Locked up

Of all the people, I got him. My colleagues all chose the inmate they wanted to mentor for the month; I always got the ones that no one nobody wanted. The angry ones, the crazy ones, the downright annoying ones...you name it, I got it. Blaine Andersen had been in Ohio Juvenile Detention Centre for 3 years. He was 14 when he filled up the trunk of his father's car with aerosols and set fire to it. He had been moved into solitary four times for violent disorder and was usually sent off to mentors with a yellow warning sheet, advising them to give him a wide berth and to never, under any circumstances, bring up his father in conversation. I had gotten this sheet and was sure that he and I were going to get on just great.

"I'm Kurt, I'll me mentoring you," I greeted him, trying to mask the disappointment. When I had been given his sheet and his profile, I was expecting some huge, burly, jock type. Blaine walked up to me and I couldn't help but stare at the young looking, not to mention gorgeous boy. He was shorter than me, maybe 5ft 8in. He was stocky too; his muscular arms were obvious through the bright orange polyester jumpsuit, and his eyes! They were intense, warm hazel; beautiful.

"Hey," His voice hit me. It was milky but husky and cool. I shook his hand and led him to the desk I was going to be working with him at.

"Okay, so part of my job with you is psychoanalysis, in short; I'm just gonna' figure your brain out." I tried to sound like I was his friend, on his level. He just stared back at me, those hazel eyes darkening a little as they raked over me and paused on the yellow warning sheet I was clutching.

"I'm not crazy," he shot back monotonously, his eyes narrowing like he was in pain. I could tell that he was struck hard by the concept of being psychologically analysed, I just wasn't sure why.

"No one is calling you crazy, Blaine," I started, "It's just that some of your previous key workers have been concerned about your...stability." He flipped out then, slamming his hand down on the desk and walking away. No one seemed bothered! I didn't know, perhaps they were used to violent outbursts from him?

"Don't worry about him," the key worker from the other table seating a girl with blue hair and multiple piercings came over, "He's a powder keg, but you'll learn to get along with him!" She slapped my shoulder and walked away, leaving me there. I was dumbstruck and a little bit frightened.

That was the worst part. I was so close to the age of most of these kids that it was hard to not see them as the bullies that taunted me at high school- every other day of the week. I was 18 and was now at school part time; I had graduated early and was adamant that I wanted to stay with the rest of my classmate for the rest of the year.

"Should I go and get him?" I asked the other key worker. She nodded bouncily and told me that he would probably be in the gym. I walked down the corridors, lined with cells on both sides and all painted white, the occasional bursts of orange catching my eye. The large dark red double doors on the right hand side broke up the never ending line.

"Whose face is that?" I asked him, watching with amusement as he punched the crap out of a gym bag. He stopped and turned. I was expecting him to say mine but he didn't.

"My father's."

His voice was a flat yet piercing growl. I just sighed. I was not sure how I could help someone who just didn't want to be helped.

"Blaine, come here for second," I patted the battered gym bench beside me and much to my surprise, he sat.

"What?" He asked flatly, almost angrily but more just frustrated. His eyes were brighter, greener than the yellowy-brown I had seen earlier. He exhaled heavily and stared back down at his hands.

"What annoys you most in the world?" My psychologist head came on, "I can tell you're an angry kid."

Blaine shook his head, lost for words from the probably endless list. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

"This place, rules, my father, people patronising me because I'm...different," his face fell and he looked almost tearful. I just waited, hoping that he would carry on.

"How are you different, besides being blindingly intelligent and interesting to work with?" I finally asked. I knew about his intelligence from the other key workers. Sarah Rodrigez, his previous mentor, had told me that he had an IQ of 176. I hadn't believed her until she had shown me the results from back in 2008. The 14 year old drop out was working on degree level arithmetic. HOLY CHEESUS!

"I've got Intermittent Anger Disorder, ADHD and schizoaffective disorder," he rattled off.

The last one worried me. Would I ever get to know who he really was? Maybe these outbursts, or by extension, his whole personality, were just a product of the cocktail of disorders and anxiety going round in this boy's head. Not to mention the medication he was probably pumped with every day.

"They must be hard to deal with, without family support," I lowered my tone, really trying to sooth him. He nodded, obviously choking back tears.

"Hey, it's alright, you have support now; me." His eyes welled up and swelled over with tears. It broke my heart but in a way I really felt like I was doing well at my job for once. There was a phenomenon between mentors called 'shell tears'. It was when you got someone who shut out the whole world and it's emotions to finally let loose and cry. I had gotten it.

"I'm sorry, I'm being an idiot," he wiped his eyes roughly, "I don't usually cry." His voice still shook and I rubbed and awkward circle in his back.

"Shush, don't apologise, it's good that you're crying; it shows real bravery you know," I reassured. I was desperate for him not to be ashamed of something so basic and human. I couldn't help feeling like I had a bond with him. I had been told not to develop bonds with any of the inmates. Mr Carnegie, my boss (we had all secretly nicknamed him Mr Sir because he was like the guy from Holes) had told me that they would either use the relationship to get what they wanted, or move on and upset us. This was definitely a bond I couldn't break.

