Hey, everyone! Apologies again for the delay in the publishing of this chapter. To make up for it there will be a surprise change in narrative. While this chapter is focussed on Kurt and his point of view, another character will still feature. Enjoy!
I froze when I heard Karofsky's order. Immediately I could hear nothing but chaos. In reality Karofsky was looking at me expectantly. He didn't know what he'd done, didn't know he'd triggered such painful memories. I doubt he'd care even if he was aware. I could see it again, clear as day, my mother lying on the ground with my dad sobbing and screaming over her. Would I meet the same end as my mother? As a servant I don't count as a valued human life. I'm easily replaceable. Servants have been made to accept death whenever it comes. Does it hurt? Is it instant? I bet you're wondering why I'm asking all these questions. It's because I want to know what my mother's final minutes were like. I felt a pressure build behind my eyes. Not caring about what would happen next, I fled the room.
I rushed through the mansion, silent and battling my internal demons that repeated my fears loudly. They echoed and twisted, making the pressure behind my eyes more difficult to control. As I moved, oblivious and detached from reality I heard a voice call out my name. Blaine?
"Kurt, listen, I was told that your mother was attacked."
No! I can't remind myself of that day. I kept moving, trying desperately to keep my tears hidden. Crying will solve nothing. I have to fight and keep going; I'm not going to be able to do that if I'm crying. I turned a corner, the voice behind me fading. I grabbed a large black coat from the servants' quarters before leaving the mansion. The sharp cold air stung against my skin as I drew the collar of the coat up to shield part of my face.
I had been walking for a while now. To servants being allowed to leave the mansion and go into town is a blessing. But for me it's a nightmare. I feel like a bird trapped in a cage - despite being a prisoner I know I am at least safe. But outside my cage is where all the monsters are. In my cage I at least know I'll be fine, but out in the real world – out where man would harm each other to the point of death… Based on that, is there any freedom? I suppose the main freedom I have is having someone to talk to. Mrs Amaro, Maria, Justin… And Blaine, of course. Blaine. I'm more confused now than ever before. He kissed me, and I liked it. Of course nothing can become of it. I had hoped to speak to him about it today but his father was in the room. I knew it was only a matter of time before his father realised that we were friends. Wait… Friends. Wow, I guess Blaine is my friend. The thought made me smile.
I looked up from my thoughts to see the street I was walking through. I recognised it, of course. I used to live on this street when I was out of work. The buildings were tall but weathered by storms and time. The main colours on the street were: black, brown, and grey. The only flashes of colour came from those on the streets that had managed to steal fabric from the carts in the town nearby. I walked slowly and took it all in. There was a woman, near bone thin and carrying a small baby boy – who was crying. The woman was shaking; I could tell that she had sold most of her clothing in order to pay for food for her son. I felt terrible for her. After all, minus being a mother, I was her at one point. Without a moment's hesitation I walked over and knelt down. The baby stopped crying and looked at me with widened eyes. The woman weakly raised her head. She was pretty young. Her hair was greasy and black; there were bags under her eyes. I offered her a sad but understanding smile as I removed my coat and draped it over her shoulders. I could easily claim the coat was lost during a windy day in the town, no-one would mind. But this woman needed warmth more than I did right now. She stared at me and then put a hand on my wrist.
"B-Bless you, boy." Her voice was hoarse and strained. She was becoming dehydrated. I watched her kiss her son's head. There is nothing more I can do. I knew that when desperate enough she would sell my coat to pay for food for her son. But even then she would not get as much. It was clear that those working in shops did not favour the homeless, not when most of the time they lost out on business due to them. With a small sigh I stood up and continued on down the street. A little girl ran past me, holding a strip of fabric that was midnight blue. The pure colour ripped through the setting like a wisp of magic. The little girl giggled slightly as it flew in the breeze. Innocence. She ran to her mother and tied the fabric in her hair like a band. The mother smiled softly and hugged the child close to her.
One boy passed me with a cautious look as he dragged his little sister by. He looked to be at least thirteen while she looked to be approximately eight. The air was thick and tainted with the stench of the people who had not showered or had been fishing for rubbish in the bins. I held a hand to my mouth and nose and continued to walk. One little boy was coughing hard and leaning against one of the buildings. He was alone and was at least ten years old. I approached him. He was short and thin, but not dangerously so. My guess is someone was looking after him, but judging by his grief stricken demeanour I guessed that whoever that person was… they weren't around anymore.
"Are you ill?" I asked him softly. The little boy just coughed harder and nodded, not caring who he was talking to at this point.
"I-I need a bit more for m-medicine." He opened his hand and showed me the money he had. He didn't need much more. Only one penny. I fished into my pocket and retrieved one before dropping it into his hand. "O-Oh, sir, I couldn't!" Modest little guy.
"No need to call me 'sir'," I told him. "Go and get some medicine." He smiled and hugged me suddenly. I blinked but couldn't stop the smile as I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him back. The little boy let go and ran joyfully from the street. I paused for a beat before getting up and leaving the damp streets behind.
