Blaine looked around his room, taking everything in for the last time. His suitcases were piled on his bed, his closet was nearly empty, and the contents of his dresser drawers appeared to be missing.
The room could have been anyone's, it was empty, bare, and cold. In a way Blaine felt that it had always been that way, as though the room had never really been his. It was a stupid thought, he knew, but it made sense in his head.
Blaine picked up two of his suitcases and carried them down the gleaming staircase to the hallway below. He made several trips before he managed to carry everything downstairs.
He went into the kitchen, searching for his parents. They were enjoying a late dinner, sipping identical glasses of expensive champagne. Blaine couldn't help but flinch slightly; wasn't champagne supposed to be served at celebrations?
"Well, this is it, I guess," He began awkwardly, standing a few feet from the dinner table. "My flight leaves in a few hours."
"Have a safe trip," his mother replied, without looking up from the salad on her plate.
"Yes, good luck." His father didn't bother to meet Blaine's eyes either.
As much as he had been expecting it, Blaine still had to admit that it stung. I mean, these were his parents. Weren't they supposed to be upset that he was leaving for college in New York? Who knew when they'd even get to see him again. Didn't they care?
"Look, I know neither of you approve of what I'm doing. But it's my life, and I have to do what I think is right. Can't you at least manage a goodbye?" Blaine looked away as his eyes stung with hot tears he hadn't realized were there.
"We've been over this, Blaine! Singing and dancing isn't a career! You're wasting your time, you know that, right? Do you know how many people try to make it in New York and can't-"
Blaine cut his father off. "I don't care, Dad! I have to try!"
"What did I do wrong? I gave you everything, Blaine. I paid for Dalton Academy, private tutors, anything you needed. I've always wanted what's best for you. And then you decide that you want to throw all of that away? All of our work trying to get you into medical school, and you just give it up to- to- sing? To dance? Sometimes I wonder if you're even my son."
It wasn't the first time that Blaine had heard this speech. There had been the night that he told his father he was applying to Julliard. The morning he received his acceptance letter. And the day he decided to go.
As much as Blaine had always wanted to please his father, he had his own secret dreams for as long as he could remember. In middle school, he tried out for a role in Oliver, and after landing it, was hooked. He couldn't get enough of music, and singing had always been his passion. Even though he loved it, Blaine had never imagined that he was good enough to get into a school like Julliard. It was truly a dream come true.
At the same time, it was a nightmare. His father, Steven Anderson, was one of the best cardiothoracic surgeons in the United States. Growing up, people always told Blaine that he had his father's hands, perfect for becoming a surgeon himself. The Andersons had been preparing Blaine for Harvard medical school since he was old enough to talk. From private schools to prestigious summer internships, Blaine had done it all. His acceptance to Dalton Academy had sealed the deal for Blaine; with a school like that on his resume, Harvard would be crazy not to accept him.
But Blaine didn't want to go. He had absolutely no interest in becoming any kind of surgeon. He had the marks for it, maybe even the hands for it, like everyone always told him, but that didn't mean anything. Medical school wouldn't make him happy.
In a place like Westerville, Ohio, Blaine had never felt like he belonged. Despite who he his father was, Blaine stuck out among the other kids. He was the only one with dreams that hadn't been handed down from parents. He had a different way of thinking than other people; he believed in different things.
That and the fact that he was gay. But, oh God, that was another story. If his parents couldn't even accept that he wanted to go to Julliard, how could they ever accept the fact that he liked boys? Maybe even wanted to marry one some day?
The only time that Blaine ever felt like he could be himself was when he was on stage, performing. It was the only place that he felt accepted. Not just by other people, but by himself too. He often wondered why he couldn't be the son that his father wanted, the son that graduated from Harvard at the top of his class, and then got married to some gorgeous doctor he met during his residency. Why did he have to be so goddamn different?
