And I don't want the world to see me,

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand,

When everything's made to be broken,

I just want you to know who I am,

"Kurt!" Finn screamed through his step-brother's door over the pulsing beat of the newFall Out Boysong.

Kurt rolled his eyes, wrenching the door open. "Yes, Frankenteen?"

"Can you shut that up? Please?" the taller boy whined.

The Skank laughed. "No. You don't like it, get some earplugs."

"Why can't you play something good, dude? Classic rock or something; I don't even care if you play show tunes right now!"

"Just fuck off Finn. And don't insult my favourite bands," Kurt growled, slamming the door shut again, turning on his heel and walking back to his bed, climbing on top of it and crossing his legs. In front of him was the old notepad that he took everywhere with him. It was filled with page after page of choreography that Kurt had drawn in storyboard. He sighed, looking down at the open page. He picked up his sketch pencil and continued drawing in poses and jumps, twists and turns, kicks and flicks.

He completed the storyboarding the routine and exhaled slowly, closing the pad and slipping it into the top draw of his desk. He walked to his en-suite bathroom, the beat of the music around him pulsing through his body. He opened the cupboard above the sink and pulled out a razorblade from behind the assorted skin and hair products. He closed his eyes, leaning against the tiled wall as he pressed the blade into his left forearm, dragging it along as it split his skin, revealing a thin line of red. He winced, looking down at the wound, moving the blade further up and creating another. And then another.

After the third, he stood and rinsed the blade with cold water from the tap before hiding it in the cupboard again. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the excess blood off of his arms. Strolling back into his bedroom, he grabbed his denim jacket and pulled it on, the sleeves covering his arms. He turned off his stereo, silence filling the air around him.

He opened his door and stepped out of his room, shutting it again before jogging down the staircase and into the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie," Carole smiled, looking over her shoulder from where she was stood at the far counter, chopping carrots into little cubes.

"Hey," Kurt replied, tone not cold and harsh as it usually was. He was always kind towards his father and step-mother, but never anybody else. "What are you making?"

"Oh, that pie your father loves so much."

Kurt nodded. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Sure," Carole motioned to the carrots as her smile grew wider. "Can you carry on with these?"

"Of course," Kurt grinned, walking up to her and taking the knife, cutting the carrots up. Carole walked to the stove, mixing the mince meat that was cooking in the pan.

"So how was your first day of senior year, Kurt?" Carole asked.

"It was okay, I suppose," Kurt sighed.

"You suppose?"

Kurt smiled. "It was good."

"I'm glad," Carole replied, but in her voice, Kurt could tell that she knew he was hiding something.

They continued with polite chit-chat until they'd finished preparing the meal, moving on to fix up a trifle for dessert as the pie cooked. When they were done and the pie was cooked through, they called Burt and Finn downstairs and sat at the table, the other two men joining them in a matter of seconds.

"So, Finn, what did you do today?" Carole asked as they all began to eat.

"Not a lot, it is school. We had a new teacher though. He was pretty cool," Finn said around a mouthful of pie.

"Oh, yeah?" Kurt looked up from his plate. "Mr Anderson?"

"Yeah! He's really fun!" Finn grinned, far too over-enthusiastic.

"Did you have him too, Kurt?" Burt asked.

"Yeah, but in a different hour."

"You had him first, right, Kurt? 'Cause you were meant to be in Chemistry with Rachel and I, but she said he kept you back for like, being really rude to Rach," Finn said, looking at his older yet shorter step-brother.

Kurt closed his eyes and bit down into his tongue to stop himself from snapping back at Finn. He inhaled slowly, bracing himself for the wrath of his father.

"Is that true, Kurt?"

"She was in my seat," the boy shrugged, opening his eyes, keeping his care-free exterior up.

"Dude, she said you were like, really, really mean to her," Finn pointed out.

"Yes, Finn, she was kind of pissing me off."

"Watch your language, Kurt," Burt warned. "We'll talk about this in the living room, since we both seem to be done with this pie," the man said, thanking his wife and standing, practically dragging his son through the kitchen by the front of his shirt.

"You aresodead to me," Kurt hissed at his step-brother, so low only Finn could hear, as he passed.

"It's your first day of senior year and you've already gotten yourself into trouble. What happened, Kurt?" Burt asked when they were sat on the couch, turned towards each other. He looked straight at his son's face while the boy looked down at the cushion in his lap, playing with the frayed seams.

"Simple. Rachel 'I'm so freaking perfect' Berry decided to sit where she knows I always do, so I told her to get out of my way. Mr Anderson didn't like that too much."

Burt sighed. "Kurt, this can't keep happening. You're failing most of your classes and you're in detention almost every day. It's a new year, it's time to change. I don't like who you've become."

