WARNING! MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM AND CUTTING. IF THIS OFFENDS/DISGUSTS YOU, I RECOMMEND YOU TURN AWAY NOW. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.
You look at the boy, Kurt, who is currently stirring his latte, refusing to meet your eyes or the eyes of your comrades who had caught him spying. It 's painstakingly obvious to you that Kurt was not new to Dalton the second that you lay eyes on him. Though the outfit Kurt had donned himself with was a more fashionable and modern rendition of the one that you have on, no Dalton student would ever try to remake the uniform. Fashion is not what Dalton is about. Dalton is about uniformity, and pride in the crest that is strategically placed right over your heart. Not only is the boy's blazer lacking such a crest, his tie doesn't have the stripes that also symbolize something greater. Red- for courage, valor, and nobility, and blue- for impartiality, intelligence, and aptitude. Missing one or both of the colors is equivalent to misrepresenting what the school is about. You steal a glance at your two best friends, David and Wes, and from the expression on their faces, you know that they notice the same exact thing. Every Dalton student has this mentality, or they are not admitted into the midst of the Dalton student body. Any infraction that contradicts any of these qualities, and the student is automatically removed, no questions asked. It's strict, but necessary.
Though it's pretty stern, and the rules kind of take away from it's charm, you love Dalton. It's your favorite place in the whole world, even it is school. Dalton is the place that gave you hope.
You turn your attention back to Kurt, and are shocked once again at the boy's beauty. At first glance, the boy seemed oddly feminine, sort of alien in the crowd of boys where you first spotted him. Your first thought was boys aren't supposed to be that...pretty. Upon closer study, though, you start to find this sort of...attractive. You shake my head imperceptibly to anyone but you, trying to get yourself to focus.
"This is Wes and David," you say, finally breaking the silence. Kurt looks up at both of them and smiles quickly before looking back down at his coffee.
"It's very civilized of you to invite me for coffee before you beat me up for spying," Kurt says quietly, averting his gaze from his drink to the three other boys. It's obvious that he's trying to sound calm, but you can detect the trembling in the boy's voice. You find it hard to believe that Kurt is convinced that you three- some of the most non-threatening people within Dalton's walls- were actually going to beat him up, but what else could explain the shakiness in his voice?
"We're not going to beat you up," Wes assures Kurt before you can even think. Still studying the boy's face, you catch a flicker of shock before Kurt regains his stark control over his emotions. So he was surprised. Was this the norm for him? A sudden emotion that you can't describe or put a name to flares up inside you at the thought. You don't want this boy to be afraid of you. You don't want to threaten the boy. You want Kurt to feel safe with you.
"You were such a terrible spy, we thought it was sort of endearing," David continues, and you smirk at the truth of David's comment. If the uniform hadn't given it away, the shock clearly written all over Kurt's face at the hands of the Warbler's vocals certainly did. No Dalton student is shocked anymore at the talent that we have in your prestigious accapella singing group. The Warblers being amazing is sort of an expectation now.
"Which made me think that spying on us wasn't really the reason you came," you say, setting your coffee down on the table just as you realize what the reason is. Kurt is gay. You'd known that the second you saw him. Come on, what self-respecting straight man would have purposely thrown together an outfit that was entirely made up of Dolce and Gabbonna's winter line. You're not obsessed with fashion per se, but when you don't have to wear your uniform, you always want to look your best. It's not only the outfit, though, that tips you off. It's the expression on Kurt's face when he comprehends what you're saying. It's the pain in his eyes. It's the same pain you've felt so many times before. And seeing that ache in Kurt's clear blue eyes makes you ache in places you didn't even know you had inside you. Kurt hesitantly laughs, seemingly embarrassed at your smirk. You raise one eyebrow at him, waiting expectantly for a response.
"Can I ask you guys a question?" he asks, and you internally sigh, knowing what's coming next. You're ninety-nine point nine percent sure that your two friends don't, though, as they wait for Kurt to continue. "Are you guys all gay?" Kurt asks in almost a whisper. David and Wes laugh, and you can't help but join in. People make the assumption all the time that the Dalton student body consists entirely of gay teenagers, but it doesn't. This is probably why Wes and David are laughing. You're just laughing because you knew that this was coming.
When you glance back up at Kurt, you notice that he looks slightly embarrassed, and you quickly jump in to ease his sudden insecurity.
