A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews. They really help me figure out whether I'm doing an okay job with writing this. I wound up splitting this chapter up. Originally it was going to be one long chapter, but I wanted to get this out today. Besides, I just came back from a funeral and my best friend's fiancé deployed for a 7 month long tour this morning and the whole college thing is kicking my ass and, well, it's just been a long day. So bear with me, I know the pace might be a little slow for you guys, but I'm giving it my best effort.

This chapter is dedicated to hayleighreid. Thank you for the encouraging and incredibly sweet review. She's the main reason that you all are getting an update today.

Disclaimer (since I still don't know if this is necessary for every chapter or not): I don't own Glee or any of its characters, though what I would give to own Darren Criss for just a little bit… xD

Kurt scratched his arm subtly, but even that small movement was loud in the silence currently filling the air-conditioned room. The boy was waiting for the lady sitting across from him to say something, but she just looked at him through her horn-rimmed glasses. She was very stereotypical for a psychiatrist. Her grey-tinged auburn hair was held up in a tight bun, and her handsome face was rather devoid of make-up. In fact, the only thing remotely remarkable about her, Kurt would say, was her glasses. Unfortunately Kurt didn't have much attention to spare for her horrible fashion crimes; all his attention was focused on the plastic clipboard she held in her lap. This was where she has scribbled the one-word answers Kurt had given to a barrage of questions that didn't seem very pertinent. They mostly had to do with his dad and Carole, his family history, his childhood, etc. However, it seemed that the easy, yes-or-no questions were over with.

They were both seated in a spacious room, with only a desk, a couple of cushioned chairs, and a large filing cabinet as furniture. Kurt had chosen the chair farthest away from his interrogator, in hopes that he could distance himself from whatever he was about to be put through. But even though he had said nothing but a greeting and yes or no to Dr. Taylor, he still felt as if he were revealing important and critical pieces of himself to the hawk-like woman sitting at her desk. He tried to keep as still as possible, refraining from any movement that might give away what he was thinking.

He was afraid. He was afraid that this woman, a woman he knew nothing about, would use whatever he gave her to trap him even further. He needed cutting, and he knew that everyone here wanted to take that away from him. He wouldn't let that happen; not while all his menacing ghosts still loomed in his past.

Slowly, as if purposely drawing this out, Dr. Taylor drew her hands from her clipboard and brought them together in front of her. She looked down at the paperwork stacked neatly on her desk. After examining the content, she lifted her head to once more attempt eye contact with the anxious teenager. Kurt studiously kept his gaze on the clipboard. When the handsome woman realized that Kurt was not going to look up, she decided to start again, hoping that he would look at her as their conversation continued.

"Kurt."

He started, even though the single word was spoken softly, barely above a whisper.

"Kurt," the psychiatrist tried again, "I understand that you've been enrolled here for a very serious reason, is this correct?" She waited for some kind of response from her patient. After a moment, Kurt nodded his head minutely. "You self harm." She paused again, but Kurt merely stared at her clipboard. His hands moved from across his chest to grip the sides of his chair, an action that did not go unnoticed. He winced as he watched Dr. Taylor scribble something down on the clipboard that avidly held his attention. He wanted to fold his arms again, to erase his previous action, but knew it was pointless. Moving again would just draw more attention to his discomfort. He stubbornly kept his arms put.

"When did you first begin to self-harm?"

The question puzzled Kurt. He wasn't sure what the head doctor meant. Did she mean the first time he personally cut himself or the first time he realized that there was another way to deal with the bullies and the abuse rather than curling up and crying about it? Kurt however, kept silent about his confusion –something that bothered the psychiatrist in front of him. She let out a soft sigh of frustration before trying something else.

"Kurt. Kurt, look at me."

The boy lowered his gaze to the floor for a second before inhaling deeply. He raised his head slowly, but paused before making eye contact. He settled for staring at the grey-blue wall directly behind Dr. Taylor's head instead. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as the lady shook her head. Realizing that this was the best she could hope for at the moment, she continued.

