Hi everyone. Sorry this one took a while to write, I had a case of writers block which sucked. Please enjoy - sorry no fluff again, just angst. But hey, we get to resolve the cliffhanger from the last chapter :) please review, and flames just make me stronger, I'm like the demons from a Ghostbusters film. All the angst is giving me a headache...
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
Natasha Bedingfield, Unwritten
True to his father's words, Kurt was back at home by the end of the week. His father had stayed with him over the last few days, with Blaine coming to hospital as much as he could with school going on at the same time. For now he would be living with Blaine so that he could look after him while he was still recovering from the ordeal. Burt had not been overjoyed at the prospect, but he didn't really have much choice in the matter since Kurt couldn't really come back to Lima with him. Once he was completely sure that his son was going to be alright with Blaine he had taken his leave, needing to go back up to Lima so that his repair shop didn't fall apart under Finn's guidance. It was the week coming up to Blaine's big dance rehearsal so he had been allowed a couple of extra days off to practice. He was at home with Kurt who was familiarising himself with Blaine's flat. The place was small but Blaine had made a special effort to clean up before Kurt came so that he wouldn't trip on anything. Blaine was practising in his living room as Kurt ran his slim hands over the wooden cupboards as he searched for the one with glasses in it. He opened one and heard something fall out, so he moved his fingers across the work surface to pick up whatever it was. He found a small cardboard box. Kurt was about to put it back when his skin touched the familiar raised dots the he recognised as braille. He felt the letters but didn't know what the word itself was. The box reminding him of the ones his medication came in
"Blaine?" the dancer slowed the revolutions on his pirouette to a stop and looked at what Kurt was holding
"No! Don't touch that!" he moved over and snatched the little box away, burying it in the back of the cupboard. Kurt looked a little shocked
"Why do you need medication?" Blaine grit his teeth
"I don't want to talk about it"
"Bu-"
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" he shouted at Kurt, who took a step back – he had never heard Blaine get angry before. Blaine turned away from Kurt, his eyes dark. "I need to go" he muttered, almost running out of his front door. He went down the stairs quickly, finding his little storage area in the basement. He sat on the bench and pulled out the box from underneath. Blaine reached inside, taking out his bandages and started slowly wrap up his hands, his fingers shaking. When he was satisfied he took of his ballet slippers, replacing them with a pair of trainers. Blaine stood up and moved over to the punch bag, bending his knees and raising his hands. His right fist rocketed out quickly, slamming into the worn leather of his old punch bag. He alternated his movements from left to right, his emotions sinking into the battered material with every punch. He could feel that trance like state coming over him, filtering out the space and sounds so that there were only the thuds of him against the bag. Blaine could feel sweat starting to drip down his skin, making his hair curl out of its gelled shell and half blinding him, but he didn't care because he needed. Left. To. Right. Keep. Left. Going. Right, left, dodge, left, duck, ri-
"Blaine?" came Kurt's clearly distressed voice, breaking him out of his trance with a grunt. He looked over to see his beautiful glasz eyed boyfriend just standing there, holding onto his cane for comfort more than anything else "what are you doing?" Blaine was about to push the hair out of his eyes when he saw his hand – he had broken the skin on his knuckles and now there was blood starting to stain his skin. He hadn't even realised he had hurt himself.
"How did you find me?" Kurt concentrated on the sound of his voice, working his way over to where he though Blaine was
"I assumed you had gone out of the building, so I went to the ground floor and heard you doing whatever you were doing. I just followed the sounds" he gave Blaine a questioning look. He sighed and took Kurt's free hand, leading him over to the bench so that they could both sit. The pianist frowned when he felt something wet in his hand and he fumbled for a moment for Blaine's, brushing his fingers over the bloodied knuckles
"I was boxing. It's what I do when it gets too much, and dancing isn't enough" Kurt's nimble fingers picked at the bandages, trying to find the edge so that he could unwrap his boyfriends hands.
"What is it? The medication? Stelazine?"
"Yeah" Blaine replied quietly "I had problems with severe aggression, and they gave me that medication to help me control it. But it made me feel really weird so I stopped taking it"
"Why do you have problems with aggression? You are always so calm with me" Kurt frowned as he continued to pull the stained bandages from Blaine's hand, which he realised, was shaking badly. He took off the whole bandage and clasped the hand in his own, trying to provide some comfort
"I haven't told you this before, but I er, I-" he gulped, trying to get rid of the lump forming in his throat "I had a brother". Kurt raised an eyebrow "his name was Cooper"
"Why all the past tense?"
"Because when I was 14, Cooper died. It was suicide" Blaine could feel the tiny pinpricks forming under his closed eyes and little balls of water began to drip down his cheeks. "Nobody knew why – he had always been active in sport and stuff, and enjoyed singing and acting. I did notice for a little while before it happened, he was quieter than usual and he didn't talk to me as much. A couple years after, my parent's decided to move house so we had to clear out all of his old things. I-I found his diary – I never should have read it. It turns out that, like me, Cooper was gay and he got bullied at school for it. What's worse is, my dad was totally against it. My dad was always shouting at him and insulting him. Home life wasn't great, school life was worse and eventually he couldn't take it – he managed to escape by killing himself" Kurt wrapped an arm around Blaine's shoulders as the smaller man sobbed into his own, his words had fallen to a hoarse whisper by the end of his speech. Kurt dropped a gentle kiss into the sweaty mop of hair on Blaine's head
"Shhh sweetie, its ok" he murmured into the curls and the dancer's hands clutched at his t-shirt. They sat like that for what felt like hours, Blaine finally letting all of the emotions go – after his brother had died, he bottled everything up, especially when he found out why. He had come to New York to get away from the bullies and his father back home. Cooper had been his best friend through most of his life, and when he died it was too much for Blaine. The aggression came after he read the diary, deep seated resentment manifesting towards his father and many of the boys at school. It scared him too – he had broken windows, chairs and desks. At one point he had punched a metal locker hard enough to leave a large dent. His parents didn't know what do with him so they only solution was to drug him up. That's the problem with drugs – there are always side effects. He had experienced dizziness, fluctuating weight and occasional short term memory loss. Dancing had helped him to sort through the emotions. Boxing had been his father's idea, to help get rid of the excess aggression, and although he hadn't been happy about it, he did it anyway. If things got really bad he would box. When the emotions got so intense they threatened to overwhelm him he would box. That medication was a last resort. Kurt rubbed his muscular arm, happy that he could touch Blaine properly now, because the dancer had been treating him like a porcelain doll ever since he had gotten out of hospital.
"I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier" he muttered
"It's ok sweetie. Come on. Let's get you upstairs so we can sort out your hands. You need to practice for your big dance recital"
"I wish you could play"
"I can't – I-I'm not ready yet" Kurt felt fear wash over him as soon as the prospect of going outside flickered into sight
"I know. Let's just go"
