WARNING/TRIGGER: Angst. Very dark. Mention of rape. Suicidal thoughts (not explicit). You might want to leave reading this until the next two chapters are posted because it kind of ends in a cliff hanger. Fair warning okay?

CHAPTER TEN

He can't sleep or eat. He lies in his bed staring at the ceiling and everything makes sense, except it doesn't. His mom has been fluttering around, all concerned, but he can't say anything to her. She's already disappointed enough that he went out to a bar illegally and had to get dropped home by some stranger who was probably Karofsky. He understands all of Kurt's behavior now, and it's completely justified, he just wishes he could remember. Except he really doesn't want to remember.

He can't imagine doing what Kurt has described. Using him? Holding a hand over his mouth? His stomach clenches again and he knows if there was anything in his stomach he'd be throwing up. Again. His mind can't seem to focus on the idea that he has raped Kurt, skittering away each time, and he can feel tears leaking out from his clenched shut eyes. He loves Kurt. So much. Can't believe he's hurt him so badly. Doesn't know what to do to make this better, if anything.

He trudges down to dinner. It's just him and his mom, his dad working late again and he's grateful for small mercies at least, because together his parents are a force to be reckoned with and he doesn't have the energy right now to fight them. His mom has done a roast chicken, his favorite, but it tastes like sawdust and it feels heavy in his stomach. He's only eating to please her, but he ends up just pushing the food around on his plate.

"Please Blaine, please tell me what's wrong honey…"

He could lie and just say he doesn't feel very well, but he knows it won't work. She's already asked him about what he's eaten, taken his temperature five times and tried to force him to have multiple bowls of chicken soup. He's told her he's fine, and it's obvious she doesn't believe him. He needs to tell her something, anything, to get her off his case.

"Kurt and I broke up."

It's true he realizes. He's not said anything about breaking up, but Kurt's actions speak louder than words, they always have, and he's single again. Of course he is. He doesn't want to be single, he wants to be with Kurt, snuggled up on the sofa to watch movies, or shopping. He's never going to get him back. He sniffs

"Today?"

"Uh, yeah. No. Well, I just realized it today. He's not talking to me."

"Really? That doesn't sound like Kurt. Have you had a fight?"

"Mom, I really don't want to talk about it, can you just leave it? Please?"

"Okay. If you're sure, but you know you always feel better when you've talked about stuff." He knows she's right, but he really doesn't want to tell her. She's starting to clear the plates and he stands to help. "You can tell me anything you know, I might get angry or disappointed, but I'll love you anyway… it's part of being a parent."

He knows what she's trying to say, but he's pretty sure blurting out 'I'm a rapist' isn't going to go down well in any company. He doesn't know why Kurt hasn't reported him to the police, because he kind of feels like he should go and hand himself in, because he's starting to feel the shame of what he's done starting to drown him.

"Has dad ever forced you to do something you really didn't want to do?"

"You mean apart from spending Christmas with your grandparents every year?"

He hates that she's laughing, that she seems to think that for whatever reason he's asking is a laughing matter. She's placing dishes in the dishwasher and he feels shaky again.

"Mom, seriously…has he ever forced you…"

He deliberately lets the sentence trail off and he's gripping the sides of his plate so hard his knuckles are white and she looks up at him, either the tone of his voice, or his posture or something just a mom knows making her stop and look at him.

"Not your father. No. Blaine… what's happened?" He can see the love and concern in her eyes and he doesn't deserve it, the quiet way she's asked the question. "Is this about what happened on Saturday night?"

"I don't remember what happened…" he admits, and he can't meet her eyes, can barely swallow past the lump in his throat that is either about to make him cry again, or throw up, now that there's something in his stomach for it to play with.

"Were you really that drunk?"

"I…no. Sebastian slipped something into my drink…"

"You accepted drinks from a stranger?" He's not sure if she's horrified at his stupidity, or about her failure in teaching him not to accept drinks from strangers.

"Sebastian isn't a stranger mom. He's a friend."

"A person that slips you drugs unknowingly is no friend Blaine. Do you know what it was?"

"Uh, no. Why?"

"I'm going to find out. So what happened?"

"I don't remember."

"Don't get smart with me Blaine. What happened between you and Kurt?"

He meets her eyes then, and she looks…angry. Oh god. He can't have her thinking that Kurt did something to him, not after what he's put Kurt through already, and his mom can be something of a raging lioness when she thinks he or his brother are threatened or hurt, and she's always been particularly protective of him…

"I don't remember what happened, but today Kurt… told me that I used him… I think I raped him mom."

The last is whispered and his mom closes the small gap between them and has her arms wrapped around him and her hold is bruisingly hard. It doesn't make him feel any better. He lets her shuffle him off to bed, her hand dry and cool as she strokes his forehead while he cries. He feels exhausted, emotionally drained, and he has no idea when he eventually falls asleep.

He has dreams. Nightmares. He wakes up sticky with sweat and panting in fear. All he can remember of his dreams is ripping Kurt limb from limb, hurting him over and over until he was dripping with blood and begging for him to stop. He has to run to the bathroom and only just makes it before his stomach rejects everything he managed to eat at dinner. He knows he needs to sleep, but he doesn't want to dream. Doesn't want to close his eyes again and face those images.

His parents have sleeping pills. He's used them before when he's been too keyed up to sleep and he steps quietly into their en suite, noting that his dad still isn't home, and it's past midnight. He turns on the soft ambient lighting in the bathroom and takes out the small bottle. It's still over half full. He shakes out one tablet, running the faucet and catching some water in his hands to help swallow the tiny pill. He automatically goes to put the bottle back, but his fingers curl around it and he draws his hand back.

He takes the bottle with him when he goes back to bed.