Kurt returned home in the early hours of the morning, after Blaine had talked himself to sleep, and the party in the other room had subsided, and Cooper had paid him his dues. He appreciated Blaine's gift to him, a night off, it was the first time in a long time that he didn't come home with a sore ass and a stranger's bodily fluids splattered somewhere on his skin. Or hair.

Rachel was standing in their little kitchen wearing one of those little nightgowns she loved so much.  She was pouring vodka and sprite into her orange juice, Kurt shot her a look and she whined defensively, "what?  I wanted memosas and we didn't have champagne." 

"So you made sparkling screwdrivers?" He rolled his eyes and joined her in the kitchen to dig the packet of turkey bacon from its spot in the fridge.

 Rachel eyed him over her drink. "Long night?"  Kurt shrugged. " What'd you have to do?"

"Nothing actually. It was really strange, I got hired for a party and I ended up with a cute little virgin that just wanted to talk the whole night."

"And you're just getting home now?"

"He fell asleep on me."

"Awww" she cooed.

"He was really....", he searched for the word, "..sweet.  I'm kind of sad I'll never see him again..." 

Rachel swaggered toward him in a manner that would suggest she'd had more than one of her sorry memosa substitutes and wrapped her arms around Kurt's middle. "Mmmm you never know, he could show up again."  she pulled away and walked past him, pausing to slap his butt playfully, "Get some sleep, tiger, chances are you won't be so lucky tonight." 

She was joking but Kurt knew it was true. Another someone to disregard his humanity and call him 'bitch' and fuck him 'til he bled was what was waiting for him that night.  He sighed heavily and marched off to his bedroom.

He stripped for bed, like always, and took inventory of every mark and scar. He rubbed his thumb fondly over the scar he'd gotten when he was six and his dad had been teaching him to ride a bike, he'd fallen and earned a inch long line on his neck, it was the only scar of his many that actually made him happy.  The rest were newer ones, from clients that hadn't respected the boundaries, or more rarely, there were a few from his dumpster diving days in high school. There were still a constellation of freckles across his shoulders from the one day, two summers ago, he'd let himself go outside without his shirt and had gotten a nasty sunburn, the line of hickies on his inner thigh still hadn't faded from a client he'd had a week and a half ago, and there were the bruises on his hips from where men would hold on to him as they pounded into him, everytime Kurt thought they were about to recede, someone new with the same tight grip came along and refreshed them.

Kurt hated all of these. He hated how his past could mark him and make itself known. He could never escape this horrible reality because just looking down at his arm and seeing that long, raised scar reminded him that he was nothing, that someone could tie him up and slice a knife through his delicate porcelain skin and laugh about it. His night with Blaine had been nice, it had made him feel like maybe he could be worth something to someone, but the little reminders stretched across his skin had brought him crashing back to reality, and Blaine had been nice but he was gone and he wasn't coming back.  Only the scar-makers ever came back.

Kurt fought the itch to rip the scars from his skin  and wiped a tear away from his eye instead. He fell into bed and curled around his pilllow. It was the only consistent source of comfort in his life. 

Kurt cried himself to sleep.

____________________________________________________________

He woke at noon and did his usual thing; lunch with Rachel, Laundr-o-mat with Rachel, post office with Rachel; and then he was back at the apartment, crammed into the bathroom with Rachel, and she was squeezing herself into a tiny, horrid, canary yellow mini-dress.  The inflection in her neverending words rose with the tone of a question and Kurt realised he hadn't been listening to a word she'd said all day.  He turned to her and gave her a dopy "Wha?"

She scolded him, " KURT! Where has your mind been all day?" 

He hadn't realised until the question was asked, but he knew where his thoughts had been;  the rasberry scent of hair gel that he could still smell if he concentrated hard enough, the cautious and gentle ghost of fingertips on his skin, and the dreams he'd dreamt in the night of an alternate universe where Kurt was a college student and bore fewer scars and came home after a lecture not to slip into his sluttiest clothes but to slip into pajamas and curl up next to sweet, kind, adorable Blaine. 

He knew it was strange and weird for him to be thinking of him so much, it had only been one night.  But Blaine had been so uncommonly nice to him and he could deny it all he wanted but the truth was he longed for nothing more than someone to say "How was your day, sweetheart, I love you."  instead of the usual " Alright, on your knees, bitch." 

He zipped the back of Rachel's dress, which had been her original question, and she forgot that he'd been ignoring her and disregarded him and turned to the mirror to add even more unecessary eyeliner.  Kurt let his thoughts wander back to Blaine as he got ready for 'work'.  

He left Rachel with her group of worse for wear young women and went to join the boys.

