(A/N): I'm back!

Alfred is up and running for the time being, and I have my files on the back up thing (which I will do regularly). So, for now, everything is good.

Except for it not wanting to post when I tried at 5:30. So now you get it at 8:00, okay?

So, back to the story, I guess? It's been awhile… two, three weeks? I feel bad, so I hope this chapter makes up for it. It's kind of short, but if I went too much longer it would have lost the meaning behind it and, well, these things needed to happen.

Special thanks to my internet buddies (you know who you are!) who have kept me sane through my lack of connection.

Okay… I don't think "enjoy" is the right sentiment, but still. Do whatever seems right.

**UPDATED**

Disclaimer: Don't own Glee.

Chapter 4:

Perfect

-:-Kurt-:-

Punch to the face.

"You stupid faggot!"

Fall to the floor.

"Why do you even bother to breathe?"

A rough kick to the gut.

"Do us all a favor and don't."

Pulled up, shoved into the cabinet.

"Why couldn't you have been straight?"

Glass shattered.

"I didn't raise you to become a disappointment!"

Tossed aside, flopping lifelessly.

"Why can't you be my perfect son?"

A weak groan shatters the silence.

A boot to the head.

"That's all I ask for."

Consciousness… fades into black.

I woke up in a pile of glass shards. Every inch of my body was sore. I choked back a groan as I fought to sit up. Everything flashed back at once. Disorientation and dizziness set the room into a spin, and I had to fight to maintain my fragile hold on consciousness.

Okay, Kurt, calm down.

I made to sort through my thoughts logically. Maybe that would help calm the confusing flurry of activity in my brain, the buzzing in my ears. What had happened to land me here?

It all comes back in a rush.

Burt had been drinking for the better part of an hour. Empty bottles littered the room. He was getting hungry. Where was that damned kid when he actually wanted him?

The doorbell rang. Was that him? No. It was the mailman.

"Hello, sir!" he said happily, not noticing his sour mood or level of intoxication. "I have a package, and then I noticed your mailbox was quite full, so I just brought it all up for you."

Burt grunted in reply, snatching the package from his hands, signing for it sloppily. The boy smiled a little more hesitantly. He extended his hand towards Burt, the one that was holding the contents of the mailbox.

Burt grabbed those and slammed the door in his face.

He dug through the haze in his head to see what was in his large hands. Bills, bills, notices, ads… what's this?

A fucking fashion magazine? What the hell is 'Vogue'? The silky paper slipped through his sweaty hands. Burt stumbled to the ground to look on the floor where it had opened.

There were pictures and articles featuring models in fancy clothes who were modeling makeup, handbags, and other merchandise.

Surely this was a mistake. Burt wouldn't have ordered this. He was satisfied with his flannel, thank you very much. Besides, this was a magazine for girls. And he was surely not a fag.

He searched for a name or some sort of identification; it must have been sent to the wrong house. He was sure the neighbors had a teenage girl. It had to be hers.

Alas, the name on the little label read 'Kurt Hummel'.

Rage simmered in his belly. That son of a bitch! He was spending his hard-earned money on faggy shit like this? He wouldn't, he simply couldn't tolerate this.

The door opened again.

Ah, there he was.

I shuddered, shoving the memory away and clenching my teeth as the pain flared when I shifted to lean back against the wall.

I sighed and moved on to the next step in what was becoming a well-practiced procedure.

Time for the customary check.

Any head wounds? Were they bleeding?

Yes, there was a gash on the back of my head. Warm blood seeped through my fingers—thankfully, it seemed that have begun slowing down if the puddle of blood on the hardwood floors next to me was any indication. Hopefully it wasn't too deep; I didn't want to have to go in for stitches. Doctors always asked too many questions that I didn't want to answer, that I couldn't afford to answer.

Broken bones?

I flexed my arms, my wrists. They seemed fine, if a little sore and definitely bruised. I shifted my legs, bending my knees and moving my ankles in a circle. My knee and hip burned a bit from slashes that must have been from falling into the pile of broken glass. I took a deep breath—oh! Ribs.

A hand flew to hug my torso. I brushed my fingertips across my chest lightly. They seemed to only be bruised. At least, I couldn't feel any misplaced bones. Not like last time. I tried not to think too deeply about how this would affect my dancing, not yet.

I struggled to my feet and stumbled to my room. Hopefully Burt wouldn't follow me, and I would be safe to sort through the final part of my inspection.

Bruises.

I stood in my room silently after I had cleaned myself up. My head was no longer bleeding, and the extensive bruising that besieged my body was either masked or hidden easily by clothing.

I never knew how to feel after an episode like this. Was I supposed to be angry? Upset? Because I wasn't. The only emotion I could muster was remorse.

Oh, and fear. I was terribly afraid that Burt would go too far one day. And just like that… my life would be gone. There would be no chance of me leaving a mark, not any sort of trace of me for anyone down the line to remember, and all the time in the world for me to be forgotten.

But honestly, I had no right to feel this. I brought this all upon myself, after all. That's why I pushed those emotions away. Or any others that happened to come around. Being numb would save me, some day, I just knew it. What was the use deluding myself, anyways?

But the fear remained present, no matter how hard I tugged it back into the recesses of my mind.

I made no sound as I heard Burt banging around downstairs. He sounded drunk; his random bursts of speech were slurred. That made sense; he was usually drunk when he beat me. I set myself to keeping out of his way and remaining unnoticeable. Out of sight, out of mind.

I tossed my bloodied shirt into the trash. As I turned, I caught myself in front of my full length mirror. I spun this way and that, slowly studying, taking it all in from a couple different angles.

My hand came up to rest on my stomach, pressing slightly, smoothing out the fabric of the undershirt that covered my skin. My other hand moved to join it. I squeezed, a grimace forming on my features. I could just feel the fat rolling underneath my fingertips. The Hawk had been right.

I tore the shirt off impatiently, ignoring the surge of pain from my ribs. I sighed as I took in my appearance. I always used to think I had a nice body, at least compared to those at school. The Dalton blazer hid more than I'd originally thought, I guess.

My hands continued to roam my body. I pulled and picked at the skin, shaking my head in disgust and fighting back tears of shame. That fine, lithe smattering of muscles I had built up from Cheerios and dance have faded faster than I thought, even with all the conditioning and dieting I've been doing for my upcoming recital.

My hand pressed on the skin. I pulled a face; I was disgusting. How could anyone even bear to look at me? My hands slid down to my hips. Oh god! I used to think I had slim hips, but that thought was immediately shot to hell. I turned to view in profile. No! That just made me look worse. I turned away from the mirror, dropping my face into my hands and struggled to fight back the choked feeling in my throat and the burning of tears in my eyes. I couldn't believe I had let myself slip this far.

Then something in my brain shifted, clicking into place. I took a deep breath, dropping my hands.

I turned back towards the mirror, meeting my own gaze. My thoughts were racing, but one thing was clear.

Dalton demanded the perfect grades.

Burt wished for a perfect son.

The Hawk wanted the perfect body.

Blaine needed the perfect friend.

I would be perfect.

(A/N): Phew. Glad that's FINALLY out there, in an odd way. :)

And I've missed Fanfiction guys, so much. It's great to be back, and I'd love to hear from y'all because this is the first like really angsty chapter I've ever posted so… yeah, feed back (AKA reassurances) would be greatly appreciated.

Okay, I promise I'm done rambling now.

~DFTBA and Best Wishes!