"Hey fag", Kurt heard someone calling. He picked up his pace a little, held his head a bit higher and just kept walking.

"Hey, we're talking to you", the guy shouted again. Kurt didn't recognize his name. He wasn't anyone from school. He looked around him without slowing down or turning his head. The street was deserted and it was getting dark. It wasn't nighttime yet, but the cold weather, made the twilight seem darker. It was going to rain soon.

It was late Friday afternoon and he was walking home from school. Rehearsal ended a little later than usual and he stayed in the auditorium afterwards to practice the new song they were given. By the time he finished the school was deserted. There was no one around to give him a ride back home, and he didn't want to bother his father. He had enough to deal with as it is.

"Hey!" this time it was another guy calling. "You fucking queen, don't pretend like you didn't hear us".

"Those fags… think they can just dress like that in public… do their pervasive stuff in public… disgusting." They were talking between them now, and they were more than two. The whole thing just made him feel unease. Not really scared, but not feeling completely safe.

Suddenly Kurt felt a sharp pain between his shoulders blade – they through something at him – and it hurt.

Kurt was starting to get a little panicked. There were several of them and there was no one around. He walked faster now, almost running, but was suddenly grabbed from behind.

"I was talking to you", the first guy whispered in his ear. His voice low and seductive. His tone of voice made Kurt skin crawl.

"Let me go", Kurt demanded, but he couldn't keep the quiver out of his voice.

"We just want to talk", the other guy said, putting his arm around his shoulder, the other two blocking his way. "Little queer like you should take it as a compliment" he smiled maliciously at him. The other guys came closer too. They were all bigger than him, and he didn't like the way they looked at him. He tried to ignore them and just keep walking, but they wouldn't let him leave. The guy that stood the closest to him suddenly turned around so he was facing him, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing hard.

"What's the hurry?" he asked and low voice, which turned his blood ice cold.

"Let me go!" He shouted and quickly turned around and tried to run a way. But they were faster. They grabbed his shirt – the collar pressing his larynx – making him feel like he was chocking. He tried to get free again but was struck across the face. His vision blurred for a second and he nearly lost his balance. The three guys used his momentary lethargy and pulled him away from the street and into a deserted dark playground.

"Pleas… Please let me go…." He sounded desperate.

He was punched in the face again, this time he completely blacked out for a few seconds.

When Kurt came to he was lying on his back behind the slides, completely hidden from the street. The first feeling he had was true and utter panic. Something was shoved in his mouth so he won't be able to scream and the feeling made him gag. He could see the guy standing over him, examining him, and to his utter fear he could clearly see that he was aroused. He was being held firmly in place by the other two guys. One, a tall skinny guy, held his legs and another younger guy held his arms in place.

He shook his head, once he fully understood what was about to happen, silently pleading for them to stop.

Kurt couldn't help it, but he felt tears well up in his eyes before sliding down the side of his face into the cold ground.

He then felt their arms all over his body, touching him and caressing him. The feeling making him nauseous. He trashed and tried the best he could to break free, but they tightened their grip so hard, it would bruise.

Out of sheer panic he managed to get one of his legs free and kicked the young guy across the face.

"God damn it", the guy immediately let go and grabbed his face. "I think the queer broke my nose".

Kurt kicked again, harder this time, and rolled on his stomach in preparation to get up but a strong kick to his ribs send him sprawling back on the floor. He couldn't breathe for a second. He felt all the air leave his lungs and tried to curl on his side to ease the pain. He was granted another kick to the stomach and then another and another, until he just laid there motionless just focusing on drawing air into his body. His head was then roughly pushed against the floor, the pain both blinding him and making him dizzy.

He was being firmly held in place once more, this time lying flat on his stomach.

He tried to fight again, but the two guys were prepared this time and held him in place.

He suddenly felt his pants being pulled off, and a strong since of dread consumed him. He squirmed and violently trashed, trying to break free. But it didn't help. He could tell that the more he tried to fight them the more excited they got, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't lie still. He tried to scream, he tried until his throat felt raw, but no voice came out. He was crying harder now, warm tears, that blurred his vision and made his eyes sting alittle.

It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, he told himself over and over again, as he felt a sharp hot white pain from behind. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real.

