Page 184 of Hurt

“You know, this never felt like home to me,” Willow said quietly. “It was just the place I lived.”

“Mom didn’t exactly make it easy for you.”

Willow stuffed her hands in her pockets, shrugging. “She didn’t make it easy for anyone.”

His mom was the one scab Kurt had yet to pick. He had left it, hoping it would go away on its own. But like any infected wound, the longer you let it fester, the worse it became. Growing until it was systemic, entwined so far into his body, he could no longer treat it. He wasn’t ready to face the complicated emotions his mother brought with her. He wanted to hate her. Hated what she did to him. Why wasn’t he enough for her? Why couldn’t she have just loved him? Was he so unlovable?

But even as the hate built up, it couldn’t quite spill over. He couldn’t quite hate her. Couldn’t snuff out the flicker of love he felt for her. Perhaps if he could extinguish it, push it aside completely, she would lose the hold she had on him. Even as he lived under her ire, there was always a part of him that thought they would have time—time to fix themselves. That one day, she would wake up full of remorse, her heart heavy and eyes opened. It would take time, but Kurt would have forgiven her. Let her into his life.

Death changed that. It snatched his family from the timeline he had built, shattered his plans, and left him holding the useless pieces.

He was bitter about it. Angry even. In his darkest moments, he would let himself feel the pity and hate, drown in it until he could taste it on his tongue. It poisoned his thoughts and words, clouding his vision so that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.

They say hindsight is 20/20. That you need some distance to get the right perspective. Now, as Kurt looked at Willow, he knew that was true. Bright afternoon light spilled over her, turning the fringes of her hair into molten fire and eyelashes into golden filaments.

Kurt didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife—he could barely handle this life, let alone another one—but he knew if there was some greater purpose in life, it knew what it was doing. Life or fate or whatever it was, had hit him pretty hard. Lying flat on his back, trying to catch his breath and somehow find the strength to get up, he would see a hand. Willow was always there to pull him back up. When he didn’t deserve it and when he didn’t want it. It didn’t matter. Willow was there.

She was there when Kurt’s father had brushed him off because the aria wasn’t coming together, and it was more important than his only son’s feelings. She was there when his mother cut him down. She was there when Kurt first discovered he didn’t like girls, and he didn’t know what to do.

And she was there when Kurt was bleeding out, hands outstretched to keep him tethered to this life.

Always reaching for him. Even when he smacked her hands away, even when he begged her not to, her hand was outstretched and waiting.

Life had given him a raw deal. But it had also given him Willow.

“Why?” Kurt hadn’t meant to speak, and his cracked voice in the silent room surprised him.

Willow turned to look at him. “Why what?”

“Why did you stay with me?”

His sister turned to face him. For a long moment, she stared at Kurt. Trying to read the expression on a face that wasn’t used to showing expression.

Finally, she smiled thinly.

“You know, I never considered this place home. To me, it was just a house. A place to live.” She cocked her head, his long ponytail drifting off a shoulder. “But you? Kurt, you have always been my home.”

Kurt couldn’t swallow past the knot in his throat. He couldn’t speak. His feelings were in a jumble, and he couldn’t pick them apart.

“You’ve always assumed that relationships are one-sided,” Willow said as she stepped up to Kurt. She gently chucked Kurt under the chin, smile crooked and gray eyes soft.

“Have you ever considered what you’ve done for me? Your parents took in an orphan, but you gave that kid a brother. Someone who always had my back, someone who always called me out on my bullshit, and the one guy in the world I could count on no matter what.”

Kurt shuffled his feet and looked out toward the lake. He couldn’t look at Willow right now, or he’d probably do something stupid. Like cry.

“Hey,” Willow pinched his chin and dragged his eyes to hers, “you’re my little brother, and I love you.”

He clenched his jaw and shook off Willow’s hand. “Ugh…gross…” he mumbled thickly.

Willow didn’t push it, slinging an arm over Kurt’s neck and dragging him around the house. She stopped every few feet to bring up some memory Kurt had forgotten. Like the time they decided they could jump off the roof with plastic grocery bags as parachutes. Willow had broken her leg, and Kurt had taken the blame. Or the marks in the doorjamb where they started comparing heights, and over summer, Kurt shot up above Willow. He never let her live it down.

They ended up back in the kitchen, Willow insisting on their shoulders touching. Staring out over the lake, Kurt watched as the sunlight sparkled off the small ripples.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long moment.

Willow bumped their hips together. “I told you to never apologize for surviving.”

“I’m…I’m not. I’m apologizing for not realizing how much you mean to me.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. The sun was warm on his face, and he could almost hear the water lapping against the dock. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, he would be able to smell his sister's cooking.