Warnings: Offensive language, self-harm described in detail
A/N: This chapter is noticeably longer than the others, probably not a regular occurrence. There are a lot of important things in this chapter that I wanted to take time to develop, hence the length. As always I would love to hear what you guys think. Remember, reviews are like chocolate – once you taste it once you crave it forever.

The First Cut Is The Deepest

Present Day

"That is so fucked up. It's one step away from sending you to straight camp." Kurt expressed the statement quietly, but it still caused Blaine to startle in shock. Kurt never swore except when they were getting intimate and hearing that from his boyfriend really drove home just how dire his situation had been.

Again Blaine felt the need to defend his father's actions. He had gotten better over the years, mellowed out a lot more, become more accepting. "Kurt, I think you're being a bit over-dramatic. It was only for a little while. He just had a hard time coming to terms with things."

"Blaine if anyone has a hard time coming to terms with things it should be the kid who's gay."

"Not everyone can have a perfect Dad like yours!" Blaine shot back, regretting the harsh tone instantly. Kurt stiffened and extracted himself from Blaine's arms. He moved so he was leaning against the foot of the bed, a gap between the two of them now.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean it like that. I know coming out was hard for you too."

"I'm sorry too, but just remember my Dad had to accept me as well. It's been hard on him just like it was hard on your father, but he didn't hit me or treat me like a freakin' pariah. All I'm trying to say Blaine is that you shouldn't be so quick to stick up for your father's actions. I've said it before and I'll say it again, he was in the wrong – not you."

"I know that." Blaine huffed as Kurt finished his tirade.

"Do you?" Kurt was peering at him expectantly.

Blaine couldn't look Kurt in his beautiful, too blue eyes. "Okay, so maybe I blamed some of this on myself. Maybe I still do – so what?"

Kurt was across the bed in an instant. This time he sat behind Blaine and held the shorter boy in his arms. Just holding him – he didn't know what to say. Kurt could spy Blaine thumbing across the thin silver scars on his arm. Maybe he was finally going to hear the full story of how they came to be there.

()

Freshman Year – Blaine aged 14

The straight son act had cracks in its foundation and soon the whole thing was going to come tumbling down. It was getting ridiculous and Blaine was sick of living a lie. At his father's insistence he had gone on a few first dates with a couple of girls outside of his family's dining room. He had managed to make excuses not to give any of them the standard good night kiss and none of the abysmal first dates had ever led to a second one.

At school it was almost the end of freshman year and already the end of Blaine's chance of popularity. The rumours had stuck and while Blaine's friends stood by him and some people truly didn't seem to care, the ones that did care only increased the intensity of their bullying.

The verbal abuse was constant and the physical was even more punishing. Toward the middle of the year Blaine ended up with a broken wrist and a concussion after a jock pushed him down a flight of stairs. His mother had fretted over that one. It wasn't an injury he could hide, but the reason for it he could. "I fell down some stairs." Philippa didn't recognise the Fight Club quote and accepted her son's false version of the event. His father had joked that he should be more careful when walking in the future or he wouldn't let him back in the garage.

Oh yes the garage and that fucking car. Every weekend Blaine was expected to spend an hour working on it with his father berating him the whole time about how much better this was than 'singing those silly show tunes.'

Blaine's only solace was Tyler. At least the older boy knew some of what he was going through and that helped a little. Blaine tried to be like his friend who let the insults role off him like water off a duck's back. However, Tyler didn't have to put up with the physical side of things other than a few locker shoves every now and then. The jocks may be stupid, but they knew if they were too rough with Tyler he could get seriously hurt. His skeletal frame was something of an insurance policy. Blaine was starting to seriously consider applying this policy to himself.

()

"I came out to my parents last night."

Blaine and Tyler were at the local park. Tyler was still banned from the Anderson house and he didn't want to take Blaine to his home lest they run in to his, according to Tyler, wildly eccentric parents.

The two had been sitting in silence, Blaine leaning against the rough trunk of a shady tree reading a book and Tyler lying on his back, head pillowed on Blaine's thigh as he examined the gathering storm clouds. They had gotten a few strange looks and some of disgust, but Tyler had just flipped them off and refused to move from where he was. Not many people from school lived around this area so they felt safe enough to be in this position around the passers-by they were 90% sure they would never see again.

"Really?" Blaine asked after Tyler's statement had sunk in.

"Yeah." He picked at a loose thread on his shirtsleeve, not offering any more information.

"How did they take it?" Blaine felt a prickle of nerves extend up his spine as he waited for Tyler's answer.

"Well."

"Well?"

