6 months earlier

Kurt couldn't sleep.

He was never able to get to sleep nowadays, and when he did, his mind was plagued by nightmares.

He rolled over and groaned at the pain from the bruise on his back. He was never getting to sleep tonight.

He got out of bed and grabbed a random book from his bookshelf. He didn't care what it was. He just wanted to get his mind off of things.

The book turned out to be The Deathly Hallows. He sighed and sat down at his desk and began to read the book after he reached to turn on his desk light. He dropped his cheek in his hand and got about 3 pages in before he just quit. He couldn't concentrate and he wasn't even processing the words, just letting his eyes roam over them and when he ran out, flipping the page.

He was tired, he knew that, but he just couldn't go to sleep, and he didn't want to. He hadn't a good dream in months, hadn't even had a dream-less night. It was always nightmares. If he managed to sleep he woke up with sweat covering his chest and a racing heart underneath. He felt like he was living in hell.

School was hell. He was bullied- no, harassed every day. Shoved into lockers, thrown into dumpsters and port-a-potties, yelled at and thrown hateful slurs. There was so much that got done to him and no one seemed to care. The teachers didn't, the students didn't, he had only had one friend the year before but she stopped talking to him after he came out to her.

Home was hell too, but that was his own fault. It was just him and his dad. It had been that way since Kurt's mom died when he was 8. It was him and his dad, and that was what made it worse. Whenever his father would ask him how school was he would say ‘fine' and move on. He didn't want to worry his dad, but he could always feel his fathers' eyes on him, he felt like his father knew everything, the bullying, the pain, the loneliness, everything. He was constantly paranoid that his father could see the bruises he tried so hard to hide. Luckily they could almost all be covered with long sleeves and pants. Kurt was always scared his father would find out everything. And that's what made it hell.

He looked to the clock on his nightstand, which flashed back to him as 3:47 am in bright red LEDs. Kurt sighed, there was no use going back to sleep now.

He got up and headed to the kitchen to start the coffee machine, he would need it, like always.

He had made sure to always have at least two cups every morning, after that one time he hadn't had time and had to go to school without any, and fell asleep in first period. When he woke up his shoelaces were tied together, causing him to trip when he didn't notice, and, he discovered later, ‘HOMO' was written in black marker on the back of his neck. He had learned to bring scarves every day after that.

He went into the living room and turn on the news to look at what the weather would be like today. Cold and windy. Not unusual for this time of year, but that doesn't mean it's wanted.

Kurt turns off the TV and heads to his room to pick out his outfit, which ended up being a brown shirt and blue jeans, none of which fit well, but he didn't mind all that much, it covered every bruise he currently had and that's all that mattered.

When he finished getting ready, which didn't take long since he was too tired to do much with his hair, he pulled out his laptop- stupid decision. As soon as the screen loaded, he was face to face with his facebook page, which was filled with all the usual slurs, but it made him tear up anyway. He turned his face to the ceiling, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. He wouldn't cry. He couldn't cry. Crying was weakness, and that's what they wanted. He wouldn't be weak, he couldn't be. He exited out of the website and closed the lid on the computer. He decided there was nothing he could do, so Kurt just sat in the bed and closed his eyes, never finding sleep, and, when it was time, went out to catch the bus for school.

The bus was terrible, filled with all the hateful student who hated him for no reason other than existing.

He couldn't wait until he got his own car so he could drive himself to Westerville High School.

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He didn't feel like himself by March.

He never did anything. Never wanted to do anything. He knew no one cared. And he didn't care.

Things had only gotten worse since January. The boys were more violent in what they dealt to him. What before was locker shoves and shoulder checks, were now discreet punches to the back of his head. No one talked to him unless there were yelling at him for ‘choosing' this lifestyle, and angry slurs. Even the teachers barely looked to him or ask him to answer a question.

No one cared.

Kurt didn't feel like anyone but his dad would care if he was gone.

But then his father stated spending more time out of the house.

He's avoiding me. He doesn't want to be around me. Kurt thought. He felt it was true.

Would anyone care if he just died? Would anyone shed a single tear? I don't anyone would even show up to my funeral unless they were forced to.

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By April he was cutting.

Each slice made him feel better, stronger, and more confident that he could make it through the next day. When one of his bullies would tug on his wrist, he felt that bit of pained from barely healed cuts, and he felt better, no matter what happened afterwards. And when he got home after, another cut made the pain from bullies dissipate. After a few weeks, it was almost like a routine, come home, do homework, cut.  He felt better, more than he ever remembered being, he liked the way he felt when the blade of the razor cut his skin, like he wasn't numb anymore. It felt amazing.

So he kept doing it.

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Kurt could tell his father was suspicious in late April.

He would hold his gaze longer, and ask more about his day. When Kurt would answer more than he had in a few months, he thought school was getting better and left it at that.

But then, in May, he saw that whenever he asked that question, Kurt would freeze for a second and then his left arm would start shaking, just the tiniest little bit, and he would keep his head down and answer with ‘fine' yet again, in a voice he hated from his son, the one where there was absolutely no emotion, and it was like his little Kurt wasn't there half the time. And after he was released, he would rush to his room and close his door just a little too quickly.

Burt put it off once as again as maybe having a few people being mean to him, or just teenage pulling away from parents stage.

He should have said something then.

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By late June, Kurt felt like he was dying in the heat.

He was wearing shorts, but he always kept on a long sleeved shirt and did his best to keep the air conditioning turned many degrees lower than it normally would have been. Burt kept complaining about it being "Too cold. It's summer, not Christmas. You should go out and enjoy it" But Kurt couldn't. Because, even inside, he felt hot. Hot with rage, sadness, and self-loathing. Being inside all the time meant he quickly ran out of things to do, and he would turn to the internet. But the internet meant the bullying was back, despite them not being there at all. He received more taunts than he had in school, which was surprising to him, since there were already so many it seemed like they never ended.

Cutting didn't help anymore.

Nothing helped anymore.

He wanted it all to stop hurting.

So he made his plan to stop the hurt.

End it. He would end everything.