A/N: My first Glee fanfic, hope you like it! Don't forget to review!
Disclaimer: Do you think I own Glee? Cuz I don't...
Blaine wasn't sure. He wasn't sure why he kept smiling when he knew it was fake, and he knew everyone else did too. He wasn't sure why he hurt so much, so much and so often. He wasn't sure why Kurt kept him around, even though he was surely going to find someone better when he left for New York. Someone not so fake. Someone not so broken. He wasn't sure what Kurt would think, or say, or feel when he found out about the box with the pills and the blades. What he would think when he found out about the nights spent in a haze of smoke and liquid that burnt your throat as it went down.
Blain promised his brother, two months ago, that he would tell Kurt about it, about everything. He promised because he had to. He had to because his brother found him on the floor of his bathroom, drops of crimson dripping from his wrists in a cloud of the toxic smoke he had promised he'd given up once he transferred to Dalton. And he had given it up when he transferred to Dalton, but he wasn't at Dalton anymore.
"If you don't tell him, I will!" So he promised he would tell him, promised he would call his brother right after. Two months later and he still hadn't told Kurt, still hadn't called his brother. Still hadn't given it up, though he was about to give up, in a completely different sense of the phrase.
Kurt was a finalist. He tried so hard to be happy for him. But how could he be happy when Kurt, his Kurt, was leaving him. He had stopped drawing lines of red on his skin for Kurt, stopped swallowing the little capsules of forgetfulness for Kurt, and stopped burning his throat with bitter liquids for Kurt. All he had kept was the toxic smoke. He was doing so well, with only little relapses like the one his brother witnessed, and the parties. He was allowed to have his burning, bitter liquids when he had the cover of a party. But when Kurt was gone, his happiness, what he had of it at least, would be gone. All he would have was the toxic smoke. He loved the calming feeling as it filled his lungs, but it could not replace Kurt.
Kurt, who would be there in less than ten minutes. Kurt, who swore he loved him. Kurt, who he wore he loved. That's all Blaine let himself think of as he sat on the edge of his bed, holding two boxes on his lap. One with the blades and the pills. One with the remnants of the toxic smoke. He sat and waited.