A/N: Title credit, and lyrics from Pretty Buildings by People In Planes. Recommended listening: Sweet Dreams by Emily Browning.

Ever since Kurt was little, he's had this… friend. No one else could see him, or hear him like he did. Kurt couldn't tell them he was the reason for all the bruises and cuts and starvation and hurting everyone around him. Kurt wasn't in control of his body, or his mind. Blaine was; he was always there, never resting, always eager to pounce and sink his claws into Kurt further.

Tuesday night. The clock ticks slowly, dragging each minute. Kurt doesn't know what he's waiting for. Tonight has been quiet, and Blaine's been scarily silent. It can all come crashing down in a heartbeat. The peace will break, and Blaine will return. He always does. Kurt scared to move, scared to blink. Anything can set him off, anger him to the point of mutilation. Kurt looks at his scarred arms, the ugly puckered skin making letters, making words. Hidden people scream this from his mind, tearing and scratching at his brain. Kurt feels as if he will explode; all the voices and shadows and secrets and pain are too much. Probing fingers claw his belly open, his insides spilling out. The pain is agony. Kurt blinks, and looks down. Fully intact, and pain free. He wanders to the bathroom, ready to spill the contents of his stomach, and show the word how weak he is.

Weak. That's all you are. All you ever will be. It's pathetic. So come on fat boy, shove that finger down your throat, and let your secrets show. You can't hide it from me, I control you, and I own you.

Blaine's sinister voice echoed around Kurt's head, and he saw a dark shadow move in the corner of his eye. Kurt looked into the mirror. In the reflection, hollow eyes filled with maggots and bloody teeth fill his mouth. Disgust and horror grips him, he tries to scream but nothing escapes. Slimy darkness wraps around his throat, choking him.

I told you to vomit fatty, and you do what I say.

Kurt is released, and he doubles over gasping for breath. He stands up tentatively, afraid to open his eyes. He finally looks into the mirror once more, and sees no Blaine, no maggots, no blood. It's best to do as Blaine says, so Kurt makes his way over to the toilet, a once innocent appliance, now terrifying to Kurt. He sticks his finger down his throat, the bile and food spilling out.

Tsk, tsk. That's a lot of food Kurtie. I think you can't eat tomorrow, you're ugly enough. Don't be so sad, I'm trying to help!

A menacing cackle boomed, and Kurt felt his face being shoved inside the toilet. Vomit, and toilet water entered his mouth and nose, and he choked and screamed trying to get out. He was pulled back, his hair slick and smelly. Kurt's body walked involuntarily to his room, and he undressed slowly.

You know, I'm quite sick of you. All you do is whine, whine, whine. Can I please just make you kill yourself and get all this done with? Oh wait, I can.

Kurt felt his hand grab a razor Blaine always kept handy, his hands were shaky from trying to fight him. In his struggle, Kurt realized something. He was better off dead. Once he was dead he wouldn't have to worry about starving himself to avoid being cut, he wouldn't have to be scared. Kurt gave in, letting Blaine rake the razor up and down his arms and legs. Carving words, and shapes into his stomach. There would be an ocean of blood by morning. His breaths became shallower, and Blaine grew stronger.

I win Kurt, I always do.

With one last sigh, Kurt was dead. Blood soaked his sheets, and bruises covered his body. In his eternal sleep, Kurt was everything he wanted to be; happy.

Morning came and I was dead
Before I left for school
We paint the smiles onto our heads
But keep away from the animals