The new boy runs his pale, nearly white fingers through his hair and a dry tongue over his chapped, pink lips. He smiles, almost sadistically, his eyebrows arching in delight as he slips his arm easily out of the man's grasp.

"Hey, stop it," the man protests. Grey stubble dots his chin, and the wrinkles around his eyes indicate his experience and age. "No monkeying around." He grabs the boy's arm, more roughly this time with a grip hard enough to bruise, to have the boy becomes stiff.

But the boy just continues to level his clear, blue-green eyes at the man. The only answer is lips pulled back in a sneer. The man visibly flinches and takes a few steps back, but his grasp is still strong, almost vice-like. The boy's eyes remain on the man, daring him to make a comeback, and the man averts his gaze and simply squeezes the boy's arm harder. The boy simply snaps his head, tossing back light brown hair, an indicator that he's won the battle.

The man gestures him forward into the empty room with his free hand, and the boy notices his hand is slightly shaking. The boy walks, stiffly and casually ahead, sitting in an empty chair. When the man leaves, the boy turns to look at his retreating form, and the boy's eyes relax, losing their intimidating sarcasm. His fingers, once clenched firmly in his hands to the point where they almost embedded nail prints into the palms of his hands, slacken and rest loosely against his sides. He grimaces as he wipes his sweaty palms on his pants.

"So, this is what you're really like," comes a quiet, grave voice, and the boy immediately tenses. He turns around to look ahead of him at the figure behind the desk. "Tell me about yourself."

In spite of prior events, the boy looks immediately uncomfortable. The boy's eyes narrow as he takes in the older woman sitting in front of him. The woman has short, almost white-blonde hair and piercing, serious blue eyes. Her skin is lined with wrinkles, but in spite of this, she looks healthy and composed. She's wearing a tapered, dark blue suit and she matches his sneer. "Pathetic, aren't you?"

The boy squeezes his fingers back into the palms of his hands, as his pink lips pull back in surprise to find somebody who isn't the least bit scared of him. How can this be? Everyone, even his own parents, has been afraid of him—thin and pale like a vampire, with the cold, sadistic eyes of a serial killer.

The woman glances at a clipboard she holds with two hands, making a no-nonsense, tutt-ing noise in her throat. The boy tries to look away in indifference, but he can't help but wonder what the papers on the clipboard must say about him.

"Kurt Hummel," the woman says, weighing the name in her mouth. "Kurt Hummel, then."

"Sure," the boy, Kurt, bites back sharply. He thinks about making a sarcastic comment, but thinks better of it, deciding to weigh the grounds first before he tries anything. He can't believe his father, (and his stepmother, he supposes), have sent him here.

Kurt knows he's plenty fucked up, but that doesn't mean he needs to come here. At all. It doesn't matter that he's addicted and dependent on a laundry list of drugs, it doesn't matter that every other night for him is a shit show. It doesn't matter that he's changed drastically in the past year, going from being the victim to the bully, going from being a sweet, charming boy to someone his old family members and old friends don't even recognize. It doesn't matter that this morning he woke up in a pile of his own vomit and to the cries of his stepmother—he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't need this, he doesn't need to clean himself up to make his dad happy because Kurt is fully aware he's driving his life repeatedly into a wall, destroying himself from inside-out. If he's going to die anyway, he may as well do it in his own way and have as much fun as he can going down.

He figures that Greenwood is the same as the rest of the centers his parents have tried to put him in. For troubled youths and adults battling issues like depression, alcoholism, drug addiction, eating disorders, the whole fucking package with a ribbon on top. He doesn't need to be told that all of this is his fault because he's fully aware that actions have consequences, and so-on and so-forth. This is bullshit, his dad sending him here.

"Why don't you sit down?" the woman says, but her suggestion is not really a question—it's an order. Kurt thinks about rebelling for a second, but instead, slumps into the chair. The woman's face is impassive, emotionless, in spite of the fact that Kurt tries hard to read her.

"Kurt," the woman says, her voice like a drill sergeant, "my name is Sue Sylvester, and you may address me as Ms. Sylvester. I am the ultimate authority here at Greenwood Rehabilitation Center for Troubled Youths and Adults. I am certain that you know why you are here, and while all of the counselors and staff are here to help you through your recovery process, we cannot help you if you do not want to be helped. You can hate us as much as you want, but we do expect your respect, and failure to comply with these rules will have consequences. Here at Greenwood, we work based on mutual respect—you respect us, we will respect you. If you choose to abuse that respect, there will be consequences.

"I know you think that you are invincible and do not think you require our aid in the slightest, but let me assure you—you are wrong. Everything that you have done has brought you to where you are, and has landed you here, and though you may not be willing, your guardians have decided to seek help for you.

"Through our programs, a special agenda will be designed for you and your needs. You will be staying here for a minimum of 90 days—the only exception being the extermination of your contract by your guardians. During those 90 days, you will be staying with an initial five roommates, all troubled adolescents like yourself. If you make progress, your room will be reduced to four roommates, and then to a double, and then a single. Privacy here is a privilege, not a right.

"If you create disturbances, there will be consequences, varying based on the seriousness of your action. Foul language and inappropriate behavior will not be tolerated.

"Kurt, here as I have said, though you may have lost it out in the real world, you have our respect. It is up to you what you choose to do with that respect. You have also been given the opportunity to rebuild yourself, and again, it is up to you what you choose to do with that opportunity.

"Now, I seem to have cleared up everything to the best of my abilities. You will have further orientations later. Do you have any questions?

Kurt stares back at her, his eyes hard, unanswering.

Sue takes the silence as a "no."

She finishes as she gestures to the man at the door. She reaches across the table and takes one of Kurt's unwilling hands in a handshake. Kurt stands up stiffly, as the man comes and takes him rather roughly by the arm, leading him out of Ms. Sylvester's office.

He barely hears Ms. Sylvester's statement, full of gravity, behind him.

"Good luck, Mr. Hummel."