Disclaimer: Don't own Glee.
Note: Soooo…I've started a new one. This one will be a few chapters at least; not sure yet. It depends on if you lovely readers want me to continue this or not. So do you? (Yes, I'm still working on A Kartie Story. Most of it is already typed up; I just need to separate it into chapters. Be sure to check out my other Glee stories!)
Kurt Hummel gazed at the candle that was slowly burning in his room. The flames, orange and yellow, flickered, their reflection showing in Kurt's bright blue-grey eyes. He stared into the flames, wishing they would swallow him up. He reached out and quickly moved his hand over the flame, feeling the heat warm him up. It felt enticing and welcoming. He needed to touch that flame, to let it burn him, to scorch him. He needed it to hurt him, to fixate the pain somewhere else other than his mind. He needed to punish himself, and he needed to do it now.
Kurt stuck his pointer finger into the flame with determination. He sighed as he felt the familiar flames tickle his skin. He pulled the finger away as soon as he knew a definite blister had formed, for he knew if his family smelt the skin burning, they'd be rushing in, concerned. And Kurt did not want their concern.
You see, Kurt was a pyromaniac.
Kurt hadn't always been in love with the flames
It all started after his mother died.
That's when the pain started. It started with his mother leaving him. From there, it only escalated; coming out, being bullied, falling in love with straight boys…Kurt could never find relief. He could never find any way to rid of the pain in his heart.
Except from the flames.
The flames were the only thing that Kurt loved that he knew loved him back. They were the only thing that Kurt could rely on one-hundred percent of the time. They were his best friend, holding his hand. They were his lover, caressing him in the dark night.
They were all he had.
Kurt watched happily as the newly formed blister on his finger bubbled and grew. He was immune to the pain of it all by now; you burn yourself once, you've burned yourself a thousand times, he thought to himself. He pushed back his sleeve, admiring the burn marks that ran up and down his arm. They weren't big enough to notice just by looking at him, but they were there. The scars were all there, on his arms, on his fingers. Kurt was able to fade the worst ones with scar crème, but some of them, he did not bother to hide. They were the ones he was the most proud of, the ones that carried his most painful memories. They were the ones that were his reminders of who he was. They were him.
He picked up the candle, gazing once again into the pretty flames. Oh, so pretty. Kurt found it hard to tear his eyes away from them.
"Little boys who play with fire get their fingers burned," he said to himself with a smile. With that, he blew out the candle, watching the smoke rise and obscure his reflection in the mirror that lay before him. When the smoke cleared, all that was left was a thin wisp of what Kurt Hummel had become:
In love with the flames.