"Ay papi, how was the pah-ty last night?"  Raoul, a painfully steryotypical young thing in leather shorts (whom, Kurt suspected, had something of a crush on him) called out to him as he approached. "Get into anything freaky, baby?" 

Kurt blushed and smiled cordially, "Oh it was intensely normal, (But not really) Raoul, no new war stories tonight.  How 'bout you?  Anything to report?" 

"Nah, honey. Papi didn't get so lucky."  Raoul referred to everybody as papi, even himself. He was surely no Blaine.

"Oh well, tonight maybe." 

"Yeah, fingers crossed."

Then a man who was not a regular in the usual cast of characters sauntered up to the group. He was tall, well groomed and attractive, though his face had a sort of pointy, pinched quality. Kurt sort of thought he resembled a meercat. He walked right up and got in Kurt's face, he was the only one in the group that was taller than Kurt, as a prostitute, it seemed being little was an advantage. 

The man was mere inches from Kurt's face, he breathed berry-mint bubble gum breath into Kurt's face, "Got a cigarette, sweet thing?" 

Kurt huffed right back at him and rolled his eyes, "No, Sebastian. I do not have a cigarette. I tell you every time you decide to join us, I'm the only one here that doesn't smoke." 

"What a shame. Raoul!"  He didn't turn his head to look at Raoul, but maintained uncomfortably close eye contact with Kurt, "Can you help me out here, sugar?"  If Raoul had a crush on Kurt, then he was head over heels in love with Sebastian. He jumped at the chance to provide Sebastian with a nearly full pack.  

Sebastian was the only prostitute Kurt had ever heard of that did it because he actually, genuinely enjoyed being paid for having sex with strangers. He got off on it.  He certainly didn't need the money, his parents were suporting him (they didn't know about his little hobby, you see.)  and he was always talking about his holidays in paris and spain, and frequently he hired boys for his own use, though not from their little group, he hired much classier boys, but despite this he seemed to have a thing for Kurt. He would ask him out often, even offering to double or triple his usual rate, but Kurt would always refuse. Sebastian was creepy, and anyway Kurt had made it a rule to never sleep with another whore. 

Sebastian's hands wandered, unwelcome, to Kurt's hips.  One of the other boys called playfully to him, "Are you buying or selling tonight, Seb?"  He didn't answer but attacked Kurt's fly and slid his seedy paw into Kurt's pants.

Kurt pushed at the bigger man and hissed, "Don't touch me, scum.", but for all his efforts Sebastian was bigger and stronger and determined and he did not falter.  Kurt felt Sebastian's fingers roughly grab at his unresponsive flesh, and he felt fear and rage swell in his chest because Sebastian was well on his way to raping him and the others were gathered around, laughing.  How would they be in his position?  And then he felt despair because Sebastian could very well rape him and what could he do? It's not for the whore to say yes or no.You can rape a prostitute, they're free game, they have no purity to preserve, they say. He'd go to the police and probably be thrown in jail himself. 

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF HIM!"

Sebastian's head turned toward the sudden shout and Kurt used the distraction, he pulled his arm free of Sebastian's grasp, pulled his fist back and punched his jaw.  He bent at the waist, clutching his chin and cursing and Kurt was able to see his savior, he blinked a few times in disbelief.

"Blaine?"

"Kurt! Are you- did he- are you okay?"

"Blaine, what are you doing here? You shouldn't be here."

"I came to see you."  His features brightened into a smile briefly before falling again, "Did he hurt you?"

Kurt zipped his pants and rubbed at the bruises he would surely develop from Sebastian's assault.  "You have to get out of here Blaine."

"But.. I thought... we had such a good time last night, I thought I could take you out for dinner and a movie maybe, I can pay your usual rate so you don't have to worry about missing.. uh..  work." 

Kurt eyed Blaine darkly. He wanted to take Blaine up on his offer so badly it hurt, but Blaine was sweet and cute and pure and Kurt would not- could not bring him into his world. So he put up a front and decided he would have to push Blaine away.

"Blaine, we are not boyfriends okay! We had our night, you paid me, it's over. We are not dating, we are not going to fall in love, it will not do for you to pine after me like a love-sick puppy. I'm a prostitute, okay, my affections and my will are up for rent and none of it is genuine. If you'd like a fuck, you know the price, but that's all it is." He paused to let Blaine interject, he didn't. "No? That's it then. Go home, Blaine, it's dangerous for you here." 

Blaine had the look of a kicked puppy.  "Well, fine then."  He walked past Sebastian and looked back at Kurt as he was leaving. "I hope one of your friends decides to save you the next time this one decides to grope you again. 'Cause I won't be here."   He marched away in anger and dejection. 

Kurt's heart split and he called after Blaine's retreating form, " I CAN'T BE SAVED!"