Jack and Kurt walked slowly through the graveyard toward Ferguson Reservoir. It had been a week since Jack's breakdown at school, and he and Kurt hadn't spoken since the incident. But when Kurt approached him after the bell had rung and asked if he would like to go for a walk, Jack didn't think twice before complying. As they strolled past the graves, neither of them spoke more than a word or two. Jack occasionally took long drags on his cigarette, immediately lighting another each time one was exhausted. Jack turned as Kurt stopped at a polished stone grave.

"This is my mother's grave." he said matter-of-factly, but with a touch of sadness in his voice. Jack nodded silently as he watched him, silhouetted by the late afternoon sun.

"My mothers is thousands of miles away." he responded after a few moments. "And my father's too." Kurt smiled a gentle smile, acknowledging their shared grief. But Jack's face darkened as he added, "If I were at his grave right now, I would spit on it." He turned and continued walking, with a highly confused Kurt in his wake. When they made it to the reservoir, they sat down side by side. Jack had run out of cigarettes, and he now ground his teeth together gently. Kurt could hear him in their silence, and it put him on edge.

"Jack, what did he do to you?" he said, as he watched soft strands of hair and their subsequent shadows play across Jack's sharp, angular features. Jack sighed and rubbed his eyes with his palms as he turned toward Kurt. When he opened his eyes again, they made eye contact, and Kurt could just briefly see Jack's pupils shrink, as he was facing the neon orange sun.

"It's not a nice story, Kurt. And it's certainly one you don't need to know." He said, an edge to his normally angelic voice. He stood up and started walking back toward town, but Kurt caught up with him and grabbed his arm.

"Jack, it helps to talk about things. Trust me, I know. Please trust me." And Jack wanted to, so very badly. Which was the precise reason he didn't want Kurt to know about his past. The things that had been done to him, the things that he was forced to do, and the marks left by them would nauseate and horrify Kurt- he just knew it. He would finally open up to someone willingly, and then Kurt would start to look at him with that same nervous glance he constantly received from his relatives. He would start catching Kurt- and probably everyone else in their school, since gossip was what high school survived on- watching him while he thought he wasn't looking and then avert his eyes hastily when he finally realized it.

Throughout the internal debate Jack was having, Kurt grew impatient. He decided he needed to do something that would distract Jack from his thoughts. So Kurt did the only thing he could think of to do. He turned Jack to face him, shut his eyes tight, and forcibly pressed their lips together. They both stood there frigidly for a moment before relaxing into the kiss. It was a first for Kurt and the first that meant anything for Jack. As they intensified the kiss, Kurt gently slid his hands around Jack's thin waist. They lingered on his lower back, and Kurt could feel the warmth of his skin through his cotton shirt. As Jack began kissing his neck, Kurt felt a rush of boldness, and began to slide his hands beneath Jack's shirt. As he slid them slowly upwards, he felt what seemed to be raised lines on his back before Jack swiftly pushed him away, with a look of horror on his face.

"What is on you?" Kurt said, still flustered from their kissing and horribly confused. Jack didn't respond. Instead he turned from his companion and bolted down the street as fast as he could, with the hint of tears welling in his eyes. He was filled with relief when he realized his guardians weren't home and ran up the stairs to his room, two at a time. He shut and locked his door behind him before slamming his fists against the wall.

"God dammit!" he shouted through gritted teeth. He took several deep breaths before moving to the large mirror on top of his dresser. He lifted his shirt over his head and scanned his eyes over his pale, hairless chest. He then turned around, craning his neck to his left to look at the dozens of scars that coated his back. He hung his head and hunched his shoulders as he remembered the countless reasons his drunken father had come up with to justify taking a belt to his only son. Hit the high F, do better on your tests, don't be late again, you ruined the crucial dance step, you're a failure, don't disobey me, I'm your father and I will do what I please with you. But it wasn't more than two years after Jack's mother died that his father stopped bothering to make up with excuses. He also turned abusive in a whole new way.

He was lonely after she died, and the alcohol and his son's severe likeness to his dead wife clouded his judgment. Several nights a week, he would stumble into Jacks room, violating him in ways that no one deserves to experience. The only thing his perverted desires didn't reign over was his desire to see his son succeed in being the performer he failed to be. And on the nights he wasn't molesting his son, he was ruthlessly training him, beating him if he made any slight mistake. And so this was Jack's life for the nine years after his mother's death, before he was rescued by karma finally catching up to his father. He passed out at the wheel after a night of extra heavy drinking and drove through a guard rail into oncoming traffic. He died instantly, and when officials found the 16 year old Jack, bruised and bloodied and wary of every living soul, they easily got him to tell them all about the horrors he had experienced since he was seven years old by just giving him a small taste of the kindness and attention he so badly longed for. As so there he was, seemingly saved from hell, but still tortured by the lasting effects of his misfortune. What person in their right mind would want someone so… damaged?