I'm actually kind of excited to have finally finished this and now I'm able to share it with you all. Thank you to my lovely friend Meggie (MissMarauder93 on here, check out her fics! and Meggierae93 on Twitter) for betaing this for me. Love you!
Enjoy!
"Storm"
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating a lone figure stepping onto the beach. He ran his fingers through his curls, brushing them off his forehead. He sighed sadly and lowered his head to peer through the view on his camera, snapping a picture of the turbulent ocean.
Though the worst of the storm had passed, the sky was still dark and full of angry purple-gray clouds. Waves crashed violently onto the shore.
Perhaps he was crazy. After all, no sane person would stand on the beach in the middle of the worst storm of the season.
But he did.
So what if he was struck by lightning? It did matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing had for a long time.
Why couldn't he do anything right? When he'd come out as a teen his entire family had shunned him. His father only spoke at him to yell or insult him and his mother ignored his existence completely. His friends had left him, had turned on him.
But then he'd gone to Dalton and he'd found friends in the Warblers. And then he'd met Kurt. Sweet, beautiful, wonderful Kurt.
Kurt was his everything. He'd always been there for Blaine, been his rock, his support, his hope, his love. And even after the Warblers had turned their backs on him as well, he'd had Kurt and that was all that mattered. Kurt was the only constant in his life.
But then he'd left too. And Blaine's world had come crashing down around him.
As soon as he'd heard that door slam, it was like he couldn't tell up from down or right from left. Nothing made sense anymore.
For weeks he'd had nightmares of that night and that terrible fight. For months the only things he heard were the echoes of the words shouted in anger and strangled sobs. And worst of all was the ever-present memory of Kurt's horrified face, tears streaming down his anger-flushed cheeks as he choked out a whispered "Well… I suppose that's that then" before running to their bedroom and slamming the door.
The next few hours were a blur. All he remembered was sitting- shell-shocked- on the couch staring at the wall and Kurt coming out of their room with two bags, him saying something about Rachel getting the rest that week, and then the echoing slam of the door.
He had hit rock bottom after that. Most of the "friends" he'd had left distanced themselves from him as he lost his usual cheerful personality. He'd lost his job and the paycheck that had allowed them to afford their- no, his apartment.
His only source of income now came from his job as at a small café. And on weekends he'd play his guitar and sing for tips. But he never got much and it was near impossible to afford the apartment on his wages.
So he'd had to dip into his trust fund. He hated having to rely on the family that had turned its back on him but he hadn't wanted to move- he was still holding onto the hope that Kurt would come back some day- but there was no other way to afford the rent.
He'd been performing less and less lately. Instead of bringing him the rush and joy he was used to, singing now brought with it the memories of singing to Kurt or the times he'd convinced Kurt to sing while he played. Eventually he just stopped playing altogether. His guitar was no gathering dust in the back of his closet.
Now the only thing that brought a respite to the numb monotony of his life was photography. He'd inherited a few things from his grandfather after he had died the summer before Blaine started high school and his old camera was Blaine's favorite. Grandfather had been the only family member that hadn't turned Blaine away.
Blaine had always seen the world differently. He'd found beauty where others would simply see a tree, a cloud, the sun, a couple basking in the joy of a new life together. His apartment was littered with photographs and film canisters.
He rarely showed them to anyone. But sometimes Nick or Jeff would come by in an effort to give Blaine some semblance of a social life. They'd always insist that he show them the newest shots. While he ws impressed with what he managed to capture, Blaine was never sure what others saw to be so great in the photos.
Blaine had always been fascinated by the pictures he'd seen from storms. Skies dark as night in the middle of the afternoon; lightning cutting the heavens in two. He wondered what it would be like to be in the middle of a storm to get a shot like that.
So when he'd seen on the news that the worst storm in decades would soon hit, he seized his opportunity.
He began to walk into the surf. If he got killed- good. In fact, he welcomed it. If not… well… there were other ways.
A huge wave crashed against him and he turned instinctively to protect his camera. If he was lucky tonight, it would be a pointless action. Soon he'd be gone, his camera and the story his pictures could tell with him.
But- what if he left the camera behind? His pictures- his story- would be preserved. That would be his legacy.
He climbed back up the wet dunes to the covered picnic area and took off his jacket. He folded it carefully and placed it on the table. It was soon joined by his shirt, socks, and shoes. Next to his clothes he laid out the contents of his pockets: some loose change, a scrap of paper, some pens, the key to their- no to his apartment, his wallet. With shaking hands he slid his grandfather's heirloom ring off of his finger. He pressed it once to his lips and slid it inside his wallet.
Thunder rolled again, louder this time, and he looked to the sky. He smiled as lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the dark ocean and turning the world a deep violet.
He grabbed his camera for what he hoped would be the last time. He pressed the shutter just as the world lit up and the storm began to rage once more.
He gently laid down his camera on top of his clothes, covering it to protect it from the spray. He grabbed a pen and the small piece of paper and wrote a quick note:
Dear whoever you are,
Feel free to do whatever you wish with these things- I won't need them anymore.
He tucked it into his shoes and turned away. He took a few cleansing breaths as the enormity of what he was about to do hit him. Soon he thought. Soon it will be all over and I will be free.
He made his way back to the water, the heavy rain pelting his skin. The wind blew and he shivered- it was unusually cold that night. He hoped one of the beach-combing homeless would put his jacket to good use. He wouldn't need it anymore. And his ring- well, it would be worth enough for them to get a few decent meals.
He wondered if he should be afraid. Shouldn't he be scared of death? Of the finality? Of not seeing tomorrow? What if it hurt?
A wave rolled over his foot and he almost yelped at how cold it was. Slowly he inched forward, stopping every few steps to let himself adjust to the temperature.
The water was up to his knees now. He was sure parts of him were starting to turn blue and the rain was falling so heavily he couldn't see very far in front of him. He stumbled as the sand shifted under him with every step. He pushed through the turbulent waves until eventually he was waist-deep.
He stayed there for a moment- trying desperately to maintain his balance. Was this really what he wanted to do? After all- there was no going back from this. No do-overs, no second chances. Once it happened it was over. Everything was done.
The voices in his head that had previously convinced him that this was a good idea were gone- replaced by voices of reason. Turn around. Go back. It gets better. Don't give up. Start over. The thoughts played over and over in his head until the mantra seemed to overshadow even the roar of the wind and waves around him. What was I thinking? God, I'm so stupid! I need to go back…
Determined to get his life back on track, he turned around and stopped in his tracks.
A huge wave, taller than he was, crashed over him, pushing him down. He gasped for air just before he lost his balance and fell below the water. He struggled and trashed about, fighting to right himself and swim to the surface for air. Wave after wave continued to roll over him, pushing him down, further into the raging abyss.
The storm above the water was tame compared to what lay below the surface. The treacherous current pushed and pulled him in every direction and he couldn't tell if he was facing up or down, left or right. The waves threw him about like a rag doll, occasionally pushing him above, allowing him to breathe for a split second before another wave pushed him under.
He was tired of fighting it. He was dizzy and disoriented. And he was physically exhausted. He was losing strength every second. There was no way he'd make it back to the surface- much less to the shore. He could be a mile or more from it by now…
He thought that, right before you die, your life was supposed to flash before your eyes.
But all he could see before him were the dark deadly waters.
And then: blackness.
Okay so this is very different from what I normally write so I'd really love it if you could please give me some sort of feedback on this somehow. Please leave a review for me!
Much Love!
~Em