"Dad, I'm sorry if I'm not good enough for you. But this is what I want. This is my dream. I'm supposed to be happy that I got into Julliard, and you've done your best every day to make me feel horrible about it. I'm sorry that I have my own dreams! I'm sorry that I'm not the perfect son you want me to be. Believe me, if I could be him, I would be. But I'm not, and I'm never going to be."
His mother still refused to look him in the eye, but his father rose from his chair. "Go, then, Blaine! Go to New York. Live out your silly little fantasies. And come back to me when you're ready to grow up."
Blaine's father took out his cell phone and called the number for a taxi. He gave the person on the other end their address, and then hung up.
"You're not even taking me to the airport?" Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel a wave of nausea wash over him.
"It doesn't make a difference, Blaine, you'll still get there." His father was using the voice he normally reserved for telling a patient that their tumour was inoperable. The conversation was over. He sat back down and continued to sip his champagne as though nothing had just happened, as though his son wasn't about to leave.
Blaine just stood there, scarcely able to believe even his father could be this cruel. He still loved his parents, no matter what. But he was starting to feel that they had a different definition of what love was than he did.
This day was supposed to be amazing. He knew that his father would do his best to convince him to change his mind and go to Harvard one last time, but he didn't expect this. God, he was just trying to find a place where he didn't feel like he was suffocating all the time. Like he had to hide so many parts of himself. Like something about him was wrong. He had felt that way for so many years, and he couldn't take it any more.
Blaine couldn't really believe that this day had finally come. He was going to New York. New York! This was his chance to live out all of his dreams, no matter what his father thought. He couldn't let him ruin this for him. He wasn't going to hide in the dark any longer.
He heard the taxi's horn honk outside. His father rose to carry his luggage out to the car. He didn't need to bring any furniture, the apartment his was staying at in New York was completely furnished.
Blaine turned towards his mom, wondering what she would say to him.
"Blaine, honey, I've always loved you. And I want you to be happy; so does your father, you know. But I just wish you gave Harvard a little more consideration..."
As his mother's voice trailed off, he realized that he was truly on his own. He didn't have the support of anyone in his family.
"Mom, you know why I chose Julliard."
"Yes, I know what you've told me. But if you ever change your mind, just come home, okay? No matter what your father says."
"I won't be coming home anytime soon, Mom. This is what I want." Blaine sighed and kissed her cheek.
"I love you Blaine," She whispered, pulling him into a loose hug.
"I love you, too."
"And," she added, surprising Blaine. "I hope you find whatever it is you've been looking for. I don't understand it, but…"
Her son managed a small, sincere smile. "Thank you. It really means a lot."
Blaine's father entered the kitchen. "Everything's loaded in the taxi. Don't keep the driver waiting."
If that was what Steven Anderson considered a proper goodbye to his only son, Blaine wouldn't want to hear an improper one. He didn't so much as shake Blaine's hand or clasp his shoulder as he walked towards the front door.
He d
"Bye, Dad." He turned and met his father's eyes with a searching stare, hoping to find some warmth in them, some of the light they used to contain when he was much younger.
"Goodbye, Blaine." His father met his gaze, but Blaine suddenly wished that he hadn't. His eyes were cold and grey, bare and empty like his bedroom upstairs. They could have belonged to anyone.
Blaine walked out the front door without looking back. He opened the door of the taxi and got in, keeping his head down so that he wouldn't stare at his house until it faded from view.
This was a new chapter of his life now. He was on his way to Julliard, to New York, to the place he always imagined he'd find acceptance. Nobody would know his name. They wouldn't know that he was supposed to be at medical school instead of spending his days studying music. They wouldn't know that his father was a surgeon, or that he had his hands. They wouldn't know anything about him. To the world, his was just a guy with dark curls and hazel eyes.
"Where to, son?" The taxi driver asked him. He was an older man who wore a baseball cap and faded jeans.
Well, Blaine thought, at least I'm somebody's son.
"The airport, please." Blaine couldn't resist a smile as he realized he'd finally reached the moment that he'd dreamed of so many times since he was a child. "I'm going to New York."