A week passed since Kurt's freak out on me. In that time, I confirmed that Kurt wasn't eating. I never saw him at any meals, and, if possible, it seems he gets thinner and thinner every day. Sicker and sicker. My mood decreasing more and more. He won't talk to me or anybody, but I'm glad he will still be in my presence. Luckily I got study time in every class, so, on a nice Friday noon, I found myself full of depressive thoughts, maybe a bit of helplessness, and in the Dalton clinic.

"What can I do for you today, Mr. Anderson? Are you feeling alright?" she asked me. I felt comfortable confiding in her, but this was the first the I voiced my concern about Kurt to anyone, including myself, out loud. I was nervous. I wrung my hands.

"Uhm… Well, I feel fine. I just, uh, have a health concern about a friend of mine."

"Your boyfriend?" she guessed to my surprise. If she noticed something concerning about Kurt, then it must be awful. She noticed my incredulous face and sighed.

"Let's come into my office," she offered and led me into a small room with a desk and chairs.

"What can I help you with?" she repeated. I took in a deep breath and began, trying to stay calm.

"He's not eating. At all. I never see him eat, and I'm with him all the time. And he's getting thinner. I don't know how that's even possible because he's a damn skeleton now. Every single bone in his body is visible, even though he won't let me undress him. He's killing himself, and I have to watch!" I finished. I bared nothing, having no shame. I didn't notice the tears on my face until the nurse handed me tissues. I inhaled deeply. What a relief it was to just lay it all out.

"Sweetie, that must be really hard on you," she placated me. I sniffled like a baby and just nodded, dabbing my eyes once more. "Do you know why he would starve himself?" she asked bluntly, not skirting around the problem.

"He keeps passing it off as having stress, and that's what I say when people ask me if he's alright, but this morning…" I trailed off.

"What happened this morning?"

"I straight up asks whim if he thought he was fat," I murmured dejectedly.

"And?" she prompted once more.

"He slapped me and ran out crying," I said, tears springing into my eyes again. Yeah, that slap stung a bit, but the pain in Kurt's eyes was unbearable to witness. I did that.

"Oh, dear," the nurse sighed. I broke out sobbing.

"Blaine, shhh, honey. It's okay," she tried. I was very appreciate of the motherly comfort.

"I j-just d-don't know w-what to do!" I wailed.

"Okay, here's the deal," she interrupted. I quieted quickly with a hiccough. "I will call him in and just do a check-up from that fainting episode last week, but I'll throw in a weigh-in," she said confidently. It was a perfect idea to get him to come, and I voiced my comment.

"We'll get him back on track, okay?" she soothed. I nodded.

"Thank you so much."

"It's my job," she chuckled. "Tell him to come down to the clinic at the end of school today." I agreed and left, a weight on my shoulders lifted slightly. Why is everything about weight now?

Kurt's POV

School let out on Friday, and I was excited to see my family. Last week, my dad and Carole had to go to some political convention in Columbus all weekend. Today I would be heading up there and relax, maybe go shopping at the mall. However, my plans were delayed momentarily when I was escorted to the school clinic at last period by Blaine who only said, "Have a good weekend, Kurt," and kissed my cheek.

I was pissed.

"Hey, Mr. Hummel. Thank you, Blaine," she excused. Blaine left the room. Suddenly my protection was gone. The nurse stared at me with scrutinizing eyes. I held my breath.

"I just wanted to check up on you to see if you were still feeling faint." I still sat stock still in a chair. The nurse flitted around and finally brought the blood pressure machine over. After the mechanism stopped the death grip on my flab, she read off my stats.

"Kurt," she began with trepidation, "Your heart rate is abnormally slow." I stared up at her. What?

"I want to see something else. Come over here," she said and led me to a scale. Absolutely not.

"Uhm… that's not necessary," I tried to say without a shake in my voice but to no avail.

"Why not?" she asked. I shook my head as if to say "no."

"I just want to see, Kurt."

"I want to know why," I snapped without my conscience's permission. She blinked a bit, but I made no sign of apologizing, so she switched her tactic.