"Uh, no. I mean, I am, but these two have girlfriends," you say, pointing to your two friends, who try to stifle their laughter. You're not embarrassed to let Kurt know your sexuality. Not in the slightest. You'd come to terms with who you are a long time ago. It seems that this fact doesn't comfort the boy. He obviously doesn't appreciate being laughed at- you're sure he gets enough of that at school. Kurt doesn't look any less relaxed, and you're sure that Wes and David sense this when they jump in and try to smooth things over.
"It's not a gay school," David tells him. "We just have zero-tolerance harassment policy."
"Everyone gets treated the same," Wes continues. "no matter what they are. It's pretty simple." As your friends explain the exact policy that quite literally saved your life, you study Kurt's face. He seems too preoccupied with what David and Wes are saying to notice. On the outside, he seems emotionless, but in his eyes you see the wheels turning. He's trying to comprehend a no-bullying policy. What that means for you. What that could mean for him. And then there's a flicker of disappointment. That disappointment tugs at your heartstrings in a way that you've never felt before. What was it about him that made you feel so protective?
"Would you guys excuse us?" you ask David and Wes, your eyes not leaving Kurt. The two seem to get it, and stand to leave. They say quiet goodbyes to you, and then to Kurt, who barely acknowledges them with nothing but slight nod of his head. You wait a couple of moments before you speak, giving Kurt time to collect himself. "I take it you're having trouble with school." you say finally, but Kurt doesn't meet your eyes. He's still thinking. Still contemplating. You start to wonder if he even heard you when he starts to speak.
"I'm the only person out of the closet at my school," Kurt starts, tears flooding to those beautiful blue eyes of his. It breaks your heart, but you can't look away. It's like watching an angel cry. The beauty is astounding, even through the pain. "And I try to stay strong about it, but there's this neanderthal who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell...and nobody seems to notice."
He's looking at you with those eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes- so painstakingly beautiful, and yet so sad and so tired that it feels like you've been punched in the stomach. He's looking at you, obviously afraid, and though it's not said aloud, his eyes are communicating one thing- help me. And you want to. You want to help this boy more than almost anything in the world. But you don't know how. You hadn't dealt with your own experience. How were you supposed to help him with his? But you have to. You can't stand to see his face contort into the image of pain that is being displayed right before you. Those blue eyes. You've only seen one other pair of eyes so terrified and so lost inside their own world before in your life- the ones in the mirror. Your own.
"I know how you feel," you tell him. But if only he knew how well you understood. If only he knew how aware you were of how cruel people can be. "I was taunted at my old school it really...pissed me off." You know your choice of words is wrong. You were never angry. Just scared. Always scared. And suddenly, you're back at your old high school, being shoved into lockers, having your locker defaced, locked in dumpsters, and so many more things that you don't allow yourself to think about anymore. In high school, where acceptance is the one thing that really matters, you had been so deprived of it. No friends. No family. No one to help you. You were so alone, so scared.
A locker slams. You jump, but hate yourself for it. Hate yourself for being so paranoid. Nobody is there. If you can just get to geometry class, they won't be able to touch you. You take a side glance around, making sure there were no green varsity jackets in sight. Relieved, you start down the hall, desperate to reach the sight of the teachers. You're almost there when you hear it.
"Yo, homo. Where do you think you're going?" You stop in your tracks. There's no use in trying to get away. The classroom is down the hall, and he's much more physically fit than you are. You'll never make it. You turn around slowly, facing him.
He might be attractive if he weren't so goddamn cruel. He's got light sandy hair, and light blue eyes. You've always liked blue eyes. But his grip on your arm is so tight that you can't even think about his eyes. All you can think about is how it's going to be hard to hide the bruise that's most definitely going to be on your forearm. You can't wear long sleeves. It's much to hot for that- a sweatband...bandana maybe?
He's dragging you towards the locker room, and you wince as his grasp around your wrist tightens. You cringe as you imagine what he'll do to you. Sometimes the anticipation hurts more than the actual beating. You would know...
"I even complained about it to the faculty," you continue. "...and they were sympathetic, but you could just tell that...nobody really...cared." You remember Mr. Robinson- your favorite English teacher and the one person in the world you felt like you could trust. You told him everything, but he'd done nothing. He'd told you to smile and bear it. But you were at the breaking point. Smiling wasn't even possible for you anymore.
