Kurt's alone in the weight room. He'd ditched Blaine, claiming a last minute project. Mike asked Blaine to hang out anyway, which was infinitely better than Puck. Befriending someone who didn't get their kicks stealing ATMS would be good for Blaine. Blaine had looked apprehensive, but Kurt kissed him and told him he'd be fine in the library.

He's using the punching bag instead.

The weight room is empty. Football practice ended at four and the hockey and basketball teams don't practice on Wednesdays. It's just Kurt, the punching bag, and the machines.

He has gloves now. His hands have finally healed enough that the gloves absorb most of pain, and Kurt's needed this for a while. He hasn't forgiven Rachel yet, and Finn's still being a dick about it, and Blaine, God, he loves Blaine, but Kurt just wants to be alone and think. Just think. He blinks sweat from his eyes as he pounds the bag into submission, releasing all of his frustrations into simple movements.

The black bag sways from his punches. If Blaine were here, he'd hold it steady. Blaine holds a lot of things in Kurt's life steady. Kurt takes another swing and wipes his forehead, thinking vaguely about buying a headband to keep the sweat and his hair out of his eyes. Maybe McQueen made some.

"Hey."

Kurt jumps. That voice. No no this is MY place, why is HE here?

Turning, he sees him. David Karofsky. The large boy stands in the doorway, looking over Kurt's sweat-covered body, taking in how the damp tank top clings and shows everything. Kurt shivers and puts out one glove-covered hand to stop the swaying bag, breathing heavily from exertion. He feels like a deer in crosshairs.

There are two exits. Karofsky blocks one. The other is through the locker room behind Kurt. After pounding on the bag for a solid hour and a half, though, Kurt's legs and arms tremble. He's not sure how fast he can run. Slowly, Kurt begins taking off the gloves. They'd only slow him down or cushion his blows. And if it comes to that, Kurt wants it to hurt.

"What do you want, Karofsky?" he spits out, the adrenaline from working out making him much more confident than he actually is. "Don't you terrorize me enough during the day?" Kurt throws the gloves into his bag, not daring to actually look at the jock. He's afraid of what he'll see.

"Fuck, why do you always do that?" Karofsky growls. It's loud, and Kurt looks up to see his bully only a few feet away. His eyes are angry and frustrated and desperate, and Kurt knows how dangerous that combination is. Fighting isn't an option. The only reason he escaped last time was because Karofsky wasn't expecting it. But now…the door is still too far away, but maybe he can get out through the locker room. He's small and fast, but Karofsky is huge and running would only piss him off if he catches Kurt. And he will catch Kurt.

Oh God, he is so scared.

Three weeks ago, he was ready to die, but right now, Kurt just wants to live.

"I haven't told anyone; why can't you just leave me alone?" Kurt takes a step back. Why couldn't he have just told Blaine where he'd be; Blaine would have just sat in here with a damn book to keep him company and he'd know what to do when Karofsky is looking at him that that. Karofsky follows. "Don't come near me." Kurt balls his hands into a fist. This will not be a repeat of the bathroom. He won't let it.

Karofsky growls and punches the heavy bag with a loud thud. Kurt jumps. "Fuck, Hummel! I just want to talk, stop fucking running!" he shouts.

Three steps and Kurt can be in the locker room. He can hide in one of the shower stalls until Karofsky leaves. But he looks at Karofsky and sees fear.

Why the hell is his biggest tormentor afraid?

Kurt hates himself, but he stands his ground and crosses his arms protectively over his chest. "So talk."

Karofsky doesn't meet Kurt's eyes. "There's cameras in here," he mutters. "Can we, um," Karofsky sniffs, a deep, wet sound. "Can we go in the locker room?"

Kurt tenses. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like being alone with a guy twice his weight and who has shown violent tendencies towards him in the past. But Karofsky is here and asking for help and dealing with your sexuality is hard enough as it is without being rejected by yet another person. Maybe if he can get Karofsky to just talk he'll stop torturing Kurt.

Maybe.

"Yeah. Come on." Kurt watches Karofsky carefully as he grabs his gym bag. "Just…don't come any closer, alright?" He may feel bad for his bully, but he's not completely stupid.

Karofsky wipes his face and his reddened eyes, but follows Kurt. He leans against the lockers while Kurt gets out his school bag and puts on his coat. The coat is thigh-length and covers everything, and Kurt lets out a slow breath at shielding his body. His red sweatpants don't match the blue coat, but Kurt honestly can't care. The locker room is silent except for when Kurt knocks something against the metal. Each clang echoes. It feels like the first time Kurt confronted the jock. The smell of sweat and boy fills his nose and Kurt hears his heart pounding at the memory of that forced kiss that gave him nightmares for weeks.

Kurt tries really hard not to run.