And then just as sudden as the pain came it was gone, and then Kurt heard something that stopped his heart cold.

"It's my turn".


Kurt remained lying on the ground along time after it was all over. It took him all of his energy just to pull his pants back up, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He pulled the cloth that was shoved in his mouth and tried to say something out loud, but no voice came out.

His entire body hurt. He was shaking uncontrollably, the tremors causing his muscles to spasm and it hurt. He knew that he had to get up somehow. Had to get back home. It was already late, and if he isn't home by the time his dad gets there, he'll get worried. He didn't want his dad to worry about him.

The thought of his father, waiting for him, while he was lying there, made his throat tighten, and caused new tears to well in his eyes. He loves his dad so much. This would destroy him, if he ever finds out. He can never find out.

The shaking grew worse, his teeth were chattering, and he didn't know if it was from the cold, or the pain or the thought of what had just happened. He felt tears well up in his eyes before sliding down his face, and well up in his eyes again. He couldn't stop crying.

It had started to rain some time before and now he was completely soaked. His clothes clung to his body. He took a deep breath but was struck with a pain so intense and sharp in his ribs that made him draw short shallow breathing. The lack of oxygen making him feel like he was drowning, like he will never be able to breathe again. His breathing was erratic now, he was hyperventilating and it made him dizzy. So he tried again after a few minutes. He took another deep breath, this time preparing himself for the pain. He held his breath and then slowly exhaled. Then he drew another breath and another until he was calmer. He still couldn't stop the tears from falling or the shaking to subside.

He braced himself for the pain to come and slowly pushed him self up, using the slide for support. He only managed to get into a semi-sitting position, before the pain so intense he had to stop and sit down. He sat down on the slide, his own weight making the pain so much worse. To his fear he suddenly realized – he couldn't get up.

Not on his own anyways.

He checked his watch. It was almost seven thirty PM. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and out of habit started to dial his father's number. He almost hit the call button and then stopped. He couldn't call his dad. This will kill him. He was so upset after he had received that phone call, saying that his son was a fag. Kurt said that it wasn't a big deal, that he got it all the time. He was lying. It was a big deal, and it hurt to hear it every and each time. But his dad wasn't used to it at all. He said that he didn't want to see him get hurt. What will he say when he'll see Kurt like this? It will break him. He can't do this to his dad, he just can't.

He tried to decide who else to call to come pick him up. He couldn't call anyone who goes to school with him, because then it will be all over school and his life will be over. He can't call Mr. Shue, cause he'll make him tell his dad.

Maybe he should call Mercedes. She won't tell anyone if he asks her not to. He could imagine her face when she'd get there. Her sweet face, with her kind eyes. With her "you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are speech". How could he face her? Tell her that he was so humiliated and hurt and ashamed. He couldn't face her. He couldn't face anyone right now.

The realization hit Kurt hard, and it physically hurt him to admit it. There is no one. There is no one he can call when he's hurt and alone and just need a ride back home. No one.

That thought, the feeling of being so so alone, made him cry even harder, which made his breathing erratic again, which made the pain worse, which made him cry harder. He needed to get a grip.

He wiped the tears with the back of his hand and drew several deep and painful breaths. He'll just have to get back home on his own.

Kurt tried to prepare himself for the pain that will surely hit him once he stood up, but he felt surprisingly numb when he used the railing for support and pulled himself up. It didn't hurt as much as the thought it would. He only got slightly dizzy and swayed a little, but after a few seconds the world stopped spinning and he felt stable enough to walk. The sight of the blood on the slide where he sat a few seconds before, his blood, made him nauseous. He wiped it clean with the sleeved of his shirt, not even caring that it was brand new.

He wiped his face again with the back of his sleeves, and wasn't surprised when it came back even more bloody than before. He spotted his school bag a few feet away. Getting there wasn't too difficult, but when he bent over to pick it up, his ribs protested and he hissed in pain. Everything hurt.

He stretched back up, his bag in his hand and started the long painful way back home.

The walk back home took him nearly forty five minutes and by the time he finally got back he was ready to collapse. He was glad to see that his father wasn't home yet. He couldn't handle seeing him right now. His dad will take one look at him and know that something happened and then he'll have to lie about it, and he couldn't handle it right now. It felt like he had last seen his home a life time ago, though it was only this morning. It felt like a stranger's home.

