A/N: I know I haven't finished the other fic I've been working on, but as you can probably guess from this new one, I've been in a bad place lately. This has been helping me a lot and I should be able to get back to Give it a Shot very soon. In the meantime, have some angst. Also this is unbeta'd and unedited as it's incredibly personal but I was encouraged to upload it anyway.
He didn't mean to do it, this was nothing he had planned or even thought about before. There seemed to be some kind of instinct inside of Blaine that made him pick up the utility knife from the pile of boxes in his mother's craft room, bring it back to his room and drag it across his skin. It wasn't quite sharp enough to give the effect he was expecting and he hissed at the stinging, throbbing pain rushing through his forearm. It felt warm and heavy and the blood was still moving through his body, so why were there just a couple of tiny drops in the cut?
Blaine's breathing was fast, erratic. He knew it was just a panic attack, he used to have them all the time in his old school, but it felt worse this time. Like he was going to die if he didn't let any of the pressure out. So he cut, expecting a wide wound to open up, like in the movies. Instead he was still panicking, still sobbing loudly and still feeling like he was about to choke on his own fears. The only thing that changed was that his arm now felt like it had been gripped by anxiety too and displayed a tiny pink line with a few dark red drops lining it.
He pushed his finger against the cut, wiping the blood off. Frustrated, he lifted the blade and swiped it across his skin, faster this time.
The new wound was more like what he expected. It opened up and looked completely white for a second before it started filling with blood. Blaine exhaled loudly. It felt as if he had been holding his breath for an hour. He realised he was sitting on the floor, but couldn't remember how he got there. He knew he had tried to sit on the bed earlier, but ended up pacing back and forth instead before getting the knife. He stood up slowly and made his way over to the bed. As soon as he got in he curled up into himself under the covers and dragged his thumb across the new cut. This one wasn't much deeper than the first, the blood had already dried onto his arm, but at least it had given him something.
Blaine was exhausted. He figured it was because of the panic attack. He had no clue how he usually got through them, they seemed to last for hours and he'd always fall asleep as soon as they were over. Maybe this was the only way to stop them, he thought to himself as his eyelids grew heavy and his breathing evened out.
The room was dark when Blaine woke up. He had just had a weird dream where Kurt was chasing him through a forest, trying to make Blaine tell him something and then music started playing.
Oh, music. Blaine shook himself awake as he realised the music from his dream was his ringtone for when Kurt called.
"Hi, Kurt," Blaine yawned into the phone.
"Hey Blaine, you didn't call at six like you said so I was just wondering if everything's alright?"
"I must have fallen asleep. What time is it now?"
"Eight. I wanted to call earlier, but I thought you might have been busy. But you're never late calling me so I got worried." Blaine smiled for a second before remembering the reason he fell asleep. His arm throbbed and he glanced down at the two pink lines across his skin.
"Blaine?" Kurt sounded anxious. Blaine shook himself back to reality, pulling a pillow up to his chest and wrapping his left arm around it so he wouldn't have to look at the marks.
"Sorry, I'm not awake properly. I'm fine, I promise. Sorry for not calling you. How's everything?" He sunk back with a smile, forcing himself to forget about what he had done earlier. Listening to Kurt's voice as he told stories about his family always made him relax.
It couldn't last forever, of course. Half an hour later Kurt had to go and spend time with his dad and Blaine cursed himself for being so co-dependant that he felt the anxiety rise in his throat as his boyfriend hung up. He turned his gaze once more to the lines on his arm and felt annoyed that there wasn't more of a mark from something that felt so huge to him. His irritation turned to relief quickly, however, as he realised that it was a good thing. A couple of small scars would be easier to hide than massive, gaping wounds and no one could ever find out about it.
Relief turned back to irritation, but this time Blaine was angry with himself. He was stronger than that, he could put up with a bad day at school without mutilating himself. He had been through so much worse; a couple of bitchy comments from Finn and Santana shouldn't be anything in comparison to the beating he got after the Sadie Hawkins dance. The guys on the football and hockey teams didn't pick on him, like they did the rest of the glee club.
You're not worth it, a voice in his head whispered. You're not even worth being bullied here. You're just invisible. Blaine shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. Why would he be upset about not being bullied? That was just stupid. Shit, he really was trying to punish himself, wasn't he? The guilt rose again. He had fucking cut himself. It was dangerous, he knew that. If Kurt found out he would be so worried, oh shit shit shit, what would he tell Kurt? They had always been honest with each other. If he kept this from him… But he wasn't going to do it again, so there was no need to worry, right?
The anxiety crept back up, grabbing hold of Blaine's throat tightly, making sure he couldn't breathe. He gasped for air, but couldn't find it. His head started spinning and it was difficult to focus on anything. The whole room blurred together in front of his eyes, but he couldn't tell if it was because of the tears suddenly gathered in his eyes or something else. Through it all, the only thing that stayed clear was the utility knife on his nightstand.