Blaine woke up alone on the cold concrete of a pitch-dark room. The air was thick and reeked of sweat and blood. His knees were pulled toward his chest and the only sign to show he was alive was the uncontrollable shaking of his body. He was staring blankly into the darkness, his mind vacant. He was tired. No, he was exhausted. The only emotion that currently possessed his body was pure terror. Fear paralyzed him. Beads of sweat sat on his forehead. He was confused and his memory was extremely cloudy, but it registered one thing for sure: that he was in a lot of pain. Pain flooded his head, his chest, and everywhere below his waist.

Wait, I'm naked? What the hell happened?

"Oh…shit." He rasped, his voice was raw from screaming. His stomach felt heavy and sick as memories of what happened just a few hours ago flashed through his mind. He wanted to scream, but he knew nobody would hear him, just like they didn't hear him earlier.

No….no that had to be a dream, just some sick and horrible dream, that's all. Blaine hoped.

His hopes were denied as soon as he made a sad attempt to stand up, resulting in sharp pains in his chest and thighs. He let out a cry as he fell back to the floor. The pain in his head intensified and he pressed a hand to where it hurt the most. It came back bloody. There was no denying the reality of the situation anymore.

He had been raped.

Tears gathered in Blaine's eyes and streamed down his face. Sobs ripped from him painfully and he knew he had to have several broken ribs. The taste of blood plagued his mouth and he choked as he was hit by a wave of nausea.

Calm down, all you're doing is making yourself sick, he thought.

He took slower breaths and willed his mind to stop wandering back to what happened long enough to try to figure out where he was. He looked into the blackness and found that there was a streak of dim light on the other side of the room. He quickly determined it had to be a door and that maybe, maybe he would be okay. A rush of adrenaline and hope filled him so quickly that he began to crawl his way over to the light source. This was easier said than done. Sharp pains made Blaine stop and catch his breath every few seconds. After a while, he decided to make the final stretch toward the door without stopping. He gritted his teeth as stabbing pain exploded in his chest. He let out a strangled cry and stopped again, this time only inches away from the door. His breathing was extremely labored and he pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall to let himself regain strength. He sighed in sadness and partial relief that his journey to the door was over.

His phone, he needed his phone. Blaine remembered it was in his back pocket and his pants were obviously nowhere to be found at this point. Damn. Once he settled down a little, everything started coming back to him again and all of his adrenaline was suddenly gone, replaced with a shattering depression. How was he still breathing after what happened to him? How was his heart still beating when it felt so broken? How was his body still moving after so much torture? All he wanted to do was go home and disappear forever.

Once Blaine decided that he had regained his strength as much as he could, he slowly and carefully pushed himself up with the help of the wall. His hand found its way to the door handle and he held his breath as he stealthily began to turn it, unsure of what was on the other side.

He made a small crack in the door only big enough to peek through. His heart began to beat a million miles per minute when he saw a room with only one door that read, "Exit." He almost cried tears of joy before realizing another problem. He was still naked. He would have to convince everyone who saw him that he had a perfectly sane reason for running naked through the streets at three in the morning. He hadn't really thought that through, but there was no way to fix that problem now. There was nobody in the room, so he decided to move as quickly as possible in case someone was coming back.

What more could they do to me? Kill me? He thought. I might actually prefer that right now.

Blaine immediately paused and shook the thought from his head, knowing Kurt would have slapped him if he just threw his life away like that. He needed to get back to Kurt. Tears resurfaced and he blinked them away, staying as strong as possible. After all, he was going to have to be strong to cover the truth for the rest of his life. He couldn't tell anyone what happened. Because of the threats.

He blinked and refocused himself so he could open the door fully and make his way out of this place. The place where Blaine's worst nightmare had become reality. His whole body ached and he whimpered quietly as he made his way across the room, using the wall for support. He finally reached the door and opened it, feeling the cold night air bite at his exposed skin. Luckily, he knew where he was and it wasn't far from home. He thought it was strange at first, but then he remembered the words of his captor, "I want you to remember our special moment together every time you see this place." It made him sick to his stomach, so he pushed the memory far out of his mind, hoping it would never resurface.

