[center]
[img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjExNi44NzU1YjkuUzNWeWRDQk5iM0psZEhScC4wAAAAAA,,/gallaudet.regular.png[/img]

[b][color=#946aba]17/ Male/ Punk[/color][/b]
[color=#946aba][b]Location:[/b][/color][color=#d4d0d8] Arriving at school[/color]
[color=#946aba][b]Tags:[/b][/color][color=#d4d0d8] Open[/color][/center]

Beepbeep beepbeep beepbeep... Kurt cracked his eyes open, a gravely groan leaving his throat. He reached out and fumbled blindly for the snooze button on his phone, then immediately went back to sleep. It wasn't any better five minutes later.

This time, he slowly hauled himself out of bed. Kurt's room, the same one he'd been given when he was moved into this way-to-big house, was almost pitch black. His blackout curtains blocked any shed of daylight outside, and he didn't plan on opening them any time soon. He clicked on his lamp so that he could see and began to gather up the semblance of a wardrobe. It was probably time to do laundry. His favorite hoodie was sitting in the bottom of his dirty clothes hamper, along with most everything else he deemed worthy of wearing. The only things left were his last resort clothes: mostly things with his dad's band logo on it. He avoided wearing these for obvious reasons. Spite, mostly. 

He dug into his shirt drawer and pulled out a crisply folded shirt. Kurt was shockingly neat for a teenage boy, almost obsessively so. The shirt was white with the light purple logo of his dad's band on the front. Kurt grimaced at the skeleton face, as it grimaced right back. He then pulled out his last pair of clean pants, a pair of jeans, black of course. They had frayed slits from the knee down, and he'd been told by multiple teachers not to wear clothes in holes in them to school. Honestly, it just went in one ear and out the other. When they start buying him clothes, then they could dictate what he could and couldn't wear. 

Kurt set his day's outfit on his dresser for later, then shambled into the bathroom to take a quick shower and brush his teeth. He tossed his flannel pajama pants into the dirt clothes hamper, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His ribs protruded a bit too much, and his joints has become a bit too knobby. He knew it wasn't healthy, but what was he supposed to do? Go see a doctor? 

Honestly, most of Kurt's problems could be solved by going to a Certified Adult™, but he was too scared of the possibility of being shipped off to a boy's home if he did. Trade in being forgotten about for the possibility of being actively abused? No thanks. 

Kurt turned the shower on and stepped in, the hot water hitting his face waking him up a bit more. He didn't take long. Soon he was back out and towel drying his hair. He was sure that helped with it's general unruliness, but he'd discovered long ago that his curls were a force to be reckoned with regardless. He ran a comb through his dark brown mop, then brushed his teeth, got dressed, and headed to the kitchen to see what he could pull together.

The money fairy hadn't visited in a while. It had been over two months since his father had sent money. Kurt was down to his last 5 bucks. What would happen when he ran out? He'd cross that bridge when he came to it, he guessed. Kurt reached up and opened one of the cabinets to pull out a massive keg of nutrition drink powder. This stuff was pretty vile, but it was cheap and it was just about the only protein he got in his diet. He unscrewed the lid to find that he was down to his last scoop. Kurt sighed and rested his head against the wood of the cabinet in frustration for a second. 

Finally, he got a cup and dumped the last of the powder in and mixed it with water. Kurt thought that using water made this stuff even less palatable, but he'd long since ran out of milk. He plopped down at the kitchen table and pulled out his phone as he sipped. He'd text his dad again, on the off chance that he hadn't changed his phone number and forgotten about his son for good. 


[center][b]Contact: Paul[/b][/center]
[center][b]Kurt: [/b]Moneys running low
[i]Sent 8/20/2018[/i]

[b]Kurt: [/b]Down to the last 15 dollars. Send more money
[i]Sent 8/29/2018[/i]

[b]Kurt: [/b]Only have 8 dollars left. I need money
[i]Sent 9/3/2018[/i]

[b]Kurt:[/b] Send more money
[b]Kurt: [/b]Please
[i]Send today at 6:12 AM[/i][/center]

Kurt had low hopes that he would respond. He couldn't help but wonder what he'd possibly done to tick the guy off. He hadn't even spoken to his father formally in over a year. The occasional text to remind him to pay the utilities or to send money was about it. And now he'd stopped doing[i] that[/i]. What would he do if the lights got shut off? Or the house was repossessed? The thought made the chalky faux chocolate drink he'd just finished sit ill in his stomach. He pushed it from his head as he stood and took his glass to the sink. Maybe he'd respond this time. 

Kurt made his way to the front door. Before he left, he slipped his feet into his favorite black boots and shrugged on his leather jacket. He grabbed his beat up old back pack (black, of course) and slung it over one shoulder. He shut and locked the door behind him and headed on his way up the block.

He didn't own a car, or even have a driver's licence, so walking or taking the city buses was Kurt's main mode of transportation. He didn't have enough money to spare for the bus, so...walking it was. Luckily the school was only a few blocks away. Kurt was still a little early as he came upon the school, so maybe he could sneak into the library and catch a couple Z's before the bell rang. His black boots scuffed the cement as he made his way up the front steps and slipped inside.