Page 23 of Hurt

Kurt’s eyes opened, and for the briefest of moments, that mask was gone. The indifference he used as a shield lowered, and Willow saw something that made her stomach roil in nausea.

“…I can’t,” Kurt mumbled.

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t let him have you, Willow,” Kurt said suddenly, in a rush. “Don’t you understand how dangerous that was? The Weavers and the Vegas almost started a war, and you were right in the middle.”

As he spoke, he seemed to find himself. The trembling stopped, and he jerked back away from Willow. He put physical distance between them.

Anger bubbled up inside Willow. “No. No, you don’t get to gloss over that. Kurt, you said ‘him.’ Who is him? Who are you so afraid of?”

“Them!” He pointed at the door toward the bar. “And everything they do. They won’t hesitate to use you for whatever selfish gains they want. They’ll find your weakness and hold it over you until you don’t have a choice but to give them everything they want.”

Willow stared at her brother. The anger was gone. All that was left was confusion. “What…you’re talking about it like it’s personal.”

The siblings stared at each other. Willow felt like she was standing over the chasm that grew between them—there was an empty black void beneath her. It was horrifying. But it was where the answers were, where she might find the reason for the change in her brother.

Kurt looked like he was on the precipice of shutting down again. Of retreating behind his iron stubbornness.

Desperately, Willow reached out. “Kurt, I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“I don’t want your help,” he snapped. “I want you safe. I want you as far away from them as possible.”

“Then come with me,” Willow said firmly. “Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ll go back home or anywhere else.”

Kurt looked shocked. Like he couldn’t process just what Willow was saying. He took a deep breath and looked away from Willow’s eager gray eyes.

“I’ve dug my own grave, Willow.” He smiled thinly. “And I can’t run from it. But I can avoid taking you with me.”

Willow hated what he was saying. Hated it so much she wanted to scream. “Is that why you sent Noah away?”

Kurt didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.

Willow wanted to shake him. Demand that he tell her everything—what was he so afraid of that he kept trying to send the people who love him most away? Why won’t he let her help?

She knew she wouldn’t get any answers, so she left. The bar was quiet—apparently, Molly’s threats were enough to scatter any looky-loos. Which was just as well. All she wanted was a stiff drink.

Kurt watched the door slam shut and fell to the futon. Dropping his head in his hands, he let himself wallow in the disgust he felt. The disgust for what had happened in the bar and for what he was doing.

He was hurting his sister. He knew he was.

Every time he saw that stricken expression in Willow’s eyes, he wanted to hit himself. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Pushing Willow away felt like lemon juice in a papercut. She was the only person Kurt wanted to confide in. To trust. She had been his constant companion since they were kids. The one person who had always been on his side.

Sending Noah away was the hardest thing he had ever done. The last piece of his sister. He looked so much like her when he was young. He even sang like her. Soft like Hazel, too, an empathy that was uniquely hers. His father’s temper would erupt though at times, but it was always followed by tears. Kurt loved that kid. Even as a dumb teenager reeling from the loss of his entire family, he knew he would cling to that kid.

Sometimes, after he had spent hours getting his ass kicked in the fights, he would come home and just watch the kid sleep. His tiny chest rising and falling, fists clenched on a blanket, and hair tousled all over. Kurt would want to reach for him. Hug him close. But he couldn’t because his hands were mangled and covered in blood. Touching Noah would ruin him.

Everything Kurt touched was ruined, but he was determined to give that kid a life. Selfishly, he wanted him by his side.

Until the night Ezra found him. After that first time, before the bruises faded and he could walk right, he had called Luther and had him get Noah. The nine-year-old had been livid. Fists slamming into Kurt as he demanded to know why. Willow was hurt, too, glaring at Kurt without understanding.

They didn’t know. They didn’t know that he was filthy and ruined. Paying for the sins he committed before he was even born. Paying for sins with more sins until they would bury him in that grave he already dug.

Despite what he said, despite what he knows is best, he can’t bear to lose Willow too. Sometimes just hearing her singing under her breath while she makes coffee in the next room or listening to her practicing violin under the stars is the only thing that can calm Kurt. He would close his eyes and picture his sister's face, and it would soothe him. He knew if he told Willow, she would drop everything and help him. But doing that would put her in the line of fire.

He came too close tonight.

If Kurt had to make Willow hate him to keep her safe, then he would.