Blaine was completely apathetic to the whispers surrounding him, and the way in which quite a few nosey passers-by were staring.
As far as he was concerned, he was finished with other people. That was it. He was done.
Now, he stood in the middle of a train station, with a noticeable bruise under his eye, and the curious and sometimes sympathetic looks he was receiving didn't phase him in the slightest. Before, he might have felt embarrassed, but not now.
Not anymore.
He was too numb to care about what anyone else thought of him. In the past, when he had cared, and had attempted to reach out to others, desperate to ease the loneliness that he was constantly filled with, everyone already seemed to have formed a solid opinion of him. It was useless.
That kid who always walks around town by himself, late at night. The loner. I heard it said around school that he's a complete freak. He's a fag, too, isn't he? No wonder the other guys want to stay away from him. I never see him with other people, at all. What do you think his problem is? Psh, weirdo.
Blaine heard the whispers when he walked along the school corridor. He knew how the other students felt.
It started off with a few hurtful names and mean words being thrown around, but soon enough, he was being ganged up on outside of the school grounds on a regular basis.
Name-calling escalated to threatening. Threatening escalated to shoving. Shoving escalated to being kicked and punched, which once lead to a broken wrist and loss of consciousness. The only thing he could console himself with was that graduation wasn't too far away. It was the only happy thought that he had left to cling onto, and the only glimpse of hope that he could find.
He approached the ticket machine and randomly picked a destination that was distant enough to really feel like he had gotten away from here, but still close enough to be within his budget. The furthest he could afford was still in Ohio, but it would do. This place wasn't home to him anymore. He hadn't felt comfortable here since he was a child.
The bruise on his face that was currently turning a few heads hadn't come from his bullies, either, like several of the faded ones that were scattered around his chest had. It had come from his father.
After years of trying to deny the rumour that had always been spread across the town, Blaine finally admitted to his parents earlier in the evening that he was, in fact, gay. At first, his father had said nothing. He stood up and left the room, and though Blaine now regretted it, he had followed his dad into the kitchen.
"Dad, I – "
"I don't want to hear it, Blaine. Just leave me alone for now. I'd like to think about this."
"But, dad, this doesn't change anything. I – I'm still... I'm still me..."
"Blaine," he mumbled, sounding a little aggressive. "Leave. I just... can't talk to you right now. I said I needed to think, and I don't want to have to repeat myself."
Blaine choked back tears as his father stared out of the kitchen window, with his eyes fixed on the neighbour's fence, as if it had suddenly become interesting. After a few moments of painful silence, when he noticed that Blaine had stood his ground, he turned his head to meet his son's eyes. "This phase better end pretty soon. That's all I'm saying." Blaine lowered his gaze to the floor, then to his hands, which were awkwardly fumbling with the ends of his shirt. "But, dad, it's... definitely not a phase. I've felt this way for as long as I can remember." His father simply tutted and rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that, Blaine. This is another one of your cries for attention, isn't it? You're not g– ... you dated that girl, once. Don't make up disgusting stuff like this, just to be the centre of attention again. You're 17. You need to grow up. Act like a man, not a little boy."
Act like a man? Huh. That's what Blaine knew his dad really wanted. That's why he was so touchy about this. He wanted Blaine to be a man. A traditional, tough, family man. And the thought of having a gay son? No. No, that just wouldn't do. Disgusting. Immoral. Embassassing. Not good enough.
Blaine was never good enough.
"Firstly, that was three years ago, and I only dated her for a couple of days to see if I could force myself to be normal. Every time she tried to kiss me, it felt... I don't know! Wrong! Jesus Christ, Dad, why would I make something like this up?"
As Blaine raised his voice and felt his level of anger slowly rise above his level of nervousness and fear, his father stood up and approached him. By the end of the day, he thoroughly regretted how loudly he had ended up shouting at his dad. He regretted the years of bottled up pain that had been released in one night. He regretted calling him a bad father, an alcoholic, pathetic – a joke.
He sat in the train station, with his face in his hands, and thought back to seeing his mother crying in the doorway, as he and his father had roared at one another; how she had pleaded with them both to calm down. But Blaine had long been ready to burst with anger, and once he had let some of it show, he was unable to hold back.
It all came out.
All of the anger caused by years of abuse from his peers, years of being both belittled and often ignored by his father, years of self-hatred, and years of depression.
He had screamed. He had cried. He had thrown every insult he could possibly think of. He had finally snapped. But his father wasn't having any of it.
By now, the night was a blur, but Blaine could still remember his father muttering about how anyone would be "ashamed to have a faggot as a son," and that this definitely wasn't the first time the family had been let down by him. Blaine retaliated, saying that he wasn't the disappointment in the family, and before long, a punch was thrown.
After staggering back onto his feet, feeling fairly light-headed, Blaine took one last look at his father, with hatred and tears in his eyes, before running upstairs, gathering all of the money he could find, grabbing a few things, and heading straight to the train station.
The entire day raced through his mind as he sat and waited for the train to arrive. There were too many overwhelming thoughts and worries in his head for anything to seem coherent.
Where am I supposed to go? What if I can't find somewhere to work... or stay? What if...
Blaine shook his head and tried not to get too worked up, as he saw the train approaching. There was nothing left for him here. When he did leave, he was convinced that nobody would even care, and that's what hurt the most. "If he had killed me today, nobody would have even noticed," he quietly mumbled to himself, as the train pulled to a halt. "I – I need to start over... Come on, Blaine. You can do this."
With a nervous sigh, Blaine stood up, and avoided eye contact with the station employee as his ticket was checked. With no plans set for when he arrived, no arrangements made in terms of accommodation, and no idea of how he was going to get by, he stepped onto the train, and didn't look back. Anywhere was better than here, and he was sure that somehow, he would find a way to manage.