He wishes Blaine were here.

"Start talking." Kurt forces out. He focuses on his locker; he can't look at Karofsky.

A sniffle, a shifting body. "I can't stop thinking about last time." Karofsky whispers.

But not the same way I do, right? Kurt thinks bitterly. Do you remember it like I do? Did you think you were disgusting and cheap and used? Did it fuck you up so much you nearly had a breakdown the first time your boyfriend tried to use tongue?

But he bites his words back. "When I broke your nose in the bathroom?" Kurt chooses to say.

Karofsky narrows his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about, Hummel."

"No, what are you talking about?" Kurt turns around and glares. The anger is refreshing. If Karofsky is going to hint at one of the worst experiences of Kurt's life, he should face it himself. And what it means about him.

They watch each other. Kurt thinks he hears a muffled cough, but ignores it.

"When you kissed me." Karofsky looks at the ground.

"That's not what happened. We're done here." Kurt turns and walks away. A thick hand grabs his arm and stops him.

"Fine, when I kissed you, happy now, Hummel?" Karofsky yells, squeezing his hand hard enough leave bruises on Kurt's pale skin.

Now Kurt is actually really scared.

"Let go of me." He says in a deadly calm voice. Part of him is freaking out and in an incoherent mess, but the rest of Kurt stays cool and collected, because losing it in front of Karofsky is not an option. "David, let me go!" He tries to tug his arm out and run, but Karofsky just growls and pushes Kurt against the lockers.

The breath is knocked out of Kurt and he gasps at the sudden pain spreading out from his back. His arm is trapped at his side and Karofsky's other arm braces against his chest, pushing him into the cold metal. It's a familiar position.

Kurt stares at Karofsky's furious red face and tries to kick his way free like last time, but Karofsky just presses closer until he can't move, every inch of their body touching. Kurt twists his head away from Karofsky's thick stench of Axe, and why does it have to be Axe, only pretentious douchebags ever use that damn body spray. Karofsky breathes heavily into Kurt's ear and Kurt wills this to just be a dream and he's actually curled up in Blaine's arms, asleep from watching Jersey Shore or The Bachelorette even though Blaine hates those shows, but he watches them anyway because he'll do anything to make Kurt happy.

This would be so much different if Blaine were here. There's a gasp near Kurt's head, maybe from the locker, but then he feels something hard against his thigh and Kurt's mind goes blank.

He opens his mouth to scream, hoping that someone, anyone is still there and can save him; because Karofsky has him pinned and helpless and it apparently turns him on, and Kurt will not let this happen, no way.

A hand presses over his mouth and Kurt doesn't even think before he bites downs and screams for help, fighting Karofsky's iron grip. The hand on his arm grabs his hair and slams his head into the locker, and Kurt cries out as blood begins to drip down his face.

Karofsky lets go and Kurt's legs buckle under him as he falls to the floor. His head swims, and fuck, it has to be a concussion, his vision goes blurry before focusing again and his stomach churns. Then hands grab his coat and throw him against the lockers. Kurt's teeth rattle in his head from the throw, but Karofsky just watches him try to stand up again. He spits out blood.

Blaine…help…

"Help me…" Kurt gasps out. God, his head hurts. He shakily gets to his feet.

"Stay down!" Karofsky pushes his chest and Kurt falls over the bench, knocking over the stray bin of hockey sticks and knees banging into the ground. The sticks clatter as they hit the tiles. "Why don't you ever just stay down, you fucking fag? Why don't you give up?" Every sentence is punctuated with a sharp kick to Kurt's ribs. "Why do you keep standing up when you're only gonna get knocked down again?"

Pain. Just…everywhere. Kurt's eyes water, the tears mixing with the blood on his face. Why does he bother getting up? Why does he keep fighting? He groans lowly when another kick collides with his side. Deep within him, Kurt feels something snap and gasps sharply. Turning his head, Kurt spits out more blood on the white tile. The contrast of dark red on white catches his eye. Only a few weeks ago, he would have just let himself bleed out. Just let go of everything; fall away. But now…

"Blaine," Kurt whispers. Curly black hair, hazel eyes, silver earrings, leather jacket, and smile that lights up the world. That's why he keeps going.

It's the wrong thing to say. Karofsky growls and straddles Kurt, pressing him into the ground. His hands hold Kurt's wrists in an iron grip. Kurt groans when Karofsky's weight crushes his bruised ribs. When he leans over, breathing foul breath into Kurt's face, Kurt feels his tormentor's dick digging into his stomach and he freezes.

"That fucking hobbit?" Karosky's voice drops into a dangerous tone. "He's not gonna save you. I know you told him. About me."

"I…didn't…"

"LIAR!" Karofsky punches the tiles besides Kurt's face. "He told me!"

