It's shorter, but at least I updated faster? I am really excited for this update - there were so many things that I wanted to get to that are introduced in this chapter. And guess whose name comes up? Guess?
Don't own Glee. At all.
Shhhhhh
Shhhhhhhhhh
Shhhh
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Blaine surfaced to the sound of a peaceful sea. He rocked on its waves as it hushed and shushed in his ears. The sand was warm, and the sea was calm. The sea embraced him, pulling him tighter into her arms, rocking him to the beat of the crashing waves. Every now and then, the sea would press close, whispering "Good boy, what a good boy. It's all right now. It's okay. You're okay – such a good boy…" before dissolving into the endless static of ShhhhhhShhhhhhhhhhhhhhhShhhh h….
And the sea was soft. But it wasn't wet. And the sea rocked him, but it didn't splash. The sea was pressing light kisses into his hair and tugging him deeper into the crook of her neck, letting him disappear into her embrace.
Blinking against Lea's collarbone, Blaine fisted the down blanket that was wrapped 'round his sides, pressed the heels of his feet into the mattress and fought his way back to the present. He took a shuddering breath and pulled away far enough to take in the bed, the room, the light, the smell of lemon and ginger still hanging in the air. He was here. He was Blaine. Not whore, not there – here, now.
He choked.
"Sorr-"
"Shhhhhh, Hush." Lea interrupted him before he could stutter out the word. "You've done nothing wrong." Her voice softened as she ran a fluttering hand over Blaine's cheek. "You're such a good boy. Such a precious, beautiful boy."
Tears welled in Blaine's eyes as the words poured over him in a tidal wave of relief. Foreign and new, they bathed him in a warmth he didn't know before. Didn't know he craved before. Starvation is easy, until the first taste. You forget the hunger, forget the pain, until the first bite, the reminder that something is wrong, and you're gone. The monstrous, gnawing emptiness churns and roars at the scent of the thing you so crave, clawing its way from your gut, scratching your heart and tearing your throat. He burned. He ignited.
The strings holding Blaine taut gave out and he collapsed into Lea's arms in broken sobs, choking and shaking under the enormity of his deliverance. In spasms that knotted his muscles, in jerks that tore through his spine, and sobs that clenched at his heart, Blaine transformed. It ripped him apart, screeching and screaming. His every cell felt gutted, scrummed raw, wringing him dry and shredding his mind. Not a whore! Not a whore! Never again! He would die. He will die, but never again.
"Sweetheart!"
Through the haze, Blaine heard his own screams. It felt like never before. Tears were for bedtime. They'd stream down his face as he'd curl in his cage, tuck his thumb into his mouth, and will the wounds on his back to heal. They were slow, rolling one by one past his lids, occasionally getting caught on the rim and bathing his view in glimmering moonlight. This was different. This was agony.
"Sweetheart, just breathe. I need you to breathe."
Hitching coughs caught in his throat. His chest collapsed as if his ribs had turned in. Suffocating, Blaine tried to draw air, but seized in pain with his heart's tight contractions.
"Breathe…follow my breath."
Breath. And breath, And breath. Lea's ribs expanded and fell, guiding Blaine and slowing him down. The thumping of panic fell into cadence with her utter peace, giving him time to draw air, fill his lungs, feed his heart, slow his mind. It unclenched; he unclenched. Whatever had broken free now was loose. Dizzy and spinning, Blaine curled weak fingers into the weave of Lea's robe, pressed close, and whispered, "Please, don't let go."
"I didn't know my own name." Blaine started without looking up. A cup of clear broth, warm and steaming, rested in the palm of his hand.
He'd slept for no more than ten minutes, collapsing into Lea's arms before she tipped him into a nest of pillows. The housemates had gathered in the doorway before cautiously tip-toeing their way in, Laura cradling a bowl of soup while James carried a bag of purchases. The walls echoed the boy's cries as they silently slid to the floor next to the bed, scared and shaken, but resolved to be there when he woke up.
As if underwater, they all sank into their thoughts, drowning in the vision of this boy shattering before their eyes. Every few seconds, they would glance back up to the bed as if seeking reassurance that he was still here and whole.
