Kurt was sitting at the kitchen table on a Tuesday night when it happened. He had been eating dinner, like normal, when his sleeve had ridden up and exposed his secret. All along his wrist were thin, pink scars. Some had healed, some were new. He pulled his sleeve down again, but not before noticing the horrified look in his father's eyes.

His secret was out.

His dad had dropped his fork on his plate, the loud clink knocking him out of his daze long enough to make sense of what had just happened. He had hid it for a year now and in a few seconds all of the long sleeves and excuses not to show skin during the hot summers were useless. He was exposed and without explanation.

"Dad, I can explain," was all he could choke out before his father reached across the table and roughly took his arm, pushing the itchy sweater fabric out of the way. His father's eyes widened when he saw how many Kurt had. Kurt flinched when his dad took his other arm and repeated the same action, his arm aching from newly scarred skin.

"Kurt."

His dad got out of his chair and walked over to his son. His son who had always come in with a smile on his face, and spent his nights singing show tunes in his room. Kurt had fooled him, like everyone else. Burt took his son in his arms; he felt fragile and broken now. Sobs racked the tiny boy's frame, and Burt felt useless.

He had protected his son from spiders to scraped knees. However, he couldn't protect Kurt from destroying himself.

Kurt felt beyond guilty for hurting his father. The man had given him everything, and no matter how many sweaters he bought or how many games of Yatzee they played he couldn't stop himself from picking up the razor. He'd tried, many times. Each time though, he sat at the tub, leaning his head against the cold porcelien and drowning in his own self loathe. It was a process he repeated more often these days.

It was familiar.

Which was why his father suggested he go to a support group he was so stubborn towards the idea.

"No! They'll think I'm a freak." Kurt stood up from his chair, becoming hysterical. Across from him Carole and Burt sat, with that look that meant "What we say goes."

"Kurt, I'm not going to sit around and watch you hate yourself." His dad went over to him and put his strong hands on his shoulders.

"You can't fix me! Don't you get it? I'm broken. I hate myself. I spend every night thinking about how much better people would be without me. Nobody can fix me."

His dad turned, slamming his fist on the table. "You're my son. What I say, goes."

"Dad!"

"I mean it. Your first meeting is at seven tomorrow night. That's final."

Kurt stormed up to his room, slamming the door behind him and falling onto his bed. He fell asleep feeling his joints ache with the thought of what was to come.

Kurt sat in his father's truck. The engine filling up an empty silence between them. He knew his dad was trying to help him, but he wasn't something you could fix with therepy or pills. He was a ball of insecurites. Insecurites that he was targeted for every day of highschool.

Eventually he was standing in front of a unfamiliar building, waving to his father and facing something he wasn't prepared for. Inside there were a bunch of teenagers just as screwed up as he was.

Great idea, dad.

He took a deep breath before pushing the door open. After walking through a glass hallway he was greeted by a receptionist who was entirely too perky to be working for a mental health facility. She took his name and handed him a name tag, wishing him luck. He mumbled a thanks before walking down the hallway to the door at the very end, as the woman had instructed. When he walked in ten chairs were in a circle. In each was a dejected looking teenager who like him, would probably rather be anywhere else but in a room of cutters and bingers like themselves.

"Glad to see someone joining us. Welcome." A guy, who looked to be in his mid thirties, walked up to him and shook his hand.

"I'm Gavin, the group leader. We were about to do introduction, so you're right on time."

Kurt nodded, taking a seat and keeping his eyes on the ground.

"So, I thought we would get to know each other. The last group graduated and we're still a little new to this. So why don't we get started?"

There were muffled agreements, but Kurt kept his eyes locked to the dirty carpet.

He heard a girl named Delia who had an eating disorder, Elijah, who gotten caught using steroids by his coach and was forced to do this, and a few others. It wasn't until Kurt heard a voice like velvet speak up quietly from the group. His head snapped up and he met a pair of hazel eyes that belonged to the speaker.

"I'm Blaine Anderson. I'm a junior and I am here because I cut."

The boy was beautiful. His hair was curly and soft looking, his eyes were intricate patters of green and brown, and his skin was olive toned. He wore jeans that didn't meet his naked ankles or saddle shoes, and a dark purple v-neck. Kurt couldn't help but stare.

Until the eyes flickered up to his again.

Kurt glanced down again, feeling a heat creep to his face and pigment his pale skin. His palms were sweaty and he all of a sudden had butterflies in his stomach. When it got to him he spoke to the ground.

"I'm Kurt Hummel. I'm a junior and I'm also here because I cut."

The group gave him his welcome and Kurt chanced a glance upward. His eyes once again met Blaine's. He turned the name over and over in his head. It was unusual but it fit this boy well.

"Tonight we will be doing an activity. You will pair up with someone and talk about why you're here. You can choose whoever you like and I will be coming around to listen. We're going to be spending a long time together, so we might as well know a thing or two about each other."

Kurt's heart sped up at the idea of partners. People were already pairing up, and he stood looking around for someone who would maybe pity him enough to be with him. He was turned around when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. When he turned around there Blaine was, standing with a shy smile and a question on his lips.

"Can we work together?"

Kurt nodded, trying to remember how to speak. He settled for a hum of agreement before finding a secluded corner. They both sat down, intreverting into themselves. It was like looking into a mirror. Blaine's eyes glazed over with a familiar glisten, he crossed his arms and legs, curling into himself like Kurt did many times before.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Kurt tries, feeling uncomfortable looking at what his parents must have been looking at for so many months.

"Say why we're here, and tell our stories." Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Our stories?"

"Yeah. We've all got stories."