"Why did you choose me?" He slowly asked, although he was afraid of the answer. I turned to him.

"Honestly, I didn't," He smiled, soothing the awkwardness, "I saw your warning sheet and ran for the hills, so did everyone else." He actually giggled a bit at this.

"I was just intimidated by the challenge, don't worry!" I smiled at him, getting an amazing, white grin in return. There was something beautifully attractive and endearing about the way his teeth were just a little wonky, the way his nose was just a little crooked and the way his hair stuck out in messy, glossy ringlets.

"Come on," I started off, shaking away my daydream and standing up, "Lunch will be up soon."

{ }

I just lay there in the pitch black. I didn't usually mind much that, for the second time, I had been thrown into solitary, I didn't usually mind that I had to wear handcuffs at all times (apart from registration and mentor assignment) and I didn't usually mind that I was stuck in a cell by myself when all my inmates got to have 'recess'. I knew it was all for my safety and the safety of the people around me. But today it was different. My 'friends' got to spend as much time as they wanted to with their mentors. I wanted to, but I couldn't. Kurt had become somewhat of an actual friend over the last few days; he understood me, I understood him. That was something I hadn't ever felt, not even with my parents.

He was just amazing. He would just touch my shoulder, and drain every ounce of anger from my system. He knew when I was getting angry and he could stop it before it happened. He made me feel safe. When my world felt like it was being attacked by my mind and when my mind was attacking itself, he made me feel safe.

{ }

"Blaine, what's up?" I went up to him and put a hand on the top of his head. He just shook it and swallowed thickly. There was something wrong. The sea of orange-clad teens was just a little intimidating anyway, but I had to remember that Blaine saw the world very differently. "I...I was released from solitary."

He sounded genuinely terrified. He was quivering uncontrollable, clutching the plastic knife and fork so hard his knuckles were pale, making the punch scars stand out.

"Why is that upsetting you?" I was confused, I thought a teenage boy would want that freedom (kind of freedom) to talk to whoever he wanted to, to socialise.

"I'm scared; someone might be trying to kill me, maybe..." He trailed off; his head snapped, insanely fast, towards the sound of a tray falling.

He was so scared. I could see the tears welling up. I wondered how I could remove him from the situation effectively.

"Wait here, just a second," I darted off, leaving a terrified looking Blaine at the table.

"Mr Carnegie, sir?" I came up behind him, tapping his shoulder lightly.

"Ah, Hummel, what can I do for you?" His deep southern accent was just so stereotypical of his appearance. He always wore a cowboy hat, for some reason.

"I was just wondering, can I take my key client out for a minute?" He seemed compliant, "He's just been let out of solitary and he's panicking a bit." Mr Carnegie stroked his chin and looked out over the room.

"Andersen, right?" He asked frowning slightly and pointing to Blaine. I nodded.

"Sure," he shrugged, "If he doesn't mind being pretty darn hungry!"

I thanked him and made my way back to Blaine. I shouldn't have left him in the first place.

Blaine was sitting there, along with five other guys. He had his head bowed with his hands over his ears. His cheeks were flushed and tears ran down them steadily. His breathing however could in no way be classed as steady. It was extremely fast and was hitching in places. "What...what happened?" I asked, shocked and expecting the worst.

"I swear we didn't do anything!" the slim, ginger guy exclaimed, "We just came to sit by him because he was alone and all, and he freaked out!" Even the other boys seemed panicked. "Blaine, buddy?" I cautiously and quietly started, "Come on, stand up for me." I took him by the hands and helped him up. His breathing got even faster and he fell forwards into me, his knees giving way. He just held on to me, his face buried in my chest and his hysterical sobs wracking his frame.

"Breathe, come on now."

The panic attack wouldn't stop.

"Let's go, come with me,"

I held him to me as we walked. His hands were still over his ears and he was still shaking like crazy. I got him out of the room, and into an empty office.

"Sit down, honey...there we go."

My hands stayed on his shoulders the whole time.

"K-Kurt, stay here please...please" he stammered out shakily, looking absolutely horrified.

I was confused, I hadn't moved at all.

"Blaine, I'm right here, I wasn't going to move at all!" I comforted, holding him tighter.

"Y-You were going t-to the door!" He said with the fear and panic building up in his voice.

Was he hallucinating? He definitely wasn't with it completely. I had never seen anyone get themselves into this much of a state over a loud place, and I had taken my autistic sister to a firework display (never, ever again)!

"Are you...sure?" His voice was destroyed. He sounded like a broken man, he looked like one. I would never forget the look that came over his face when I nodded, confirming his fears. He knew, that at a moment when he was the most vulnerable, he was at his mind's mercy, and he was unable to claw his way back.

{ }

I woke up to Kurt. He was bustling around my cell, moving my paperwork into a messenger bag and signing some sort of a permission slip. "Kurt, what are you doing?" I croaked, still groggy with sleep and a little bit pissed at being woken up an hour early.

"We are doing a social skills training class, just me and you," he said, too cheery for this to be something kosher, "It also means you get to go out in the public domain for the first time in three years!" He chimed.

