A/N: Sorry readers but I will no longer be doing review replies to the end of each chapter for NOW. It just seems a little silly when there is only 1 or 2 reviews a chapter to reply to, if I get 4+ reviews for each chapter I will start again but like I said now it just seems silly. Don't stop reviewing though! I absolutely LOVE reading your reviews! They are my writers crack ;) Okay aside from that note… enjoy chapter seven!

Facts Of The Heart

Chapter Seven: Untrusting

I woke up the next morning with a feeling that is similar to every time I successfully escape my dad when he's drunk: A coward, but yet an accomplishing coward. I did accomplish to run past my dad, make it up the stairs without tripping and falling, and stay in my room all night.

But then again, it is just a feeling. Nothing real.

I groaned as I checked my phone before stumbling out of my bed.

It's out of habit; I usually have a "Good morning!" text from Vanessa before she has her early gym class on Saturday's. But none. There are no new messages from anyone, including Vanessa.

I blink twice and click on her contact in my messages history, perhaps I clicked on it in my sleep?

There are none from this morning.

Wow.

I grin and send Kurt a text: Good morning! What are your plans for this beautiful Saturday? Hopefully it is not staying at home alone.

I check myself in the mirror before grabbing something for breakfast.

Oh god. My hair is a mess.

I quickly comb through the slightly gelled, slightly ratty mess and brush the thickness down with my fingers. I look closer at the cheek that was slapped last night. There is no redness or a possible sign of a handprint.

Good.

If I just stay clear of dad today and tomorrow I can make it to school Monday with no visible marks. Usually dad never hits me. Well I wouldn't know, I avoid him, like a coward.

My phone vibrates loudly signaling that I received a new text from Kurt.

Wow, you're an early bird! But I definitely won't be at home alone today. I have to go up to Westerville again today. Going to the hospital): But it's okay dad's driving me so my gas isn't completely wasted.

I laughed at the last part but couldn't feel easy about this text. Why is Kurt going to the hospital here? I thought he got released!

Why are you going to the hospital? I sent.

I left my phone in my bedroom as I felt my stomach grumbling. I decided that it's time to face whatever music there is while I make myself a small bowl of cereal.

From the moment I stepped outside my bedroom door to the moment I walked in our Island kitchen, I knew that mom and dad were asleep. No one was arguing. All the lights were off and it was so quiet that I could probably hear atoms charging.

I didn't think cereal made that loud of a sound coming into a glass bowl than when there is no sound producing around me.

I was enjoying the peanut-buttery taste of unhealthy cereal, leaning over the bar, when the light in the hallway flicked on and loud footsteps became closer. My heart jumped and I silently prayed it was only my mom.

Oh, it was mom.

Dad too.

My eyes grew wide and I backed away carrying my cereal with me.

"Hold on Blaine, don't go anywhere." I was surprised that came out of mom's mouth.

My father looked over at me and I immediately looked away by reflex.

"We're going to talk," she says.

"I'm not talking with him," I decided quickly, avoiding their gaze.

"Yes you are, look at me," Dad says.

I flinch when I hear his voice. I can't look at him. I'm afraid he'll slap me again. My only hope to avoid an unwanted conversation from Dad is to go into my room. I started to think about it before they both cornered me into the bar.

So I had nowhere to go if I didn't want to crash into their chests.

This time I can't avoid him.

They must have discussed this, about me not communicating with him for years and also to corner and question me. Well what's it to them?

"I want to talk to you about last night," Dad began. I chose to look at a clock on the wall. Anywhere but into his eyes, it just makes me shrink.

"Are you listening to me?" he asked. I nodded sharply. "Well it's hard to tell when you refuse to say anything or look me in the eyes. That's very disrespectful, Blaine," he commented sharply.

I looked over at mom for help but she nodded. Why is she agreeing with him?

"Did he set you up to this mom? You know why I don't want to talk with him. I've told you," I reminded her desperately. Why is she making me do this?

"I'm right here. Stop talking to your mother like she isn't a part of me," Dad argued.

I bit my lip. I wanted to say something to him but nothing came out. After years of not caring anything about him, my silence just became routine. Now when a moment comes to speak, I can't.

"Your father is sorry honey," Mom says with hesitance.

"Sorry for what?" I finally look at him. Even he is shocked that I am finally looking at him. The rage that suddenly grew within me allowed me to speak words to him. "Sorry for becoming an alcoholic that ruined this family and all communication flows, sorry for hitting mom and trying to hit me? Do you know what you're sorry for, Dad?"