The town wasn't big, but it also wasn't small. I remember being very young and having to run in order to dodge shop owners that screamed at me for being too close by. They could identify a homeless person a mile away, unlike others who carried on their lives blissfully unaware of the dying men and women beside them in the street. The smells of the town mixed together in an extremely unpleasant way. The stench of the homeless mingled with the intoxicating aroma caused by the freshly baked goods that only the wealthy could afford. I approached one of the bakeries when I heard a sharp gasp pierce through the air. Turning I found the offending sound. A man was attached to a wooden spike in the centre of the street, bloodied and beaten. How had I not noticed this before now?
The man had long tangled brown hair that hid his face, but not shielding the shame radiating off of him. Did I know this man? No. Did that make this any easier to see? Of course not. His skin was scarred and painted in various shades of red and purple. It was unease to look at, but not so much so as hearing his screams. The last time I had heard a scream so painful was when my mother had died. The whip carried by a man in uniform came smacking down, provoking another agonising scream. A string of blood slid down from a newly open cut. The members of the Militia shouted abuse and some members of the street even threw bits of food and paper at the screaming man who was slowly being torn apart. I don't know what this man has done, I don't know his story. But still, this treatment was cruel. He dug his fingers deep into the wooden spike that trapped him there, wood getting stuck under his fingernails. Soon the screams from all the people rose in volume and the foul stench of blood wafted through the air. Everyone was moving so fast, and the snapping of the whip seemed to get louder and louder. I stumbled sideways towards the bakery, leaning on the wall for support. Everything was so overwhelming. I have seen so many harsh things done to people, but never have I witnessed something like this.
"Stay away from the main streets today, son." My father had said to me in the past.
"Why, dad?" I had asked in reply.
"Because terrible things will be happening today, son."
I felt sick watching the very thing my dad had warned me about. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out, will it to be a demon of my mind instead of real life. The screams didn't stop, I couldn't will them away. I felt tears coming to his eyes but I made sure to keep them back. Why did no-one else seem disgusted by this? How much more inhuman could we all become?
"Don't terrible things always happen?"
"Sir?" A voice asked. I didn't respond at first – why would I? No-one ever called me that, apart from the little boy who I had provided with money for medicine. "Sir?" The voice insisted again before giving me a gentle nudge. My eyes flew open. I saw a confused yet slightly concerned face looking at me. It was a young man with short black hair. "Are you okay?" I gulped and nodded; glancing at his shirt I saw a name tag. His name was Mike. It seemed that he was one of the assistant workers at one of the shops lining the street. He put a hand on my shoulder and something told me this man wasn't going to deem me just a servant and shoo me away. Instead he brought me inside the bakery and guided me to a chair. "Did you want to get something?" For a moment I couldn't speak for fear of throwing up.
"B-Bread." I said eventually, rubbing my face with a hand in an attempt to calm down. The man nodded and a moment later the bread appeared on the table beside the wall. I nodded my thanks and dropped the money into his hand.
"Listen, you sure you're okay?" He asked. I glanced at him warily before turning back my attention back to the door when another scream sounded. I closed my eyes and heard the man – Mike – sigh. "For a lot of people the Militia are 'peacekeepers' who punish those that deserve it. I, personally, think it's cruel – even if those people have committed a crime." I nodded and opened my eyes. "You look a little sick."
"Feel it too." I mumbled softly, internally wincing at how fragile my voice sounded.
"I didn't catch your name." He said. I blinked and looked up at him to see if he was joking, but he seemed pretty serious. Odd.
"I'm Kurt Hummel." I said hesitantly, but the man either didn't notice or was just being friendly. He held a hand out. I glanced down at my hands, which were still blistered and dirty. Looking back up I saw the man smiling reassuringly. I shook his hand.
"I'm Mike Chang." He said and I nodded. "Are you going to be OK?" I smiled gently.
"I'll be fine, thank you," I said. "I need to return back to my master." He nodded.
"Well, if you ever need a sneaky discount – let me know." He grinned and winked, nudging me playfully. I was thankful that he had lowered his voice so as not to be heard. Mike seemed really nice, and I'm thankful that after witnessing that horrific display I was able to meet a friendly person. I picked up the bread and left the shop.
As I was walking back I started to grow worried. I was walking the streets with a delicious and fresh loaf of bread. I watched as the homeless men, women, and children eyed the food in my possession. Sad expressions, longing, and hungry. Some men had a crazed look in their eyes as they fixed glass orbs onto the food. I began to think of my mom. My pace quickened, covering more ground per second than I had before. I heard shuffling and saw a couple of people begin to move from where they sat, disappearing into the alleys. I knew what that meant; I had seen others do it when I was on the street. It meant 'ready to attack'. I gulped and took off running as best I could. I heard footsteps all around me but couldn't see anyone, they were moving in the shadows of the damp streets. My heart pounded against my ribcage and dread filled every inch of my being.