"Get on the scale, honey. Now!" she said with an edge in her voice. I saw no way out. Through my tears, I stood on the scale and watched her fiddle around with the goddamned weights.

"How tall are you?" she asked sweetly as if she didn't make me flinch before.

"Five ten," I replied. She hummed and wrote some things down, leaving me to sweat.

"How long have you been starving yourself?" she asked sternly. It felt like my world suddenly crumbled around me. My chest tightened.

"W-what?" I choked out, hands shaking,

"You can almost be classified as anorexic," the nurse stated. I stayed silent. To me, the statement didn't matter because the mirror told a different story.

"You'e going home this weekend, right?" I nodded in reply. "Let's see how you do. Eat something, and I'll check back on you," she begged. Lie. Lie. Get out of there. LIE.

"Okay, I will," I tried for a smile. The nurse stared at me for a bit then released me to drive home. I walked out of Dalton fuming as if the incident with Blaine asking me if I was fat was trivial. Luckily, the music calmed me along the fairly long drive. Carole was grocery shopping, my dad still at work, and Finn was working on an arrangement for Rach- New Directions at Rachel's house. Still, I was happy to be home. I put my stuff down in my room and lied on my bed. The aroma of home overwhelmed me, and I grew sleepy. I could use a nap. I yawned and fell asleep snuggled in my big, white comforter. The black enveloped me, and, naturally, I lost track of time. Carole was shaking me awake.

"Hey, Kurt. Glad you're home," she greeted sweetly. I smiled tiredly and pushed my hair out of my eyes.

"Glad to be home," I said.

"Dinner is on the table. Come when you're ready," Carole said and walked out of my room. Shit. Okay, what did I remember from that Pro-Ana website once? Sit with a napkin in your lap and stuff food in it, pushed and arrange the food, mints suppress appetite, water fills you up, blue plates, and talk a lot. Got it. Lazily, I got up and noticed my wrinkly Dalton uniform that I had dumbly slept in. I changed into sweatpants and a baggy shirt, my normal. In the kitchen, Carole was finishing a casserole.

"Need help with anything?" I asked. She turned to look at me and gaped, dropping the ceramic plates for the table. What the actual fuck? Geez, I know I don't usually wear lounge clothes, but she seriously shattered the plate!

"Okay, now you do," I sarcastically said.

"Honey? You okay?" I suddenly heard my dad from another room.

"Yes! It's fine!" she yelled back. "You're…" she turned to me.

"Yes?" I prompted. That shook her out of whatever this was. Odd.

"You're, uh, you're not wearing shoes!" She was right though.

"Just go sit. I think your dad's home," she waved me off. I shrugged and went to the dining room where my father was already sitting.

"Hi, Dad," I said happily and simply.

"Hey, kid!" he greeted, getting up from the table to hug me. "Good to see you!" He embraced me, and I leaned into his touch. Every time I come home, it's a sweet reunion, even if I hadn't seen them in a week.

"You lost weight. Are they feeding you at that fancy school?" he asked with deep concern in his voice and eyes. Don't look at me like that, Dad.

"Of course, Dad. I've just hit a rough patch academically. Don't worry though. It'll pass," I lied. Oh how I lied. Every time pushing me further into a numb limbo.

"Well, a good home meal will do you well," Carole interrupted as she walked in and laid the last dish on the table with new plates. My father agreed. We all sat down minus Finn. God help that boy.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Why aren't you eating?" Carole asked. Why does that always happen? I'll get lost in my thoughts and completely lose my social skills and facade. Sometimes I won't be thinking anything at all. Just… numbness.

What do I say to Carole? The calories and fat and carbs and sodium in front of me made me nauseous. My mind stopped on that. Nausea. Never had I forced my food back up in fear of eroding my voice. Why not try in the comfort of home? I really was out of every other options. I'll get diet pills later, I suppose.

"Sorry, Carole. I spaced out," I smiled and picked up my fork to eat the first full meal in months. Why not eat everything in sight when it's just going to come back up again later? My mood elevated that night immensely. Plus, I got my parents off of my ass.