"I know this is hard for you. I really do understand that. If there were a different, less uncomfortable way of doing this, than I would be all for it; but there isn't. I'm asking you –one mature individual to another- to please talk to me. Everything I do here is to help you, whether you believe that or not. Besides, the more you cooperate, the faster this will be over." Dr. Taylor sounded earnest, but that was all part of her job. But still, she had a point. The more you cooperate….

Kurt moved his gaze towards the psychiatrist. He took a calming breath before answering. "I started to harm myself in June; on the eighth to be more specific."

"Kurt, what do you mean you started harming yourself? Were there others harming you before?" Dr. Taylor leaned forward in her chair but Kurt snorted and leaned back, once again folding his arms across his chest -a movement that was as much his signature as his infamous eye-roll.

"Of course there were people 'harming' me," Kurt rolled his eyes, "I am -was-...I was the only openly gay kid in my school. But that's not how I meant it." Not anymore though He thought, cynically. McKinley High has finally achieved their goal. I shall 'glitter the halls with my gay fair dust' no more...

Dr. Taylor nodded thoughtfully and leaned back a bit, more pensive than intent at the moment. "I don't think I understand what you mean…." She admitted. Kurt laughed inwardly at the irony. Wasn't this supposed to be how he felt?

"I mean, the first time I physically held a blade to my wrist was June eighth of this year. But that's not when I feel that I started 'spiraling into the deep abyss' that is cutting." Kurt tried to keep any inflection out of his voice, but his natural haughty disposition seeped in, no matter how much effort he put forth to contain it. He noticed that the psychiatrist was poised on the brink of a question, so he decided to save them both some time. "The end of May, the thirtieth I believe, I was working in my dad's garage. We had a project to restore a 1967 Arcadian Blue Mustang, and whenever we had some free time or we felt particularly stressed we'd work on–"

"Which was it?" Dr. Taylor inserted. Kurt glared at her, bemused by the question and irritated by the interruption. But the interruption was useful. Kurt recognized that a bit of excitement had leaked into his movements and in voice. "You said you worked on it when you were free or when you were stressed. Which was it?" A scowl crept over his features and Kurt shifted his gaze towards the corner of the room. The lady had undoubtedly caught the hidden meaning to his explanation; before he even noticed it. He looked at her again, eyes guarded and expression once again indifferent, but it was already too late. He needed to be more careful with what he let slip, but the damage was already done for now.

"It's life. Everyone is stressed about something or another. And I also had some free time I guess." Before she could inquire further, he jumped back into his answering story. "Usually we worked on it together, my dad even discouraged me from working on it by myself, but I needed something to clear my head and to occupy my hands. Since my dad was at home resting after his hosp…resting, I figured that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, so to speak. I fiddled with the engine for a bit, trying to reconnect the ignition coil to the distributor, but that wasn't energy consuming. I elected for some body work instead. The fender and bumper still needed replacement, but I didn't have all the parts I needed and I wasn't sure if I could do that on my own. I came to the same conclusion for the tires, but removing the windows I thought I could handle, broken as they were. The rear windows were small and easy to manage. I was able to do the driver's side window with little hassle, but I was unaware of a problematic dent to the door frame on the passenger's side. After detaching the window I went to lift it out of its frame, but I miscalculated the effort needed. The window slipped and as well as shattering everywhere, it sliced open my arm diagonally from the base of my palm to half way up my forearm. I should have been freaking out, I've never done too well with blood; but it was my blood, my accident. It was easy to concentrate on cleaning up. In fact, I was able to calm down and focus a lot more than I had earlier while working on the car. That's where it started, to answer your question." He concluded rather abruptly, but there really wasn't much more to say. He was annoyed to realize that Dr. Taylor was smiling faintly, as if there was a bigger picture that he was missing.

"I appreciate the explanation, but I'm sorry to admit that it in fact, did not answer my question. I was going to ask what usually stressed you out. What makes you anxious or worries? You mentioned being harassed and something about your father…." She trailed off, hoping that Kurt would understand what she was really asking.

"You mean, what makes me cut? Or are you asking why I started to begin with?" The brunet gave her a sideways glance, but knew that this question was undeniably inevitable.

