Chapter Two - "Where Do Broken Hearts Go?"
Blaine stood motionless in his parents' shower, multiple jets of water blasting him from three sides.
He was home. He'd started stripping off his clothes as soon as he'd entered the house, trying to escape the sweaty sex smell which permeated each and every garment. His briefs had gone right into the waste basket.
He wondered how long it would take before the slimy sensation clinging to his skin would wash away. If ever. He picked up a bar of soap, fragrant suds forming as he tried to make himself feel clean again.
I cheated...
As he moved the bar over the wet slickness of his skin, he tried to not remember Eli's hands on his body...caressing his shoulders...his chest...sliding down his stomach—
Nausea began to overwhelm him. The soap slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. He leaned against the wall, gagging, trying to swallow away the sour taste building in his mouth. No good.
He could still feel the touch of skin on skin, those hands snaking around his hips...cupping his ass...spreading his—
Blaine suddenly bent over, wracked by dry-heaving. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I cheated...
He just stupidly shook his head. It had been wrong...it had felt wrong...but he hadn't stopped. Hadn't had even a second thought.
Why?
Blaine knew the answer. He'd wanted someone who wasn't just a voice on the phone (those rare times Kurt deigned to answer at all any more). Someone who wouldn't abruptly hang up on him...who didn't sound uninterested when Blaine tried to talk about something in his life...
He wanted someone to want him...to pay attention to him...who wouldn't take him and his love for granted...who might realize how much he was hurting...how he was slowly spiraling downward into the abyss...
That's why. That's why he hadn't thought of Kurt...because it was so obvious that Kurt wasn't thinking about him at all.
At least, that's what he'd thought. Before he'd...
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to go away. Oh, God.
Now all he could think of was Kurt.
I cheated...
He slouched there, his naked body pounded by streams of hot water...which were slowly turning warm...then cold. But even when his teeth started chattering, he didn't move to turn off the now icy spray.
He'd never felt so alone in his life.
Blaine lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. With the anger burning in his gut competing with the ache in his heart, he couldn't fall asleep.
Kurt cheated...
Blaine had wanted to talk to somebody—anybody—last night. Someone who'd tell him everything would be all right.
He'd actually called Cooper. But had gotten no answer. As usual. He'd considered spilling his guts to his brother's voicemail, but didn't.
He thought about Jeff and Nick, his best friends at Dalton. But he wasn't in the mood for a round of "I told you so's". Jeff hadn't wanted him to leave and advised him against transferring; he'd just tell him to "fuck McKinley" and come back where he belonged.
Forget the Glee kids. To them, he was sure he was nothing more than "the boyfriend". None of them had ever tried to get to know Blaine Anderson the individual; he was just the other half of "Kurt-'n-Blaine". They'd be "Team Kurt" all the way...
He'd never felt so alone in his life.
Drifting off, he vaguely registered the sky beginning to lighten outside his window—
—before his alarm went off.
Head pounding and bleary eyed, Blaine dragged himself out of bed. The half-hour or so of fitful sleep he'd managed hadn't improved his mood. His anger was raw and throbbing, like an open wound, blocking out his despair.
Especially after he'd padded downstairs and extracted his phone from the cushions. Swiping the screen, he saw three missed calls. A return call from Coop. And two from...Sam? Who'd also sent him two texts:
Sam (9:34pm): u ok dude - lookd pissd whn u lef - thnk i kno y - call if u wnt 2
Sam (12:12am): hey - stll up if u wnt 2 tlk
Sam. Who'd witnessed first-hand the messages blowing up Kurt's phone.
Nothing, of course, from Saint Kurt. Who'd probably gone right on texting back and forth with his little friend last night. Since it made him feel so special. In a way Blaine didn't any more.
Before heading up to his bathroom, he deleted the Kurt voicemails from the previous night. He couldn't care less.
Blaine stood motionless in the shower, just letting the water blast him in the face, hoping it would clear his head. He couldn't get the memory of those texts out of his head. ("Are you lost? Because Heaven is a long way from here." Get real, jerk off!)
Hey, Blainey boy...maybe they've graduated to sexting by now? his mind taunted. And with that pleasant thought, Blaine punched the shower wall. Shit! He'd actually managed to crack one of the tiles. As well as really hurt his hand.
That Kurt felt this kind of texting was innocent was a huge joke—especially after the Sebastian debacle earlier this year. Blaine had endured Kurt's endless lectures on how even Blaine's innocent G-rated responses to the Dalton boy's graphic come-on's had been wrong and misleading.
(Just reading Sebastian's smutty text-series entitled "I Know What Boys Like"—and how he wanted to prove it to Blaine—had sent Kurt into a sputtering tizzy where his voice went practically ultrasonic. Thank God Blaine had deleted the pictures...they would've given Kurt a stroke.)
But Blaine couldn't bring himself to hurt anyone. It wasn't in his nature. Even when the predatory boy had made his intentions obvious, Blaine couldn't cut him loose. He'd seen something else there...something lonely and sad behind Sebastian's swagger and bravado. He'd thought the guy just needed a friend.