Before the soup had a chance to fully cool, his eyes fluttered open and he woke with a soft cough. His hands came up to rub at his cheeks, pulled tight by drying tears. His fingers shook as he rubbed at his eyes, animated by the adrenaline still rattling his body. He accepted the bowl of soup when Lea placed it in his hands, took a long, shaky breath and began to speak.
"I didn't know my own name. I don't think I knew who I was, or that I was anybody. It was like life started and ended with each day when I woke in my cage and returned to my corner." He paused, words coming slowly, as if he were thinking it for the first time – and in many ways, he was. "It felt like…no, that not right. It didn't feel like anything. Like static. Sometimes the pain and the cold and the fear would get louder, but soon they'd get drowned in new pain. Until it all just dissolved, and I dissolved right into it. There was nothing beyond, nothing to hold, just an endless sameness.
"But I know that's not right. Cause I knew, knew that I was somebody sometime. And once you are somebody, you're somebody always. And that means that even when I was whore, I was somebody too. And that's why I can't give it to you." His eyes were scared when they met Lea's gaze, but they pleaded to be understood. "I can't give you my name. Because it's me, and that's all I have now."
A stray tear glistened on the rim of his eyelid, swelling and quivering until it rolled down his cheek. His body wanted to compress, nerves prickling his senses, tugging at his limbs. Naturally, instinctively, his body yearned to curl tight and small, invisible and inconsequential, until he and all the pain in him were nothing but a pinprick. But he didn't. That's what whore would have done, and so Blaine didn't. Instead, his limbs jolted and twisted, indecisive, unsure, caught in a place where he didn't belong and did not understand. He knew pain and darkness, he knew cold and dread, he accepted death and waited for silence – but this, warmth and light…they stabbed him with heartache. They disarmed him, too new and too bright.
"Please," he whimpered, "I can't. If I give you my name-" Blaine choked.
A hand fell on his shoulder, heavy and sure. Someone's palm slid against his, twining their fingers.
"You know," James said, "there are some things, I figure, that you can't take or give. They can only be shared. And maybe, we just haven't earned it yet."
"You don't have to give us anything. Ever." Jordan stated with confidence. "You don't owe us a thing."
James smirked and gave Blaine a wink before plopping into the armchair by the bed, "Just be ready for lots of 'sweethearts' and 'honeys' – Lea has a little pet-name addiction."
Gasping at the insult, Lea began to defend herself over the snickers going around the room, "I just have a trouble remembering names! Come on! I am allowed one little weakness. Oh, shut up!" but the deep blush over her cheeks and the big smile on her face significantly softened her delivery.
"Anyways…." Jordan redirected the conversation, "can we get to the present-giving? I want it to be early-Christmas already!"
Bouncing on the balls of her feet and molding her face into the perfect pleading expression, Jordan was irresistible. In seconds, the bag of goodies that James had brought in was in her hands and on its way to the bed.
"It's not much," Laura started shyly, "just some things I thought you'd need around the house. I wasn't sure about sizes and things, but once you're ready, I figured you'd replace most of it anyway. But…it's a start."
Her voice drifted at the end, hanging in suspense while Blaine picked at the corners of a shopping bag.
"You…these- for me?"
At Laura's nod, Blaine ducked his head and nervously reached into the bag. But his hand stalled before it even passed the rim. His fingers twitched as he tried to move forward, but he couldn't. Steeling himself, he pushed on, but his body betrayed his fear in a nervous whimper. The gaping black bag, the unknown hidden within, the sense of dread of taking something that wasn't his own paralyzed him. As much as he wanted to move, he couldn't overcome the possibility of punishment. But would they punish anyways? For the ingratitude? For the hesitation? Scared eyes jumped from the cavern of the bag's gaping rim toward Lea, whether to read her intention or plead for help, she couldn't tell.
"Here," slowly, she inched forward her hand settled over the bag and tipped it over. Socks tumbled out first. Followed by a set of flannel pajamas, several undershirts, and a pair of gloves. As the housemates took to emptying the bags, the bed around Blaine started filling up with sweatpants and sweatshirts, long-sleeved underthings, a sweater, more socks, slippers, a robe, a toothbrush and comb, a hat with a scarf and a warm set of gloves, one pair of shoes, a pair of red rain-boots, a finally, a large pack of white boxer-briefs.
