The only thing I can say is there will be angst, character death, drug use, rape, and self harm (as of now). More things may come, but as of now in my plan for this fic, that will be the only warnings. Also, the first song in this chapter is Broadripple is Burning by Margo and the Nuclear So and So's, and the second song is Shelter by The XX.
Blaine Anderson ran out of the old and beat-up house, tears blurring his vision and his head pounding like a drum. Not one of those drums in the marching bands, but the drums in the movies, the kind they use to show that something bad is going to happen. His head hurt like hell, but not only his head hurt. His whole body hurt. Every limb of his body ached, and some hurt so much that they felt numb. He felt like his legs would give in any second as he was running as fast as the two legs could carry him. Everything hurt, especially his heart. He had lost everything. It wasn't one of those cheesy romance movies where the girl loses the guy, she becomes depressed, but she somehow finds him again at the end. It wasn't anywhere close to that. Nothing could come close to what had just happened inside that dreadful house two minutes ago. He had lost everything in his life. He had no reason to live for. He could just fall down and stop breathing, and it wouldn't make a difference. No one would care. No one would even know. He let go of the one thing that still mattered in his life. And now it was… gone. Poof.
Finally, his legs told him that walking wasn't even an option, so he collapsed to the middle of the road, hitting his hip a little harder than he had expected, but he couldn't even feel a thing. There was too much pain in his mind, in his heart. He wouldn't feel anything from now on, until the rest of his life, however long that would last. The tears began to flow out more and more, like a river that had just been freed from its dam. He started shaking from the cold; he had no jacket and it was nearly freezing outside. He curled into a fetal position and thought that if a car were to come, he wouldn't move one bit. He would just stay there, and wait for the time to come for him. Just like his mother. Poof. Just like that.
But he didn't hear any cars come. There was only one light shining in the lonesome streets, but besides that, it was pitch black. The light shone in the darkness, but suddenly, poof. There was not a single beam to be seen for miles.
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4:52 a.m. The time when he heard the first sound of a car since he left that damn house. He quickly shot up, not by caring, but by instinct. He replayed the past events in his head, and started crying even harder again. The loud muffled screams he could hear from his bedroom. The rush of fear that went through his body as he heard the shot. How fast he had to work his legs to get down those steps, but it was too late. Too late to save the last thing he had in his life. He tried to shake it out of his mind, to find just someway to put that memory in the past. To destroy it from his history. But it was nearly impossible, it stuck around him like an obnoxious bug. But it was definitely way worse than a bug.
He walked past his house, and quickly got to his car without his dad having to see him. Luckily, he was still asleep, so he got in the car, and drove as fast as he could. He could care less if he got a speeding ticket, or if he was even sent to jail. He didn't give a fuck for anything in life anymore. He just wanted his mother back. That's all he needed in his life and he'd be somewhat satisfied. He shuffled through his iPod for a song, and the harmonica of the song filled his car. He tried to hold back his tears at the lyrics so he could at least attempt to drive, but there was no point anymore.
And darling, I'm lost
I heard you whispering that night in Fountain Square
The trash-filled streets made me wish that we were headed home
He pushed on the gas pedal even harder, and he was finally in a world of his own. The only thing he could hear was the pounding music, and the only thing he could see was darkness. Complete darkness. Everything was black; there wasn't a single ray of light or color.
So pack your bags and come back home
And I'm wasted, you can taste it
Don't look at me that way
Cause I'll be hanging from a rope
And I will haunt you like a ghost
The darkness continued, the music getting louder and louder. He knew it was his final moment in life, so he tried to enjoy the last parts of the song.
And I wrote this on an airplane
Where the people looked like eggs
And a woman that you loved is gone
She was bombing East Japan
And don't fucking move
Cause everything you thought you had to go to shit
We've got a lot, don't you dare forget that
He thought his end was near, but boom. Reality flashed back.
He was back, sitting in the driver's seat of his car, his foot pressed down the fullest he could, the song still playing at maximum volume. He was in the exact same spot as the time right before he went into his alternate universe. Weird, he thought. His eyes were still stinging and his face was still red from the constant, never-ending tears. He slowed down, turned the music down a little, and drove to an empty parking lot. He knew the only thing that could fix this mess was under his seat. He reached under his seat until he felt the smoothness of a plastic bag. He pulled it out, and rolled a joint out of the remaining pot he had. He took out his lighter, and lit the joint, and began to smoke. Just after the first drag, he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. He clicked play on his iPod, and a random song played. The first lyrics played, and Blaine took another drag of the joint, feeling much better than he did before. He beat his head to the tune of the song, and he realized how relevant this was to his entire life – not just last night.
I find shelter in this way
Undecrcover, hide away
Can you hear when I say?
I have never felt this way
He took a few more drags, and although the joint might of made him feel better, he began to cry the hardest he has every cried since the night five years ago. He didn't know if the pot was causing all of this, or it was the song, but the tears were pooling down his shirt, onto his jeans, making his whole body shake in rhythm with each sob that was let out.
Could I be, was I there?
