Chapter 10

Sunday

"Oh my god," Rachel sighed, staring down at the piece of paper in her hands before raising her head to look Kurt in the eyes. "You don't really think he's . . . That Blaine is . . ."

Mercedes snatched the confirmation letter out of her friend's hand. "It says so right here." She used her finger to guide over the chart. "Blaine's name is on this form. His dad did sign him up to go."

Finn and Kurt had invited the two young women over to their house, where all four of them were currently all gathered around, lounging on Kurt's bed.

"One of my dads' was sent to a similar camp when he was a teen," Rachel continued. "They didn't tell me much about it. Just enough to know it wasn't a nice place."

"I can't believe his father would do this," Finn added, shaking his head. "I mean, I know not all parent's are excepting of their kids sexuality, but sending him to a place like that?" He motioned towards the paper.

"It's not like they announce on their homepage that they torture their campers," Kurt muttered into his knees as he sat back against his headboard. Tears were prickling in the corners of his vision.

Rachel stared at him, bewildered. "You think his dad doesn't know what's going on in there?"

Kurt shrugged, staring down at his feet as he hugged his legs to his chest. "My dad and I are working on a plan to get him out."

"Sure," Mercedes nodded, "but what about when he does get back? Is he even going to be okay after going through something like this?"

"It's only been a week."

"A lot can happen in a week, Finn!" Rachel snapped, sending him a glare. Realization suddenly flashed across her features. "Oh god, we are going to need to find a twelfth member for Sectionals."

"Seriously?!" Mercedes cried, letting the paper fall out of her hands to land on the bed between them. "Is that really all you care about? One of our team members could be getting tortured at this very minute, and all you can think about is that stupid competition?!"

"Of course I'm worried about Blaine!" Rachel defended. "But Sectionals is in a week. Even if we can get him out of there before then, I doubt he's going to be in the right state of mind to be able to perform with us."

Blaine sat with his new friends, Jeremiah and Chandler, in the lounge located in the lobby of the Rec Center. Group with Maria Shaw had just ended, and they now had the rest of the afternoon to themselves.

"Are you okay?" Jeremiah asked softly, staring down at Blaine's arms.

Lost in thought, Blaine hadn't even realized he had been rubbing his forearms again. It had already become a habit.

Blaine couldn't help thinking about Kurt. Images of his beautiful boyfriend were constantly flowing through his head. Where was he? What was he doing right now? Was he thinking about him? He couldn't help it. He missed the boy terribly. But now, accompanying the thoughts, was always a sharp current running through his skin. Soothing the area helped, and was able to give him some comfort as his thoughts drifted towards Kurt. Luckily, he hadn't experience another phantom shock as intense as the one he had had yesterday.

In answer to Jeremiah's question, Blaine simply shrugged his shoulders. Hoping to divert the conversation away from him, he turned to see what Chandler was doing next to him.

The boy to his left had a notebook open on his lap, busying himself with a sketch. Leaning towards him, Blaine watched as the kid's pencil smoothly slid across the paper. On the page was a gray sketch of a woman sitting on a bench reading a book. The drawing was amazing.

"Who is that?"

"My mother. She passed away a couple years ago," Chandler said, moving the tip of his pencil away from the surface, studying his work. He let out a sad sigh before continuing, not taking his eyes off the picture. "She was perfectly fine with me being gay. Once she passed, my dad didn't know what to do with me anymore. Things just got worse from there."

"Hey," a voice spoke up, and all three boys turned to find the redheaded boy from their group meetings looking back at them. The kid shuffled his feet shyly. "Is it okay if I join you?"

Blaine gave the kid a small smile. "Of course, Charlie," he said and motioned to one of the seats near them.

The group sat in silence for a while. Chandler went back to work on his drawing, which Blaine had to admit was very good. He couldn't help but watch his hand as he continued to glide the pencil along the paper as he added in a pond into the foreground.

"How old are you?" Jeremiah's voice broke the silence, and Blaine looked up to see him studying Charlie. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Twelve," the red head explained.

"Twelve?" Blaine jumped in. "You're only twelve and your parents sent you here?"

Charlie shrugged. "My parents are both really strict Christians. I came out to them a couple weeks ago . . . Obviously it was a bad idea."

Blaine just nodded sadly.

"It was pretty brave of you to come out at your age," Jeremiah added, raising an eyebrow in question and sent the kid a smirk.

The kid blushed and hung his head, but a small smile could still be made out on his face. "There was this guy in my class back at school," Charlie said, lowering his voice as the subject switched to the topic. He shrugged before glancing up, the kids red hair making his cheeks look even rosier then they probably were. "I don't know if he's gay, but . . . I don't know. I was excited and wanted some advice on what to say to him, so I brought up the topic with my dad. He seemed happy to help me at first . . . until he realized I was talking about another boy."

"Sounds like Blainey is the only one of us that has a boyfriend on the outside," Jeremiah grinned, keeping his voice low. He leaned over to nudge said boy in the arm with his elbow.

"Really?" Charlie asked, his eyes growing wide.

Blaine nodded. His lip perked up on one side in a small grin.

"What is his name anyways? I don't think you ever told me," Jeremiah noted.

"Kurt."

" . . . And he's not here?"

Blaine turned his gaze back to their youngest conversationer and shook his head. He had never been more relieved about Burt's complete support towards Kurt and his sexuality.

"What is he like?" Chandler spoke up, suddenly joining into the discussion. "Your boyfriend?"