"Yes, to both." was her simple response. Kurt nodded, but the action was mostly for him. He could handle this, he just needed to remain apathetic. Look at it as someone else's story: a particularly gruesome narrative that you've been called on to read aloud. Nothing but a sob story told in the most boring of tones with as little intonation as possible. He was able to keep this mental pep talk away from his expression, or at least he hoped he had. It would be a lot easier to retell if this lady was unaware how truly difficult and unpleasant this explanation was going to be.

The pale teenager couldn't help but take a deep breath. He settled his eyes back to the spot on the wall he had earlier chose, and began. If his voice was a little shaky, it was at least devoid of emotion.

"I used to be a football player. I don't know if that's in your files or not, but it's relevant here. I originally joined the team to impress my dad, but not long after I joined I came out to him. Surprisingly, especially if you've ever met my dad, he accepted me. I was still his son, if not entirely masculine, still a man to him. I attempted to remain on the football team. It was…not fun exactly, but a good resource. I now had an emotional outlet, glee, and a physical one, football. There were rumors going around that I was gay –rumors I had yet to confirm to any but glee-clubbers- but they were ignored for the most part. Well, they were until the Finn incident."

"Finn being your step-brother?" Dr. Taylor asked, ruffling through the folder on her desk.

"He is now, but he wasn't back then. Our parents were merely dating at the time. Actually, our parents' getting together was the main instigator of everything." Kurt reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes, but stopped when he noticed what he was doing. That had always been a nervous habit of his. He must remain neutral. He brought his hand back down after scratching his shoulder, needing some excuse for his hand to suddenly float towards his face. "It was mostly my fault, to be honest. Finn was amazing; he was strong and handsome, and a genuinely nice guy. I just didn't know when to call it quits. I knew I was making him uncomfortable with forward behavior, but I didn't know what he kept bottled inside. I found out soon enough though. He went all psycho, homophobe in the locker room." Kurt barely managed to keep from wincing. His apathetic demeanor was all he had to hold onto at this point. He watched as the psychiatrist nodded in sympathy –sympathy, because there was no way that this heterosexual, wealthy woman in front of him could every demonstrate empathy to someone like Kurt. He felt a bubbly layer of anger boil over in his mind, which helped the brunet distance himself even further from his anecdote. "I'll spare you the details, mostly because I can't remember everything he said. But from his outburst, most of the boys, if not all, that were currently occupying the locker room knew that not only was I entirely gay, but that I had the hots big time for Finn. The bullying only got worse from there.

"One Neanderthal in particular made it his mission to make my life a living hell. I quit the team and avoided the locker rooms entirely. I tried to keep away from all the jocks, and they seemed to ignore me as long as I kept my distance. Out of sight, out of mind I suppose. But not him…." Kurt stopped there, resisting the urge to shiver. Apathy, apathy, apathy, apathy. He told himself; a mantra of sorts. "Karofsky. His name was David Karofsky. It started as the usual slushy facials and unoriginal insults; nothing that a high-held head and some baby-wipes couldn't handle. But he started getting more and more belligerent. I didn't understand why harassing me was so important to him. Even Azimio wasn't as aggressive with his attacks; but for some reason, Karofsky wouldn't just let me be." Kurt remembered how angry and confused he had felt. What had he done to Karofsky? What was his problem? Kurt balled his hand into a fist, reliving the anger and frustration anew.

Dr. Taylor glanced towards Kurt's hand, but quickly returned her gaze to the upset boy in front of her. She wanted to take some notes, but she had set her pen down earlier and she worried that picking it up now would derail Kurt in his train of thought. She just settled for remembering what she could and taking notes after he finished talking.

"About a week later, everything fell apart. School had just gotten out for the day and the halls were pretty packed. I was preoccupied with texting a friend –Mercedes- when out of nowhere this hand came flying towards my face and knocked my phone into the air. As usual, it was Karofsky. I snapped. I was fed up with all the hate and the aggression. I ran after him and followed him into the locker rooms. If I was a little less upset, I would have recognized how terrible of an idea that had been; but I was too pissed off and before I knew it I was in his face, venting all my frustration into one long, insult-filled speech.

