"Dave, Dave. Please, no. Stop. I don't want- Stop it, I beg you! Get off of me, please!" He yells in a high pitched voice as Dave lays on top of him, kissing his neck. He thrashes around under the weight but Dave doesn't budge. He's a lot bigger and heavier than Kurt and Kurt can't move. He's stuck, trying feebly to escape him.

He's dated Dave for a year, knows he can be a bit abusive, start yelling. He's slapped Kurt on various occasions, called him derogatory names, but Kurt can't get out. It's an endless vicious cycle. He's grown used to it. He hides the bruises on his back and his arms with clothing, and he had really liked Dave at first. It was really nice at first, the kisses and the embraces. But this time...

It felt cold and harsh and Kurt really didn't like and he just wanted- he wanted to get away. This was really scary and Dave was seemingly going farther than usual. He moved, he was afraid. Here he was begging Dave to stop and he wasn't stopping, he was going further.

He felt a hand descend below his waist and he shivered, jumped at the touch, trying desperately to get out of his grasp, to no avail. He was trapped, feeling warm breath on his ear as a hand traveled into his pants, his boxer briefs, and wrapped around him. He moved, thrashing and flailing to get away. This was too much. Much too much. He tried to scream but Karofsky stuck his tongue into his mouth and all but forced it down his throat. He held Kurt's face and interrupted his pleading.

"Karofsky, plea-Stop it-Dave, this is too much. I don't want this. This is too much." Dave pulled away, and Kurt thought for a moment that he might actually relent, but then he growled into Kurt's ear.

"Of course you want this, you dirty slut. You want my cock in your mouth and you want it inside you, ripping you apart. You want to take me raw, feel me come inside you. You want to sqeal with pleasure and let those beautiful moans fill the room. You want to swivel your tongue over the head of my cock. you little whore. Now, stop moving so much, bitch. " but Kurt didn't stop moving, in fact, he had a resolve to move more than he ever had before, but Karofsky's hand was still wrapped around him, and moving around made it seem somewhat like he really did want it.

Karofsky held down Kurt's arms, that tried to push against his chest, and threw himself back onto Kurt so that he would either have broken arms from the force being put on them in a bad position or he would put them down and stop struggling. He pulled Kurt's hair to get his head back on the pillow instead of moving around, and used the other hand to take off Kurt's pants.

Now the whines came in, and where they were supposed to sound needy, they sounded strangled. Kurt was crying, tears running down his face and in his desperation yelling for Dave to stop, but silenced by his firm hand.

In the next moment Dave ripped off the boys shirt and then jammed his cock into the boy's mouth, holding him down with the strength of his lower body and thrusting into his mouth. Kurt made a sound of gagging and he couldn't breathe but he couldn't do anything. He was choking on it. Dave just thrusted harder.

"Look at you, choking on my cock, you little whore. Bet you love it, the weight of it in your mouth. God, you want me so much, I know it. You want to take me now. So hard. I'll ravage you."

In one violent motion Dave took Kurt by the hair and threw him, face down on the bed. He took his long, thin, pale legs and split them open, leaving his hole completely exposed.

No preparation, no lube, no condom. All he does is push his hard, nine inch dick inside of Kurt. Kurt cries out in pain, a ripping feeling, a feeling of being destroyed and ripped apart. Fire engulfs him, and he's trying to get away so much, but he can't. He's trapped and being ripped apart and losing his virginity. He has to face the fact..that he's being raped.

His wrists are held so tightly by Karofksy as he thrusts into him. The pain is so severe that he wants to die. It's not pleasureable. When the thrusts become smoother and less rough, Kurt wonders what's making them that way, before he realises that it's his blood. The thought does something to Kurt's stomach and makes it drop one thousand feet. His tears are streaming down his face and he can't breathe, his face being pushed into the pillow where he can't get much oxygen.

He feels Karofsky writhe on top of him and then come inside of him, filling him with a digusting, staining white substance. He is disgusted with himself. He moves, a final attempt, albeit a desperate one. He moves his entire body, but Karofsky crushes him, along with all his hope of fleeing, again.

Karofsky's finger dig into Kurt's hips and the soft smooth flesh will have eternal fingerprints there. He finally moves out of Kurt and licks up his neck and then his cheek. And maybe it's supposed to be sexy, but it's horrifying. Kurt shivers and he never once ellicits a moan. One time he manages a scream. A small one, that no one would be able to hear.