He pointed his finger at me. "Do not talk to me with that—"

"I know, I know I'm being disrespectful but I don't think it's appropriate that I show respect to you as a trusting parent when you have shown me no sign of trust," I defended.

His eyebrows rose and his mouth hung slightly open. I know this look too well. This is Dad's famous "pissed off" look.

"Who helped you get into Dalton Academy?" Dad looked at me intensely as his head cocked to the side.

"My grades, my essays and my honors rewards," I answered with a cocky smirk as I beat him to the punch.

"But who taught you about academics? About science and facts and education? Public school teachers just go over the basics they don't teach. I taught," he neared me as he got angrier.

"So I'm supposed to respect you for teaching me academics when I was younger?" I asked out loud in confusion.

"Quit getting so angry at me Blaine, I'm trying to talk compromise with you." Dad sighed.

"Well I learned getting angry from the best. Add that to your list of education skills." I turned on my heel and walked out of the kitchen, past the two of them. I left my bowl of slightly touched cereal on the bar and headed up the stairs like usual.

"Honey you didn't finish breakfast!" I heard mom call from downstairs.

"Not hungry anymore!" I replied back loudly.

After locking my bedroom door, showering in my bathroom, and changing into some dry clothes and gelling down my disgusting hair…I checked my phone: One new message from: Kurt.

It's for a test on the research floor.

What kind of test?I sent.

It's for my…problem.

I sighed in disappointment. He still isn't comfortable talking with me about this?

You still aren't going to tell me about your problem?

Of course not. It's embarrassing.

Do you have a third nipple or something?

Oh my god Blaine no. It's much more complicated than that.

I laughed. I knew he had to be blushing right now.

Do you have multiple personalities?

If I had multiple personalities I think you would have noticed.

That's true. Please just tell me? I'll keep it a secret. Do you not trust me?

I trust you to an extent but not about this.

I'm tired of guessing):

Not me. This is actually pretty amusing.

Kuuurrt!

What's funny is I can actually picture you whining and sticking your bottom lip out.

You're mean. That isn't funny.

It kind of is.

Well you at least tell me how it goes? I'm worried about you.

Of course I will(: I have to go. Long drive. Text you when I'm out!

I'll be waiting!

I sighed. After a couple of minutes past I knew Kurt left and is not going to text me back until after his test. Whatever that is. What is Kurt's problem? All I know is that it's personal, embarrassing, and apparently led him to the ER…There are so many possibilities that I just couldn't categorize which one could fit Kurt.

Then there is the research part of it all that confuses me.

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.

I sighed, that better not be dad. "Who is it?" I called.

"It's your mom," the voice from the other side of the door said.

"Are you alone?" I ask.

"Yes," she says and I go up the door and open it.

She has her scrubs on, her purse over her shoulder, and her cell phone and keys in her hand. "I'm going to work," she points out the obvious. "I wanted to talk to you before I left. I—"

"You're leaving me with dad today? Why would you do that?" I gasped.

A whole day alone with Dad? An entire Saturday? I thought last night was the worst that could happen to me.

"Honey I can't help the schedule. I've got a boy coming in early for a test and—"

My head snapped up and looked straight into her eyes. I was suddenly very interested since it might be linked to Kurt and I's conversation. "Who is it? The boy?" I tried my best to act casually.

"Uh…Hummel, the boy I wanted you to talk to. He has this test that has to be routine for twice a month—"

"What...what is the test?" I interrupted her again. I knew in the depths of my stomach that mom wouldn't tell me. Most of her work related things are strictly private and personal. But it couldn't hurt to ask, right? The worst she could say is no, which is exactly what I get from Kurt.

"Oh I can't tell you that. Why are you so interested?" a small and amusing smile spread across her lips.

I gave her an innocent little shrug. "I'm just…curious about your work is all."

She nodded and it seemed like there was something she wanted to say, but then she sucked her lips in and kept her mouth shut.

"Kurt has a…unusual condition and the tests are highly confidential information we send to researchers. That's all I'm telling you," she settled.

That's highly interesting.

Confidential information to researchers? Oh my god this sounds so serious.

"Is he sick?" I assumed the worst.

"No he doesn't have cancer or anything deadly. Just—it's really none of your business, Blaine," Mom sighed.

"Kurt's my best friend," I blurted out. Mom narrowed her eyes not believing me for a second until I decided to further explain. "He—he goes to Dalton now and I managed to get him into the Warblers. He's amazing mom." I felt a little warmth flood to my cheeks.

She smiled gently at me. "I know he's amazing. Sweetest boy I've ever met other than you." She reached forward and playfully pinched my noise. I quietly laughed and batted her hand away.