The smile on Blaine's face grew. It didn't take long for him to find himself lost in his discussion about his boyfriend. He did feel a slight prickling travel up his arms, but he quickly brushed the sensation away with his hands as he continued with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Kurt's amazing," Blaine gushed. "He is strong, both mentally and emotionally, and he's usually very resilient when it comes to people's negative comments about him in the school hallway. He is a very kind person, always willing to help out his friends whenever he can. Loves fashion, and he creates a lot of his own outfits."

"He makes his own clothes?" Charlie interrupted.

Blaine gave a soft chuckle, remembering the outfit his boyfriend had put together for his junior prom last year. "He can. Mostly he takes an outfit that has already been created and adds his own little flair to it. And he can sing! He has the most beautiful soprano voice."

"Kurt is also very sweet," Blaine continued. "He shows care and sympathy towards his friends and family, but he can also be very catty as times, as well. He's not afraid to tell you what he thinks. And–"

"Who is Kurt?" a voice snapped, interrupting Blaine's rambling and all four boys turned to find one of their counselors, Sebastian Smythe, glaring right at the curly haired boy.

All four of the boys stared back, gaping at the man. No one wanted to be the first to break the quiet.

"I said, 'who is Kurt'?" he asked again, taking a menacing step towards the group.

"N-no one, sir," Blaine managed to squeak out.

"Really?" Smythe asked, a sly grin appearing on his face. "Didn't sound that way to me."

The next thing Blaine knew, a searing pain prickled its way across his scalp as the man reached down to grab a fist full of his curly locks. He let out a small cry in desperation when he felt himself being pulled to his feet and dragged out the door of the Rec Center.

Blaine was yanked by his hair down the paved walkway in the direction of the torture chambers. He tried not to scream out in pain from the excruciating tugs to his scalp, instead letting out low groans in protest.

Coming to a sudden stop in front of one of the buildings, Blaine's vision started to grow dark from the constant brutality to his scalp. As Smythe dug out the keys to unlock the door, he attempted to twist out of the man's grip but it only caused another string of pain to radiate down his neck.

The boy barely registered being yanked down the poorly lit hallway and was relieved when the counselor finally let go of him to shove him into one of the rooms. Stumbling into the space, Blaine rubbed at his sore head before turning to investigate his new surrounds.

Blinking in surprise, he took note of the lack of a table and screen in the room. A wash of relief seeped through him at knowing that he wasn't going to be electrocuted again . . . and then his eyes landed on the huge metal hook that was hanging down from the ceiling about a foot over his head. Blaine's stomach clinched painfully in fear.

"Take off your shirt."

Blaine spun around at the command. His body trembled under Smythe's glower and he backed up a few steps in alarm. Doing his best to put on a brave face, he tried to calmly shake his head. He wasn't sure yet what form of torture the giant hook was going to be used for; or why he had to remove his shirt in preparation for it, but he was certain he didn't want to find out.

The counselor was not happy by the response. Stepping farther into the room, Smythe slammed the door closed behind him without taken his eyes off of Blaine.

"Take it off," he demanded, his voice sounding darker than before, "or your punishment will be more severe."

Blaine couldn't help the soft whine that escaped his lips at the thought. Petrified with fear, he did as he was told and lifted his shirt up and over his head.

In the brief seconds it took Blaine to remove the layer passed his eyes, Smythe stalked up until he was mere feet in front of him and he jerked back at the sudden approach.

Ripping the fabric out of the boy's hands, the counselor tossed the shirt in the direction of the wall and snapped a metal cuff around one of the kid's wrists. Not recalling where the man could have gotten the instrument, Blaine blinked down at the offending shackle in surprise.

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Smythe dragged him over until they were standing under the hook that was swinging slightly back-and-forth. Tossing the foot long chain over the upside down arch, the man yanked Blaine's other wrist up high enough to secure it into the other cuff. Due to his short stature, Blaine was forced to stand on his tiptoes causing an almost instant strain on his wrists.

Heavy footsteps behind him told Blaine that the man was walking away for the moment. Shivering in the cold room, he turned his head over his bare shoulder to try and see what the councilor was doing . . . and watched as Smythe removed a strip of leather from a clip that was hanging on the wall.

Blaine face paled and he suddenly felt lightheaded. A tremor in his hands began, and he struggled to keep himself from screaming out in fear.

"No," he moaned in desperation. "No, p-please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

A sly smile stretched across Smythe's features, as he clearly enjoyed hearing Blaine's fearful pleas. The man curled the whip around in his hand, forming an 'O' shape hanging down from his grip.

"No you're not," Smythe snarled darkly. "Not yet, but you will be. You don't understand it yet, but you are sick. The feelings you have towards that boy . . . Kurt, was it?" He continued as he slowly walked around Blaine, suspended in the center of the room. "But don't worry. I'll help you see the truth."

Blaine tried to push himself up high enough to draw the chain over the opening in the hook. If he could just get loose from the swaying trap he found himself in he would at least stand a chance of escaping, but it was no use. Being forced onto his tiptoes, he wasn't able to gain enough leverage to push the chain up high enough.

As Blaine struggled with the cuffs, he could sense Smythe lining up behind him. A soft swooshing sound was heard as the man prepared to strike the first blow.

One . . .

A blinding sharp sting seared up Blaine's spine at the first crack of the whip. Tensing up, he hissed through his teeth as he waited for the pain to pass, but he wasn't given time to get used to it.

Two . . .

Three . . .

He wanted Kurt.

Four . . .

Five . . .

He needed Kurt.

Six . . .

Seven . . .

Screaming out in pain, Blaine prayed for the agony to stop.

Eight . . .

Nine . . .

With each swing of the whip, Blaine's skin softened and grew even more tender to the point where his whole back felt like it was on fire.

Ten . . .

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