It felt so crystal in the air
I still want to drown, whenever you leave
Please teach me gently, how to breathe
The swelling fact finally occurred to him – he had lost his mother. His father was abusive and didn't accept him, his friends at Dalton betrayed him, he had no siblings or relatives or pets, he was alone. The isolation swept through his entire body, creating more tears. He tried to smoke the joint as fast as he could so the feeling would go away, but this kind of feeling would live in his body for eternity. Nothing could destroy it – not even an illegal drug.
Maybe I had said, something that was wrong
Can I make it better, with the lights turned on
Maybe I had said, something that was wrong
Can I make it better, with the lights turned on
The joint had finally disappeared, so Blaine rolled another one with the last of his stash. He lit is quickly with shaking hands, and took another drag. The drug had always destroyed the terrible feelings he had everyday, but this time, it wasn't in full effect. He thought if he sucked in more while smoking it and doing it quickly it would finally end the feeling of guilt he had been feeling for five years, but nothing. The guilt stayed in the core of his body, ever so slowly reaching out to each limb of his. It made no sense. Why was it spreading?
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It all began five years ago. Blaine was only twelve years old. He had the most loving parents and the friendliest friends and everything was going perfectly for him. Then, he spilled the truth to his dad. It was a sunny day in April, and the sun was shining as if it was smiling at the world. That obviously wasn't the case that day. He walked up to his kind and loving father and said the two words that would change his life forever.
"I'm gay."
That's it. That's all it took for his father to hate him. The trust immediately vanished. Poof. Of course his mother was out with her friends for a weekend vacation. Of fucking course.
Mr. Anderson immediately called a number Blaine still doesn't know of, and in less than 20 minutes, a woman wearing nothing but a trench coat, looking about 20 years old came in the house. Blaine didn't have a clue what was going on, all he saw was his father and the mysterious woman whispering to each other. She nodded, and his father told him to go upstairs with the woman. He followed straight after, and he told him to go inside of his bedroom. He locked the door behind him, and the woman told Blaine exactly what to do. He was too scared to reject; his father had turned from a loving dad to a monster.
After an hour, the woman left with no words. Blaine lay naked on the bed with tears stinging in his eyes about to pour out. His father sat on the nearby chair, just staring. Not smiling, not frowning, not jumping with excitement, not crying. He had no emotion to his face.
All he said was, "I hope that changed you."
And it did. But not in the way his father intended.
His mother came home the next day, and Blaine didn't say a word about the day before. He ran up to hug his mom, crying, but he just said he was crying tears of joy because he was happy to see her.
That's when the hitting started. The next week, his father slapped his mother. There was no explanation for it. Blaine was too scared to tell his mother the truth. If he even tried, his father would hit him. Blaine's mother was even more scared than him although she didn't know why all of this was happening. After a few months, it got worse. It was a daily basis where his dad was abusing the both of them – both physically and verbally.
That's when Blaine told his mom about his sexuality. His mother was extremely accepting, so this brought a bit of hope to his life. But he still didn't tell her about that night.
A couple of years later, it got worse and worse, and still nobody even knew about the abusing. When he came to school with bruises, he said he was clumsy and ran into the wall. His father would call him a "stupid fucking faggot" daily, usually followed with a punch or slap in the face.
And that's when it really started to kick in. He didn't do anything about it, but he did something to make the pain go away. That's when he started to drink excessively, and a couple of months after, that's when the smoking came in. Soon, the cigarettes turned to joints. He was the only one who knew about his addiction, and he was shocked that his father hadn't found out yet.
The next few years went by, getting worse and worse, then last night happened. The guilt he had been feeling for the past five years finally came to its point. He hadn't told the police about that night. If he did, his father would be gone. Poof. But of course, he had to keep it a secret. He had to until his father had the capability to do anything – to kill Blaine's mother, the only thing that mattered in his life.
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It was now 8:30. Dalton should be starting by now. There was no way he was getting near that school. He was way too high and drunk to even approach a person. But something in his mind told him it was okay for him to drive. He started his car and exit the empty parking lot and somehow made it to his house without getting caught DIU.
He saw lights. Tons of them. He heard noises. The sirens of a police car echoed in his mind. Shit, please don't tell me that I'm caught. He was wrong. Those police cars were headed for his house. For his abusive father. He parked his car behind the police car and just waited. Waited for his dad to come out to the window and apologize, say that he doesn't care if he's gay or not, and most of all, say the past five years were a dream. Instead, he saw a stubby policeman approach his Mustang and tell him to roll the window down. He did as the policeman said.
"Excuse me, are you Blaine Anderson?"
Blaine nodded drunkenly, and the same man said, "I need you to answer a few questions for me."
Don't kill me. Please. I wasn't even expecting that. But this kind of Blaine is my favorite. I got a tiny tiny tiny bit of inspiration from the Perks of Being a Wallflower with the rape part, just showing how it had changed his life and made him who he is today. But I'm not sure when my next update will be because I'm usually super busy. But I'll try to be as soon as possible. Oh, also, please review! I want to know if I'm doing a good job.