Five years later found Kurt graduating from New York University with a degree in music studies and a major in fashion design. He had a wonderful group of friends, a fantastic boyfriend and already sercured a internship poistion at one of the most well known fahion magazines in the world at 21. Yes, to the public eye Kurt Hummel had it all, but what Kurt Hummel really had was a sercet.  A serect that haunted him everyday. He, Kurt Hummel was a cutter.  When Kurt escaped that hospitial that fateful night five years ago, he had no idea what he was going to do, he didn't even think he would survive the night.

Broken, delerious, afraid and confused he somehow made it to a park  and fell asleep between the trees. He was exhausted. One hour ago kurt wanted to die but now all he wanted to do was sleep. Night eventually turned into day and Kurt stumbled into the nearest hotel and rented a room from Mrs Andersons credit card that he was smart enough to take. It was only an accident when the knife he was using to cut his salad later that day slipped and cut Kurts thumb. Its hard to explain the feelings that kurt experienced in that moment. The slice of skin and the drops of the blood that hit the kitchen floor brang Kurts mind back to that time only a few days prior. When Kurt made the descion to kill himself he wanted to chose the most paninful way to go. But this here in the kitchen was a completley different story. Kurt examined the cut on his thumb, and with a curious thought nagging at the back of his mind, Kurt slowly raised the sharp blade to the underside of his wrist and cut a long strip between two already healing scars. It felt as though the pain from the cut was so great that there was no pain at all. All the horrible thoughts swimming through his mind seem to disapear when the blade pierced his beautiful pale skin; the guilt he felt for leaving Mr and Mrs Anderson, the exhaustion and confusion from the last couple of days, the haterd he felt towards Blaine, his loneliness, his grief of his own parents death, all gone with a swip of a blade. But all things come to an end.

Once the knife left his skin, Kurt was right back where he started, his concious doing everyting in its power to smother Kurt in pain. He was losing his mind, literally. His ability to think and process was taken over by this consitent string of memories and happenings. Tears welled in Kurts eyes and ran down his cheeks like rain on a window in the middle of a storm. Kurt was a storm. He grabbed the knife and dropped to the kitchen floor and started to cut his skin every where he could reach. Kurt must have looked like a total manic or a serial killer if anyone were to see him in this state. But for Kurt this pain was what he needed and he didn't care if his body was torn apart in the process he just needed something, needed an outlet.  After an hour the vicious cycle finally came to an end; cutting, crying, screaming, swearing, cutting, crying, screaming, swearing. Kurt felt limp but he dragged his worn body into the bathroom and ran the water for the tub. He sat in the bath for another hour letting his eyes fall closed; he was peaceful at last. Kurt felt at ease, his mind finally stopped turning. His back slipped and suddenly he was under water, but just like before he was at peace. Visions of his parents filled his mind; their smiles and arms outstreched but for some reason he didn't want to go to them. His parents disapeared and now visions of New York, Paris, London filled his mind and clothes beautiful clothes. Kurt sprang out of the water and gulped in a huge mouthful of air. He couldn't die, not yet. Sure it would be easier to just do it and be finally reunited with his family but he wanted to do something with his life. He had to make them proud. So he lefted his home, his town, his life and moved to another place. It took time but eventually Kurt graduated high school and found a job, and later moved to New York to start his classes at NYU. Even though Kurts life was back on track his childhood pain still took control. But there was always a razor handy. Always.


Five years later found Blaine behind bars at a New York City police station. His blooded face was barely recoginiseable to his room mate who paid for his bail. Nick was furious. This was the second trip he had to make to the station this past week and considering it was only Tuesday, Blaine was on a roll. At 21, Blaine Anderson had accomplished nothing, no job, no money, no realtionship, no university or college degree nothing. The only time Blaine succeded at something was 5 years ago when he killed his brother. Kurts death haunted Blaine everyday of his life, although they were not related, Blaine felt that when Kurt died a piece of Blaine died too. Since then Blaine hadnt cared about himself or anyone else really. Every night he would visit a bar or club just looking for trouble, just looking for a fight. Everyone deals with pain and loss in their own way; drugs, alchol, denial, depression but when it came to Blaine the only way his emotional pain would disappear if only for a little while would be to make the physical pain unberable. He would start a fight with the biggest person he could find, most of the time not even bothering to fight back. He just hoped that one day one of the men would do him a favour and punch him senseless until he ended up with servre injuries or dead.