*This is a very dark story that contains consistent and vivid descriptions of self harm. All other warnings (and there are many) will be on a chapter by chapter basis.

Chapter warnings: none.

Prologue

I flicked my eyes open to complete darkness, instinctively reaching my hands out to pat the vacant spaces next to me. Kurt wasn't there.

            Where is he? I thought to myself, beginning to panic. Automatically, I assumed the worst. I felt around again, quicker and more desperate even though I knew he wouldn't be there. I threw the covers back, scanning the room for any signs that he was in there with me. I listened but heard nothing – no soft cries, no sharp inhales of breaththat I often heard at three am on most nights. I looked around but the bedroom door was closed and the bathroom light wasn't on; everything looked in pristine condition, untouched, still. My heart began to pound as I slipped out of my bed and ran through my apartment, searching for the small, thin boy that had, not even two hours ago, quietly and nervously asked if he could sleep with me that night.

            After the first month he'd been with us, we'd slept apart even though I was the only person he would let within three feet of him. I understood, and each time he woke with nightmares, sobbing and choking and screaming until he couldn't breathe, I went into his room and held him, waiting for him to fall into his dreamless sleep. Because that's how it worked: he had nightmares, and then there was nothing. He was so physically and mentally exhausted that his eyelids would eventually shut of their own accord, even though he fought it, even though he was scared, even though he did this every night like clockwork. Or, I wouldn't get to hold him because sometimes it was so bad that even I couldn't get through to him. Sometimes he lashed out in anger, shoving himself out of my grasp, a deafening noise spilling from between his lips. Sometimes he wrapped his arms around his legs, whimpering in a numb almost-silence, flinching when I tried to comfort him. It was then that I knew what his nightmares were about.

            And when the second month came, he asked, in a small, choked voice, if it would be okay for me to stay with him. It was the middle of the night and he was shaking and his cheeks were tear stained, and I told him yes, of course, and we went to sleep together. He slept with ten inches of space between us, clinging to his side of the bed, and I let him because I knew why he did it. But then the nightmares came like they always did, so I pulled him close to me, put my arms around his trembling body, and he fell asleep still clutching my chest. From then on, he slept in my room. He said that things weren't as bad with me there, but he always asked if it was okay that I stayed with him.

            I was used to being next to him by this hour, whether I went into his room or whether he was in mine, so it was unsettling that I hadn't heard any screaming or crying. Most people would be happy about that fact, because hey, that probably means they're okay. But I knew better.The last time I woke up to silence and an empty, dark room after going to bed with Kurt was nearly seven years ago, when I'd discovered that he'd left.

            I was about to wake Rachel up when I saw him standing on the balcony with a blanket wrapped loosely around his shoulders. I sighed in relief and headed outside. I closed the sliding glass door behind me and walked over to him, resting my arms on the rail  by his. Henley said I should never push him to talk when he wasn't ready, so I waited patiently.

            I stared out into the city, at all the buildings and the lights and the tiny, tiny people on the sidewalks. By New York's standards, it was eerily quiet. I heard the sound of wind blowing and of sirens wailing down the streets and of cars in the distance, but it was all too far away, like I was hearing the noise through someone else's ears. Next to me, I heard Kurt's even breathing, sometimes interrupted by a sniffle. Minutes passed and he didn't say a word, didn't even acknowledge my presence, so I prodded him gently.

            “A penny for your thoughts?” I asked.

            He looked to me, eyes red and cheeks streaked with tears, his voice thick and broken when he finally found it.

            “It's not a sin to love somebody, is it?”

            I heard those words leave his mouth and I felt hot anger rush through my veins. I wanted to find the monster that did this to him and beat him with the weight of Kurt's pain – all the lies and the memories and the blood that's seeped out of him and dripped onto the tile of any bathroom floor that he's ever been in. I wanted to drench him in it, to drown his lungs with the tears that Kurt cried each morning and each night. I wanted him to feel the agony that Kurt felt, to suffer the way that Kurt did. I wanted to take away the things he'd taken from Kurt, choices and free will and the option to say no. I wanted him to know exactly what that felt like, because he did this to Kurt. He was still doing this to Kurt, even though he was about to be locked away. I knew that even then, he had him in his fingertips, attached by the string of distorted reality that he'd burned into Kurt's mind.

