He hates leaving school today.
Well, he always hates leaving school, but today especially. He'd had a pretty pleasant conversation with Kurt on the way back from McDonald's, and with the exception of gym (of which he cannot stand), the day had been normal. But now he's walking home again, and it feels a lot like yesterday. But this time he knows he won't be seeing a beautiful brunette storming out of his house. Kurt had some after school activity going on and his parents were picking him up at three-thirty from the school. Blaine found this to be sweet, but it meant a lonely walk home by himself. Great.
He's walking in beat with the music in his head, something by Ace of Base, he can't really remember. Cecilia, maybe. Yeah- that's what it is. /Cecilia, walk in the light, Cecilia, you're gonna live forever according to a well known song... Haha, yeah right. Maybe Cecilia will live forever, but Blaine's damn sure that he's not going to. No one lives forever, everyone has to die at some point of their life. He shakes his head and brushes the thought aside as he walks on, reaching his street with every step that he takes. His mood is dying out and he finds his slight smile curling into a mask of nothingness.
A breeze kisses his face and he's dying to take off his sweatshirt at any moment now. He will when he gets home, he tells himself. He pulls out his phone and checks it. Two missed calls, both from home, and it's quarter to five. He wonders what Kurt's up to as he ignores the two calls and slides it back into the pocket of his jeans. He can't think about it now. He knows that he's running a little late again, but it's not his fault that he lives two miles from school and has to walk everyday.
The heat is becoming slightly more than unbearable, and he's really wanting to rip off this fucking sweatshirt already. He will when he gets home. That is, if his dad lets him get that far before beating the shit out of him. 'Maybe he won't. There have been days where he's been passed out on the couch all day and you've had a time to rest and heal. Maybe today will be one of those days.' But he can't get his hopes up. If he does, the disappointment is even worse to deal with. he's already convinced himself that he can't pray for his dad to change. That kind of a thing will never happen, and he's had to cope with that knowledge his entire life.
He turns onto his street, finding himself in a deja vu sort of moment from yesterday. The sun is beaming high, the sky is oceanic blue, and he's wearing the same clothes (he doesn't have much else). The only difference is he's not gonna see Kurt coming out of his house. He's not gonna see the brunette until tomorrow, and this thought makes him a little sad, to be honest. He sighs heavily, running his fingers through his sweaty hair as his ratty Converse shoes slap the asphalt street. There's holes in the bottom, but since it rains so rarely, he doesn't really have to care.
His pace slows and he climbs onto the sidewalk as a car rolls by. It's a Honda, light yellow. It looks familiar. Blaine's eyebrow rises slightly as he walks, watching the car swerve into the driveway of the Hummel house. Ah, that's why he knows it. He kicks at a rock, watching it bounce along the sidewalk before hopping down onto the street and rolling away. That's what he wishes he could do. Just roll away from his life. But he can't. He has to stay locked down until he graduates.
He hears car doors slamming and shouting. It's not a happy conversation, and he figures that it's been going on in the car as well. The first voice he hears is Kurt's dad- what was his name again? Burt! Right! The tone, though, in Burt's voice is more annoyed than angry. Blaine looks up to see through his curls, and he sees Burt talking to the back of Kurt's brunette hair. They're home already?
"Kurt- I'm not saying it's definite yet."
"I don't care, I'm not going to San Diego. I like it here." Kurt retaliates, turning his heel and staring coldly at his father. Blaine's heart freezes in his throat. They want to send him to San Diego? No, no, no! He can't go. Not then Blaine's just getting to know him. Not when he finally found someone he can trust... Not now when he needs Kurt's strength and charm.
"I understand that, son, but think about it. You're not getting anywhere with your singing lessons and you've barely maintained C grades. You don't seem to have any substantial friends- I think you're better suited in San Diego." Blaine wonders, very briefly, why they're having this conversation out here in the middle of the street. Their house is right in front of them, is it not? But that's not what his attention stays on. He becomes angry at Burt's words. It's not right for him to try to determine what Kurt's future will be like based on the normalcy of his life now. Blaine isn't sure, he doesn't know Kurt's life or his schedule, but perhaps...
"My singing lessons are just fine, as are my grades. And what does it matter to you who my friends are?" Kurt's bright blue eyes are blazing and Blaine keeps his head low as he passed by the house. Burt's back is to Blaine, but he knows that Kurt can see him. In fact, he can feel Kurt's eyes on him as he passed by. He hates it, he hates that he can feel Kurt's embarrassed eyes bruning into the back of his head and he hates that he's heard what he's heard. His heart is trashing in his chest as he disappears from Kurt's sight- he can't feel the painful burn of those cobalt eyes.
"Son, your education and your future matter. I know you want to be a part of music, but you have to have good grades and good influences among your friends..." Burt's voice begins to fade as Blaine crosses the lawn. He doesn't like hearing Kurt being torn apart by his own father. But he'd rather be torn apart with words than fists.
