Title: An Unfortunate History
Author: Oswald-Girl
Characters: Blaine Anderson
Time: Beginning when Blaine is nine years old, continuing until Never Been Kissed
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Rating: T
Note: I am anxiously awaiting a back story for Blaine. This kind of ignores what little we currently know, but in my defense, a lot of this was written a while ago.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything
An Unfortunate History
He was nine the first time he heard anyone say anything derogatory regarding gay people. At least, that was the first time he can remember, but Blaine is doubtful that it was really the first time.
It was his father that had said it. Blaine was eating dinner with his parents and six year old sister, Sophie. The television was on in the adjoining room, too his mother's displeasure. She could not understand why her husband insisted upon watching the evening news while they were having dinner, but she had learned arguing the matter was useless.
The middle aged man on the television was reporting new details of some story Blaine had not been paying attention to as he chatted amiably with his sister and mother. After all, what nine year old cares about the boring news when they could be talking about the funny joke his best friend told earlier? All Blaine remembers was his father muttering to himself about "disgusting faggots."
A curious child, Blaine frowned in confusion. "What's a faggot?"
His mother glanced at him and then at her husband, replying, "Don't use that language, honey," before returning to her meal. No one else spoke for the rest of the evening.
Blaine is still not sure if she had been addressing him or his father.
Blaine learned quickly not to question his father's vocabulary when the news was on. The unfamiliar terms went ignored by the boy until his middle school days. By that time, the favorite insult of his classmates was "gay." He did not know what the word actually meant, but clearly it was nothing good.
He once asked his best friend, but the other boy had only shrugged and made a comment about it being gay that no one could manage to say anything else anymore. Blaine thought that was ironic, but said nothing.
Eventually it occurred to him to look up the word online.
Some people talk of always knowing who they are from the day they come into the world. Blaine was not one of those people.
He was twelve when he started to realize he did not like girls as most of the boys in his class did. He was at a party, his first boy-girl party ever. Everyone was sitting in a circle, a glass bottle in the center. Blaine was nervous about playing Spin the Bottle, but everyone else seemed to have no problem with the game so he said nothing. Eventually the bottle pointed to him. He gulped, eyes traveling from the bottle to the girl he was supposed to kiss. He should have considered himself lucky as she was the prettiest girl present and all the boys were jealous of his chance, but the voice in his head was screaming at him not to do it. He told the voice to shut up and pressed his lips to hers quickly and pulled away.
She looked disappointed, but he barely noticed. The only thing he could think of was how completely wrong it had felt. That was when it occurred to him that although his friends and classmates were now starting to talk about girls in a different way than they had used to, he could not understand the things they said about being attracted to a girl. He had never seen a girl the way they described. Gone were the days of cooties and Blaine felt left behind.
At thirteen he had his first real crush on someone. With beautiful blonde hair and deep brown eyes and a musical laugh, it was not hard to understand why Blaine had fallen. The feeling itself was confusing for the teenager, but that was the least of his troubles. What really confused Blaine was the fact that this person was a boy.
Then he put two and two together.
He spent countless sleepless nights praying his father would never find out. Blaine did not care what he had to do to keep his secret, but his father could never be allowed to find out.
So, at his father's insistence, he asked out a girl. They were fourteen and had just started high school. It seemed like a smart thing to do, start high school by dating one of the prettiest girls in town. Every minute spent with her, he spent thinking about anything else. Especially when they kissed, which was not often.
All Blaine wanted was to dump the blonde girl and come out to the world as who he was. He knew he could not, but that did not stop that desire. Nevertheless, he stayed in the closet and made no plans to come out anytime in the near future.
Blaine was not in a good mood. He had overslept, been late to his first class, realized he had forgotten to study for a test the next hour, probably failed said test, been assigned a lengthy essay by his least favorite teacher and as a result, had to ditch his choir rehearsal in order to get a head start on his homework, only to discover he had lost his house key. After climbing through the window of his first floor bedroom, he dropped his school things to the ground with a satisfying thump and sunk into his chair, opening his laptop to begin his paper.
It was getting dark when his mother called him for dinner. He still had not made much progress on his homework and was frustrated, but grateful for a distraction.
Mrs. Anderson had prepared her husband's favorite meal, something Blaine had long since come to recognize as her attempt to calm him down when he was angry about something. Usually, it was a peace offering after the couple had fought, but Blaine could hear the television again. He knew his father did not like whatever was making headlines.
Sure enough, the pretty blonde reporter on the screen was interviewing some man about same sex marriage. His father's favorite thing to hate.
