Kurt limped down the hallway nursing his sore arm. He reeked of cigarette butts and last week's tuna salad. ‘That's the fifth dumpster dive this week'. He thought to himself miserably. So far this week he's had two slushy facials, five dumpster dives, many awful names, he's lost track of how many locker shoves, and on Tuesday someone even shoved him into the janitor's closet and locked him in. He didn't get out until after first period. The leader of these assaults? David Karofsky and his football buddies. ‘Thank goodness it's Friday'.

Kurt stepped into the girl's bathroom and started to wipe his face with a wet paper towel; he wanted to be somewhat presentable. He knew he would be late for Glee rehearsal, but he didn't care; Mr. Schuester would understand. He winced as he examined the large bruise that had formed on his arm when he hit it against the edge of the dumpster. ‘Another one to add to the collection'. He checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror and tried to smooth his messy hair with little success. He tried to mask the odor with some lavender lotion he had in his bag. It would have to do. With one last glance in the mirror, he sighed and left the room; looking around to make sure the jocks weren't around. He hurried to the choir room; still limping on his twisted ankle.

“Kurt, you're late.” Mr. Schue said without turning from the white board. “I'm sorry, Mr. Schue.” Kurt replied tiredly. Kurt's tone caused Mr. Schue to turn around, concerned. Kurt was a mess; not at all his usual self. “Kurt, are you okay?” Mr. Schue asked worriedly. “Yeah, I'm fine.” Kurt tried to smile reassuringly. Mr. Schue wasn't convinced, but he let it slide. “Alright then. Take your seat.” He said, then reluctantly continued his lesson. Kurt shuffled to his seat in the back of the class room; feeling awkward as his fellow glee members stared. He sat down next to his best friend, Mercedes. She immediately turned to him and whispered “You wanna talk about it?” concern still evident in her soft tone. “Thanks ‘Cedes, but I'm fine.” Kurt repeated. Mercedes looked at him skeptically, but said nothing. Instead, she offered her hand for comfort; which Kurt squeezed reassuringly. He appreciated the concern, but this isn't her problem. This was his hill to climb alone.

“Alright guys, back to glee.” Mr. Schue continued. “Our lesson today is…” he scribbled largely on the board, “Dreams”. The kids murmured approvingly. “What are your dreams? Where do you guys see yourselves 20 years from now?” Mr. Schue asked, and Rachel raised her hand. “Mr. Schue, in 20 years I will be the star of a huge Broadway production. I dream of following in the great Barbra Streisand's footsteps.” Rachel beamed. “In my dream everyone is a pony, and we eat jelly beans and we fly and shoot rainbows from our eyes. And Lord Tubbington is there; he kicked his ecstasy addiction.” Brittany chimed in. “He's talking about your plans for the future, Britt.” Santana corrected. “Oh… Well how should I know? I'm not a fortune teller; I can't read minds and stuff.” Brittany replied. Santana sighed and shook her head. Kurt had stopped listening to the discussion around him. He was lost in his own thoughts. ‘Freedom' he thought, ‘I want out of this cow town; I'm Broadway bound.' He decided. He thought of where he might be in 20 years. ‘I'll be in New York; stressing over my lines in a new Broadway production. I'll stand in the spotlight of the stage, singing my heart out while the crowd claps and cheers. Dad will be cheering embarrassingly loudly from the front row, but I'll smile anyway. I'll go home to my wonderful apartment with a bouquet of flowers from the show. I'll be greeted by my handsome partner as he comes out of the kitchen; having just gotten home from work ten minutes ago. The smell of dinner wafting from behind him. We'll talk about our day and I'll forgive him for missing my show as we slow dance in the kitchen to imaginary music. And we'll be happy and safe from the Neanderthals. They can't touch us'.

“What about you, Kurt?” Mr. Schue asked. Kurt was pulled out of the daydream by the sudden question. “I'm sorry, what?” He asked confusedly. “What is your dream?” Mercedes repeated for him. “Oh um, Broadway.” He answered simply. Mr. Schue gave him a warm smile, then proceeded to remind the students of their glee assignment. “I want you guys to find a song that represents your dreams, your hopes for the future.” He glanced at the clock. “That's it for today, guys.” He said; dismissing the club with a wave of his hand. Kurt sighed with relief. He just wanted to go home and take a shower; he felt gross. He walked down the hallway with his phone in his hand, glancing at a message from his dad asking when rehearsal ended today. He didn't notice the trio of jocks until he felt his already bruised back collide with the lockers. “Watch where you're going, Kurt ‘Homo'” A familiar voice sneered. Kurt looked up to see Karofsky and two other jocks snickering to themselves. “Leave me alone, Karofsky; I'm just trying to go home.” Kurt said bitterly. “Better watch that tone or I'll watch it for you. I don't hit girls, but I'll make an exception.” He threatened, pulling back his fist and feigning a punch. Kurt flinched instinctively, and the jocks laughed at his cowardice. Karofsky gave Kurt one last shove into the lockers. Kurt hissed in pain as his head hit the cold metal and he slid to the floor. He listened to the cruel laughter of the jocks as they left down the hallway. Kurt sat numbly in place for a few minutes before standing slowly and walking to his car. He just wanted to go home.

He walked into the house and found his dad in the kitchen pulling what looked to be some sort of casserole out of the oven. “Hey, Kurt, you're just in time; dinner's ready.” Burt called. “I'm not hungry.” Kurt said quietly. Burt came out of the kitchen. “You alright, kiddo?” he asked worriedly; but Kurt was already half way up the stairs. Kurt walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. He examined the bruises on his back and arm. Ugly purplish-blue marks littered his skin. ‘Why am I so weak?” He thought to himself. He sighed and turned to step into the warm water. He let the heat sooth his sore muscles as he washed his tuna smelling hair. After he was clean, he turned off the water and dried himself with a large towel. He walked to his room and changed into comfortable pajamas. He collapsed down on his bed staring blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes. The events of the week finally caught up to him, and he shook as he cried himself to sleep.