The blush on Blaine's face warmed the whole room.
"I-I…this…" his fingers levitated over the items, dancing along the surface of his possessions in wonderstruck reverence. Growing heavy, they tangled in the flannel and stroked over the woven woof over the hat. "This is…I don't- mine?"
"Yeah," Lea laughed, "all yours."
Color surrounded him, from the vibrant argyle of his new socks to the subtle checkers of his fuzzy slippers to the fire-hydrant red of his new boots. The rubber, the cotton, the wool and the flannel were a playground of textures. As his fingers glided on the silky surface of his robe - his robe, his robe! Blaine's chest expanded with a balloon that pressed on his chest and squeezed his heart. It popped to the surface with an enormous smile that he buried in the fuzzy softness of his flannel top and released in a joyous laugh.
"Thank you", he whispered with a grin.
"Actually," she was distracted putting away wrapping tissue and the word nearly disappeared in the crinkle of plastic bags, "there is one more thing we should talk about before hitting the hay."
Lea abandoned a cloud of tissues near the trash can before making her way back to the bed. Everyone in the room was nursing a steaming cup of hot chocolate and enjoying the hazy stupor of a long, emotional, but ultimately happy night. Jordan announced that there's no reason it can't be Christmas on November 29th and dug up Christmas lights out of the basement, winding them on the curtail rail along the window. The darkness outside and the emotional exhaustion on the inside created the illusion that it was far later than it truly was, the chocolate and twinkling lights lulling the inhabitants of #127 into a drowsy calm.
When she resumed her perch on the bed, Lea continued. "You okay to talk a little longer, or are you too tired?"
It was hard looking at the boy without experiencing the sharpest of joys. He was bundled in a pair of light blue pajamas, his navy blue robe, a pair of fuchsia pink and purple socks, his grey wool scarf and a beanie. He looked like a five-year old on Christmas morning, sipping on his hot chocolate and periodically sinking his hands into the pockets of his robe, smiling with pride at his new possessions.
"I'm alright," he mumbled before taking another long inhale of the steaming chocolate.
"There's one thing that's yours," Lea started with caution, "and no one, ino one/i can take away from you. But we need to know it. We need to know it so we can keep you safe, so you can feel safe with us here. Sweetheart, we need to know your safeword."
The following silence immediately prickled at her nerves. "We won't push it. I'm not asking because anyone here would ever ask you to do anything that would make you safeword. It's just…a precaution. A safety barrier. I want you to feel safe here, but with Switches and Doms in the house…sometimes, suggestions become orders, and I just want you to be able to say 'no'. Not because we'll ask, but…I want you to be able to safeword anything. Any offer, any invitation, any request."
The blank look on Blaine's face slowly sank into deep confusion. Lea cocked her head, desperately searching for the missing link.
"Sweetheart?" She prompted, "Are you alright with that?"
Blaine blushed, gaze dropping down to his hands as they twisted in the drawstring of his robe. When his voice rose from the silence, it was drenched in hesitation. "I'm….I'm sorry. But I….what's? What is it? A safeword."
Laura gasped. James' hand seized her wrist when it flew to her mouth and, for a moment, Lea's face darkened with fury before she hid it in a quick duck of her head. She cleared her throat and elaborated, "A safeword is a trigger. It's the mechanism by which subs resists domination. It would be something you were taught as a boy. A way to concentrate your energy and push out foreign control – a word, a gesture. Does something come to mind?"
The boy's eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to wrack his mind. As the silence lengthened, Lea noticed the usual signs of his distress pick up – twitching fingers, hunching shoulders as he tried to sink deeper into his pillows and away from their expectant gaze.
"It's alright. It's okay," she jumped in to reassure him. "Just one of those things we'll have to work on ourselves."
Someone behind them chocked, but before they could intervene, Lea asserted, "We'll figure it all out. Now why don't you finish your soup, I'll be right back with your meds."
When Lea stood to go, his voice caught her.
"Umm..I just," he paused, "thank you. And…I was thinking. Maybe- maybe you could call me 'B'?"