My heart stopped. My scary and slightly embarrassing breakdown had stopped me being ready for much human contact today. "You mean...I'm going out?" My voice cracked a little but I was holding it together.

"Yep," he became serious, "Blaine, I wouldn't wish the fear I know you were feeling yesterday on anyone, but I know how much you need this." I felt sick at the prospect of going outside. I was only allowed to out in the little, barbed wire-fenced yard once every other week. I didn't even like looking out of the window for long lengths of time.

"Public transport is the only one we are actually required to do, but we can go to the park or something," he was trying to make it sound less daunting, "Subway or bus, your choice." I thought for a moment. I had been on the subway before and I had hated every minute of it. Buses were a little better.

"Bus, I guess," I was hesitant but I didn't want to kill his flow, "Who said we could do this?" I asked, just a little bit concerned. Kurt sat on the bunk next to me and I shifted my legs to give him a little more room.

"Carnegie, he heard about that meltdown and said it was something they had tried a while ago but hadn't revisited because they never needed to."

Oh dear God. What was this going to be like?

"Wait a sec; I don't have any normal clothes. Do I have to wear the...stuff?" I gestured to the jumpsuit folded pretty shittily on the side with hatred. Kurt just laughed into his sleeve, answering my question for me.

"NO WAY!" I half laughed as Kurt's giggles intensified into full on hoots. This was going to be mortification at its best.

{ }

"Blaine, you okay?" I asked him. I thought he was going to be alright until I saw his expression as he entered the bus full of eyes, all on him. He was wearing a prison uniform. His jumpsuit was open to the waist and he had a t-shirt on that said 'SOLITARY CONFINEMENT #776' on it. Everyone was staring. One older woman actually tutted! What are you gonna' do next, start throwing fruit. Jeez.

"Handcuffs are so uncomfortable..." he grumbled, fidgeting with them and pulling slightly. What he did next was something extraordinary that I could have sworn was illegal. His thumb bent under, more than was normal, and his hand slipped out with ease. He did the same with the next hand. People were really staring now. One guy with spacer piercings and dreadlocks whooped from his seat at the back and the disapproving old lady stared in horror and then got off of the bus.

"How did you just..." I trailed off, a little bit disgusted by the angles at which Blaine's thumbs could bend.

"I'm double jointed; it helps with a surprising amount of things," He was surprisingly nonchalant about something so incredible.

He was dealing with this surprisingly well, the nerves were only evident when someone brushed against him or looked him in the eyes. I was proud.

"Is this our stop?" He asked me, still holding the handcuffs he's escaped from and nudging me in the ribs. I was texting with one hand, and holding a clipboard in the other. I read the text that came through on my phone:

Hey Hummel,

It's Sarah, how r u and ur guy doin?

I texted back that I was fine before turning to Blaine.

"Yeah, next one," I replied, "Do you still wanna' go to that park?" I asked, sensing that he was good for more. He nodded, shrugging; he was up for the challenge but was hiding his nerves with his bravado. I had done a lot of body language training to get the job. I could tell if someone was lying fairly easily and I knew when to just leave someone alone.

We got off, walking down the little bit of high street we had left and earning plenty of stares and a few points. I hoped that some people thought he was in fancy dress but my trusty clipboard probably didn't do much for it.

{ }

"Can we go into the shade?" I asked Kurt, tugging him gently to a spot under a nearby tree, where the sun dappled the grass with leaf-broken patterns.

"Sure, we have to be back by six though."

He seemed disappointed with this. I couldn't imagine anyone liking their job so much that they would actually want to spend as much time as he did with a client. I thought for a while that maybe it wasn't the job that he liked so much; it was me. No, it really couldn't be. I had screamed at Kurt to 'leave me the fuck alone' in the middle of one of my massive rages before and I was overall difficult. But maybe he understood even more than I thought he did.

"Kurt," I caught his attention with a pat on the shoulder, "Do you like me, or the job?" I asked honestly, not really thinking enough to mince my words. There was so much noise around me. The sound of birds, children, cars and buses; they were all the things I was scared of but had missed.

"Oh my God Blaine, of course it's you I like...to be honest, I think the job is kind of stressful and boring!" He looked shocked that I had doubted him. He pulled me into a hug. I wasn't sure what to do. I hadn't done this for ages.

"Blaine, hug me back," Kurt giggled.

I did. I hugged him back and was surprised how much I enjoyed the feeling of being that close to someone. His warmth, his smell, the way his muscles and structure felt under my hands, it actually turned me on a little bit! I wasn't sure if it was the fact that I'd had no friendly physical contact for three years or the fact that I was pretty sure I was gay, but this felt too good. I knew he was gay. He had told me about it once when dating came up in a chat. Should I make this move?

{ }

"Kurt, can I ask you something?" Blaine's voice was low, soft and a little bit tentative. All of a sudden, the sounds in the park sunk back into the mellifluous hum of my thoughts. I knew what was going to happen.

"Kurt...I love you." Blaine whispered.

And I loved him back, but knew I wasn't allowed.