"You think I'd be here practically in your lap if it had gone badly." Tyler laughed and Blaine couldn't help but join in with a chuckle of his own. "The folks may be strange, however, the intelligence had to be inherited from somewhere. Mom said she's suspected for a while and Dad said he still loved me. We hugged it was a beautiful moment."

Blaine could read the sarcasm in Tyler's voice. He had long ago stopped wondering whether his friend could just give a straight answer to anything.

"That's great, Ty." Blaine smiled down at him. Tyler rolled his eyes but grinned back.

As he continued his face fell. "Yeah it's fantastically amazing, but now that the parentals think we're all fast friends again they want to talk to me all the time."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Blaine mused aloud.

"So you and your father have great heart to hearts do you?"

Blaine knew Tyler didn't mean his comment to be hurtful, but his heart clenched as he was reminded of the horrible talks his father pressed on him about girls and cars every time Blaine was in the near vicinity.

"Sorry."

Tyler rarely apologised so Blaine took it while he could. "Thanks."

"I was simply irritated by my own family situation. Now that we're talking my mother wants me to see a shrink and get me eating again. She force-fed me a burger, Anderson. A burger!

"I think you're being a tad over-dramatic, Ty," Blaine said, amused.

"It was a vegetarian burger. It had tofu in it. If I were starving I would rather eat dirt than tofu. At least it would have a nicer taste."

Blaine chuckled again. Tyler picked his nails as they fell into silence once more. After a while Blaine lost interest in his book and began to examine his friend instead. Tyler, while always presenting a laid-back and blasé attitude, looked so relaxed in this moment – even more so than usual. He doesn't have to hide who he is, that's why – Blaine's brain supplied.

"I think I want to come out." The thought escaped before he could stop it.

"I suggest you come out to our little group first as a trial run before you go for the jugular." Tyler continued to examine his nails and his voice remained as level as if he was telling someone where the nearest bus stop was.

()

"Guys, I have something I want to tell you." Blaine attempted to interrupt the various group conversations around halfway through lunch period.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt your terribly important conversations, but you need to shut the fuck up. Anderson wants to speak."

The talk died immediately.

"Thanks, Tyler."

The other boy either didn't hear the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. "You're welcome."

"Guys," Blaine began again, "I've got something I need to tell you. I know that you've accepted Tyler and don't treat him any differently because of his sexuality and I hope your kindness will extend to me also." Blaine could feel himself rambling, anything to postpone saying those dreaded words that could ruin everything he had come to gain at this school. He paused and the group looked at him expectantly. "I'm gay."

The reaction wasn't what Blaine expected. It was more of a non-reaction.

"Yeah, we kind of already guessed," Harper said, "but good for you for coming out. I'm sure it was pretty dark in that closet."

"Thanks, Harp." Blaine said bitingly.

"Sorry, Blaine. Did you want us to act surprised?" Sally asked.

"Well maybe a little."

"Oh my God." Sally gave a theatrical gasp. Blaine laughed at the absurdity of it.

"Okay, fine – I get it. You'll accept me no matter what. You don't have to be condescending."

"Of course we have to be condescending," Alan threw an arm around Blaine. It's kind of in the friend job description."

The rest of the group hugged Blaine in turn before returning to their previous conversations.

"Do you think the talk with the parentals will be as easy as this, Anderson?" Tyler leant back on his chair to converse with the younger boy.

"I doubt it, but at least I've done it once."

"Practice does make perfect." Tyler rocked the chair back onto four legs and leaned over to capture Blaine in a hug of his own. "Good luck for when you tell them." At this Tyler was serious.

()

"So we were right all along. You are a little faggot." The obnoxious voice of ex-football-captain Aaron floated toward Blaine as he walked through the school parking lot. The coming out to his friends had gone better than expected; Blaine guessed this was the world righting things. Every time something good happened in his life something else came along to ruin it. Aaron must have overhead them at lunch.

Blaine hunched his shoulders, but other than that gave no indication he had heard the jock, and continued walking.

"Hey, fag – I'm talking to you." The voice was closer now.

Suddenly the ground was rushing toward him as two meaty hands made contact with his back. Blaine rolled to stop himself from falling on his face as he was shoved to the ground. A swift kick to his stomach left Blaine gasping for air. He pulled his knees up to prevent any more blows to his vital organs. The next kick connected Aaron's dirty running shoe with his face. Blaine's nose turned into a faucet as the jocks ran away laughing.

"Next time you'll think twice about coming out of the closet, fag. Fucking freak!" One of the jocks called back as Blaine curled in on himself on the rough asphalt.