He blushed to his roots, the deep red stain spreading across his cheeks as he ducked down in embarrassment and started playing with his robe.
Lea urged her face into a smile even as her heart clenched painfully. "Of course, B. Of course, sweetheart. You're such a good boy – thank you. Let me just…I'll be right back."
Controlling her pace, she left the room in even footsteps. As soon as the door closed behind her, Lea collapsed against the wall. Digging her fingertips into her thigh, she tried to regain focus. Her vision swam in red anger and tears – she felt heated and wild. The kid had no safeword. No way to claim his will, to grant consent. No way to act on his own behalf. And there were only two people in the world who could have withheld it from him. His parents.
Safewording didn't come naturally to subs. It was a struggle to assert control when every cell in your body screamed to submit. To safeword required a sub to surface from the depth of their instinct and push out invading domination. The hardest part wasn't overpowering the Dom, but overpowering yourself, your own wants and your own urges. That's why it was taught at an early age, when subs hadn't yet become entirely accustomed to submission, when the notion of saying "no" wasn't beyond their imagination. Dominant parents would introduce their kids to low levels of domination with instructions to repel it – concentrating their energy in a word or a gesture. Technically, neither was truly necessary; the force of a safeword didn't reside in the utterance or the motion, but in the sub themselves. But it helped, tugging on the word or signal like a rubber band, building resistance until it was taunt and ready to snap, pushing out the domination from the child's consciousness.
But this boy, this child, never learned to do that. And yet, the marking on his right arm signified he'd been in a Claim. Someone used him. Someone one abused him. He'd been raped.
The bedroom door creaked open and whipped Lea out of her thoughts. It was James. Warily, they both made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter for support.
"Don't do it." James' voice was sure. "I know you – I know you want to fix this. But…don't call him."
Lea stayed silent. Nothing she could say would reassure James now.
"You've worked so hard to break ties, to start fresh. If you call him now, it will all be wasted. Both of you'd be right back where you started. And there's no guarantee he would help, could help." The silence dragged on. Making one final attempt at persuasion, James asked, "Even if you are okay with making this decision for yourself, are you alright with making this decision for him?"
Concentrating on the intersection of tiles on the floor, Lea responded in monotone, "Hmmmm….that was silly. His meds were upstairs all along. Do you mind going up there? He needs to take his pills before he digests all the soup. You know, for the nausea."
Suspended, the moment stretched in loud silence while neither moved. Their stances, relaxed and resting against the kitchen counters, were too stiff and too static; a mask of tranquility belaying the intention of battle. The building, buzzing energy heaved and grew before collapsing as James dropped his head and stepped forward.
"I hope you know what you're doing. I really hope you don't fuck this up."
With that, Lea was left alone. For a moment, she shut her eyes and enjoyed the reprieve. But now that she knew what to do, a new urgency tugged at her mind. Her hand slipped into her pocket and retrieved her phone. She'd deleted his number some months ago, but she knew it by heart. While her fingers danced across the screen, the patio door opened with a swoosh and she stepped out into the night. By the time the dial tone gave its first beep, the door closed behind her and she was out in the yard where it all started.
"Hello? Lea?"
"Hi."
"What's wrong?"
A laugh.
Gently, "Nothing's wrong. Not like that at least."
"Alright." A pause. "But something is wrong, isn't it?"
"It's like you can't help yourself."
"I can't! You know what it's like. Sorry, but it's just…we haven't talked in so long. I feel flooded. Like all the domination of the past few months just broke through a dam. Tell me what's wrong."
"We took in a runaway. An abused sub."
"What does that mean - took in?" A moment's silence and then distressed, "You claimed a sub?"
"No! Of course not! Don't be an idiot."
"Ok…so, you took them in? Like, gave them shelter?"
"Yes."
"You know that's illegal."
"Yes. I know."
"Alright. Are they alright? Do you need me to-"
"He's going to be okay. He's not alright, not by a long shot. The kid's been beaten, starved, abused – you should see the bruises on his body. His wrists, his knees…and the cuts. He was whipped. Tortured. But, he's with us now."
Silence.
"Lea…I- this, what you're doing…it's enormous, and I lov- I respect you all the more for it, but…are you sure this is good for you? Not for him, or for the house, but for you?"