Until the New Directions-Warbler face-off in that parking garage.
This guy Chandler, whoever he was, was psychotically texting Kurt, like, every thirty seconds with highlights from the crummiest list of pick-up lines Blaine had ever read. How was this different from Sebastian?
Oh, yeah. Unlike Blaine with Sebastian, Kurt was flirting back.
But that was "okay". He was SAINT KURT...who was NEVER wrong...ALWAYS misunderstood...and DIDN'T have to say "I'm sorry" to anyone!
After sending that short-and-to-the-point text last night, Blaine had gone down to the exercise room in the basement and, while crying, angrily walloped the bag for over an hour. No good—he'd needed something more substantial tp punch than just the name "Chandler". He'd spent the rest of the evening practicing the perfect Whitney Houston song. One that would not only meet Mr. Schue's stupid requirement of "letting go", but express to a certain stuck-up text-cheating boyfriend how Blaine felt as well.
And the funniest thing of all, Blaine thought to himself as he gazed into the mirror that morning, taming his unruly hair with a healthy dollop of gel, Kurt himself had inspired the choice with his own words...
Blaine studiously avoided Kurt all day at school. Which wasn't too hard, since it seemed that Kurt was avoiding him in return. The first time he saw him was between third and fourth periods. Kurt was standing at his locker.
Reading something on that goddamned phone.
His eyes burning, Blaine stopped and went the other direction.
The New Directions kids, so used to seeing "Kurt-'n-Blaine" joined at the hip, gave him puzzled looks all day. Which he ignored. When Mike and Tina asked him at lunch if something were wrong, he just shrugged and focused his attention on his plate of McKinley crap du jour. He'd probably hurt their feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Arriving in the choir room early, Blaine ducked his head into the adjoining office and asked Mr. Schuester if he could be the first to perform. "Sure, Blaine, no problem," the teacher said with a smile, oblivious to both Blaine's tightly pursed lips and the dark circles under the boy's usually laughing eyes.
The Glee kids gradually filed in and sat. Kurt sauntered in, looking none the worse for wear, and took a seat on the opposite end of the risers. Blaine stood and nodded to the band, who started his song's percussive intro.
"This song is dedicated to anyone who's been cheated on," he sneered at a certain indifferent someone.
As he heard Brittany utter some surreal comment about cheetahs, Blaine caught the other kids' wide-eyed reactions to his statement. As well as to the daggers he was so obviously staring at Kurt.
Kurt sat there, avoiding his gaze, arms folded over his chest. "This is insane. I didn't cheat on you."
What was that, Kurt? Was that an "I'm sorry, Blaineykins"? No. An "I was wrong, snookums"? Nuh-uh. Maybe a "Please forgive me, best-boyfriend-in-the-world-who-changed-his-whole- fucking-life-just-for-me"? Nope. Well then, Kurt Hummel, love of my life, here are two little words for you...BITE ME!
Blaine let him have it with both barrels the best way he knew how:
"Friday night, you and your boys went out to eat
Then they hung out
But you came home around three (Yes, you did)
If six of y'all went out
Then four of you were really cheap
'Cause only two of you had dinner
I found your credit-card receipt."
Kurt was staring at him in shock, mouth literally hanging open. Good.
"It's not right, but it's okay
I'm gonna make it anyway
Pack your bags, up and leave
Don't you dare come runnin' back to me."
The other kids started to join in the chorus. They still looked startled by the intensity of Blaine's performance, the venom in his voice. All except Sam—and Rachel. She obviously knew something about this, too. That figured.
"It's not right, but it's okay
I'm gonna make it anyway
Close the door behind you, leave your key
I'd rather be alone than unhappy."
The other kids were starting to catch on; Mercedes, Santana, Artie, Mike...they were casting judgmental glances in Kurt's direction.
"I'm packin' your bags so you can leave town for a week (Yes I am)
The phone rings, and then you look at me."
Hah! He noticed Kurt shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of the word "phone".
"You said it was one of your friends
Down on Fifty-fourth Street, boy
So why did 'two-one-three'
Show up on your caller ID...?"
His anger swelled as the song went on. Blaine was satisfied to see that Kurt was looking really worried. Like he'd finally realized that something might actually be wrong. That maybe he'd done something wrong?
That Blaine—also known as "that romantically-challenged, attention-whoring big baby"—wasn't just being overly sensitive.
"Was it really worth you going out like that?
See I'm moving on
And I refuse to turn back
See all of this time
I thought I had somebody down for me
It turns out
You were making a fool of me-e-ee! (Yeah)"
After one more repeat of the chorus, he was finished. Without another word, he gave Kurt the "bitch, please" expression he'd learned from the master himself, spun on his heel and stormed out the choir room.
Behind him, he heard Santana chortle, "S-nap!"
Pissed at the world, he stalked down the nearly empty halls. No one had tried to stop him. Not one person in that room had even called after him.
What did you expect? his mind mocked.
TO BE CONTINUED
A/N: Thanks for reading! The reviews and PMs I've gotten were as passionate as I expected and are appreciated.
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