Blaine startled as his door flew open, the sound of it hitting the wall reverberating around the room, adding to the anxiety that crept over him as he father stormed in.
"What they hell have you done?" His father bellowed causing Blaine to flinch. What had he done? There was nothing that he could think of that would cause his father to be this angry with him.
"I-I have no idea what you're talking-"
"Oh don't give me that shit Blaine. I would hope you'd remember if you bought a house!"
"W-what?" He stuttered, completely taken back. What they hell was going on? His father flung the thick stack of papers he'd been holding onto his bed. They landed all over the place, spreading out across his comforter. Most were for credit cards, from all different companies; and as his father had said, there was one for a house loan too.
He took the papers, shuffling through them. They were all in his name.
"I didn't do this," he shook his head look back up to his father with pleading eyes, begging him to believe him. "S-someone must have stolen my identity."
"Oh don't be stupid Blaine," his father spat as he started pacing around the room. Blaine cowered, his shoulders sinking lower. He wished he could disappear, escape the inevitable abuse that was sure to accompany his father's restlessness. He knew his dad well enough to know that when he started pacing like this he was really in for it. Unlike Blaine who took his anger out on a punching father, his father took it out on him. Most of the time it was verbal abuse, but sometimes, when he was really pissed, he'd hit him.
Blaine really hoped it wouldn't come to that. Especially since he hadn't actually done anything.
"Dad-I,"
"Why the hell would somebody who "stole your identity," he actually did air quotes, "send the card they got to our house? Do you think I'm an idiot?"
Blaine opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut when he caught his father's poisonous gaze. He knew trying to explain himself would only make things worse.
"We had a credit score of 800, Blaine. Thanks to your stunt that's down to a 640. A 640, Blaine. That's not going to get me a loan on a fucking bicycle. Your mother and I have worked hard all our lives to provide for you, to keep you clothed, and fed, always kept a roof over your head, even when you told us about your choice to be gay."
Oh that was it. Blaine bounded off of his bed in a second flat, getting right up into his father's face, finally gaining some courage.
"I didn't do this! Much like I didn't choose to be gay! God, it always has to come back to that, doesn't it? Why can't you just believe me when I say I didn't do this? Why would I ruin my own credit? It-it must have been a mis-umph!"
His thought was cut off by a powerful punch to his gut.
The punches didn't stop until he was doubled over on his knees, begging him to stop. Pleading, stop, dad, please. Please! His Italian leather loafer connected with Blaine's back, sending Blaine sprawling on the floor, before he stopped. Blaine pulled himself up, leaned against his bed frame, one hand holding his stomach, while the other supported his aching nose. It wasn't not broken, just a little sore. He didn't cry. Not in front of him.
His father shook out his fist, before he shot Blaine a disgusted look. "You'll find a way to fix this, or you can forget about New York." He spat before retreating from his room, slamming his door on the way out.
Blaine felt his chin wobble as soon as he heard his father's feet hit the top step. The tears started then too, he gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him with every kick and punch delivered.
He crawled onto his bed, his muscle protesting at the movement. Groping for his phone he called the first person that came to his mind. Another sob ripped out of him as the phone rang for the 8th time, and there was still no answer. Why was he stupid enough to believe that he would answer?
He hung up. Sparing himself the pain of the loud ring of the phone going straight through his already splitting head. What would he have said if he did answer anyway? He couldn't tell him what had happened. He couldn't get his dad in trouble, he could really forget about New York then.
Rethinking it, it was better that he didn't answer, he still jumped when his phone began to buzz.
"Sorry, I had to wait until Rachel was done practicing her "Funny Girl" audition song. I'm actually… I'm kind of surprised you called today."
He tried to squeak out a "why?" but his whole body ached, and all that escaped was a pitiful whimper.
"B? …Blaine, what's wrong?"
He wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him everything, and he wanted Kurt to comfort him. He wanted Kurt to take him into his arms, and just hold him and kiss him while he cried, but he couldn't. Because they weren't even officially back together yet, and if Blaine didn't figure this shit out he would never get the opportunity because he would never get to New York. Not without his parents help. And he'd never get any student loans with his credit in the shitter. And he didn't even care about any of that right now. Right now he just wanted Kurt.
That's all he wanted was Kurt.
But instead he was alone. Alone in a house filled with people who "tolerated" him on the good days, and beat him on the bad. He wished nothing more than to get out of there, some how make it to New York, where he could be with Kurt. Kurt who he knew, no matter how much the other boy protested, still loved him.
But Kurt's voice would have to do for now.
"I-I just," he sputtered, sucking in another painful, ragged breath. "I just miss you. A lot. And I-I-I'm having a r-really crappy day, and I just wanted to hear y-your voice." He lifts his eyes then, from where he had been staring at his door since his father had walked out, like somehow if he kept watch of it his father wouldn't be able to return. That's when his eyes caught his calendar, the date circled in bright red marker and he knew without having to inspect what was written there why this date meant so much to him. But right now instead of cheering him up it only brought him further down. "And-uh, happy anniversary, I gue-ss," his voice broke, and another wave of sobs tore through him, making the ache in his torso so much worse.
"Oh, B… this- I know this isn't just about us. What's wrong sweetheart?"
Blaine curses Kurt's ability for knowing when he's lying, or keeping something from him. But he's also kind of relieved. Kurt wouldn't push if he didn't care.
"I-I can't, Kurt, I can't!"
"Blaine, baby," Blaine bites back another cry at the pet name, because fuck he's been waiting so long to hear the terms of endearment fall from Kurt's lips again. And now they're tumbling out so freely, "sweetheart, B, baby," and it's their fucking anniversary, and he just really hopes he's not adding up all these things into something bigger than it actually is. "Tell me so I can help you! It's killing me to hear you cry and not be able to do anything about it."
"I-I'm sorry," he whispers pathetically. He called Kurt; he shouldn't let Kurt suffer because he's not man enough to tell anyone about his father. He'll suffer many more punches before he gives up on New York. Because New York is Kurt, and he'll do anything to get back to him.
"What can I do?" Kurt asks softly, not wanting to agitate the crying boy any further.
"I-just," Blaine sinks into his bed, throwing his head back on the pillows. He curls into himself, trying to make himself as small as he feels. "Can you sing to me until I fall asleep? Please, Kurt, Please?"
"Of course, what song?"
"Blackbird," he says immediately, and Kurt starts singing after only a brief pause.
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night…"
Blaine falls asleep, being soothed by Kurt's smooth voice, slightly crackled by the phone. And when he wakes up, his bones and muscles aching as he reaches for his phone, seeing the message written there he knows he'll be alright.
"Happy anniversary B, I love you- your (not) just friend, Kurt."
He may be flying with broken wings, but he'll make it to New York on them. He doesn't care how much it hurts, as long as he makes it back to Kurt in the end, everything will be fine.