Shit, Blaine, why would you do that? I told you to stay away! But Kurt keeps silent. Karofsky is too angry to listen to anything he says and Kurt still can't move. Karofsky weighs too much.

"He went on and on about how you guys could help me," Karofsky spits out. "Like I would ever ask for help from a couple of fairy fags like you." Karofsky leans in close to Kurt's ear. "He warned me to stay away from you," he hisses. "Told me to back off because you were his." Kurt hears the silent laugh in Karofsky's words and starts to shake. Oh God, he wants Blaine here right now, why isn't Blaine here. "He's wrong, Kurt," Karosky says, trailing one feather-light touch down Kurt's bloodied cheek. "You aren't his." It's so different from the violence earlier, and Kurt is so fucking tired of trying to keep up with Karofsky's mood swings, but then Karofsky starts mouthing at Kurt's neck and Kurt tries not to cry, not to whimper, but he is just so scared, Blaine's touches never felt like this, like a threat.

"Please, just let me go," Kurt whispers. He tries to move, but Karofsky pins him against the ground and no matter how much training Kurt has, Kurt has no leverage and Karofsky is still twice his weight. "Please, David, just let me go, I'll never say anything and neither will Blaine, I promise, please David, let me help you." Kurt's voice trembles. He twists his head away from Karofsky, away from his mouth and then Kurt sees it. Next to him, the scattered hockey sticks. Karofsky is busy trying to suck a hickey into Kurt's neck and grinding against his stomach and Kurt can feel himself responding; fuck you, body, and wants to throw up, but he reaches out an arm and prays.

His fingers graze the wood and slip and Kurt screams in frustration, but then Karofsky swallows it by kissing Kurt hard. "Want you so bad," he pants into Kurt's mouth, "Wear those tight-ass pants all the time; you fucking tease; you want it too, you slut," and he thrusts harder. Kurt's skin crawls and Kurt bites down on Karofsky's invading tongue, blood flowing into his mouth. Karofsky yells and punches Kurt's stomach, but he lets go, thank GOD, he lets go and Kurt stretches out and grabs one long stick. The wood is firm beneath his fingers and Kurt swings blindly, catching Karofsky across his face and rebreaking his nose. Karofsky screams and falls backwards, his face bloody, letting Kurt back away against the lockers and clutch the stick like a lifeline. The adrenaline pumping through his body makes Kurt's limbs shake, but he holds on to the stick and pushes himself to his feet even as his ribs scream in protest.

Karofsky's face is terrifying. Furious and dripping blood and his eyes look ready to murder Kurt. He crawls forward a step and Kurt doesn't even think before he lets out a primal yell and swings, hitting Karofsky's face with the end of the hockey stick. Karofsky goes down in a heap of blood and pain, and Kurt just stares at the collapsed boy, breathing harshly. When Karofksy groans and tries to move, Kurt swings again, hitting Karofsky's shoulders. And again. And again.

"I am NOT your victim! Not anymore!" Kurt's mind is filled with rage and fear and he knows Karofsky has his hands up and is trying to defend himself and crying but fuck him, Kurt's done with it, with being weak and helpless. "Do you hear me? NOT ANYMORE!" He's crying, sobbing between swings, and Karofsky isn't even moving anymore. Kurt stares at the mass of bloodied flesh before him; his breath rattling in his ears. It's hardly recognizable as a human. Kurt lets the red stick clatter to the ground and he falls against the locker, sliding down when his knees buckle.

What the fuck has he done.

The locker room is almost silent but for Kurt's choking sobs. There's a faint noise from behind him, but Kurt's too tired and in too much pain to even look. Karofsky isn't making a sound and Kurt can't tell if he's even breathing, but he's not getting any closer. Sitting alone in a locker room with a beaten up boy that might be dying, Kurt can feel his fragile grip on reality starting to slip. He is so fucked.

Shakily, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone. It's cracked again, but it still turns on and Kurt scrolls to a familiar number and hits call, wincing at the smears left by his bloody fingers.

The ringing grounds him and Kurt closes his eyes, shutting out the sight of swollen flesh and blood.

"Hello? Kurt, what's up, you okay?" Kurt wants to cry at the innocent tone of Blaine's words because Blaine thought he'd be in the fucking library, and Kurt actually just beat the shit out of his bully after getting sexually assaulted. Oh God.

"Blaine? I need you." Kurt gets out before bursting into tears.

When the paramedics get there, Kurt's already thrown up enough times that he's completely pliant. He barely even blinks when a cop slides handcuffs on his wrists or when Jacob Ben Israel is rescued from a locker with his video camera and a huge grin or when Blaine freaks out until they let him ride in the ambulance. Blaine tries to talk to him, but Kurt only hugs him close and doesn't let go.

He's just…numb.

And it's wonderful.