Kurt opened the front door, dropped his bag in the hallway and went straight to the shower He stripped down and picked his cloths from the floor, ignoring the blood stains on the back of his pants or the way his shirt was torn a part, and put his bloody clothes into a plastic bag, which he will throw out later.

He then stood in front of the mirror to observe the damage that had been inflicted upon him. The kid staring back at him was like a stranger. He was so pale, tears glistering in his sad empty eyes.

He stood still like that for a few seconds, until he got so lightheaded, the room spinning faster and faster around him. He was sure he was going to pass out. The nausea actually took him by surprise. He dropped to his knees by the toilet and vomited violently. His stomach clenching and unclenching, the muscles on his back pulling, his ribs shifting painfully. He heaved for a long time until there was nothing in his stomach to expel but bile. The acidic bitter taste causing new tears to well in his eyes. After a few minutes the heaving finally subsided and Kurt forced himself to stretch back up. He rinsed his mouth and went back to checking his injuries.

His entire right side was covered with bruises. The worst were his ribs – they were covered with deep dark purple bruises. He could see bite marks on his collar bone and abdomen and the bruises around his neck where their hands pressed on him. He didn't remember them doing so. He then slowly looked up. The bruises on his face weren't nearly as bad as he thought they would be – they were clearly visible but nothing a little make up won't be able to conceal.

But the worse of it was the word they carved into his skin. Across his entire middle section the word "fag" was cut into his skin. He traced the cut with his fingers, just barely touching the skin. The cut wasn't deep. It probably won't even leave a scar, but it was the most painful of all of his injuries. A constant reminder of who he was.

Kurt forced himself away from the mirror. He turned the water in the bathtub to steaming hot and then stepped in. He put his head first under the water, feeling the water wash his tears away before streaming over the rest of his body, washing all memory of the past couple of hours. He watched mesmerized as the water turned a slight color of pink before disappearing down the drain. The hot water stung where he had been cut, but it was a good pain, it washed what had been done to him away.

He felt slightly better, purer already.

He stood like that under the water for a long time and then took the soap and washed his entire body, careful not to jar his ribs too much. But it wasn't enough. He could still feel them touching him. He could still smell them on his skin. He could still hear them laughing, their laughter increasing as he trashed and fought harder. He rubbed his skin the soap until it was red and raw and painful to the touch. He continued to stand there under the water unable to move.

He sobbed harder and harder under the water. His grief spilling off him in waves. He was nauseous again and he dry heaved in the shower. Shaking so hard he had to use the wall for support. Losing all sense of control over his body.

He stood like that under the water for a long time. Until the water was nearly ice cold and he was able to pull himself together. He then carefully went out of the shower and gently dried himself with a new towel. He pulled a new pair of boxer shorts that weren't too tight and sweat pants and shirt that were a size too big and slowly go dressed.

Kurt stepped out of the shower and went straight to bed. His father was back – he could hear him preparing dinner in the kitchen, but he couldn't even bring himself to say hello. He wasn't even sure he'll be able to speak. He also couldn't handle seeing his dad right now with his caring and loving look. He just couldn't.

He was so exhausted. He felt light headed from the heat of the shower and his room tilted on its axis. He felt like he was falling - he nearly collapsed on his bed when he finally reached it. He lowered himself carefully onto the bed, wincing a little as he sat down and got under the covers.

He rolled into a fetal position shutting his eyes, forcing himself to try and sleep. Knowing it was useless.


"Kurt? Hey, you there?" his father asked tentatively.

"I made dinner…" he stepped further into his room. Kurt just rolled onto the other side of his bed, facing away from his father.

He tried to speak, to answer back, just to let his dad know that he was fine, but no voice came out.

"Kurt?" his dad tried again.

"I'm just tired, dad, I think I'll cut it early." He finally managed to talk, the action hurting his already sore throat. His voice was barely above a whisper and sounded hoarse.

"Early? It's not even nine. What's the matter? Are you sick or something?" The concern in his father's voice made his throat tighten and new tears blurred his vision once again.

