Kurts POV

The smoke was visible within the tiny space of my dark room. I could see it as it passed through the stream of light that crept through my black curtain. I watched the particles move like a small colony of atoms. The walls were foggy with them. Underneath my taped up drawings on the walls was cleaner paint, I just knew. The only kind of willpower I had to remove them was a slight non-existence. I promised myself that I would never remove my  sketches, for if I did, I would never see them again.

I had no ability to quit smoking, either. Well, the general ability was there, just no real reason. We all die sooner or later and for me, the sooner the better. They dont call me a lost cause for nothing... I never did fit in.

To be quite honest, I never really felt the need to fit in with the majoring crowd. I stood out, which wasnt a big deal for me. I was much different three years ago. It was freshmen year, and all I wanted to do was be myself. I had Glee club, straight As, expensive clothing and taste in general, social  skills, talent, friends... I was happy. Things changed after mom died. Ive been bullied my whole life, but the jocks in high school made it their mission to violate me in the worst kind of ways. I came home with bruises and cuts every night. My mom was so worried, and after I told her the truth about me and the bullying, she went straight down to the school. She took me with her.

I had my seatbelt on, one of the few times I did. She was rambling on about equality and hopes for the future when the truck passed. It hit the drivers  side hard, pushing us over the ledge of the bridge. It wasnt that far a drop, but I remember watching her body twist in the most gruesome way. I was out like a light, and when I woke up, she stared right at me. Her eyes were blind, empty, and dead. The ambulance sounded out like loud alarms that rang in my ears. I can still hear the screams and cries of the people around us. We had fallen on another car and somehow rolled off. The family inside were okay, thankfully. Mom, however, died on impact. Her arms were nearly severed off like the red-headed woman from A Nightmare Before Christmas, and I will never unsee the horror of my beloved, lost and gone, broken mother. I was taken to the hospital for broken ribs and a concussion.

The funeral was held the next month, but I did not attend. I was, and still am, too busy blaming myself for it all.

I decided that day that I would never speak of myself again.

I burned my belongings and changed my life. As of now, I dont know whether or not to kill myself, or punish myself. I figured Id do both, but not all at once.

Blaines POV

I always found literature to be quite extraordinary. All my life, Id taken on poetry and writing, but reading was my strong suit and most precious hobby. I loved Shakespeare, Robert Pattinson, Stephen King, and so many other authors. Sometimes, Id go to the library and check out seven different books. When I was six, I pulled a Matilda and took a wagon down the street to my local book store. My mom had followed slowly behind, making sure I was fully in charge. She paid for my books and let me walk them home, as if I did it all by myself. I felt as if I did, which to say the least, was a proud moment. I did that at least once a month.

Music was also a favourited aspect of my life. I learned the violin when I was five, and have played it ever since. I took up piano when  I turned ten. Guitar was something I had always dabbled in, but never really took seriously until I was fifteen. I joined a band when I was eighteen. I sang and played piano. It was a fantastic way to spend some time.

My first girlfriend, and last if I may add, played the drums. Her name was Iris and she had the most beautiful eyes. She was the one... laugh out loud, Im totally joking. "The One" is still yet to be determined. I had never given my sexuality thought until college when my lesbian bestie, Dani, took me to a gay bar just for fun.

... and yeah. I had a lot of fun. The fun lasted all night... at my apartment. Dani went home with some hook-up, whom she married three years later. Now shes pregnant. Anyway, I went home with a guy named Sebastian. He was sweet and gentle and everything I never dreamed of. I still hadnt come to terms with who I was, but he asked me if I was a "serious homo", and I answered no because I had no clue. He told me that it was a shame, and left. I never saw him again. I was nineteen years old.

A year later, I came out to my homophobic family. They sure loved that.

My life has been filled with passion, music, and one night stands. The only person I ever really "loved" was my first girlfriend. If I ever saw her again, Id probably cry, but Id never feel that way for her. I love woman, and their bodies are beautiful, but I cant look at them with love,  lust, or romance. Its not my personal nature.

One night, a year after I graduated college, I went on an actual date with a guy I met online. His name was Andy. He took me to an Olive Garden near central park. It was small, romantic, and lovely. He was funny, cute, sweet... he laughed at my jokes. We told each other everything that night. The dream ended when we walked outside.

It was a hit and run. A man was robbing the convenience store across the street and fire three warning shots at us. Andy covered me. I thought that hed get up with me, but he stayed on me for five whole minutes. I tried to talk him off, because the police were there and the man was being arrested. We were safe.  He didnt move a muscle. His chest wasnt moving with breath. His pulse was non-existent.  

I burned the outfit I wore that night. It was covered in his loving blood.

I moved to Ohio a year thereafter. I felt as if I couldnt live in a city like that anymore. Thats just me. When tragedy strikes, I run. I blame myself for that night, and maybe it was true, but I thought I could escape my feelings. I couldnt. The only way I could move on is if I did what I always wanted.

I wanted to do what I love... teach.