Blood runs down Kurt's inner thighs and some drops make their way to his knees. Dave bites his neck and bits it hard, breaking the skin just so slightly. So that the cuts will scar in the form of a bite. So that he will be his. Forever.

He doesn't relent. He fucks Kurt harder, harder. Eventually Kurt gives up and just lays there limp, unable to do anything. This goes on for how long? An hour? Two?

All Kurt knows is that he's trembling a lot more than is healthy and he can barely walk. Karofsky throws him off the bed and he lands, hits the floor hard, head smacking against the wood. He'd cry out in pain usually, but he's had far worse. He collects his clothes and gets changed as fast as he can, leaving his shirt askew and his hair tussled. He takes special care with the pants, though, just because them being carefully zipped and buttoned makes him feel like maybe, just maybe some part of him is still his.

He walks out, eyes wide but he can't exactly calm down. He can't even attempt speech, and he's trembling so much he can make it through a single step. His pants are positively soaked. In crimson, in red, in blood. He still feels Dave's cum inside of him. He feels phantom hands on his waist and his wrists and his neck and an absent tugging of his hair. He feels hickies on his neck and wet blood. He feels nail marks and cuts and bite marks on the inside of his thighs.

When he gets home he sprints up the stairs before anyone can see him. He could not be more thankful that it is late at night and the lights are out. He gets into the shower, trying to wash the feeling of blood and hands and saliva and Karofsky off of him. He nearly scrubs his skin raw, but thinks better of it. His throat is sore, and he can't guarantee how his voice will sound tomorrow, because tomorrow's Monday. A school day. He washes until the hot water runs out and then he puts on a robe, careful to put a towel down on his bed before he gets in it. He is still bleeding so much. He has no idea how to stop it from flowing.

He almost doesn't get any sleep at all. He trembles and shakes and cannot stay still. He is tossing and turning and shivers. The night's event haunt him. He is thankful for the few minutes in which he does sleep, although it is not peaceful, because he dreams of hands. Hands grabbing, hands roaming, hands hitting, hands pushing. He knows they are Karofsky's hands. If he didn't know them by now..

He jumps ten feet in the air when his alarm clock goes off. The sudden shrieking reminds him a lot of his own screams that no one heard. He gets out of bed and sees very clearly the blood-soaked towel. He doesn't know how he'll keep a hold on that, but there must be some way. The bleeding has calmed a bit, less violent and in smaller amounts, so maybe it won't be too bad.

He brushes his hair and applies his make up to cover the hickies and the angry red marks on his face from the slaps and the bites. He wears really long sleeves so no one sees the bruises on his wrists. He wears jeans and he hopes that he looks convincing enough. He hopes that no one notices his ripped up and swollen lips. He throws on his scarf, his jacket. The temperature in his room drops twenty degrees now that he's really thinking about everything. He tells his mind to shut up, but it doesn't listen.

He skips breakfast because he can't take any food. He says goodbye to his dad too fast and hopes too much that his dad didn't notice the raspiness it has taken on ever since Karofsky shoved his cock into Kurt's mouth and slammed it against his throat. He hopes that his father hasn't noticed the odd way he walks as he tries to defy the pain that rips through his body, his spine whenever he takes a step.

He is jittery and clammy and he walks faster than necessary, ignoring the fiery pain that strikes him as he does so. He has his reasons. More than his fair share of them, and Karofsky goes here. He trembles when he opens his locker and he looks around before he shuts it, cautious of anyone wearing a football jacket.

A boy on the other side of the hall takes notice of his actions. He has black, curly hair and he's wearing a sweater and jeans. He finds Kurt's behavior strange, of course.

Karofsky goes down the hall and winks at Kurt. Kurt gives a horrifying shake and runs, sprints to the bathroom and he drops his bag on the ground. The curly-haired boy runs after him and picks up his bag. When he walks into the boy's bathroom he hears wretching sounds. Kurt is throwing up violently. The whole time Blaine just leans against the wall, cringing at the sounds of pain that accompany the wretching sounds.

Kurt throws up everything in his stomach, but he feels no better afterward. His blood vessels break and he looks at himself in the mirror. He looks like hell.

Blaine walks up to him, slowly, because he doesn't want to alarm the clearly nervous boy.