"Yes. It is."
"Okay then. Okay. What can I do? What can I do to help?"
"He has no safeword."
Silence.
"What?"
"No safeword. He had no clue what it was when I mentioned it. How is that possible? How the fuck is that even possible? He can't be younger that fourteen, but…he couldn't understand what I was saying! Where are his parents? Where is that monster who put those bruises around his wrists and those whip-marks on his back? He's a boy! He was Claimed! How could this have happened?!"
"Lea, pet…shhh-shhhhhhh….you're alright. It's going to be alright. He's with you now, and he's safe. Now, I'm going to ask some questions, and before you answer each one, I want you to take a deep breath – okay?"
A nod. "Yes, I can do that."
"How do you know he was Claimed?"
A deep inhale, exhale, "He has a marking pin. On his right arm, you can see the healed scar."
"Do you know anything about him? About his Dom? About his family?"
A deep inhale, exhale, "He barely knows himself. We found him on Tuesday night – Mark brought him in. The kid was dying in our backyard. He was freezing, but we warmed him up, gave him a bed and some time to rest. He has pneumonia now and recovering from frostbite. And the starvation. We're taking it slow. But I asked him his name, and he just…he couldn't give it. It was him, his whole identity. He asked me to call him B. God, I just. I want to know what happened, I want to know who did this. I want to kill them. I want to rip them apart. I want to scream – because this is unfair! And it's so wrong. You should see him – he is a precious, beautiful boy. So broken, but so sweet. He has these eyes, and when he looks at you, it's like he puts his soul into your hands. How could they hurt him? Who could destroy him?"
"Shhhh-pet. Sweetheart, I need you to breathe. Focus on me. I know how much you're hurting right now, and I promise, it's going to be okay. Just breathe for a second."
Several long pulls of cool, crisp air. "Alright. I'm alright now."
"Good. You're a very good girl. Are you ready to go on?"
"Yes. The reason I called…can you enter a Claim without a safeword?"
"No. Not officially. Not legally. When you sign the Claiming Document, the pair has to demonstrate the safeword and it's recorded from public records. There's no way to really bypass it – there'd be too many witnesses."
"But he has the marking pin."
"Well, those you can get on the black market. The sub trade needs to be able to sell subs and allow the purchasing Doms and Switches the illusion of legality. Most subs would be useless if you'd need to hide them away, so marking pins are sold so the assholes who purchase their subs can bring them out in public. Honestly, if we wanted to really crack down on the illegal sales of subs, we'd need to start with keeping closer tabs on our marking pins – it would void eighty percent of sales."
"So it's possible that he was sold? Not Claimed?"
"It seems likely."
"But then he's not a runaway? No laws broken for escaping a Claim if there is no legal Claim to being with, right?"
"Yes, but you have to prove there's no Claim. If he has a marking pin, any cop would just through him and all of you in jail and probably return him to his Dom before you could say the word 'lawyer'."
"That's why I called you. Do you have access to the public records? The ones that register subs, Claims, and safewords?"
"Not exactly. For privacy reasons, the records are available to anyone who has a legitimate reason to request access. With my job, I wouldn't have to go through red-tape, but I still need a valid reason to request them in the first place."
"I need you to find him. I need you to find his name, find his parents, and find that piece of shit who claimed him. He's about five foot-eight, dark curly hair, bright brown eyes. I think the Dom who claimed him is from somewhere around here – the boy had no shoes when we found him, and I doubt he could get far in his state. I didn't see any distractive features apart from a birthmark on his back. It sits just over his shoulder. And I think his name starts with a 'B'. Please, find him."
"I will do everything I can. There's a new intern here, Kurt something. He's here for research before his first year in law school. I may not have a legitimate reason to request those files, but he does. He's researching the population trends in sub, Switch, and Dom communities."
"You'll do it?"
"Of course I will. Just.." pencil scratches across thick paper, "give me a couple of days. Are you going to be alright?"
"Of course I will."
"Alright pet. Stay strong. I love you."
Quiet.
"Love you too."
Your reviews would mean the world to me. I am so anxious about this chapter...let me know what you thought! As always, thank you for all the story alerts and favorites - they warm my heart :)
