Page 142 of Hurt

The skin around it was swollen, but the ring remained. Covered in drying blood, but he could still see the purple shining through. It called to him. A silent summons.

He imagined the sparks of power that enveloped his hand. He knew that. But he could feel it. It gave him the strength to lift his head and swallow past his inflamed throat.

Just beyond his leg was a twisted wire: A guitar string.

Ezra had thought it was hilarious. He had produced the coiled wire and laughed at the irony as he wrapped it around Kurt’s neck. Blood poured from the wound as the wire dug into the soft flesh of his neck, burbling out in waves as his heart began to beat harder at the lack of oxygen.

Kurt reached for the wire, but pain flared up his leg. A soft raspy choke came from his battered lips. The only sound his vocal cords were capable of making.

His right leg was broken. He knew that the moment the lead pipe came down just below his knee. The pain had been bad, but it was worse now that his leg had stiffened.

Reaching for his leg, he gingerly felt along the stiff fabric of his jeans. His fingers encountered an obvious deformity, and he hissed when he touched it. Breathing as deeply as he could, he prepared himself for the pain, and he reached for the wire again. His fingers shook, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes as his body protested the move. Falling onto his side, he experienced another ripple of pain before his fingertips touched the rough wire. Brushing the wire closer, he palmed it and clenched his battered fingers.

Ezra had taken his threat of tying Kurt to his bed literally. A hefty rope attached to a leather collar padlocked around his neck connected him to the bed. It was wrapped around the closest leg.

The bed was artfully crafted to look intimidating. Dark wood was carved to look like the wings of a phoenix, twisted and cruel as its fiery wings extended toward the sky.

Unfortunately, it was also very well made.

Kurt had already tugged at the rope several times. Even if he had all his strength, he wouldn’t be able to bust it loose.

He threaded the wire through the loop of rope tying him to the bed frame. Steeling himself against the pain, he wrapped the two ends of the wire around his hands and leaned against it.

Kurt had tried to die so many times that the irony of trying to save himself now wasn’t lost. He would have laughed if he could. In the weeks he spent with Grant, he had found the will to live. Stronger than any desire to die, it took hold of him and demanded he try. It screamed at him to get up

Wipe the blood from your mouth. Bare your teeth. Fight.

Live.

So, Kurt bared his teeth. He snarled with the last vestiges of his energy and began working the wire against the thick strands of rope. The metal cut into his hand with a sharp sting, but he closed his fingers and kept sawing back and forth.

Live.

Kurt wasn’t beautifully broken. He wasn’t an inspiration or a caterpillar going through a metamorphosis. He wasn’t broken just so he could heal straight. He was just broken.

And you can’t break what’s already broken.

His mother had wanted a musician. But she raised a survivor.

Because the one thing Kurt was good at was staying alive.

Willow woke with a start. Damp dirt filled her mouth, and she gagged at the taste. Spitting, she blinked into the darkness and waited for her eyes to adjust. Her shoulder ached. Just about everything ached. The air was humid, and the wet clung to her skin. She tried to push herself up, but her right arm gave out and sent her crashing back to the wet dirt.

The plastic cuffs dangled off her wrist. They must have broken in the fall.

A numbness crept down her limb, and she touched her shoulder where the ache originated. It felt strange. She turned her head, but she couldn’t see anything in the blackness. Rolling over onto her back helped her breathing. Touching the shoulder, she couldn’t feel any obvious injuries. It hurt and felt…wrong. Like her arm wasn’t attached properly.

Tentatively she lifted her bad arm straight up into the darkness. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. There was a pinprick of light above her. A perfect circle that she could block out with just her thumb.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and then held it.

With a jerk, she punched her right arm straight up. There was an audible pop as the shoulder slid back into place. The pop echoed around the stone pit, quickly overshadowed by her scream of pain.

Hyperventilating, she closed her eyes and watched lights sparkle across the closed lids. The only light to be found in the Void.

As she breathed, the humid air mixed with the horrible stench of decay clogged her nose. Even breathing through her mouth didn’t help. The scent was so strong it permeated her pallet.

Her breathing regulated, and her heart rate slowed. Wiggling her fingers and toes, she found she was sore but largely unscathed. Even popping her shoulder back in had helped. There was a rush of blood flow to her fingers, and the tingling was gone. A slightly less painful ache remained, no longer throbbing with each heartbeat.