Kurt looked up. "Well, this is who I am, like it or not. I'm sorry if you don't like it," he scowled, dropping his voice. "It's practically your fault I act like this anyway."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Burt looked dubious. "If you have something to say to me, Kurt, then say it."

Kurt rolled his eyes and stood. "I don't have anything to say to you, though. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'm going to go to bed."

With that he left the room, jogging up the stairs and locking himself inside his bedroom, commencing with his moisturising routine.

Kurt met with the Skanks before school started the next day at their usual spot, hidden beneath the bleachers.

"Cigarette, Kurt?" Quinn offered when the boy arrived.

"Please," he replied, snatching it from her fingers and taking his lighter from his pocket, lighting it up and taking a puff.

"Did you enjoy last night, babe? We didn't get much of a chance to talk before you escaped," Nick grinned, slinging his arm around Quinn's shoulder.

The ex-Cheerio rolled her eyes. "Piss off, Hamilton."

Nick chuckled. "Come on, babe. We both know I was good."

Quinn gave him a sarcastic smile. "You were incredible."

He fist-pumped. "Hell yeah."

The girl rolled her eyes again, letting out an obviously agitated sigh, shaking Nick's arm from her shoulders. "I was being sarcastic, asshole."

Kurt laughed at Nick's kicked-puppy expression as Quinn turned to her closest friend.

"So, how are you, Kurt?" she asked, taking a puff of her own cigarette.

"The usual," Kurt said, giving her a half-smile.

"Horny?"

They both laughed. "Pretty much. I'm thinking of skipping first period and calling one of my boys."

"Do you have a file on your phone for guys that will just come and suck you off when you need it or something?" Jeff asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, actually. And don't worry; I didn't forget to put your number in it."

Jeff turned scarlet, eyes widening, going silent.

Kurt turned back to Quinn, who was suppressing a smile. "You're such a bitch to him."

The boy shrugged. "He gives good blowjobs; I'm telling nothing but the truth."

"Shut up!" Jeff squeaked. He obviously didn't realise Kurt had already told the group about their one-night together from during the summer; he felt no shame, but Jeff clearly did.

Kurt rolled his eyes as the bell rang out, signalling the start of first period. "Whatever, Jeff."

The blonde gulped. "So, we have history first with Mr A."

"Again? Really?"

"Yeah, are you going to come?"

"Down your throat, I hope," Kurt replied nonchalantly.

Jeff blushed furiously again as he began to stride toward the school with the rest of the group, who were all laughing. "I'm serious, Kurt."

"So am I. But yes, I'll come to history with you because you don't want to go by yourself, chicken."

"I never said that! I was just wondering."

"Sure."

"Kurt, you actually decided to join us on time," Mr Anderson grinned when Kurt walked in.

"I didn't want Berry taking my seat again," Kurt shot back, glaring at the girl sat at the front in a hideous maroon reindeer sweater. She seemed to shrink under his gaze.

"Right, well, take your seat and we can begin," the dark-haired teacher said, smiling as Kurt settled in his seat. "All I really want you guys to do today is continue with yesterday's work; finish reading the section and then answer the questions, okay? Off you go."

The class got on with the work, with the exception of Kurt, who stuck in his earphones, nodding to the music that blasted out so loudly that it echoed through the otherwise silent room. He closed his eyes, daydreaming, not opening them for at least ten minutes, only to find Mr Anderson stood directly before him, eyebrows raised, a disapproving look on his face.

Kurt pulled out one of the earphones, looking up at his teacher. "Yes, sir?"

The dark-haired man sighed. "I'll see you after school, Kurt," he said simply before turning on his heel and walking back to his desk, leaving the student rolling his eyes, jaw clenched.

Blaine was marking a pop quiz from one of his classes when he heard a knock at the door. He looked up, expecting to see Kurt, but instead being greeted by the face of Sebastian Smythe, his chocolate hair and eyes and adorable chipmunk-like face.

"Sebastian," Blaine grinned, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he pushed his chair back as the other man stepped further into the classroom.

Sebastian wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders, smiling. "How've you been, B?" They both moved apart, looking each other in the eyes.

"I've been good, how about you?"

"I've missed you, if you know what I mean, but I'm good. How were your first couple of days?" Sebastian asked, leaning on the edge of a table.

"They were good. I have a problem student, but it'll be okay."

"Kurt Hummel?"

Blaine nodded, pressing his lips together as he sat on his desk. "That's the one. How'd you guess?"

"I had him a few times over the past two years. He wasn't like that when I first met him; he was a really good kid back then. High grades, never stepped a toe out of line. I'm pretty sure he was really badly bullied, though. And that Quinn girl, I don't know if you have her, she was the same. Captain of the Cheerios, straight-A student, made a mistake and paid the price."

"Mistake?" Blaine asked, lifting the mug of coffee by the stack of test papers to his lips and taking a sip, eyebrows raised.

"Teen pregnancy," Sebastian shrugged.

