"You're strong, kid," Charlie muttered angrily as he pressed Kurt's wrists into the corner of the stair. They were halfway to the ground floor. Stairs were also cutting into Kurt's upper and lower back, but he barely noticed past the blinding pain shooting through his right wrist and up his arm, further clouding his dizzy head.
It was broken, he knew. His wrist was broken.
Charlie had him pinned there, just feet from the landing and what seemed like salvation; he felt if he could just escape the the basement, this cage he was trapped in, he might be able to breathe again.
He'd tried kicking his attacker again, but Charlie had trapped his thighs between his knees, actions quick and bruising from anger and frustration. Now, Kurt locked beneath him, crying and hurting, he seemed finished with talking and ready to move on.
Charlie moved Kurt's wrists together into one hand above his head, pulling and sharp gasp and a whimper from the small teen who clamped his eyes shut and breathed until the pain dulled and he looked back up to see Charlie's hand working quickly on his own belt.
Kurt thrashed, his head accidently flinging back and hitting the stairs under him in his attempt to distance himself from his attacker. He couldn't move! Not even his left hand could pull free from this man's one large fist, and his legs barely moved a centimeter from the man's bruising grip.
When he glanced down next, the man's fly was open and he was pulling himself out of his underwear.
Kurt opened his mouth and gasped in a breath to scream, but it was cut off with a blow to his temple that sent his head to the right, hard.
He must have been out of it for a few seconds, because when he looked up again, vision doubled and bleary, his limp wrists were free, and Charlie was focused on pulling Kurt's pants down his pale legs.
Kurt lifted his thigh, intending to knee the man in the groin again, but his muscles wouldn't work fast enough and Charlie shoved his leg back down to the stairs. Charlie must have finished, because he was suddenly back in Kurt's line of sight, and Kurt lifted a hand to push him away but only managed to paw his broken wrist across his broad chest.
His wrist didn't hurt anymore.
Kurt couldn't feel anything anymore, but he knew what was going on. Everything he'd done to stop it had failed, and he couldn't find the strength to keep trying.
And then he could feel a hand on the inside of his naked thigh.
An explosion shook through Kurt's head and he gasped and opened his eyes, thinking he must have died. He thought hard and realized it had been a gun shot coming from upstairs.
Charlie had stopped moving. Kurt focused on his face; he was staring at the basement door.
"What the hell?" Charlie muttered. "Craig!" Apparently there was no response, because Charlie looked upset. "Shit," he muttered and rose to his knees. Without him leaning over, Kurt couldn't see his face; it was so hard to lift his head.
Then Charlie was standing and moving over Kurt, his pants and underwear replaced, belt done, and headed toward the landing.
In a flash, Kurt imagined the situation upstairs: Finn tied up in a corner with Charlie's 'friends' beating the shit out of them, having their way with him, shooting him.
Oh god, a gun went off, Kurt remembered. Finn could be dead.
His left hand shot up, grasping at Charlie's ankles. He was too far away, but Kurt kicked off of the step just under his feet and closed his fingers around the bottom of his pant leg.
He must have caught Charlie off guard, because the older man slipped back and fell down several stairs, almost crushing Kurt's head under his boot.
Kurt grabbed harder, tried to yank his foot out from under him, anything to keep him from going up those stairs and hurting Finn any more.
Charlie's foot barely budged; his ankle shook and he cursed as he tried to remove the hand, but Kurt held strong, and when Charlie's foot was completely off the step, Kurt swung his injured hand up, wrapped his arm around his leg and yanked the man down on top of him.
Kurt felt the man's body hit his shoulder and slam down on his lower stomach, making his diaphragm spasm.
When he could breathe again, Kurt forced his head upright and peered down the stairs. It was so hard to keep his head up; he just wanted to lay back down and pass out. But he didn't know if Charlie wouldn't just get back up, march back up the stairs and hurt Finn. Kurt couldn't hurt anymore, but Finn...
So Kurt pushed himself up with his left hand and placed his feet underneath him. The wall was cold under his hand and the stairs were cold under his feet; his socks must have come off with his jeans.
It was hard to remember how he got to the bottom of the stairs, but when he looked down, Charlie was on his knees holding his chest and moaning. He didn't turn around when Kurt slunks across the room, leaning heavily against the wall as he made his way to a corner table and picked up the ceremic lamp his mother made in college.
Charlie didn't move when Kurt moved behind him and lifted the lamp above his head, swaying on the spot. Then he was on the floor and Kurt was staring at him, waiting for him to move.
Moments later, when he felt like he would throw up, Kurt slowly moved back to the stairs and collected his jeans and underwear.
