A/N: Thank you to my lovely reviewers: twin1, Gleek1906-Klaine4eva, Cassandra, and boredandhomealone :-)
Pathetic. He was pathetic. Wearing clothes that weren't his, sitting on sheets that belonged to the institution, and crying over someone that he had never seen before. Blaine Anderson was officially pathetic.
The sting of the insult pained his chest. The pressure behind his eyes was pressing on his tear ducts. He could feel the heat in his face growing in intensity. As hard as he tried to control it, it was there. It has been there for weeks and had never left.
Hours before he had been brought to a room with two single beds. On one side the bed was messy and the shelves held clothing. It was as messy as it could be for a room that housed minimalist patients. They really didn't have the chance to accrue belongings.
He had sat down on the neat bed and sighed. He had twenty minutes until he had to go to art expression. His whole day was regulated. It felt as if he was back at the summer camp his father had sent him to. Except this time Blaine knew that this schedule was for his own benefit. Too much time to sit, too much time to think, was deadly. The poison was released when he sat too long. It coursed through his arteries and poked at his skin.
He put the clothes he had been given on his shelf and looked sadly at his meager collection of belongings. It was sad how all of his things fit on one shelf. He moved to look at what his roommate had on his shelves.
"What the fuck do you think that you are doing?"
Blaine turned to see a broad shouldered boy standing in the doorway. He had sandy blond hair and a scowl on his face. His clothes were shabby, with holes that would have been considered fashionable had they not been put there by the manufacturer, not naturally wear.
Blaine jumped back in response.
"Um… I was just looking…."
"Well that's my shit and you're too close." The sandy haired boy moved closer to Blaine. Even if he hadn't been taller than the Blaine, sandy hair was menacing.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean any harm." Blaine wrung his hands together. Really, it wasn't like he stole anything. He clearly was just looking.
"I don't know if they told you anything, but the last kid in here was so desperate that he attacked a guard to get out." Sandy-hair put his face to Blaine's. "You won't last a fucking week, so you might as well get your shit out of here." He grabbed Blaine's clothes off the shelf, and dropped them to the ground. He stepped on them with the shoes that were literally falling of his feet, and then kicked them beneath his bed.
"And don't even think about touching my fucking bed."
Sandy hair turned to leave and Blaine began crying. As much as he hated his father, he desperately wanted to go home. He was stuck in this sterile room with a crappy roommate, and he was going to be there for three months. And here he was being crying over some idiot. He was fucking pathetic. He deserved to be in this hell hole.
"It's time to go." Blaine looked at the door. One of the institution's guards was at the door.
"I'd really prefer to stay here." Blaine wiped his face with his hands, trying to hide his tears.
"Not really an option kid. Mandatory." Blaine sighed and followed the guard to his art expression class. He looked around at the room. Paint and easels were in one corner. Clay was on a table in the center of the room. Construction paper and markers were in another corner. Off to the side were bins of unknown origin and function.
Blaine sat with the clay. He had always liked playing with playdough as a kid. He worked it within his hands, feeling the contours of the tough material. He rolled it back and forth, pressing it between his fingers. This was stupid, wasn't it? It was meant to distract him, but he was still alone in his thoughts. He ripped the clay into shreds, picking at it into hundreds of pieces. The smallest pieces possible.
What was this supposed to do for him? How was this supposed to be healing? How could they tell him that this would help him, when they didn't even know him.
The clay, after being kneaded in his hand softened. The cool, tough exterior was no more. It was warm within his hands. He rolled it into long, windy snakes, thin and fragile. As they green thinner, they cracked and he started again. He wished life was this easy.
He wished that school was like this. So easy. So mindless. School wasn't hard persay, but it required so much energy. It took so much effort to crawl out of his warm bed in the morning. So much effort, that sometimes he didn't even bother. Sometimes his friends called him, but more often than not they didn't. His dad didn't give a fuck. His mom was God-knows-where. His brother was AHWOL. No one wanted to be an Anderson. No one wanted this toxicity coursing through their veins.
Blaine had always been a good student, and the fact that his teachers were giving him so many breaks just reinforced the idea that Blaine didn't need to try. He didn't need to make an effort, because he could just turn that assignment in next week. He could copy off another student. He could float by, because he was given every chance. And he was too tired to care that he was abusing it.
Suddenly Blaine was shocked out of his little world of clay and apathy. A hand was on his shoulder.
"It's Blaine, right?" The boy looked up at the freckle faced girl sitting next to him.
Blaine nodded.
"My name is Pepper, I'm the recreational manager here. I'm glad you're here." She held out her hand. Blaine looked at it for a moment, as if he didn't know what to do. Then slowly he extended his arm.