"I'm just worried for him. I want to know why he's so…broken," I pleaded to her searching for that one word that felt like it described Kurt when I thought of him.

Broken.

"Maybe he'll tell you." Mom pointed out. I almost scoffed out loud. Does she not think I've been trying for him to? "Anyway I've got to go and I wanted to make sure you didn't hate me from this morning."

I shook my head. "I don't. I could never hate you. But I don't like what you forced me to do. I told you I'm never talking to him again," I reminded her seriously.

"He's your father," she argued.

"He's my biological father but I don't feel connected to him. I'm not speaking with someone who causes destruction in their home with their own family, mom. It doesn't make sense. Don't make me do this against my will," I pleaded once more.

"He's sorry," she says.

"Yes he is definitely sorry but I will never accept his apology because he continues to drink and doesn't care. Maybe if he took his addiction seriously I'd consider communicating with him often."

A deflated and sideways smile showed on mom's face. But she opened her arms for me anyway.

"Well, I love you. Give me a hug baby." I did as she said and she kissed the side of my head. "I'll see you tonight, okay? I'm getting take out from that Chinese place across from the hospital."

That made me a little happier; I love Chinese.

"See you mom," I said sadly. Because after mom leaves…it's just dad and I.

For an entire Saturday.

It was nearing two o'clock and I haven't heard anything from Dad. Well, as much as you could communicate through a closed and locked door. I had finished a majority of my homework and kicked back with some video games that needed attention.

I was feeling pretty good with myself.

Level 5 on a newly purchased game.

Then Kurt called.

His unknown tests must be over. I happily paused my video game and picked up his call.

"Hey Kurt! How were the tests?" I happily answered.

"Horrible," he muttered through the other line.

My heart skipped. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah…everything's um, entirely normal. I just hate how they make me feel," he groaned.

"I'm sorry. I wish I knew what you were referring to or I might be able to help…" I trailed off trying to hint.

"Forget it Blaine. You can't help me with this. Well…it's not impossible for you to help but that would be far too embarrassing," he muttered the last part.

"I don't understand—"

"I don't want you to. I just—I wanted to…to hear your voice for some reason," he chuckled a little.

"Hey it's cool. I like talking to you. We're best friends alright? Anytime you need someone to talk to. Call me. I will talk to you," I swore to him.

"Really?" he sounded surprised.

"Of course. Kurt I…I really…really care about you and I would hate for you to feel uncomfortable with something and to not tell anyone about it. Especially someone who cares so much about you. Someone like me. Okay that sounded really lame. It sounded better in my head, I swear."

I felt like hitting my head on a wall but then I heard a gentle laugh from the other line.

"It is not lame. I needed to hear that. I just need someone like you. Someone who really cares."

I wanted to sigh deeply and wrap him in my arms, just to make him feel better.

"I do. So tell me. Tell me everything you want to say."

There was silence. A long silence.

I checked my phone to make sure we were still connected.

But when I placed the phone back to my ear I heard a sniffle on the other side. That little sniffle made my heart turn a little.

But Kurt didn't say anything.

"Let it out Kurt, please. I'm here," I reminded him.

"It just…it hurts so bad," he finally cried.

I grimaced forcing my tears behind my eyes hearing the sound of Kurt's broken cries.

"Are you in pain?" I asked.

"I'm getting used to it, I guess. But it just…scars me. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. It's humiliating. I feel so small," he continued to cry and had trouble getting words out as his flowing tears made hiccups become an obstacle for clear speech.

I wanted to say something to make him feel better.

Anything.

But nothing came to mind, especially on a problem I know nothing about.

"I'm so sorry Kurt," was all I could say.

"This is stupid," he muttered.

"No it's not. Do you not feel better when you let this out? To tell somebody?" I asked him. Mom, as a psychiatrist, always told me talking made the patients feel better about something. Especially talking out loud to a non-judgmental, caring person.

"Yes, I do. But do you not believe in feelings?" he challenged me.

I almost laughed. What am I doing? Feelings are…just a feeling they can be lies. But then again, they could be everything. Educational facilities believe in facts, structure, routine…but something so creative and…unstructured is difficult to put into technical words. Feelings can be everything truthful to you. It could be the key to finding yourself and how your emotions play on different events and subjects.

I can't believe this.

This boy is making me re-think everything that I thought that I knew.

"Maybe I thought so. But…people change."

