Edit: This story was originally posted as a one shot all about Blaine, but now that it's becoming an actual story it will focus a lot on Blaine and Kurt's relationship. Though it is still mostly just about Blaine and his home life.
Blaine Anderson sat on the floor of his room, hiding under his desk. He'd already locked his door, but he didn't feel safe lying on his bed.
He could hear his dad yelling, even when he covered his ears. The loud, angry, drunken voice filled every corner of Blaine's mind, and he could hear it everywhere he went. Every time he did something wrong, or got below an eighty on a test, or was pushed into a locker by a bully, he heard his father's voice.
Yelling.
Angry.
Of course, Blaine's father didn't always yell. It only happened when his dad had one too many after dinner drinks. Every now and then, the man would drink until he couldn't walk straight. Blaine knew to run when his father got that way. Last time, he was to slow, and had to wear long sleeve shirts for weeks to cover the bruises.
Blaine didn't want to be ashamed of who he was. But when every single person at his old school had put him down for it, and his father yelled and hit him because of it, he couldn't help but be mad at himself.
His father hadn't always gotten drunk to the point of getting angry, though. When Blaine had first come out, his father just started ignoring him. He didn't yell. He didn't argue. He didn't say anything. He just blocked out the fact that he had a son.
Blaine became a part of the furniture when his father was around. His mother went along with it, not wanting to enrage Blaine's father. Blaine had hated her for not sticking up for him. He was her son for fucks sake! Why hadn't she done anything?
Blaine couldn't look his mother in the eye back when he was furniture. Not until the day he came home earlier than he said he would. He was spending the evening at the library, and had left a note saying he'd be home by nine. But he had finished his work early, and had gotten home by seven fifteen. He regretted coming home the second he opened the door.
His father's slurred, ferocious voice was everywhere. He didn't know if he should run away and come back later or attempt to sneak into his room. But before he could make up his mind, he heard a loud smack and his mother's shrill cry. He was frozen in shock, unsure of anything.
The words his father had yelled were still etched in the wall of his mind.
'IT'S YOUR FAULT MY ONLY SON IS A FAG. HOW COULD YOU?'
Ever since that day, he was never mad at his mother again. She ignored him when his father was around because she didn't want to provoke him or cause trouble. It was a coward's move, but it was for Blaine's good. From that day on, he got used to being a part of the furniture.
It was about a month after that incident that Blaine's father started drinking when Blaine was home.
When his father was sober, Blaine was furniture.
When his father was drunk, Blaine was a target.
It wasn't much of a life, but it was a constant. Blaine knew to keep his head down and mouth shut when the liquor cabinet was closed; and to hide in his room when it was open.
He heard his father throw his glass at a wall and he jumped, hitting his head on the underside of his desk. He lifted his head and checked his phone.
It had been twenty minutes since his father had started yelling and, if today was like the others, he would storm out of the house soon.
He pulled his legs tighter around his chest and closed his eyes, attempting to think happy thoughts. He thought about school, he thought about singing with the Warblers, and he thought about how the weekend was almost over and he would return to his dorm at Dalton. He didn't usually come back home over the weekends, but his mother had wanted to spend time with him so he came home for her. Even though he knew his father would get like this.
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he pulled it out to find a message from Kurt.
His beautiful, amazing, perfectly wonderful boyfriend, Kurt.
He smiled, despite everything that was happening, and clicked on the message.
Do you want to go see a movie tonight? I'll buy the popcorn! –Kurt
Blaine felt his heart swell with love and excitement, and hurriedly typed a reply.
That sounds perfect! I'll pick you up in five minutes okay? –Blaine
He figured his father was about to storm out, so he would be able to leave soon.
That was, until he heard a loud smack followed by his mother's shrill scream. He froze, dropping his phone in his lap. He knew that sound far too well. It haunted his dreams. No matter how scared Blaine was, when he heard that sound he would stand up and fight. He would protect. He would stop being furniture.
His father could hit Blaine all he wanted, but he was not allowed to hit his mother.
Before he knew what he was doing he was crawling out from under his desk and unlocking his door. He threw it open and marched down the hall, towards the sound of the yelling. He knew he was just asking for his father to strike him, but he didn't care.
His mother had protected him when he was younger. It was his mother that had picked him up from the dance, and cared for his wounds. His father had sneered at him when he got home; claiming that he had been asking for it, but his mother ignored the rude words in favour for cleaning him up.
