A/N: This fic depicts scenes of violent child abuse. If you or anyone you know is being abused in any way, please speak out. If you live in America you can call 1-800-4-A-CHILD. If you live in the UK, you can call 0-800-1111, or 0-808-800-500. Help break the silence and make the world a safer place.
This is a side story for Gillasue345's story "Falling Apart". This won't really make too much sense without reading that first, but feel free to read it as a stand alone if you want!
The hot water felt good on Blaine's sore body. Soccer practice had been especially brutal that night and his legs were stiff and cramped. He rolled his neck and slid his fingers up into his damp curls, massaging his scalp and lathering the shampoo. He closed his eyes and inhaled the calming minty scent deeply, letting he water run over his body.
Suddenly, the shower door ripped open and cold air assaulted his bare skin. His eyes flew open and he automatically covered himself with both hands. This left him defenseless against the first punch. His father's fist his him right in the solar plexus, making him double over in pain. He cried out in surprise, the sound cutting off halfway through as a knee took him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.
He stumbled forward as his father stepped aside, allowing him to fall out of the shower and slip on the soap-slicked tiles. He threw his hands out in front of him to try and break his fall. He landed hard on his hands and knees. Pain shot up his wrist and it began to throb.
Shampoo dripped off his curls and into his eyes, stinging them. A hand tangled in his hair and yanked him back up to his knees. He was held there for a second, eyes stinging and tears streaming down his cheeks, before his father threw him backwards, into the shower again.
His head collided sharply with the track of the sliding door. Pain exploded behind his ear and spread through his entire skull as the room spun around him. He felt a harsh kick to his abdomen. His chest was already numb from the earlier blows, so it was really just a wasted effort on his father's part. He curled up, wrapping his arms around his abdomen and pulling his knees in. He whimpered softly.
"You know the Rules. Stay away from him."
Then he turned and he was gone from the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind him. Blaine curled up tighter, finally figuring out how to breath again through the pain that made his chest spasm. The water felt like needles against his skin and it roared in his ears. "Fuck you," he whispered to the empty room.
He opened his eyes again, watching the water turn pink and flow down the drain, then laid there until it ran cold.
Blaine was sluggish the next day. He went through his classes in the murk that followed up a bad concussion left untreated. He didn't even take any ibuprofen to dull the pain. Behind his ear throbbed in time with his heart and his left wrist was stiff and swollen. He was lucky the cuff of his blazer covered it.
"Blaine."
He turned slowly at the sound of the familiar voice. Who was that? Oh, right, it was Kurt. He looked dimly at other's smiling face as his boyfriend approached. Kurt smiled even wider when he got close and reached out, slipping his hand into Blaine's, as had become their custom when walking through the halls at Dalton.
Pain shot up his arm when his wrist was jostled and he winced slightly. Kurt seemed to notice and looked at him questioningly. "What's wrong?" he asked, brow creasing very slightly.
"Huh? Nothing, why?" Blaine covered smoothly, plastering a smile across his lips. He ignored the pain and squeezed Kurt's fingers lightly as they walked to Warbler's rehearsal.
He asked Kurt how his classes had gone that day and tuned out when he told about how excited he was for the new project in his history class. He caught that it was going to have something to do with Coco Chanel, but didn't really hear the details. He felt a little bad for ignoring Kurt, but he couldn't help it-he'd been phasing in and out all day.
When he zoned back in, he was sitting on the couch beside Kurt. He leaned back into the seat, hands limp on his lap and staring straight ahead. He blinked once or twice and glanced to the side. Kurt was watching him, concerned.
"Blaine…. what's wrong?" he asked again.
Blaine opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, when the gavel interrupted him. He flinched at the loud noise and looked up at Wes.
"We'll begin with Iris. Blaine?" he said and all the Warblers turned expectantly to their star.
Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before looking up at Wes. "Can we… do something else today? What about Flint's solo?" he asked.
Most of the Warblers looked shocked at the suggestion-though Flint was secretly excited. Wes' brow creased and he tilted his head towards his friend slightly. "I supposed we could. Why, though?" he asked.
Panic flared up in Blaine's chest for a moment. He didn't plan this out very well. He just knew that his head hurt and he probably wouldn't be able to carry a tune and he didn't want to sing right then. His face flushed for a second before he came up with an excuse on the fly.
"I slipped in the tub this morning and bumped my head. My ibuprofen is starting to wear off and I have a killer headache," he said. It was only half a lie, really.
Most seemed to accept that well enough-Kurt included, thankfully.
Wes nodded and Flint strode proudly up in front of the Warblers and they began practice. Blaine faded safely into the background.