I was sitting on my bed reading a book I stole from mom's library, Feeling Politics: Emotion in Political Information Processing, basically a book about feelings. A knock on the door. I looked at the time. Mom's still at work. That's probably Dad. There's no way in hell I'm talking to him. So I just ignored him. "Blaine, answer the door," he said. I've been through this before. Dad will stand on the other side. At first he'll ask nicely, and then he'll tell me he's not leaving, then his voice will get higher and louder, he eventually will start yelling and begging. Then I usually fall asleep, tune it out, I don't know. But he eventually goes away. I continued to read. The door rattled, and then opened. I scooted back on my bed as my book fell out of my hands. My eyes wide and frightened as could be. How did he open the door? But the key he gestured to me in his hand suggested he must have found it. Damn, I thought I hid that well. He neared close to my bed and his gaze averted to the book that dropped in the floor. "Feeling Politics: Emotion in Political Information Processing…is this not your mothers?" Dad arched an eyebrow at my sudden interest in feelings. "I was interested," I said quickly. "I'm not going to kill you. Quit looking at me like that," he tried to laugh. I swallowed thickly, forcing myself to relax but it wasn't working. Dad sensed my trouble and nodded grimly. "Can I sit down? I'm sober, Blaine." "For once," I said quietly. He motioned to the bed and looked at me with a questioning face, repeating his question verblessly. "I guess it wouldn't hurt." I shrugged half-heartedly. He sat and the room fell silent. This is my father who I had no clue of how to communicate with. I haven't talked with him ever since he tried to hit me that one day years ago. I have refused to speak with him. Now he's sitting in my room, which I usually keep safely locked and he doesn't even know where to begin. "I've wanted to talk to you Blaine for a long time. To apologize and—" "Why? Why try so hard if you're just going to treat me like you did last night?" I asked emotionless. "I was drunk," he defended. "Yeah you seem to do a lot of that," I scoffed. He grimaced and pulled out a pamphlet from his back pocket, placing it on top of my feet that were currently planted on my bed. "Alcoholics Anonymous?" I read aloud the pamphlet's title curiously. "Your mother gave it to me last night. She actually has given me one once a month for the past couple of years and I've just brushed it aside, trying to believe that I don't have a problem." I let out a short laugh at that. "But I do. You know it, Melanie knows it…I don't want to be the one that destroys us," he says with such an honest look in his eyes that I know he means what he is saying. "So you're serious? You're going to the meetings and dealing with this?" I asked a little convinced. "I am serious. I don't want to hurt you Blaine. Even though it's hard for me to show it…I do love you." He offered me a small smile. It was so genuine that I wanted to melt into my father's arms but the events of last night put up a wall between doing that. "It didn't feel like you loved me last night," I reminded him. He frowned grimly and nodded. "I understand if you want space for a while. But I'm willing to work on this. At least believe me," he says. I've seen the look in his eyes, the sudden change of emotion and even the research he's done—I would be a fool not to believe him. "I do. I know if you set your mind to something you'll do it. But I just…I don't want to be scared anymore," I honestly confessed. "You won't be," he says with a reassuring grin. Then there's silence again. The two of us are sitting trying to look at each other's eyes with this new found realization but it's still hard. An urge builds up inside me to ask my father about this new struggle of mine and without thinking I blurt it out. "Can I ask you something?" I ask quietly. "Sure." He looks up with a hopeful glance. "Do you…believe in feelings?" I ask carefully. He narrows his eyes in interest. "Do you have a broader category?" "Any feeling." I shrug. "Son if we didn't have feelings we'd be robots," he chuckles. I sigh. "I know that but…do feelings really have significance? Or are they just a myth created by ourselves?" "Well feelings are the emotional response or—" "Tendencies to respond I know, I know the definition. But do you believe feelings are fact? Not fiction?" I ask and hold my breath, hoping that my father, who strictly believes in all things science, could convince me that this struggle of mine is real. "Think about it. It's responding, responding emotionally. We are humans and we respond to things on a daily basis. Like...just now when I showed you the pamphlet and you responded with a little hesitance a little interest. Feelings are the same way," he explains. "Explain further…" I suggest, knowing there is more. "Feelings are responding to things…with our emotions. If I gave you a million dollars, what emotion would you have?" "Happiness?" I answer with sarcasm and he laughs. "Exactly. You're using the emotion of happiness to respond to an event. That's a feeling, and you can't fake that. Feelings are what make us human," he concludes. I smiled. That does make more sense to me. I wish I would have come to that realization years ago when I pushed down every feeling I've ever had towards…someone and strictly base my life on facts. Then I ask another nail-biting question. "So…you felt…something with mom then?" "I do." Dad answers in present. "That's what I thought." A/N: Coming up next: Kurt's problem and bullying will come about. Blaine is still slowly trying to figure things out. Don't forget to review! Until next time.