He threw open the door to his parent's bedroom, his mother cowering on the floor, his father towering over her.
The elder, drunken man turned to face his son, his eyes swimming over Blaine's smaller form for a few moments before focusing in on Blaine's determined face.
Blaine stood his ground, clenching his hands into fists, fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had only stood up to his father twice before, and it was still the most terrifying thing Blaine had ever experienced.
His mother looked up at him with tear filled eyes, blood dripping from her lip.
The sight filled Blaine with rage and the strength to speak.
"Don't touch her." Blaine said quietly.
His father sneered at him, taking three short steps towards Blaine, swaying dangerously each time he moved.
Blaine could smell the alcohol on his father's breath, and cringed internally. His mother got to his feet behind his father, taking a timid step forward.
"Blaine, sweetie, just go back to your room." His mother said quietly, voice shaking with fear for what her husband was about to do to her son.
Blaine stared into her eyes for a moment. Her eyes were filled with fear, but her bravery shone through. She didn't want her son to get hurt, just like Blaine didn't want his mother to get hurt. He stared at the bruise forming on her face, and stood his ground.
He stared into his father's eyes, and glared angrily. He knew from experience what was about to happen. His father would push him as hard as possible, but Blaine would hold his ground and push back. His father would punch him, and kick him if Blaine fell, and it would hurt. But if Blaine played his cards right, he would get in a punch or two before his father decided he was finished punching the gay out of Blaine.
He took a deep breath, and pushed his shoulders back, rising up to his full height. His father grinned evilly, bringing his hands up, and pushed.
Blaine lay on his bed, holding back tears as he grimaced at the pain throbbing all over his body. His father was probably in the basement, tending to the bruise Blaine had left on the side of his face. Or, more accurately, his father was in the kitchen making himself another drink.
Blaine heard his phone vibrate from under his desk, and lifted himself off his bed, wary of the pain in his stomach from where he'd been kicked. He passed the mirror hanging on his wall and stopped to inspect the condition he was in. There was blood dripping from the cut on his forehead, and his right eye was swollen and bruising. He glared at the bruises, but he was at least glad it had happened to him instead of his mother.
He picked his phone off the ground and groaned as he saw a message from Kurt. He staggered back to his bed and dropped down onto it, clicking open the message.
Where are you? I thought you were going to pick me up? Is everything okay? –Kurt
Blaine felt a sob catch in the back of his throat as he realized the fight had gone on a lot longer than he had thought. He was supposed to pick up Kurt half an hour ago.
Sorry Kurt... something came up. I can't hang out tonight. Maybe another time, okay? –Blaine
Blaine had never gone in depth about his relationship with his father to Kurt. He had told Kurt that his father was less than accepting but he never told the full truth.
It's okay, Blaine. But... are you okay? –Kurt
Blaine didn't know what to do, or what to say. He knew he had to tell Kurt the truth sooner or later, but he really didn't know how to word it. Kurt's father was so accepting and wonderful. How would Kurt react to learning about his father?
Yeah, yeah I'm okay. Don't worry. I love you, Kurt. :) –Blaine
He didn't like keeping Kurt in the dark about his family, but he couldn't let Kurt see him like this. He didn't want Kurt to see how broken he was. Not yet.
I love you too, Blaine. If you need to talk, I'm here okay? –Kurt
Blaine felt a part of him snap and he suddenly broke down into loud sobs, tears falling freely. The fact that he had someone who was looking out for him, someone that loved him, made his heart ache. He just wanted to run into Kurt's house and cry in his arms. He truly loved Kurt, and knowing Kurt loved him back was everything he needed and more.
I'm fine. I'll talk to you tomorrow :) –Blaine
Blaine put his phone on silent and set it on his side table, lying down on his bed. He felt his heart swell with love even as his bruises ached.
His mother did her best to protect him in his home, and he had Kurt to protect him in the real world.
It wasn't much, compared to the forces that were working against him, and the people that were putting him down, but it was enough to make him smile.
He knew his father would be sober tomorrow, and life would go back to the cycle he was accustomed to. He would blend in to the background. He would keep his mouth shut, and his head bowed. He was furniture, and he would be furniture if it kept him and his mother safe.
This is what happens when I open a blank document and decide to start writing. I guess this is vaguely based off the book 'Because I am Furniture' by Thalia Chaltas. I read it a few months ago and I always just connected it with Blaine.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoyed it :)