AN: Hey, everyone! This here is a new story that's been in my head for a while... so I thought I'd start writing it out and see where it leads. This is just the prologue and it's very short, but let me know what you think! Please!
For readers of my other story, The Changes We've Made, I am in no way abandoning that story- I just wanted to get this up, too. :)
Thanks guys! The title of the story is half from title of a song by the band Farewell Luna called "Broken Bones." I don't own that song, or Glee or its characters.
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Prologue
"I hope you don't mind
That I put down in words
How wonderful life is
While you're in the world."
Blaine finished the song amongst applause and bowed. His eyes flit around the room of high school students until he finally caught sight of Peter. The boy was standing near the front of the stage, his green eyes sparkling under his the bangs of his wavy blond hair. His face was split in a grin that Blaine matched upon meeting his eyes.
Making his way off the stage, Blaine set aside his guitar and turned to Peter, who was holding his hand out. "Care to dance?"
Blaine's smile widened. "Of course." Just as he took the other boy's hand though, he felt two hands on his shoulders and before he knew it, he was being spun around. Blaine blinked, confused. A tall boy in a dress shirt was standing in front of him.
"There's no room for you at this dance, faggot." A punch in the stomach knocked the breath out of Blaine.
"Let go of-" Peter began. His shout was cut off when another boy behind him aimed a punch for his kidney. "Urghhhh."
The next few minutes went by in a flash of intense pain and yelled slurs. Kicks to the shins, punches to the abdomen, name-calling, all around terror. Blaine vaguely wondered why no one was doing anything to help him and Peter.
Suddenly a right hook blindsided Blaine completely, and he collapsed to the gym floor in his suit.
"And we don't need your faggy voice and stupid music ruining the dance." Blaine cringed when he saw a foot swing; then there was just horrifying pain in his throat and the sound of a snap and everything faded to black.
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Blaine woke with a start in a tangle of sheets, his clothes sticking to his sweaty body. His heart was racing and his breathing was ragged, wanting to scream but not able to. Swinging his feet off the bed, he placed them on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom and pushed himself up with his right arm, his left having been rendered useless in its cast across his chest.
He shuffled slowly into the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. A glass of cold water helped him calm down, but he didn't want to go back to his dark, lonely room. That was his fourth nightmare in as many nights, and he hated it, reliving the joy and happiness, the belief that maybe the night wouldn't be a waste, and then having all of that turned around on him, being humiliated and tortured and feeling fear and pain ripple through his body.
So, for the fourth time that week, Blaine sank onto the sofa in the family room and turned on the television. And, for the fourth time that week, he dozed off sometime around five AM after watching old reruns for hours.