"… it's unholy. These fags are going to burn in hell." His father was saying rather loudly.
Blaine stiffened, but tried to brush off his father's hateful remark. He gave his mother a forced smile and sat down to dinner, his father still ranting as he followed suit. He could not tell what the man onscreen was saying, his father's commentary being much louder.
Usually food could pacify his father somewhat, but not that night. Mr. Anderson continued for the next several minutes until Blaine snapped.
"Dad, shut up!"
The air in the room became cold as his parents and sister turned to stare at him.
Blaine was breathing heavily now, fear running through his veins but his fury towards his father overpowering it. "Just shut up. They're just people. They aren't hurting you, so why don't you just leave them alone?"
"Son, it's unnatural. I don't think you have a clear grasp on this—"
"Do not tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. I could say the same of you. I guarantee you have unknowingly met gay people had no problem with them."
His sister and mother had turned back to their dinner, pretending not to notice the fight going on before them. "I can always tell when a person is one of them. That teacher of yours two years ago, for example,"
"Dad, I'm gay!"
He had not meant to say it. Blaine had always intended for his sexuality to be his best kept secret, one that he would take to his grave rather than face the fury of his father. His mother and sister had abandoned their attempt at looking uninterested and were now staring at him open mouthed, frozen in surprise. The only noise in the room was that of the television. No one dared to breathe. Blaine kept his eyes bravely on his father, watching for any sign of a reaction. The older Anderson stared back, secretly praying someone would jump out and shout "April Fools!" But no such luck.
"No you're not. No son of mine could be a fag."
That hurt. Tears he refused to shed formed in his eyes, turning his vision watery. "Yes, I am,"
"Then you are not my son,"
It was that simple. Mr. Anderson no longer claimed Blaine as his child; no longer said he was proud of his son; no longer acknowledged his achievements; no longer even spoke to the fifteen year old boy who only wanted his father's acceptance. From that day on, if anyone asked about Mr. Anderson's son, he simply replied "I have no son," cold and unfeelingly.
No one at school knew yet. He had been so terrified of the news reaching his father that Blaine had kept quiet. Now that his father knew, Mr. Anderson had made sure the secret of the gay boy living in his house did not get out until he could figure out what to do with him. Mrs. Anderson had threatened to divorce her husband if he tried to kick her son out of the house, and the only thing worse for his reputation than a divorce was… well, having a gay child. So Blaine was permitted to stay, at least for the time being, just as long as no one else found out.
For a moment, Blaine thought his mother actually accepted him for who he was. But that hope was quickly extinguished.
"Do you think I like having a gay son, Harold?" She screamed at her husband in one of their many fights. Blaine did not want to eavesdrop, partly because he had no interest in hearing all the horrible things his father was likely to say, but his mother's words paralyzed him outside their bedroom door. "Because I most certainly do not. But he is still our son, and as such we have legal responsibilities. I don't want to deal with that if you kick him out and something happens to him. Not to mention the horrible gossip that would go around…"
He was tired of keeping his secret for his parents. Blaine felt dirty walking around with the secret of his sexuality hidden from the world. At least before, it had been his choice to hide. It finally occurred to him that he did not have to live like that just because his parents were worried about their reputations. He could not keep living like that.
So he told his best friend.
And his trust in the other boy was evidently misguided. The next day the whole school knew Blaine was gay, so it seemed. No one spoke to him at all the first day. He ate lunch by himself before throwing it away having taken only a few bites. He spent the rest of his lunch period hiding from the cold stares and whispers around him. The next day the silence turned to open ridicule. People walking by gave no hesitation before spitting "fag," in his direction.
Within two weeks things became physical. He could no longer pass a member of the football team without being pushed away. They did not seem to care which direction they pushed him, so long as he was away from them. He frequently collided with other people or lockers or even just the ground.
Each time he picked himself back up and tried to remind himself that it was only high school and the guys there were bound to be assholes and he would free of that hell hole in a few years.
It was not the least bit comforting.
Most days, Blaine would get home after school and lock himself in his room. Sometimes he would cry or scream into his pillow. Sometimes he would just collapse on his bed and fall asleep.
One particular day, about six months after his outburst at dinner, Blaine came home and threw his school things into his room. Thinking no one would be home, he went to the bathroom and found a razor blade. He knew lots of people did this as a way to escape. Blaine had never really understood how or why it helped people cope with their troubles, but at this point he was willing to try anything. Pushing his left sleeve up his arm and bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming, he pressed the blade to the skin on his wrist a slowly cut a thin line. The wound was not terribly deep, but Blaine was surprised at the amount of blood he had drawn. But the pain… it had distracted him from his emotional turmoil, that much was certain.
