one of the boys who had held Blaine asked. "Are you two, like, gay together or something?"

"GO AWAY! Go away!" Kurt yelled at the football players circled around him. "Leave him alone, he didn't do anything to you guys."

"I didn't know he was your boyfriend, Hummel," Puck retorted, staring Kurt in the eye. "Come on guys," he ordered to the rest of the football team. "Let's leave the two fags here to kiss each other."

Anger boiled inside of Kurt, and time stood still. He could handle people he didn't even know picking on him every day, he could handle the cruel words and abuse and torment from strangers who didn't even know him. But when it came from his friend who knew what he was going through and had been through and how much it affected him… Kurt was so angry. He was angry at the world for being filled with narrow-minded assholes like the ones that lived in Lima. He was angry that no matter what life he was given, it wouldn't ever be good. How good could your life even be if you were dating Rachel Berry, anyway? No matter what life he's given, it'll always be shit.

Time started again and Kurt tapped Puck on the shoulder.

"What fa—" Puck's sentence was interrupted by Kurt's fist connecting with his jaw.

"I'm going to remember that," Puck spat out at Kurt, holding a hand to his jaw. "Let's go, guys," he said, walking away with the football team following close behind him.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked Blaine.

The other boy said nothing; he simply just stood there and stared at Kurt. He looked scared. Scared of me, Kurt thought, his heart tightening in his chest. "I'm sorry they did that," Kurt continued. "It isn't fair to you to be treated that way just because you're different."

"Who are you?" Blaine finally answered, his voice laced with apprehension.

"Uh," Kurt didn't know how to reply. Blaine didn't know who he was anymore. Blaine didn't know the Kurt that cared about him and liked to hold his hand. He only knew of Kurt the Bully. "I'm Kurt?"

"No you're not," Blaine retorted. "No you're not, because the Kurt Hummel I know wouldn't have stood up for me like that. In fact, he'd have been more than willing to throw me into that dumpster, and he damn well wouldn't have gotten mad because Noah Puckerman called me a fag. Why should he care? He feels the need to tell me all the time. So, what do you want from me? Are you going to hurt me? Did you just not want witnesses?"

Kurt could feel his eyes getting watery, and his heart ached in a way that Kurt didn't think was possible. Kurt was the one who always threw Blaine in the dumpster? Kurt called… He gulped, his throat tightening. He called Blaine a fag? The tears started to fill to the brink, not yet spilling over. Blaine was scared of him. Blaine, the only thing good in his life, was scared of him. Kurt had hurt him before. Kurt had hurt him when he promised he never would.

"I've hurt you before?"

Blaine laughed, grabbing his backpack off the ground. "You're really funny, Kurt. You're really funny when you try to act like you're not the bad guy."

"But, I- I'm not the bad guy."

"Kurt," Blaine choked. "Every day since the day I moved to this school one year ago, you've picked on me. You've called me names, and ordered your little dim-witted, football playing minions to push me around and join in on the name calling. At least once a week you toss me in the dumpster, you can never pass by me in the halls without making some snide remark about my sexuality and have made it your personal goal in life to make my life a living nightmare. I don't know what I ever did to you to make you want to do that to me, but do not—do not—sit there and play the victim. Don't sit there and act like you have any regret about what you've done to me for the past year because if you did, you'd have stopped when I begged you to a long, long time ago. I don't understand how you even have the nerve to stand there and ask me if I'm scared of you. Of course I'm scared of you, I'm scared every time a locker door slams or I hear someone walking behind me or I stand too close to a dumpster. You are my walking, talking, living nightmare. Don't act like you don't know that."

The dam holding in Kurt's tears broke, and the salty water streamed down his face. Kurt choked back sobs, bending over because he felt sick to his stomach. In another life, Kurt was the bully. In another life, it wasn't Kurt who had to endure the pain of being bullied every day, but Blaine. And Blaine didn't deserve that, he didn't deserve to be treated the way Kurt had been treated. "God, I'm so sorry Blaine," he cried. "I'm so sorry I ever did any of that to you. You don't deserve it."

"Why are you doing this?" Blaine demanded. "Why are you suddenly so sorry for the way you've been treating me all this time?"

"Because I know what that feels like," he sobbed. "I know what it feels like to feel the way you feel. I know how it feels to hate your life because people hate you for no reason, and I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone. I especially wouldn't wish it on you. You deserve so much more. I'm so sorry, Blaine."

Blaine's eyes began to prickle. Why was Kurt suddenly so sorry for everything he's done? Because he knew what it felt like? No, he didn't, he didn't know how Blaine felt. He was Kurt Hummel, superstar, dating the most popular girl in school, being friends with all the football players without actually being in football. He was Kurt Hummel, Mr. McKinley, who two days ago wouldn't have cared if Puck threw Blaine in a dumpster or not.

But as Blaine looked in his eyes, he could see the remorse in them. He could see that Kurt was truly and genuinely sorry. He wanted to forgive him. After all, the only thing Blaine had hoped for in the past year was for Kurt to be sorry for what he had done, to apologize and leave him alone. He was finally doing it, and begging Blaine for his forgiveness and to please just understand how sorry he was.

And Blaine wanted to forgive him, he really did. But…

"Sometimes sorry isn't enough, Kurt."