()

"Blaine! Oh my goodness, darling. What happened to you?" Was his mother's greeting as Blaine walked through the door, his face and shirt collar covered in dried blood. Usually Blaine would shake off what he was feeling, make up some excuse and pretend he was fine. It was a routine he was used to, but this time – this time it was different. His mother's alarmed expression seemed to break through some invisible wall and Blaine felt a sob rip from his throat accompanied by hot tears running down his face, clouding his vision.

Philippa wrapped her sobbing son in her arms and led him to the living room sofa. Cradling Blaine against her chest she called for her husband.

"What is it?" John voice sounded partly concerned at his wife's slightly hysterical tone, but as soon as he saw what was causing it he exhaled in annoyance. "What happened this time?"

"I don't know." Philippa answered. Blaine was still beyond speaking at the moment, wet face buried in the crook of his mother's neck. "Can you please get me a wet towel, Blaine's bleeding."

John complied and pressed the item into her hand a minute later. Philippa gently pulled Blaine away from her and delicately dabbed at the crusted on blood. Once Blaine's face was clean and his sobs had subsided somewhat, Philippa asked, "What happened, darling?"

"I – uh, some kids at school beat me up." Blaine said weakly, too tired to lie.

"Why did they do that?" Blaine could tell from the tone his father's voice had taken that he already suspected what his son's answer would be.

It was now or never, Blaine figured. Time to bite the bullet and confess the thing that had been eating him up inside since that day in Middle School when Jacob had bowled him over on the oval. "I – they uh – the beat me up because I came out."

"Came out?" His mother looked sincerely confused.

Blaine was too frightened to look at his father as he said those two little words. "I'm gay."

"Oh, Blaine." His mother pulled him into another bone-crushing hug. He clung to her just as tightly. Peeking over her shoulder he saw his father drop the bloody rag Philippa had handed back to him and leave the room without giving his son a second glance. Blaine jumped in his mother's arms as he heard the front door slam hard enough to rattle the hinges. He swore he could hear the plate glass shatter.

Into the silence his mother said, "Just remember we still love you, darling." Philippa broke the embrace, patting Blaine's unruly hair, muttering something about checking on his father. And then Blaine was alone. Just like Middle School only worse. He was now alone in his own house. He had done it – had finally owned up to who he was and now his father hated him.

Suddenly Blaine felt white-hot rage course through him. If his father was going to hate him he would hate John right back. But no – no, who he really hated was himself. If he could just be normal none of this would be happening. He wouldn't have been picked on in school, he would still be popular, wouldn't have to be scared of people judging him everywhere he went. Why the fuck did he have to be gay! Why?

()

It had been a week and his father still hadn't spoken to him. His mother had assured Blaine that both she and his father still loved him, but Blaine knew it wasn't true. He could see the derision in his John's eyes every time his father looked at him – like he didn't deserve to be there, didn't deserve to be part of the Anderson family if he was going to be gay.

Blaine avoided everyone at school. He didn't tell Tyler that he came out to his parents. In fact he didn't talk to Tyler or the rest of his friends at all. The taunts were back at full force. The locker shoves worse than ever. Blaine just wanted it to end. He hated that he had to feel this way. He hated himself. If his stupid brain could just like women he wouldn't be in this mess.

Blaine thought again of asking a girl on a date, but who would want to be in a relationship with the outed gay kid? He even tried watching what society considered normal porn, but seeing women in that position just made him sick to his stomach. The closet was locked and as much as he wanted to creep back in he knew that he couldn't now. It was far too late for that. Blaine didn't even know what to do anymore.

()

"Blaine, darling, we're leaving now. The emergency numbers are on the fridge, but try not to call if you can help it. This dinner is very important for your father. We'll be back tomorrow morning." John ushered Philippa out the door as she finished her spiel, not once making eye contact with his son in the process.

Blaine continued to lie, sprawled on his bed. Mounds of homework due next week sat untouched on his desk. He heard his mother's words, but they didn't really register. Blaine just felt numb. Found it impossible to care about anything. He didn't think he'd smiled or laughed for real in weeks.

The only thing he'd been able to do efficiently was sit in the dark and think about his impending death. It would happen to everyone eventually, Blaine just wanted to speed up the process. Maybe he wasn't serious, maybe he was – but the thought of plunging a knife into his own chest or swallowing a bunch of pills was sounding more appealing by the day.

Thoughts of suicide, once fleeting and far between had become much more frequent. Really, would the world care if he weren't here anymore? Blaine certainly wouldn't. It would be so much easier to not be here. To succumb to the blankness death would provide. Cease to exist. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to do this anymore. He was too numb to even cry. It was horrible. The numbness was worse than crying. He just wanted to be able to feel something. Of course Blaine knew where this was going.

()

His father had a few half empty bottles of assorted sprits in his liquor cabinet. Blaine took a bottle that probably belonged to his mother. It was tequila, three-quarters of the amber liquid left. Passing through the kitchen he found a small but sharp knife, the silver blade glinting up from a thick black handle.

