His family didn't love him.
His father a fair cop. His mother a good lawyer.
But they didn't care about him.
Was he suicidal?
Maybe.
But only because of what was happening at school.
Still this seemed a bit drastic.
Whatever. It doesn't matter what he thinks now. Someone was already dead.
He blinked down at the body on the ground.
David Karofsky.
Yup. There was a lot of blood. So much blood.
'God David was young' he though, eyes never leaving the lifeless body on the once white tile bathroom.
Blaine was young too though. But then again, he seemed to have aged a few years over the course of picking up the gun and firing it.
No! He forced his brain to comply. There is a dead body in front of him. A gun in his hand.
He had to move.
The hallways were a blur. Had nobody heard the gunshots? Maybe they thought it was just the plumbing...
He thought back to the white bathroom that he had painted red.
'HEY'
Fuck.
Two shots.
Dead teacher.
Well fuck.
Red hallway.
It was .
That teacher who kept trying to get him into glee club.
Blaine liked him.
Whatever.
No time to stop and think. Move.
Bell.
Long long bell.
Lockdown bell.
They knew he was here.
"ohmygodrachelrun!"
Four more shots.
Two dead students.
That annoying girl Rachel who never stopped bothering him.
He didn't know the Mohawk boy.
Doesn't matter.
He didn't care. He had to keep moving.
Sirens. Police.
Stairs. Third floor. Chemistry room.
Uh oh. Movement.
He reloaded. Two more shots. Hopefully he hit someone.
They wanted it or they deserved it.
'BLAINE ANDERSON' COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.
Police were coming up the stairs.
No.
I won't go to jail.
No.
He opened a window.
"Son come down from the ledge. Don't do anything you'll regret."
It was his father.
"No" he silently reminded himself his father didn't care about him.
He said nothing more.
Blaine Anderson jumped.
He felt it. The comfort of dying. Freshness of the air. That moment he had been searching for. That moment he longed for each time he took that blade across his skin
It was all over he was gone.