            And I absolutely loathed him for it.

            But I knew I had to stay calm and focus on Kurt. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and set aside my anger. I settled on trying to distract him from the devil dancing inside his head.

            “I thought you weren't religious.”

            He turned away from me, gripping the blanket around his shoulders, and gazed straight ahead. He sniffled. “I'm not. But there has to be a reason.”

            “A reason for what?” I asked softly.

            “For it to hurt so much,” he said, and then he was crying, tears streaming down his face as he shook his head at the ground. “Am I being punished? Did I – I don't know why he would – he said h-he loved me.”

            I gathered him in my arms without hesitation and he immediately buried himself in my chest, shoulders shaking with the sobs coming from his mouth. My hands rested on his neck and the back of his head, holding him close. I didn't know what to say, but I murmured into his ear, doing my best to hold the pieces of him together with my words.

            I think I could be falling in love you, I wanted to say. I can't stand seeing you like this. He's not worth it. Don't allow him do this to you. Please just let him go.

            Instead, I rocked him slowly, carding my fingers through his hair as I blinked away the wetness forming in the corners of my own eyes.

            “I still love him,” he cried, and he started to choke on the air that he was forcing into his lungs by his rapid breathing.

            “Shh,” I whispered, pulling him tighter against me. “Calm down. It's okay.” No, you don't. You think you do but you don't because you've been manipulated and forced into thinking that how he treats you passes for love.

            Over Kurt's head, I saw Rachel appear in front of the glass door. She looked at me and I gave her an imperceptible head shake that told her not to come outside. She nodded in understanding and walked away, wringing her hands. She knew not to be around when Kurt had an episode, because, for reasons I still don't quite understand, it always made it worse. I was the only person who could calm him down and none of us knew why. His father, Carole, Rachel – all of them sent him into hysterics, especially if he was already crying.

            Eventually, his sobs turned into whimpers which subsided and became hiccups. I was still running my fingers up and down his back when he picked his head up, looking exhausted.

            “Why do we choose people that do nothing but hurt us?” he asked tiredly. “Why did I stay with him?” His eyes were puffy and red rimmed and he looked so sad that it took everything in me to not break down right there in front of him. I breathed deeply, running my hand over his forehead and through his hair.

            “I don't know,” I replied honestly as my thumb swept over his cheek. “We accept the love we think we deserve, I guess.”

            He stared back at me mutely, lifeless and worn out from crying.

            “I'm sorry I woke you,” he said after a long pause.

            “Don't be,” I told him, capturing his fingers and covering them with mine. “I want to be here for you.”

            He didn't say anything, just laid his head back on my chest and wrapped his arms around me. We stayed like that for a few more minutes, listening to the city in silence, before I spoke again.

            “Wanna go back to bed?”

            He nodded, so I led him inside towards my (was it ours now?) bedroom. I opened the door, but didn't bother to turn on the lights as I steered him towards the bed, careful not to trip over his blanket. He dropped it, climbing onto the mattress, and I followed suit. He was facing me when his brow furrowed, like he was thinking too hard. I brushed a stray piece of hair out of his face and asked him what was wrong.

            “Can you – can you hold me?” His eyes glanced nervously to mine, voice low and unsure. “It's just, he never did, and it usually, it helps with my… nightmares.” He sucked in a breath, looking away.

            “Of course. Come ‘ere.” I opened my arms and he flipped over, glimpsing at me one more time to make sure that it was okay. I nodded and he scooted back, relaxing against me. I pulled the comforter over both of us and then tangled our fingers together on his stomach.

            “I'm scared,” he admitted quietly.

            “It's okay,” I murmured, squeezing his hands. “Just try to get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up.”

**

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