"Here." He offers the bag up to him. "You dropped it." Kurt takes it into his hand. He nods his head but he can't get the words to come out. He was able to greet his father this morning, although it had been difficult, but now the words weren't coming. He tried for a moment, eyes widening at the fact that he couldn't really speak. He moved his mouth and actually put forth the effort needed to speak, but nothing. No sounds. He looked up hopelessly at the boy. He tried mouthing "What is your name?"

The unfamiliar looking boy seemed to get it. "Oh, my name is Blaine." Kurt nodded. "Thank you." he mouthed.

"No problem. Are you okay? Are you feeling alright?" Kurt looked down, and shook his head. No, he felt like he had been ripped apart and he was sore and so violated and upset and broken. He shook his head faster no, so fast that the floor and his shoes blurred. The tears flew out of his eyes, having pooled before. Blaine grabbed his shoulders.

"Hey, it's okay." he says softly pulling Kurt into an embrace. Kurt's eyes fly open fast but this boy feels safe, nothing like- No, better not to think his name at all. Kurt cries into this stranger's chest, and it's probably one of the worst things he could do but he's not thinking right now. "It's okay. You're alright. No one's going to hurt you." Eventually, Kurt snaps out of it. He pulls away. His voice still isn't working but he mouths the words; I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Blaine understands again but he looks a bit distraught. Kurt picks up his bag and runs. Blaine grabs his wrist, digging into the bruises unintentionally, but it still hurts and Kurt hisses and pulls away. Blaine stops, suspicious, and gently takes Kurt's hand. Kurt should swat at his hand, smack it down, but for some reason, and he's probably foolish for it, he trusts Blaine.

Blaine rolls up the sleeve and gasps. The wide bruises, shaped like hands on his wrists, revealed. The make up must have gotten rubbed off when Blaine gripped his wrist the first time and he pulled away.

Kurt stares at his wrists for a few minutes, before his stomach is turning again and he throws up. Blaine follows him into the stall, and pats his back, brushes his hair out of his face.

Blaine takes a tissue and wipes Kurt's mouth with it.

"Look, I don't know your name, and it seems like you can't tell me, but if you need anything, anything at all, just get me, okay? I don't know what's made you so upset, but I'm more than willing to help you." He scrawls his name and number on a scrap of paper and leaves it on the floor beside Kurt, and then he's gone.

Kurt isn't sure why he's decided to go to Glee Club today. He also isn't sure why he seems to have forgotten that Glee Club not only requires talking, but singing.

He knows he must look horrible, and he's probably stretched out his sweater after all the tugging he has been doing on the sleeves to make sure no one sees the bruises.

Kurt takes a seat beside Mercedes, but he's too freaked out to notic. Mr. Schuester starts his rant on the week's assignment. The only words he hears are "pain" and "partners". Not good. This means he has to talk to people, sing. But when he looks over, Blaine smiles at him and Kurt sighs in relief. He walks over to Blaine and he smiles, just a bit. When did Blaine join Glee Club? But it doesn't matter that much. Blaine will understand that he can't really talk right now. He won't make him.

He sits next to Blaine and waves. "Hi." he mouths.

"Why, hello. Mercedes tells me your name is Kurt. " He leans in, and whispers in Kurt's ear. "It's okay. I won't talk about what happened. I've got your back, and I won't make you talk..to anyone, if you don't want to." He leans back. "So, any song ideas?"

They jot down a list of good songs. Mr. Schue calls out halfway through the planning time. "Look, guys.I've decided to allow you to use cuss words if they are in your song for this week only. Sometimes they really help to convey pain. Alright, go back to planning. " Santana beamed, as did Puck. Quinn rolled her eyes.

A thought ocurred to Kurt. He wrote down a song title quickly. Blaine read the newly added song and smiled.

"That's a great choice, Kurt." He hummed it under his breath for a moment. Suddenly he looked up, looking worried. "Kurt, will you be able to sing?" Kurt's eyes widened. He didn't know. "Try to sing a few lines of something." He said encouraging, trading his worried eyes for calm ones. Kurt took a deep breath.

" Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop...but I'll tell you that I've noticed something weird. Lately all her neighbors' cats have dissapeared..." He tried in a quiet voice and a fairly good British accent. Blaine gave a smile. Now if only words came so easy.

"That sounded quite nice. I'm a fan of that song myself. Do you find it easier to sing?" Kurt gave a short nod. "I understand. I understand completely."