The bathroom downstairs was rarely used, except for guests, and that's where Blaine headed now. The tequila bottle dangled loosely in one hand, knife clutched tightly in the other. He sat on the cold tiles, back pressed against the bathtub, knife lying next to him. Blaine took a swig of tequila, it burned his throat and he coughed harshly, but managed to keep it down. Blaine had never really had much alcohol before – a glass of wine or two at some family events and the hot burning track of the tequila was a new experience for him. The first of many he would experience tonight.

After a few more swigs a warm tingly feeling settled through him. Blaine began to feel slightly light-headed. The knife resting innocently next to him seemed to have a giant neon sign on it, begging him to pick it up. Standing, Blaine placed the knife next to the sink and examined himself in the mirror.

His face was pale, sallow. Slightly gaunt – he hadn't been eating well for the last few weeks. God, he hoped he wasn't going to end up like Tyler. His eyes were bloodshot and his shock of black curls was messy and wild. He tore his eyes away and looked down at his bare forearms, his reflection was starting to make him feel queasy.

Blaine had always thought the whole idea of inflicting pain on yourself was idiotic. Yeah, maybe he had been thinking of suicide, but it was more in terms of a release for the anguish he felt rather than a serious venture. Reading those articles in teen magazines he kept hidden under his bed, Blaine always thought how easy it would be to not cut. That those girls, and occasionally guys, weren't getting anything out of it and they could just stop whenever.

He picked up the knife and flipped it back and forth between his palms. The haze of alcohol intensifying the thoughts he had been harbouring for a long time and starting to make him believe that maybe it wasn't such a stupid thing after all. Blaine could feel his heart beat in his ears as he poised the glinting blade over his skin.

Shutting off the rational part of his brain that said this was going to hurt so why do it, Blaine pressed the edge of the metal so it was biting into his wrist. It didn't cut the skin, but it smarted slightly. Well, here we go. Blaine closed his eyes and dragged the blade swiftly across his flesh. Nothing. It hadn't even broken the skin. What? There was barely even a raised line.

Blaine tried again, but the same thing happened. The edge of the blade was not sharp enough to cut through the tough outer shell of his skin. He tilted the knife up so the point was digging into his wrist, just next to a vein. Ow. That hurt.

"Okay, I'm going to do this." Blaine barely processed that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

He positioned the tip of the blade to one side of his wrist, near the join where arm becomes hand. Blaine could see the blue, slightly raised lines of his veins. Pressing down he dragged the knife tip over them sideways. Pain, pleasure all rolled into one – Blaine let out a gasp. His head lolled and his eyes rolled back. Fuck, that felt good. It actually felt good. It should feel bad, but it was feeling something and that was better than nothing. The numbness had crept back, replaced by the sting of the thin line of red on his wrist. Little drops of blood formed along the line.

Blaine couldn't get over how that thin line of red blood looked against his pale flesh. He gaped at the knife in his hand, shocked. He couldn't believe he had actually done it. And now he was going to do it again. The knife was already raised, coming to rest slightly father back on his arm. This time he pulled the blade tip in a downward motion, following the path of his blue vein.

Deeper – this one was deeper. Blaine pushed harder and the blade bit into his skin. Scraped the flesh aside. The pleasure-pain feeling was intensified. Blaine let out a small moan, followed by a harsh pant as he pulled the knife up and off. Droplets of blood rolled more freely from this cut. Blaine dropped the bloodstained knife into the sink and simply stared at the mark he had made on his own arm. He gently fingered of the cut, hissing when he made contact and spread a thin coating of red over his pale skin.

After a few minutes Blaine turned on the tap and stuck his arm under the cold water. The liquid washed off the traces of red on his skin after a bit of light rubbing, but more soon surfaced from the deeper cut. Blaine grabbed a few tissues and pressed them to his arm, holding pressure there until the bleeding seemed to stop. Washing away the blood once more and hiding the tissues at the bottom of the trash, Blaine ran a gentle finger over the two lines he had created.

They were an angry red colour and partially raised – stinging slightly as Blaine's searching fingers came into contact. After a final examination, Blaine pulled his shirtsleeves down to cover his handy work – hissing slightly again at the itching and stinging feeling. But he felt good. Examining himself again in the mirror, Blaine could see his face had a bit more colour in it. Better yet, the numb feeling had reduced. It wasn't completely gone, but Blaine felt like he could breathe properly again now that it wasn't crushing him.

He had done something. And maybe that something might seem stupid to some people, but it had helped. It had helped and for the first time in weeks Blaine managed to crack a smile.