He heard a gasp behind him. He glanced up to see his sister's reflection in the mirror. He spun around, still clutching the blade, blood running down his arm. Sophie's face was pale and twisted in horror, her hand over her mouth.
"Why?" she breathed.
He looked at her. She was staring at the blood on his arm, looking like she was going to be sick. This confused him. Sophie was never squeamish around blood... then he realized it was not the blood that bothered her, but what he had done.
"I'm just… I can't take it anymore."
Her eyes never leaving his wrist, she said "You should clean that or it will get infected,"
"Uh, yeah, I guess so."
"I'll just go get you a bandage for that," and she disappeared quickly.
Later Sophie would beg him to never hurt himself like that again, but his mind was made up. From the second he saw the pain and disgust and worry in his little sister's eyes, he knew he was never going to put her through that again. Once was enough. He was done.
His twelve year old sister may have saved his life that day.
The bullies never stopped.
Things escalated. He confided in his teachers, begging for help, but no one ever did anything to stop his daily torment at school.
He is not sure quite how it happened, but one afternoon he was walking to the parking lot after school. He was to wait there for his mother to pick him up from school. She was late, so he sat down on the curb and resigned himself to wait.
Maybe he should have been more alert or should have expected them to come, but nothing like it had happened yet. He was exhausted from the long day and his mind was elsewhere. Two days earlier he had heard of a place where everyone accepted each other and there was no tolerance for bullying. He was planning to bring it up over dinner and ask to go there.
He was broken out of his daydreaming by the sound of approaching laughter. Turning his head in the direction of the sound, he saw what he most dreaded.
"Hey, fag,"
His blood ran cold. The football team. Or, rather, four members, but still, he was hopelessly outnumbered. Normally he would have expected the jocks to push him around and call him a few names, which would have been bad enough, but something about this felt different.
He got to his feet, hoping to give himself whatever chance he could against the much taller, stronger jocks.
It was useless; the first thing the tallest one did when he reached him was shove him back to the hard concrete. The second football player kicked Blaine, hard in the stomach. Pretty soon after he lost track of who was doing what or what was happening at all. All he knew was pain. Everything hurt and every few seconds it hurt more. Just as he started to believe he could not take it anymore, the jocks backed off. Blaine had no idea why until he heard a car pull up and a door open quickly.
His mother jumped out of the car and helped him get in. She drove him to the hospital, worried that he may have broken bones.
Blaine was actually lucky. He walked away from the incident with only a broken wrist and a black and blue body. The doctors said he could have broken several ribs.
He never told his parents about the place with a zero tolerance harassment policy called Dalton. Somehow his mother found out about it on her own and presented the idea to her husband.
At first he was reluctant to send his gay son to an expensive all boys' private boarding school. "Do you want to encourage him to be screwing all those fags at that gay school?" was his main argument against it. But finally he caved when Mrs. Anderson reminded him that if their son went to a boarding school, they would not have to worry about the kind of trouble he could stir up in town. He would be someone else's problem.
He met Wes and David on his first day. Wes was to be his roommate and Blaine was a little nervous to see what the Asian boy would think about having a gay roommate.
"Really, it's fine. I don't care what you are so long as you can clean up after yourself once in a while." He assured him several times. Apparently the second part of his statement was a jab at David, who had roomed with him the year before and a well earned reputation as a bit of a slob.
The three boys were inseparable after that.
It was a normal day at Dalton.
Blaine breezed through his classes, excited for the Warbler's performance that afternoon. By lunch, the school was buzzing with the rumors the group had planted regarding the time and location. Gossip traveled quickly in high school, but the boys at Dalton gossiped like old women and the show choir's concerts were always the center of everyone's attention.
As his final class of the day let out, Blaine made his way to the central staircase, the quickest way to the senior commons. He was in a bit of a hurry and almost did not notice the boy who looked a little out of place amongst the sea of uniforms.
"Excuse me," Blaine turned around to glance at whoever had called his attention. "Um, hi, can I ask you a question? I'm new here."
Whatever Blaine had been expecting to see, the boy standing a few steps above him was not it. Blaine would later spend hours upon hours trying to describe the beauty of the eyes nervously looking back at him.
Rather than stand there dumbly at the bottom of the stairs gazing at the beauty in front of him, Blaine shook himself slightly and offered his hand. "My name's Blaine,"
The boy smiled. "Kurt."