He could still hear the screaming behind him, but he couldn't care less. Truly, he wasn't thinking, he was just feeling the anger racing through his veins and a rush of violent energy that he had to release as soon as possible, spreading all throughout his body, leaving sudden and tough footsteps on the fresh concrete. It had been a hot day, but it was getting late already and a soft breeze was starting to circle around Westerville.
He felt like punching something and was on the verge of tears, pressing and pushing close enough for him to let them out. But he was not about to; it would only make it worse. He wouldn't be more pissed, but he would certainly feel weaker and therefore, hate himself more because of it. It was only a few minutes later when the sun was definitely starting to abandon the sky that he noticed his fists were still clenched, his nostrils wider than usual and the fury movements he was walking with, swaying his arms wildly.
He tried to relax and next realized his eyebrows were more knitted than ever and practically taking over his brow, making his forehead itch a bit. He let out a quivering sigh and the electric shivers that went down his spine left goosebumps on his hot skin for more than a minute.
Where was he supposed to go? He had just stormed out of his own house and turning back would be not only foolish but dangerous. He wasn't going to go to Dalton. Being winter break, and even if some of his friends where staying at the dorms, he was in a position of staring at the hostile world with hatred. Still, he wasn't feeling much; he was both full of loathing and empty. Not only empty, but broken.
He was broken.
He repeated the harsh word in his head.
"You're broken, boy."
He froze.
"You're broken and even I can't fix you!" he had yelled.
It wasn't his fault he wasn't perfect. It wasn't his fault he wasn't the son his father had always asked for, hoped for, had longed for. No, he was their only child and the older man who had once read night tales to him and kissed him with a loving "Sweet dreams" without any judgment was now telling him everything he had ever doubted about himself.
And it had hurt. To have his theory confirmed, his every thought bellowed aloud with pain, disappointment, disillusion. And it had echoed, flooding the house and remaining there, buzzing, nagging at the back of his head.
He stopped walking abruptly and recognized the parking lot where his black Escalade was. Sometimes when he was angry he had this urge to drive and so he did. He got on the car, no music, no radio and started it with an offended gruff as he drove away.
He knew he had never been this irresponsible but the haze of what had just happened was messing with his brain and every trace of sensibility was definitely gone by now.
By the time he began to cool down just slightly, an hour had gone by and he had the suspicion he had already left his hometown. Not even Westerville suburbs were that deserted and he didn't even know where he was heading to. It could have been West, East, North or South, he could not care less. He was even gone far off the point where he got scared when having nothing or no one to turn to.
Being way more relaxed about forty minutes later, he decided putting on some music would be the best for him to get his mind off that crappy stuff he had just gone through, delay the worrying as much as possible and just to stay awake cause something he did not want was to have an accident.
Radiohead. Radiohead was playing, the band one of his friends had told him to listen 'cause "Seriously, dude, they're awesome," and he had tried. He really had but all he could listen to was Black Star, Fake Plastic Trees, High and Dry and that had been about it. Cause it was so fucking depressing. And that was the music the fucking radio had to be playing. And, which song?
I want a perfect soul.
I want you to notice when I'm not around.
I wish I was special. You're so fucking special.
He blinked.
But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control.
Well, that was what he called coincidence.
I want a perfect soul.
He glowered at the radio, pursing his lips.
Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want.
He changed and focused on the drums of the next song, not wanting to run into another coincidence.
Another while went by in utter silence from him until he saw a sign: "Welcome to Lima, Ohio".
"Great, I'm definitely in another town," he ironically mumbled pressing his lips together and holding tighter onto the steering-wheel. There was really no turning back and even though he was starving and sleepy he still hadn't come up with a plan. It wasn't like he had much money with him, only about fifty dollars. And he praised himself for having his phone in his pocket.
Luckily, Lima wasn't the biggest city so there was a big shot he wouldn't get lost. He drove around the quiet neighborhoods and saw the houses neatly placed next to each other, a child being called into his house by his mother and some teenagers still on the streets, walking among their bikes. He checked the clock to found out it was only a quarter to ten. He went on for a few blocks and took a right, going into some wide avenue. He caught a glimpse of a huge and deserted parking lot, surrounded by a not so tall wiring, it seemed to be a shopping mall.
"I cannot believe I'm about to do this," he sighed under his breath. He really didn't have any other choice, he was feeling the drowsiness hit his eyes and he didn't want to nod off while driving.
He pulled off on one of the spots, thanking no one was there to stop him from going in and stood there. He just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, rubbing them lightly.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to yell so loud his family would hear him, all the way from Westerville. He wanted to curse and roar and just break something, destroy something other than his life.
He just limited to breathe and smack the steering wheel once. Twice. And four times more, one after the other.
Lifting the armrest between him and the passenger seat, he lied down, having to curve his stomach just a little bit so the gear shifter wouldn't be on the way.
He could literally hear his loud stomach roar and beg for food, it was even starting to hurt. And it was now ten o'clock. He was exhausted, not feeling at all safe or comfortable and he had a lump that refused to move from his throat. What had he done? He felt fucking homeless and it was more awful than he had ever thought it would.
He placed one hand under the side of his head and fisted the other, holding it against his mouth and let everything out. Perhaps not the way he preferred, but the only way he could really think of. He cried to himself, just a couple of seconds before falling right into an uneasy slumber.
Ok, I've been listening to blaineisapizza(. tumblr. com) fanmixes and they're beautiful so besides starting a CrissColfer fic one of these days cause I'M TIRED OF NOT FINDING ANY I LIKE (if you have some, please, tell me) so I'm doing what I can with what I have, I'm starting this. One of this fanmixes is called My Heart Stumbles and it's about Blaine. It kills me cause he's one of my favorite characters and I love him so much, I just.. I don't know, I'm bored, I feel like writing and reading a lot these days so I started this yesterday when I was feeling angry and I really love dramatic stuff. BUT, with a happy ending (not applied to my oneshot The One That Got Away though, that one does NOT have a happy ending). Anyway, I hope you like this and, in fact, I'm feeling kind of.. clumsy so I don't know if I'm writing shit, like.. literal crap that you read and you're like "... Yeah, I'm not gonna read this" and BAM! *Le fucking close crappy tab* or if my writing is just... fine or whatever.
Help me out with that one? Please?
So, hope you like this, excuse my swearing here and... that's about it :)
Loooots of love, everybody.
PS: I was thinking of making this a prelude for Looking For Shelter or something but... I didn't really like that idea. They're different things, we'll see how this works out.