"The influences I get at school are better than the ones you provide." Blaine winces- ouch, that's harsh.
"Kurt!" He's stepping up onto the porch now, the wood creaking under his light weight. He grabs the handle, almost eager. He doesn't like where he's at; between a rock and a hard place.
"Forget it, I'm not going!" He opens the door and steps inside, closing it behind him. He can't hear anything else, and for a moment he breathes a sigh in relief. But this relief doesn't last him long as he opens his eyes and sees an empty living room. It's even slightly cleaner than this morning. The furniture si arranged decently, the beer bottles are cleaned up the glass swept away. Fucking hell, the floor doesn't even look dusty any more. Blaine's throat closes up a little and he worries if he's stepped into the right house or not. The house still reeks as though someone has dumped a ton of beer and neglected it. So yes, he's in the right house.
His heart is heavy as he takes gentle steps further into the house. He usually doesn't make it this far without aching somewhere new. The house is oddly quiet and he's not sure what to expect or prepare for. It's too quiet and he swears he can hear his sweat gliding down the back of his neck. They can't afford air conditioning or fans really, so they boil in the L.A. heat. It's difficult sometimes. But he's learned to get used to it, since he's been here his entire life and he hasn't left once. Peachy, isn't it?
Blaine shrugs out of his backpack, but he keep shis sweatshirt on. If his dad happens to use something other than his hands, Blaine doesn't want the object of choice to be direct of his body. A little cushion (no matter how thin or worn out) never hurts, he knows.
He takes a step beyond the living room, reaching into the dining room when he hears his father cursing and Allison is screaming. His heart stops and he pushes into the flor, launching himself to their bedroom at the end of the house. He nearly trips over his own feet rushing through the kitchen and through the utility room. Their door is just twenty feet from him but twenty feet feels like a thousand and his mother is screaming so loudly that his ears are beginning to bleed, he's sure. His breathing is ragged andhis chest hurts from Dad's beatings but he's far too gone to care about that right now; Allison needs him.
He grabs the knob of their bedroom door and turns it, ripping it open before stpping. Now, he's walked in on his parents having sex before, but this isn't an act of passion. This isn't remotely close to any of that and he wants to vomit right now. His mother's hair is clumped in Richard's first, patches bleeding from where he's ripped out her hair. Her eyes are screwed shut in pain as her hips are pressed into the carpeted floor. She's naked, her bruised body gleaming with sweat and fresh mark or her back and thighs. Blaine chokes, watching his dad's jutting his bones slam into his broken mother's lower back. Oh God- he's fucking her from the...
He falls to his knees, choking and dry heaving in the doorway. He can hear his dad shouting but it's as if it's in a tunnel. He feels large hands grabbing him by his hair and lifting him back up to his feet, dragging him away from his mother. He can't see her as tears stream from his eyes. He can't believe what he's seen. His own mother- raped? No... beat her until you're unable to identify her, but don't rape her. Blaine chokes aloud, coughing as Richard punches his stomach again and again, ripping his sweatshirt off of him. His eyes are squeezed shut as his dad tears apart Blaine's shirt as well, exposing his bruised back and chest. There's a moment when there's nothing but Allison screaming, and then he feels the leg of a chair slamming into his shoulders and ribs.
Doesn't anyone hear the screams? Is anybody listening? Please, God, someone call the fucking cops! Blaine's crying and he's being hit harder and harder. He's sure that his bones are breaking to fine dust and he'll wake up ten years from now from a coma. He opens his blurry eyes to find his dad leaning over him, eyes crazed and angry as the chair leg comes down and down and down. Stop it, stop it, it hurts. He's sputtering and wheezing for air. He won't be able to make it to tomorrow. He won't be able to go to school. He'll be in too much pain to move tomorrow.
Allison screams again and Richard stops hitting him. His body aches with every twitch and spasm. He's panting and moaning and wanting to just die. God, dying would be so nice right now- to just sleep and never agian wakeup. He'd be able to start fresh in the next life and hopefully have a better life. A better father who doesn't beat the shit out of him and rape his own wife. But that next life better include Kurt.
Oh, fuck, Kurt- Blaine fears that Kurt can hear everything. The screaming, the crying, the shouting, the beating. Haven't they hard it for years? Why haven't they done anything about it now? Why haven't they called the cops, why hasn't anyone fucking saved them yet?
'Save us...' Blaine begs to no God. But he begs the universe, because he tries to believe that if he asks for better from something greater than everything, maybe it'll be considered. He feels a presence beside him and Blaine's eyes open wearily. Allison is hovering over him, her eyes red and grief-struck. She eases Blaine's head into her lap and he cares less that she's still naked and more for the fact that she's holding him. He breathes in slowly, his breath shaking and weak. The next day's going to hurt like a bitch.
"Oh God, Blaine, I'm sorry. I'mn so sorry... My baby boy..." She weeps, her tears falling on Blaine's face. He wants to tell her he'll be okay, but he knows he won't be.