"Ah," the darker haired man nodded. "Anyway, I'm meant to be having Kurt in here for a detention, so it'd probably be best if we talk later."

Sebastian scoffed. "He won't show; he's an ass like that. I'm just glad I don't have him in my class this year. Don't think I could put up with him again."

"Sebastian!" Blaine scolded. "You can't say that. We'll see if he shows up."

"Of course. I'll see you later, Blainers," the taller man said, getting up and leaving the room, grinning at Blaine, who smiled back, waving.

Sebastian turned into the hallway, almost crashing straight into somebody. He steadied himself, looking up and beginning to apologise, only to see who it was.

"Kurt Hummel, what are you doing in school after hours? Normally you're the first one gone," Sebastian stated.

"I have a detention, but you'd know that after your conversation in there," Kurt snapped back.

The older man snickered. "Eavesdropping, are we?"

The student rolled his eyes, ignoring him. "If you wouldn't mind, I need to go see Mr Anderson, not you."

Sebastian's eyes widened as Kurt pushed past him, coming to a realisation and laughing mockingly. "Have a crush, Kurt?" he said, turning and watching as the student froze. "You stand no chance. Blaine isn't stupid; he wouldn't date a student. He also refuses to sleep with anyone but me, but what can I say, I'm pretty irresistible."

He heard Kurt gulp before he strode off, laughing.

"Why is he taking so long? I thought he might actually come along," Blaine thought aloud, getting up and walking to the door. He leaned out, looking down the hall, spotting the retreating figure of a tall, male student with coiffed hair, dressed in his trademark denim jacket.Kurt.

He yelled the boy's name and watched he turned around. Kurt let out a frustrated sigh and stalked towards his history teacher.

"Where were you going when you knew I was waiting?" Blaine asked.

"I was going to come, but then I changed my mind," Kurt replied. After a short moment he smirked, mischievously, as he was struck with a thought. "But I'm sure you can change it back. I know you could make me come harder than anybody else."

"Kurt!" Blaine squeaked, blushing. "Just...just get in the classroom."

"Of course, sir," Kurt grinned, pushing past his teacher and sitting at a desk at the front.

Blaine moved to sit at his desk, leaning forward. "So you'll sit there now, but not during class?"

"Well, I really don't see the point in going to the back when all it means is that it'll take longer for me to get to your desk," Kurt said simply, shrugging. "Unless you want to do it against the back wall rather than bending me over..."

Blaine shut his eyes and searched himself for strength. "Kurt, stop it. I know that this isn't you."

"You don't know me."

"I know more about you than you think, obviously. Why did you stop going to dance classes?"

The student's eyes widened. "How did you know that I used to dance?"

"My roommate, Brittany, said she used to go to the same classes as you."

"Brittany Pierce?"

"That's her."

"Wow, small world. You together then or..?"

Blaine chuckled, shaking his head. "Hell no; we're both gay. She's with my other roommate, Santana."

"You're gay?" Kurt asked, even though, unbeknownst to his teacher, he'd already worked that out.

"As a rainbow."

"Oh," the boy nodded.

"You didn't answer my question."

Kurt sighed, looking down at his desk and pushing the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows. "It wasn't my choice. My father couldn't afford to send me to the classes anymore, so I stopped going."

Blaine nodded in understanding, looking at Kurt's arms.Damn, they're toned.

A moment of silence passed before Kurt spoke up. "Why are you so nice to me? I know I'm not a good student, I'm a pain in the ass..." he trailed off, looking up, moving his left arm closer to his stomach.

"Kurt, you remind me of myself when I was in high school. I went through a hell of a lot before I transferred to Dalton Academy."

"The prep school in Westerville?" Kurt chuckled.

"Yep, that's the one," Blaine giggled, walking around his desk and sitting on the edge of it. "Anyway, I get it. I get why you've felt the need to become this badass kid that doesn't let anybody near him. I mean it, I do."

Kurt nodded in understanding, cradling his left forearm subconsciously. "Fair enough, I suppose."

Blaine gave him a supportive smile before dropping his gaze to Kurt's arm. "Have you hurt your wrist or something?"

The boy's eyes widened dramatically and he yanked his sleeves back down. "No!"

"Kurt? Show me your arm," Blaine requested, a sense of dread filling him.

"No," the boy responded, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It's none of your business."

"Now, Kurt," the older man pleaded. "Please."

"No," Kurt snarled back.

Blaine, having lost all of his self-control to fear, grabbed Kurt's arm, wrenching his left sleeve up to reveal what seemed like hundreds of thin scars, some newer than others, ranging from pale pink to a deep shade of red. The darker, fresher cuts were scabbed, whilst the older ones were slightly shiny as the light reflected off of them.

Not looking up to catch the look of horror that had fallen over Kurt's features, Blaine sucked in a long, shaky breath. "Oh my god."