"I had felt so proud of myself for all of three seconds before all that pride iced over to cold, dreadful regret. His lips were on mine. I hadn't even registered that fact before he was shoving me against the lockers." Kurt was starting to lose it. His voice wavered and as the memory washed over him, so too did the feeling of complete panic and fear. He was no longer able to make eye-contact; his eyes trapped re-watching the horrific scenes etched in his mind. He kept speaking, as if finishing the story would allow him to escape the nightmare. "I had been shoved into lockers many times before, but this was different. This was meant to be different. I was trapped there; his hands on my shoulders, pinning me to the cold metal and his tongue trapped inside my mouth. When his hands moved from my shoulders I had felt so relieved, but that was before I realized that they were traveling towards a new goal."

The psychiatrist sat in her chair, afraid to even breathe too deeply. She knew Kurt had been bullied, but she had no idea that it had escalated to this point. She kept her eyes on the boy, not letting them stray to even check the time. He was looking at her, but his eyes were far away. He had stopped talking, unable to continue. Kurt could feel his hands start to shake with the memory of another set of hands. Kurt wished that the only thing he was able to remember was pain. That would have been easier to handle, to deal with; something much simpler for him to compartmentalize and repeat. But along with pain, he could also remember shame, and anger, and helplessness, and fear, fear, fear, fear….

Kurt shot out of his seat and ran for the door. He couldn't stay here anymore. He had to get away. Everything was so raw and so overwhelming; he felt as if he had been skinned with nothing to keep his infected, festering insides from oozing all over the place. He knew the one thing that could put him back together. It was a paradox of the most desperate kind: in order to keep everything inside, he needed to cut himself open and let everything out.

He didn't remember opening the door, but he was running down the halls of Dalton Academy, racing towards an escape he hoped he could find. His feet pounded against the linoleum in time with the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He breathing was sharp and ragged. He kept his eyes on the floor, following the movement of his feet, as if watching them race forward would help him get out of there faster.

He didn't see the other boy until they had already collided. Their collision was loud and painful, a knocking of skulls against each other and an end result of tangled legs and ringing ears. Kurt was the first to recover. He clambered up rather ungracefully, body poised and ready to flee once more; until a flash of golden hazel had him stopping with a heavy lurch.

The other boy was shorter than Kurt, with jet black hair gelled back more suited for a charming business man than a head case trapped in a mental facility. He had a strong jaw that was covered in a fine layer of stubble and thick, triangular eyebrows. These details trickled in slowly, Kurt only becoming aware of them through his peripherals. His sole focus was on this boy's eyes.

Kurt couldn't figure out if they were golden brown, flecked with emeralds, or a green drizzled lightly with caramel. But the color wasn't the only thing enrapturing Kurt. There seemed to be a conversation spoken with these eyes. Emotions too intense to be said out loud, reserved only for the more insightful observer. Any previous anxiety Kurt had had was quickly erased and replaced with a new kind of apprehension. These eyes held an anguish that seemed to stretch on forever; a sadness that was only slightly marred by a brief moment of surprise. But before Kurt could fully understand what this mystifying boy was trying to convey, and mask of coldness had replaced all emotion on his face.

Kurt became aware of another person next to this boy at the same instant he heard Dr. Taylor calling out for him down the hall. Kurt was frozen with indecision. He needed to leave before Dr. Taylor reached him, but the boy in front of him had become an unsolved puzzle; it would feel like an unscratched itch until he knew who this boy was with the intense, multi-hued eyes.

The pale teenager turned to leave, but stopped, still unsure of what to do. The psychiatrist's voice ringing through the silent halls, steadily growing closer, decided him.

With one final glance over his shoulder at the pair, Kurt raced away once again.

The next chapter should be out sometime next week, depending on when I have free time. Unless I get enough reviews making me feel horrible for delaying. X)

Reviews are always welcomed. And don't worry, I don't discriminate. Big reviews, small reviews, nice reviews, mean reviews, tall, short, epic, flowing, poetic, concise, all are welcomed!

Stay safe, my lovely readers!

~Shannah

P.S. I'm thinking about getting a Beta. I'm not sure if I need it though, and a Beta would probably slow updates. So it's up to you guys, basically. Are the errors I have too distracting to ignore and would acquiring a Beta be worth it? Sorry for the long-as-freaking-cheezus ANs, btw.