Blaine doesn't think he's ever been this lonely in his life.

He eats his lunch in the library, a place where none of his tormentors ever go. He goes home right after school, not daring to stay in school for a second longer than he needs to for fear of getting pushed down the stairs again, or shoved into lockers. Blaine doesn't need another excuse for his father to think he's a loser.

All of the friends he'd had since childhood had suddenly left him. The ones who said that they would be there until the very end had dropped him as soon as the word "gay" came out of his mouth.

Lonely didn't even begin to describe it.

He can't talk to his parents about it. They'll just say that's what he gets for being what he is. He has no friends to go to, so that's out of the question. He could probably talk to Ed, but he wouldn't understand. Ed's too young to even know what gay means, let alone what Blaine's going through.

He has no one, and it's scary.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The final straw comes one day as he's getting his lunch from the cafeteria. Standing on line, he's looking around nervously, wanting to get out of there as fast as he can. He gets his food and pays, moving fast so he can get out of the way.

Blaine's halfway to the library when he feels strong calloused hands grab his tray from him. He looks next to him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

Fuck, he thinks.

"What's the matter, Princess?" says one of the boys surrounding him. "Too good to eat in the cafeteria like the rest of us?" A second boy shoves him into the locker, his head hitting the hard metal with a loud bang.

"I think we have to teach this fag a lesson in knowing his place, don't we, Liam?"

At the mention of that name, Blaine freezes. These are his friends. His old friends, about to do god knows what to him.

"I think we do, Dylan."

The boys kick him repeatedly, causing him to lean against the lockers, his arms blocking his face. When they see him doing this, Liam grabs Blaine's arms and holds them over his head, so his face is ready for a beating.

A few more punches are thrown, hitting his face, and he feels blood trickle from his nose into his mouth. It tastes metalic, the rusty taste combining with salty tears falling from his eyes.

"Aww, look. Princess's crying. How sad." They've put his lunch tray aside, put one of the boys (Blaine's not sure which one) picks up his carton of milk, pulling it open.

"Drink up, fag. This probably isn't the only white thing you like swallowing." He pours the lukewarm drink onto his head, wetting his hair. Some of it sticks to his forehead, the darkness of the curls contrasting with the white milk.

His old friends walk away, laughing as the bell rings and classes let out around him. He hears more laughter as students of all ages point at him on their way to their next class. He's never been so humiliated before.

Blaine can't bring himself to move, he's frozen against the locker. But silently, he promises himself that this isn't going to happen again. Today he's going to talk to his parents, beg them to do something.

Because he doesn't know how much more he's going to take before he cracks.