Elizabeth Hummel lifted the collar of her jacket in a vain attempt to escape the cold. Raising her eyes to the sky she could see that it would soon rain. Hoping to get back to the mansion before that happened, she quickened her pace. She smiled softly at the memory of hearing her little boy, Kurt, saying he'd be more than willing to collect the bread. He was such a sweet and innocent little boy, despite their unfortunate social standing. Thankfully the evil of the world had not yet gotten to him; he always had a smile on his face and never thought little of himself or anyone else. In a way her son was the lighter side of her mind, a part of her soul that expressed the joy and hope that she held deep within her heart. A strange noise began to catch her attention, but the cause of the offending sound was simply a homeless man throwing newspaper against the wall. She shrugged and continued to walk, not noticing how the man's eyes locked onto her.
She didn't get far before she heard footsteps. Turning she saw the same homeless man from before. He was running at her unevenly with a crazed look in his eyes. She had a bad feeling, so she began to run – not wanting to see what would happen if she failed to return the bread to her master. She understood the poor man's intentions and she did not blame him. He must be starving, and though she wished she could stop and offer him a piece… She knew she couldn't. Panic began to set in the longer she ran, paranoia rose high when she realised that she could no longer see him. The shadows of the street seemed to breathe heavily.
I ducked behind a corner in the hopes of regaining my breath. I'm not going to lie, I'm terrified. I have to get back to the mansion, I can't let anything happen. If I get hurt and left unable to work I'll end up on the streets again. Was this the fear my mom had lived with moments before she died? What did she think about?
Kurt… Burt…
I heard someone panting as they grabbed my free arm. I flinched and pulled away, running again without looking. I didn't want to see, I didn't want it to be real, and I had to keep moving. However, I wasn't fast enough. An arm wrapped around my chest, another hand stealing the bread from my hand.
Heavy hands grabbed Elizabeth by the upper arms and slammed her against the wall. The bread was clutched to her chest. If the bread was stolen then she'd have to risk getting fired, if that happened her son and husband would be out on the streets too. She couldn't imagine her amazing little boy out in the streets, fending for himself and his father at such a young age. The man wasn't happy about the resistance, he grabbed her wrists and tried to pry them away from what could be the only source of food he'd find in a while.
I struggled back as much as I could, my eyes closed shut in fear. I know a lot of people would hit the person in an attempt to escape. But when it happens to you it's terrifying and paralyses your mind to making rational and productive decisions. Another hand grabbed my wrist, they were trying to keep me still. Why? They had the bread, couldn't they leave me alone? Were they going to kill me?
A violent resistance led to Elizabeth's head being slammed harshly into the wall behind her, the uneven wall ended everything. The man, who clearly hadn't known his own strength, stared at her as he ate the bread. He felt remorse, of course he did. He had taken a life. But in his mind, in his desperate mind, he didn't know if he could do anything else. Elizabeth Hummel was discovered not long after, but the man had disappeared back into the shadows.
"Kurt, it's me," The voice sounded. I wasn't listening, didn't question how this person knew my name. I wasn't in my right mind, I couldn't think straight or even register who the voice belonged too. "It's me – Blaine." My eyes widened and I pulled away with a new burst of strength. Blaine stood, panting. He had been running in his suit, no wonder he was so sweaty and out of breath. Suddenly a wild rage flowed throughout my body. I shoved him back.
"How could you do that?" I cried out. He stumbled back, the bread fell into a puddle but he remained standing. "Why did you chase me like that?" I continued to shout, closing in on him. He stared at me. He was confused and partially scared. I looked down at the bread.
"Karofsky told me he'd sent you here. I was so worried about you. After what you told me about your mother I thought you'd be scared." He tried to explain hurriedly.
"So you chased and restrained me?" I yelled back, tears filling my eyes. I don't know why I felt so betrayed. I was so scared and knew I was shaking. Mom… So that's what she felt before the pain came to her. I couldn't look at him.
"I tried calling your name but you didn't hear me, so I thought I'd run to you. I saw you were freaking out so I thought I had to stop you and calm you down." He felt bad for scaring me, I know he did. I'm not proud of my actions or words, so many thoughts and feelings were going through my mind at once and I became frustrated. I wrapped my arms around myself and shut my eyes tightly, I was not going to cry again. Taking a few deep breaths I managed to fight the tears off. I held myself together. A hand came down on my shoulder, but I was so shaken that I did something I regret.
"Do not touch me!" I screamed, shoving him down to the floor. He landed in a dirty puddle and hit his head against the dumpster behind him. It had happened so quickly. I heard him gasp and moan quickly, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes were closed but he was conscious.
"Violence never solves anything, baby, we don't hurt them like they hurt us."
His suit was stained, the white shirt no longer white. His beautiful eyes opened and looked up at me in surprise and slight hurt. He wasn't going to hurt me, he was trying to help. That's it. Game over. I didn't want to hurt him. What if he throws me out?
"I'm so sorry…" I said softly.
"Oh, Kurt," His voice was light and gentle. He chuckled softly. "What do you have to be sorry for?"
Due to the time it took to write this, I'm going to post this chapter now. I plan to reread this chapter for any mistakes while this chapter is on the website. So don't worry if you find a mistake, it will be fixed soon. Hope you all enjoyed!