Kurt looked up from what he was writing. It was an essay for his tutor on the Founding Fathers. He groaned and remembered why he hated this topic so much. When he was six, they each had to come up with an interesting fact on the founding fathers and so Kurt has asked Burt. Burt had told him "Many of them were closeted homosexuals." with a smirk on his face. Kurt had liked that fact although, at the time, he wasnt sure why the founding fathers being gay had appealed to him. Burt. Kurt hadnt seen his dad in two years. When he was first taken he would have started crying at the thought of his dad, but not anymore. He was stronger than crying. 

Kurt quickly finished off his essay and stuffed it back into his folder. He should have been in his first year at NYADA now, but instead he was stuck being home tutored studying Americas Political History and Law; two things he cared very little about. Although, the less contact with music he had, and the more with law, he was beginning to be swayed. Standing up from his desk, he checked the door to make sure it was locked and then opened his closest. Pushing aside the clothes (of which he had very few) he reached up and grabbed a small box from the top shelf. It was an old shoebox covered in Christmas wrapping paper and was one of the few things remaining from his old life. Hed managed to keep it by placing all of his writing equipment in, so he uncle saw no need to throw it out. 

Now however, this box from his old life, was all that remained of his old life. Except, of course, the memories. There were a couple of letters from Blaine, a photo of the New Directions and many rough sketches he had drawn in the first few weeks whilst his memories were as vivid as possible. When he sneaked in the box, his uncle didnt realise that underneath the wrapping paper were the letters and photos. Kurt didnt have much, but it was something - something that reminded him of times past. Even now, although he would never admit it, his memories of Blaine were clouded. He had scented the letters with Blaine cologne to keep his scent and he could still envision the taste and texture of his mouth if he closed his eyes. Doing this was one of the few things that made him cry now, he had found other ways to let out the pain other than tears. But the thought of Blaine without him broke his heart. Worse still, if Blaine had moved on and found someone else; at least then he would be happy.

It was whilst in one of these Blay-dreams as he called them that his uncle banged on the door. "Kurt, why is this door locked?" he barked through the door. Kurt didnt hear him initially, so his uncle proceeded to unlock the door from the outside. The lock was really only there as a sign that Kurt wanted privacy, not he had it. "Kurt come out of the closest immediately!" he shouted at him. This jolted Kurt and he quickly hid the box under an over-sized jumper. 

"I am out, remember." he said snarkily at his uncle and then immediately regretted it. 

"What did you just say!" his uncle shouted again. It astounded Kurt how loudly this man could raise his voice. It also frightened him. 

"Umm, nothing, Sir." he said quietly. 

"Too right you said nothing! You know that that is a sin, a most dreadful sin. And if you make any more comments like that, I am going to have to continue to bet it out of you." the uncle said in a threatening tone, "I thought we were making some progress.” Kurt was all too used to the look of disgust on his uncle's face. Well, he did see it every day. “The therapist is here.”

The first thing that happened to Kurt on his first day with his uncle was the ‘therapist'. Kurt seriously doubted her qualifications or what she was meant to be treating him for. Apparently GAY was a disease but the world had been tricked by the liberal media into thinking it was not just untreatable but not in need of being treated. GAY apparently stood for Genetically Altered Youth. It was a condition that developed if you were left in an un-fit environment as a young child.

Kurt had been told repeatedly that he had this condition and that it could be cured if he let it. Initially he protested; refused to go Emma (his so called ‘therapist') but that resulted in the unspeakable.

~§~

“I don't have a disease!” Kurt shouted. This was the first session he had been willing to sit all the way through and it was the first week in captiivity. He sat through it until he was told that he was not gay but had GAY. Kurt couldn't believe what he was hearing and stormed out of the room, knowing it was the wrong thing to do but seriously, come on.

“Kurt, come right back here!” his uncle shouted after him. Kurt turned slowly and walked, head facing the floor, to his new guardian. “Now you will go back to Emma. I am paying a lot for her to come and see you. You are not well and this condition is not your fault.” His tone seemed genuine enough but the forced smile showed far too clear how forced and not meant this caring voice was. He knew what he was saying was complete rubbish. “However, if you are not willing to be helped, I might need to find other ways of reveling you of this burden.” Kurt could see the sparkle in his eye now.

‘Run' was what the voice in his head was telling him, but where. Where could he run to when he was locked in one wing of a mansion in the middle of nowhere?

He did run however. Down the stairs into the cellar, in the hope that there might by a hole to crawl into. When he was down in the dark, musty room, he quickly saw how there was nowhere to hide. His uncle was hot on his tail. Kurt was now trembling with fear. His uncle had hurt him a twice more since that first time. Each time it hurt worse as old wounds were re-opened. Kurt cowered in the corner of the room, hiding behind a couple of old wooden boxes, whimpering.

His uncle spotted him and marched over hurling the boxes aside. He grabbed Kurt by the collar and pulled him up with one hand. “Courage.” Kurt said to himself but hearing Blaine's voice in his head. Then he felt it, like a sledgehammer to his head. His uncle's fist made contact with his temple and Kurt lost balance and was about to fall to his feet, when he was yanked back up by his collar being still held tightly in his uncle's other hand.

“It's for your own good Kurt.” His uncle told him. “I only want you to be well again and there are two ways of doing it; therapy the longer and more expensive of the two or this. If you refuse my willing to spend a lot of time and money on this then I may have to do what I don't want.”

His threw Kurt to the floor and then grabbed the rope that was lying on the floor. As he brought it above his head, Kurt opened his eyes just enough to catch sight of what was about to make contact with him. His shut his eyes tightly, toke in a deep breath and thought of Blaine holding to get him through this pain. Then the rope hit his side. The pain was sharp and sudden. It shuddered up his left hip and then began to tingle. Before he could fully comprehend what had happened it was back, but this time on his ribs. It knocked the air out of him.

When Kurt awoke half an hour later his had know recollection of the event. As he tries to sit up and then felt the searing pain all over his body he remembered. It all came back to him. He wasn't sure how many times his uncle had hit him, or what he had been saying, or how long he had been out. All he knew was that it he knew he couldn't bare it, but he would, because he would do anything to save the life of the one he loved.

~§~

“Hello Kurt,” said Emma smiling as he walked into the room. He seated himself opposite her in his usual armchair. “Oh no Kurt, we are going to try something slightly different today.” Kurt was intrigued. They had gone through the same ritual everyday for the last two years, why the sudden change now. “Please lie down on the sofa.”

Kurt walked over to the sofa and lay down, actually quite excited at the change in his monotonous routine. “Ok Kurt, now I would like you to close your eyes and picture yourself Dalton.” That completely shocked Kurt. They had never talked about his life outside of this prison before, and now they were talking about Dalton. “Picture yourself at the top of those stairs ready to walk down and met Blaine at the bottom.” Kurt almost sat bolt upright then. Not only were they going to talk about the outside, but about Blaine. Was this too good to be true? “For each number I say take another step down to met him. One, two, three, four, five…”

She went on counting in a calm and relaxed voice. She was speaking in a deeper voice than was natural and emphasized the vowel sounds. It was very soporific, and soon Kurt was asleep.

“Good Kurt. Now we can really begin.”