"I'm fine…" he mumbled, wiping the tears with his hand. He heard his father's heavy footsteps and felt a shift in his bed as his dad sat down besides him. He shot his eyes closed tight and curled further away from his dad.

"Hey, Kurt, hey… let me see" He leaned over him and gently placed his hand on his forehead. "You're feeling a little warm….." his dad stopped mid sentence, "what the hell happened to your face, Kurt?" his tone changed, the concern replaced by anger.

"Nothing" he whispered and rolled over on his stomach, burring his face in the pillow.

"Well, did 'nothing' have a fist?" His dad said as he tried to turn him over, using a little more force than necessary. Kurt couldn't help it, he immediately flinched the moment his dad had touched him.

"What? Kurt, what's wrong?" he sounded truly worried by now.

He was about to reply, to provide his dad with a simple lie that will protect him from the truth – like how he got elbowed by accident during practice, or walked into a door, or something like that – when another wave of nausea hit him. He swallowed hard trying to force the bile back, but it just made it worse. He pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to bolt out of bed in time, but the nausea was too strong – he started retching before he was able to get out of bed and rush to the toilet. So he just gave up and heaved on his bed, something that hasn't happened since he was a little kid, and his mom was still around to make it all better.

"Hey… it's okay… it's okay." His father soothed him as he drew circles slowly on his back. Kurt never got it, why people always do that when someone is sick, it didn't make the nausea subside, nor did it elevate some of the pain as his muscles crumpled with exertion. But it was oddly comforting somehow, that physical contact with his dad.

He heaved for another couple of minutes and then stretched up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry…" he mumbled, not meeting his father's eyes. "I'll clean it up…" he got up and dangerously swayed on his feet.

"Hey…" His dad grabbed him gently and forced him to sit down on a chair. The pain struck him as he sat, and he stifled a groan, but luckily his dad didn't notice. "Sit down before you fall down. You're as white as these sheets. It's okay. I'll change this in no time" his dad said and stripped the sheets off his bed, threw them on the floor, and grabbed new ones from the linen closet.

His dad changed the sheets quickly and turned back to look at him.

"What happened?" he asked again, the anger gone this time.

"Nothing… really." He answered, lowering his gaze, tears welling up in his eyes again. And he thought that he was done crying. He sniffled and wiped the tears before they would fall, but he still refused to look at his dad.

"Look Kurt… whatever happened" His dad spoke to him again as he held his chin, forcing him to look at him "It's okay to sep away from a fight, to turn the other cheek once in a while. God knows, your mom was always drilling it to my head when I was younger. But you have got to stand up for yourself. It's not right…" his dad stopped talking for a while, and just for a split second Kurt thought that maybe he knew, and he wouldn't have to lie to him.

"It's just not right what these kids do to you…" Okay… Kurt thought, so maybe he doesn't know. apparently he looked insulted, hurt or something by his father's words, cause his dad spoke to him again. "It's going to be okay… you just fight them harder next time… show them that no one messes with the Hummels, okay?"

"Okay…" he whispered, giving his father what he needed to hear. He then stood slowly back up and curled back to bed, turning his back on his father.

He waited for his father to leave his room, but to his surprise his dad just sat next to him again and stroke his hair. They just sat like that in silence – his dad gently stroking his hair, like his mom used to do when he was little. He started silently crying attain, letting the tears run down the bridge of his nose and soak the bed and prayed that his dad won't notice. After what seemed like a long time he was finally able to close his eyes again, and submit to the exhaustion. He was asleep within minutes.


A/N – okay… this chapter didn't turn out to be nearly as long as I hoped… but it's as good as it gets, I guess.

I have to admit (and please don't hate me for it) – I'm not good with updating and stuff. I'll try to explain – it's like I have this plot line that I like, which I play with over and over in my head, but once I put it on paper the urge to write seems to evaporate… sometimes I get that urge again, sometimes I don't. So, on the account that I might not finish/continue this Fic, I'd like to put it up for adoption (I've tried this before with another fic, and didn't get any response… - hopefully it'll be different this time.) – if you liked this plot line and want to continue it, please feel free to do so. You can continue it as you'd like. Just let me know, so I'll be able to find your stories.