"Mr. Robinson," you call, your voice broken and unrecognizable. The fluorescent lighting makes the pounding in your head worse, but you don't care. You need someone to tell you it's all going to be okay.
"Blaine? What are you doing here so late?" You shrug, because you don't want to answer. You don't want to say you've been knocked out in the dumpster and just woke up.
"I kind of need to talk to someone about something," you start. Mr. Robinson awkwardly shifted his gaze to the window, and then back to your face.
"Couldn't you talk to your parents...a friend maybe?"
"My parents know. They don't understand. And I don't have friends," you explain. He seems to nod. He knows this, of course.
"Well, sit down," he says, seemingly reluctant.
"You know I'm gay, right?" you ask, getting straight to the point.
"I well...I suspected..." he stammers.
"Yeah, well, a lot of people suspect," you mumble to yourself. You look in his eyes. Pity. The last thing you want is pity. You just want someone to explain.
"Blaine, how can I help you? I have papers to grade..."
"Sorry," you grumble. "I...I've been dealing with some issues...about bullying." You're sure he knows this too. You know he's seen the way people treat you. How could someone miss it? It was just so obvious."I just don't know what to do anymore. It's getting worse, and I can't take it..."
"Well, Blaine. I can talk to Principal Smith, if and only if you give me specifics."
"Spe-specifics?" you choke out.
"Names, places, what they...did...to you..." You're shaking your head before he can finish.
"I can't," you say shortly, and Mr. Robinson frowns.
"Then I can't either, Blaine," he says, looking into your eyes. "Until you find courage, I can't help you. You're just going to have to smile and bear it."
You stand up. This had been a mistake. Mr. Robinson had just proved to you the one thing that you least wanted to be true. Nobody understands. Nobody will ever understand.
Little did Mr. Robinson know what you had planned for that night if he couldn't talk you out of it.
You see the recognition in Kurt's eyes. You see how someone he trusted had let him down. "It was like 'hey, if you're gay...you're life's just gonna be miserable. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it.'" You see how your words are affecting him- how close to home you're hitting. It's a good thing though. You're letting him know that he's not the only one. You're making him see he's not alone.
You wonder if you should tell him everything. About how your parents hate you- how your grandmother has to pay for your tuition. About the depression, the self-harm, the suicide attempts. But you don't. Not even Wes and David know about that. You don't like reliving the pain, so you do it as little as possible. You find not thinking about cutting makes it easier not to cut. Even now, just remembering how it feels makes your wrists burn in ways they shouldn't. You snap yourself out of it, looking at Kurt. You've shut down, and he can see it. Your guard has sprung up, and it's time to stop thinking about this.
"So I left. I came here, simple as that," you say, but the words sound choked, forced, and are much quieter than you mean them to be. It wasn't simple. Not simple at all. Your parents had objected- they refused to pay for the tuition, saying that they weren't going to let you go to a gay school. Dalton isn't a gay school. Dalton is your refuge- your safe haven, so to speak. Dalton had changed everything for you. You've found a reason to live, a reason to be who you are. You've found a place where you are accepted, and loved, and wanted. You've made friends who don't care what your sexuality is, and love you for who you are. Dalton saved you in every possible way.
"So you have two options," you start. He's still looking at you as if you're his lifeline. It still scares you. You still want to help him, but you still don't know how. What you really want to say is don't listen to me, kid. I have no idea what I'm talking about. I've felt your pain, but I don't know how to make it go away.
"I mean, I'd love to tell you to just enroll here, but tuition at Dalton is sort of steep, and I know that it's not an option for everybody," you say. "Or, you can refuse to be the victim." You don't know where that came from. You've always been victimized. Ever since middle school. And yeah, you wished you hadn't been, but at the time there seemed to be no better way. At the time, it didn't seem like you could refuse.
As much as you love Dalton, you almost wished that you'd stayed at your old school. Sure, you probably would have been dead by now, but it was real. Dalton isn't the real world. Dalton is sheltering you from everything that the world is. What Kurt is going through is real. It's society. Dalton is not preparing you for that. It's preparing you for assuming everyone is going to be nice, when that is far from true. Once you graduate, you're on your own. You don't have a no-bullying policy. In life, there isn't a no-bullying policy.
"Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt. And you have a chance right now to teach him." Do what I can't. What I couldn't. Don't do this. Don't run away, because in some ways it's not worth it. I am weak. You don't have to be.
"How?" he chokes. The answers come to you before you can even think about it the words are spilling out of your mouth. Things you should have done. Things you couldn't have done.
"Confront him. Call him out." You look at him, and he looks scared. Like he thinks it's impossible.
"I ran, Kurt. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away, and that is something I really...regret." Is it the whole truth? Not really. Did you wish you had the strength to stand up? Of course. But you know that you didn't then, and don't now. You can't tell him that, though. You can't tell him to give up. This seems like the kind of advice that one should be giving.
You don't talk much more. You give him your number, insisting that he call you if he needs anything at all. Kurt goes home, looking...not happy...but hopeful. There's something more in him, and you can see the potential he has to be something great. You go back to your dorm. You have Warbler's practice tonight, but it's not for another couple of hours. Opening the door, you frown at the single bed. Sure, sometimes being prefect has its advantages. Other times, it's downright lonely. You flop down on the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted.
When you were looking at Kurt, it was like going back in time and staring at yourself in the mirror. You saw a reflection of yourself in his eyes. The same pain, frustration, fear, and loneliness was there in his very demeanor.
You rip off your blazer, loosen your tie, untuck your button-down, and take off your belt, feeling constricted. Your wrists are burning again, and you push up your sleeves. The scars are mostly gone now, just thin, fading pink lines that are barely noticeable. It's times like these when you really want to cut. You specifically don't keep scissors or pocket-knives in your room for this very reason. You think about the razor that you know is in your shower. It seems appealing at first, but you resist. You contemplate taking out your guitar and playing. That usually distracts you for a while, but you just can't right now. All you can think about is the look on Kurt's face, and the burning of your wrists. You just lie there, waiting for time to pass so you can go to Warbler's practice and forget about this, but the clock on the wall ticks slower and slower with each passing second.
Finally, you stand up, and walk to the bathroom to retrieve the razor blade. You can't take the temptation anymore. You take off your shirt, not wanting to stain it. You hold the razor to your left wrist, right over the vein. You look at yourself in the mirror, trying to talk yourself out of it, but it's not working. Finally you close your eyes, and in one quick swipe, you feel the release.
At first, you can't remember why it was a good idea to stop. You watch the wine red liquid flowing down your hand and over your fingers, dripping into the sink. It feels good, but it's fading. In a fervor to stop the pain, you make another two slits on each arm. You sigh, turning on the faucet, and washing the red away, and drying it with a towel, putting pressure on it to soak up the blood.
It's sick that you need to hurt yourself to feel okay.
You expected to feel good. It used to calm you down, make you complete. Now you just feel terrible. You shouldn't have to do this. You haven't done it in years. Kurt had taken you back there, and brought back the pain. It wasn't his fault. You don't blame him. He didn't make you slit your wrists.
You glance at the clock, and it's time to go. You try to pull yourself together as you put your uniform back on. With the blazer and long-sleeved button-down nobody had to know anything. This could be your secret. Your dirty little secret.
You stuff your keys and cellphone into your pocket, and make your way to the senior commons, faking a smile and pretending you were okay. Just like you always have. Kurt needs you- now that you've helped him, you're sure he's going to want to see more of you. You sigh, knowing that your little friend in the shower would help you through it. It's a bad habit- the worst. The kind you can't just break, you're learning.
You don't want to do this anymore. You don't have to do this. This isn't who you're supposed to be.
As much as you knew you were helping Kurt, you think maybe he can help you. If Kurt can get through this without hurting himself, so can you.
You smile at David and Wes and the other Warblers as you enter. You're not really there as Wes goes over choreography, All you can think about is your little friend and your bad habit. And how much you need it again.
You're spiraling down this dark hole again, and Kurt, who seems to be the person who pushed you in, might be the only person to help you climb back out.
AN: I am a firm believer that Blaine has a darker past than he's letting on. Not saying that he's a cutter, but still. This topic is close to me, as one of my good friends is suffering through depression, and self-harm. Please, if you or someone you know is thinking about hurting yourself, seek out help. Remember that people love you! I love you, if that's any comfort!
Anyway, please review and let me know what you think.
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