He took a path back to his house that he was sure no one would be on at this time of night. As he walked, the pain in every part of his body only increased. Alone in the trees, he allowed himself to cry a little. He definitely didn't want to break down in front of other people later. After a few minutes of silent crying, it hurt to simply breathe. Sobbing surely didn't feel any better, so he once again held back his feelings.

When Blaine caught a glimpse of his house in the distance, he was sure he would collapse with relief. He stumbled from hiding place to hiding place to shield his nudity from neighbors who might be looking out their windows. At last, he reached his back door and used the key under the mat to let himself in. He knew his parents wouldn't be home, they were scheduled to come back from their business trip in two days. Blaine dragged himself up the stairs and quickly started a hot shower. He crawled into the bathtub and laid there, absolutely exhausted. He had no idea how he even made it home without fainting.

He let the hot water fall on him, and he watched, his eyes wide with terror, as lots of blood and dirt washed down the drain. Feeling disgusted, he grabbed a washcloth and began to scrub his body violently, as if it would erase the memory of what happened. There was this feeling that he desperately wanted to get rid of, a feeling of internal dirtiness. But after over an hour of scrubbing, it still didn't leave.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? I have to be worthless to go through this. I'm not normal.

These thoughts continued to circle around in Blaine's head as he lay limp in the tub. Suddenly his mind decided again that this was a great time to give him a play-by-play of what happened earlier that night. He once again felt the strong hands forcing him onto his knees, heard the disgusting voice whispering into his ear, and felt the pain of being beaten. He felt his captor's hands traveling all over his body. The reality of everything hit him again and made every single part of him feel repulsive. He had to get this feeling out of him.

Suddenly he was throwing himself out of the tub as fast as he could and grasping onto the toilet just in time to vomit. He continued to be sick until he was just dry heaving and choking on his breaths, hoping the feeling would go away. When that failed, he laid on the cold bathroom tile, attempting to regain his composure. After several minutes, he slowly stood up and washed his mouth out in the sink. He then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Blaine looked awful. He was paler than usual, had blood running down from his forehead, and he just didn't look human. He felt like his soul had been ripped from him. He wiped the blood from his face and dried himself off with a towel, noticing that black and blue bruises now covered his chest and thighs. All he wanted to do was get in bed. First, he walked to his room and dressed himself in boxers, flannel pajama pants, and a white t-shirt. He then collapsed on his bed, throwing the covers over himself.

He was home, but everything was far from okay. He was in his bed, but he was so very far from sleep.

He stared at the wall for a few minutes before suddenly feeling hot tears sting in his eyes. No one was home, he needed to let everything out now. Blaine's body shook violently with sobs and he didn't bother being quiet. Every breath he took felt like taking a hammer to his chest, but he didn't care. He just needed to cry. And that's what he did. He didn't sleep, he didn't contact anyone, he didn't move.

When the sun rose, Blaine laid alone in his house. His body had no tears left to shed, so he simply laid there, hating himself. Hating himself for letting Sean bully him when he was younger. Hating himself for being too weak to fight back last night. Hating himself for putting his friends' lives in danger. But most of all, he hated himself for putting Kurt in danger.

All of a sudden, he realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten much the day before, but what he did eat didn't really count because he'd thrown it all up anyway. But then again, he didn't deserve to eat. He didn't deserve anything good anymore. Everything had been stripped from him. He felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into depression, he knew this wasn't good.

He stayed in his bed for a long time, having no intentions of getting up, ever. Blaine winced when he heard the doorbell ring.

Oh, God please. Please don't let it be Sean. Was last night not enough?

Another ring of the doorbell snapped him out of his thoughts. Despite his fears, he stood up and weakly make the journey from his room to the front door. Every muscle in his body was screaming in pain. He shakily moved the curtains out of the way and looked out the window.

Kurt?

Blaine knew it was time to start acting perfectly fine, no matter how broken he was.

Do it for Kurt.